Chapter 12
SO FRANCES DID AT LAST succeed in getting Joe to sleep with her, occasionally at any rate. One afternoon about a week later they were having breakfast together when she made a rather startling suggestion.
She set down her fork and stared at him in silence, then suddenly announced that she was tired of it all. "Of what?" he asked. "All-all of it."
"The Club?"
"That too. The long hours-working nights, sleeping days. And the worthless bums ogling me, and knowing what's on their minds, it's-well it's wearing me clown! Worse than that, it's beginning to show. This morning I happened to see myself in the mirror-caught myself unawares, I guess."
"'You look okay to me."
"Joe, I can't go on sharing you with her.
He knew as she said it that she had been building up to this. Knew that, being the sort she was, it had troubled her, tortured her, from the very start. She must have all or nothing; there were no half-victories for her. I explained to her again, as he had often been doing lately, that she wasn't really sharing him, even if he was spending more time with Helen than with her.
"I-ft's run off, Joe. Let's run off to California! You and me-the two of us!"
'"Nothing doing! Why would I, when I like it here so well:'"
"This isn't for us-it's not our sort of town."
He reminded her that she had once said the very opposite: had told him that she intended to spend every winter of her life here.
"That was before I knew you-loved you. Now I want an ordinary town, a place where we can live together, and work, and-well, you know, the rest of it-" she had to blush saying it-"marriage, kids, and all that." lie stared at her in amazement. These ideas were entirely beyond his conception, strange and foreign to him.
"Cut it out, will you Fran!" lie was angry, and she decided not to press him for the present.
From that day on, however, she kept alter him. Not about marriage and kids-she had only been testing him, to see if the normal might not strike some hidden chord-but about running off to California. In fact, she herself had little interest in such things as marriage and children. They were for the ordinary, the staid and settled people of the world, not for such as herself.
From the start he was dead set against running off with her, to California or anywhere else. First-and this was the big reason-because he had no doubts that Helen would carry out her threat if he left her. And second, because he liked what he had here. He went for Fran and told her so. But much as he might deny it to her, and even to himself, he cared for Helen also. She meant more to him than the sum total of what she gave him. He had a need for her, a vague need which, While it could not be explained, was no less real than his need for Fran.
To begin with, he offered no logical objections. He knew that to Fran the possibility of Helen's actually carrying out her threat would, ii anything, be added incentive. As for telling her the rest of it-that he had need of Helen-that would only be adding fuel to the fire! So he just said he didn't want to leave and that that was all there was to it.
Alter a while, however, when he could no longer put her off arbitrarily, he decided to show her the impracticably of the suggestion.
"California's a long way off. I low do we get there?"
"What about the convertible? You said it was yours-that she paid for it, but registered it to you."
"It's mine all right. But a car doesn't run on air-it wants gas."
"I've got some money put aside. Not much, but-"
"How much?"
"A hundred and sixty dollars."
He informed her that this might buy the gas. "It might, but I wouldn't take any bets on it. But suppose we do get thee-just say we do-what then? Do I get a job? What kind? I've got no trade. Wheel-barrow pusher?-truck driver?-delivery boy? No, thanks!"
In desperation: "I'd take care of you, Joe. I'd see to it you didn't-"
"Didn't have to dirty my hands that way?" He laughed cynicallv. "Id be taking money horn you instead of Helen then, wouldn't I:' Trading in the old model for the new. A good idea, lair exchange is no robbery. Only-" he hesitated and looked at her meaningfully-"I think the old model is a bit more reliable."
Surprisingly, she saw it from his point of view, allowed there was sense in what he said. He did not accept his easy victory without misgivings. She was up to something, he knew, up to no good. She was thinking, hatching a new idea. Or perhaps-the thought struck him suddenly-perhaps not! Perhaps she had hatched it long ago, stuck it away far back in her mind, and now was waiting, biding her time, till the right moment.
It was not long in coming.
One morning after they had returned from the club, he sat on the couch reading a newspaper. She stood over him, looking down at him, puffing a cigarette idly, apparently lost in private musings.
"I've thought of the answer," she suddenly announced.
"To what?" he asked.
"To the money question."
He shifted uneasily, perhaps because he guessed what was coming. "No build-ups, you know I don't do for diem."
"Aunty gives it to us!"
"You're crazy!" He tossed the newspaper aside and got to his feet impatiently.
"Listen, Joe!" She caught his biceps and dug her fingernails in. "She's got lots of it, she won't miss-"
He tore his arm free, walked across the room to the window, "(hazy!" he repeated. "Crazy and bitchy as they come!" He loathed her at that moment.
The feeling was not mitigated-if anything, it was intensified-when he recalled that the thought was not new to him, that he himself had long since been trying to imagine what life would be like if he were to get his hands on some of Helen's money and run off.
It became Fran's theme from that moment on: "She's got enough, Joe. Listen, won't you? Five thousand-would five thousand mean that much ... It would be so easy, Joe. She'd give it to you out of the goodness of ... Drop in the bucket. There's more where that came from-lots more! You said she had a good job in New York, made a hundred and ... But why would she miss it? She'd go home and get married-, that's what she'd do. You said there was a guy back home who wanted to marry her. Guy with a good job-lawyer, you said...."
His anger gave way to disdain. Fran was cheap and hard. What could you expect of her? He'd have nothing to do with the idea. Not him! ... True, he himself had played with it long ago, as far back as Brooklyn. But he had only played with it ... It would kill Helen, kill her! And he'd be responsible for her death ... Responsible had he said? That was a nice way of putting it. He'd be her murderer, that's what! For he would have murdered her as surely as if he had put a gun up against her head ... No, not him-never!
