Chapter 10

HELEN WAS OUT OF BED at ten, and half an hour later Joe joined her in the kitchen. He wore his trousers but was barefoot and shirtless. She said not a word to him, averted her eyes. The memory of what had happened in the dark predawn tortured her, though it had been none of her doing and she had silently prayed the inevitable would not transpire. She squeezed his orange juice and set it on the table. He drank it at a gulp, and set down the empty glass. She turned from him and looked out the window. "Helen, turn around, will you?"

She hesitated, but. did as he said.

"Look at me, not at the floor."

With effort she raised her eyes. He came close to her, grasped her arm, and holding it tightly said, "I'm going to shock you now. Are you set?"

She nodded.

"Fran stays!"

She couldn't believe her ears. "Hut-but I thought-"

"But nothing! It's final!"

"Joe, you don't understand. Three of us-and this tiny apartment ... What will the landlord say?"

"Damn the landlord! We're paying good rent, aren't we? If he doesn't like it, we'll move elsewhere."

She continued to protest, but finally he became so nasty that she could stand it no longer, had to submit.

"If that's the way you want it-" She shrugged helplessly.

But Joe was in for a bit of a surprise.

Helen was out, having gone to do some shopping, when he made Fran the offer. She had just got out of bed, her eyes were heavy with sleep and sticky at the corners. She refused with a curt, "No thanks!"

"Why not?"

She would not explain, remarked that he was more of a fool than she'd thought. "Any kid would know why not!"

"Well, suit yourself."

She washed up and returned to the bedroom. When she emerged, she was dressed, looking clean and refreshed. She started for the door, and said, "Be seeing you."

"Where you going?" he asked.

"That's none of your business."

"Sore?"

"No."

He got up, grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. "What's the idea?"

She smiled at him and said, "Nothin's the idea. I was just curious to see if you'd stop me."

"So now what?"

"So now I'm going. I'll meet you."

"Where?"

"In the cafeteria-same table as last night. At midnight."

"What are you going to do till then?"

"That's my business."

When Helen came back with the groceries she asked where Fran was.

"Oh, she split," Joe said as casually as he could. "I didn't want her hanging around during the day. He would give another story later, as a proof of his love.

But she must have sensed something in his voice, because she flushed bright scarlet. She could hear Fran's ugly voice, telling a friend perhaps: "I found out he wanted her to stay too, the three of us in one bed! And she agreed! Can you imagine that, she agreed!...."

For a week thereafter he met her each night at twelve. They had coffee together, chatted a while; and afterwards, if the weather was right, took a walk together in the dark still night. She loved to walk at this hour, for by then the noise and com fusion of the day was over, the hustling, hard-breathing workaday world slept. Those who were left now were the drifters, the joy-seekers, the lonely ones like herself-the detached entities, the ones who did not belong. She felt at home amongst diem, could meet their eyes when they passed her in the darkness.

Joe began to look forward to seeing her. At midnight there was nothing else to do. He had prowled the streets, looked and admired, dreamed and planned. He had no wish to see Cal Royce again; the memory had for some inexplicable reason become repugnant to him. As for returning to Mique's-no, that was out of the question! He would never forget, or forgive, their having tossed him out that night to face the three toughs alone.

Fran admitted to him that she was broke; he borrowed money from Helen and gave it to her.

"There, that ought to hold you for a couple of days. I'll have more for you then."

'"Thanks," she would say. But she was not really grateful. She handled the money as if it were contaminated, crumpling it up and sticking it into the slit pocket of her skirt-out of sight, out of mind.

Watching the performance, Joe had to grin. She was proud, all right-or pretending to be. Who was she trying to kid, the little guttersnipe!"

"I intend to get a job," she announced suddenly, as they walked along the shore one night, "-a job and an apartment."

"Why that? Aren't hotel rooms good enough for you anymore?"

"They're good enough for me, but not for you."

They stopped and stood facing each other. The moonlight cast a ghostly glow on her.

"I want to have a place where you can be at home. And I want to cook for you."

He laughed, reminded her that he had an apartment right now where he was fairly well at home.-"And as for cooking for me, Helen does okay in that apartment."

"Helen!" she scoffed. "That old bag!"

They continued to walk along the hard-packed sand, side by side. They walked in silence, each lost in thought, seemingly unaware of the other. There were tears in her eyes and her face was contorted with rage.

"You know, Joe Brody, I hate you!" she declared softly.

He lit a cigarette and offered her one. She took it.

The following night, while they sipped coffee, she suddenly said, "Joe, there's something I've got to tell you. I didn't want to, but it's troubling me keeping it to myself."

"Big secret, eh?"

"Yes."

"Shoot."

"I love you."

He laughed at her, but for some reason the announcement irked him. His lips shed the curl of laughter rather abruptly.

"Don't talk that way, Fran. Coming from you it sounds corny."

She smiled a sour little smile and said, "I know."

One night she arrived at the meeting place half an hour late. He saw her get out of a cab and come dashing through the revolving doors.

She was pale and breathless. Her hand trembled slightly as she lit a cigarette and sat down across from him.

"You're late."

"Yes, I know." She laughed nervously. "I thought I'd miss you."

"Want some coffee?"

"Lots of it ... but wait!" She reached across the table and caught his wrist. "I've got news."

"Why the build up? Just tell me, if you want to."

"I've got a job-I'm working. I was looking all week, but I kept it a secret from you."

"Good job?"

She shrugged and said, "Stripping-at the Club Seventy-Seven. The pay is not bad. And I got an advance on my first week's salary." She put two tendollar bills on the table.

He said, "Swell! You needed a break."

She nodded towards the money and said, "Take it."

"What for?"

"That's half of what I owe you. At the end of the week you get the balance."

He looked at her, but couldn't believe it. "You're not kidding?"

"Why would I?"

"You need it more than I do. Keep it."

"Give it back to Aunty." She had got into the habit of calling Helen that. "She doesn't need it either."

"I don't care whether she needs it!" she burst out. She bit her lip. Her face was flushed with anger.

She insisted so vehemently that finally he took the money and put it in his wallet.

"I'll see that she gets it," he promised.

They went out and walked afterwards, and when they had returned to the hotel where she was staying she caught his hand and squeezed it.

"No more walks at night. I'm going to miss them."

"They were nice," he admitted, "but you don't get paid for walking."

"You'll come and see me at the Seventy-seven?"

"I don't know if I can afford it."

"Be there. It won't cost you."

He promised he'd try to make it.

"I'll be looking for you at about ten tomorrow."

As he left her and walked towards Alton Road he was thinging of the money on the table-the way she had insisted he take it. Imagine that! A guttersnipe like her, pressing him till he had to give in. She had pride, all right. Low-class and yet-no other word for it than "pride." Maybe she wasn't so bad, afer all. He'd thought she was as bad as he, but now she had given him something to wonder about. Maybe she wasn't.

No maybes about it, who was he trying to kid? The very minute she had got her hands on a bit of it, her first thought had been to pay back the money he had given her. Given, not lent her. Suppose he were to get some dough of his own, would he think of repaying Helen? He knew the answer to that!

At the Club Seventy-Seven one night about a week later, she came to him between performances and said, "Can't stick-got to entertain the suckers, keep 'em buying drinks. But listen: stay till closing time this morning, will you hon?"

"Why?"

"I'll show you then. Will you stay?" He said he would.

At 4 a.m., they emerged from the cafe. Fran had a deal on with a cabby to pick her up each night at closing time. Joe noticed that the driver winked to her as they got in, but thought nothing of this till they arrived at their destination.

This turned out to be not the hotel where Fran had been staying but a neat little bungalow with a sun window in front, on Tenth near the bay. The cab pulled away and left them standing at the curb.

"This is it, Joe-what I wanted to show you."

"You've got an apartment, eh?"

"It costs a lot, but it's worth it. Wait till you see-it's gorgeous!"

She opened the door, flicked on the lights. He came in behind her, looked around him and said, "Not half bad!" In fact he was putting on, he wasn't really impressed. To him an apartment was an apartment; the only difference between this and his own was the arrangement of the furniture.

"Do you like it?" she asked, searching his eyes as if she had seen through the pretense.

"It's all right. But why do you keep asking?"

"I never had a place of my own. Hotels and rooming houses were good enough for me."

"You've stepped up."

"Joe, listen-" she moved close to him and put her arms around his neck. "I-" She seemed to be at a loss for words.

He put his arms around her and kissed her; when he drew his head back and looked at her he saw tears in her eyes.

She hugged him to her and whispered into his ear, "I've waited so long for this-so long-to have you to myself."