Yet eventually Fran's persistence began to pay oil. Though he still swore that he hated her, cursed at her, ranted at her, and even slapped her occasionally, yet she knew that he was thinking of it, considering, weighing. She tried to tip the scales in her favor, reminding him: "You want it short and sweet, don't you Joe? You said so yourself. And think of how sweet that five thousand can make it. A great big lump of green sugar!"
He looked at her but said nothing. When he raised his hand to his forehead, she noticed that his lingers trembled.
One day when she was not thinking of it, had for the moment forgotten it, he said, "You're the big brain. Tell me how." lie had been thinking. In the end he realized it was really tough to make it with an older woman who doted on you.
He was not looking at her, was gazing idly at the wall across the room when he said it. She could not think of what he meant.
"What do you-?"
"The five grand you keep nagging me about Helen's money. How do we get our hands on it? Not that I intend to-" He Hushed and glanced at her angrily. "I'm just asking, get it?"
"I get it," she said softly, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice. She admitted that offhand she didn't know, hadn't planned that far ahead. "But now that it's decided-"
He pushed himself to his feet and stood close to her, snarling, his teeth bared. "I just told you it wasn't! Shut up! Keep your filthy trap shut!" lie turned from her in disgust and for several moments paced the room, puffing angrily at his cigarette, muttering under his breath. She had taken his seat on the couch and was watching him, when suddenly he paused, looked at her.
"She's got a bank account here, but I doubt it there's a thousand in it."
"Get her to transfer the rest."
"The rest? All thirty grand?"
"Why not?"
"Because she won't fall for it, that's why not. She's not an imbecile."
"Part of it, then."
"Part of it-yeah." lie crushed out his cigarette in the tray that was beside her on the couch and immediately lit another. "About seven grand, eh?"
"Ten."
"Seven is enough, if we're only going to take five." She shrugged.
He turned from her and began to pace the room, again returned to her. He stood over her, at her. His face was contorted with hate. She didn't mind. It wouldn't last long, a day or two at most. In the meantime she had the consolation of knowing she'd won her victory.
"When it's here, how do we get our hands on it?" he asked.
She told him they would think about that when it was here; for the present their problem was to get her to transfer it here.
"That's right-" he nodded thoughtfully-" first things first. What's your idea?"
"On getting her-"
"Don't stall. You know on what!" He was angry, nervous and irritable. I lis narrowed eves were fastened on her. there was sweat on his upper lip.
"I don't know." she said. "I haven't thought of it. (live me time to think."
He turned from her abruptly and walked to the door. But he paused with his hand on the knob, and glancing to her said, "I'm going out for some fresh air. I'll be hack in hall an hour. Meantime, try to think of something."
He was gone more than an hour, but when he returned she hadn't yet thought of anything. "It takes some sleeping on," she said.
"Sleep on it," ' he said. "I'll see you tomorrow, at about noon."'
"Won't you be at the club?"
"No, I'll take a night off. Spend some time with Helen, for a change."
For half an hour after the door had shut behind him she sat there frowning, lost in thought, carrying her "cigarette absently to and from her lips with long, thin, tobacco-stained fingers.
The following day she had to admit that she still hadn't thought of anything good.
"You might try telling her that a thousand isn't enough to meet emergency expenses-doctor bills, and that sort."
He shook his head. "Helen isn't stupid about money ... or about things, either. You've got the wrong idea about her."
"Have I?"
He reminded her that Helen had been to college and held down a good job, "At one fifty per. And she was paid for her brain, not her looks."
Fran puffed her cigarette and looked at him through narrowed eyes. She hated him at that moment, despised him, loathed him. But how many times more-infinite times more-did she hate Helen Carter!
"Don't worry your head about it," he said. "I've got an idea. It's not very good, but it'll work."
She asked him what it was. He said there was no need to waste words explaining, he would return to Helen now and start it going. It it worked, or seemed likely to, he would see Fran at the club tonight and tell her about it.
As he had said, it was not a very good plan. Its success was predicated not on its logic but on his power to sway the heart and mind of the poor submissive creature who loved him.
His conscience troubled him as he walked through the hot crowded streets on his way to Alton Road. "Why go on with it?" he asked himself over and over again. He had everything he wanted here. He would not be improving his lot by running off with Fran to California. Yet he knew that he would go through with it. he could not stop himself now, in fact that there was no other way. The seed of evil had been planted and it had taken root: he could not get the thought of those five thousand dollars-his own, to do with as he pleased-out of his mind. Yes, his own, his very own! For though he planned to run off with Fran to California, he had begun to toy with the idea of abandoning her there. He had plans for the future, vague as yet but rapidly taking shape.
When he once got his hands on that five thousand he would turn respectable. Go into some legitimate business perhaps; buy a home and a TV set, take up golf, become a straight and upstanding member of the community. He would not want her with him then-a cheap, hard tramp like her-to remind him of the past, of the cheating at cards, the petty larceny, the nights he'd spent at Mique's with Cal Royce. Above all, he would not want to have her with him because they would share the guilt of the crime they must commit against Helen Carter. Seeing her, talking with her every day, he could never forget.
Helen was waiting for him when he got home, he had told her he would be there at noon or shortly after, that he had something important to say to her.
She started to prepare his breakfast, for he had gone out without it. He stopped her.
"No, don't bother. I'm not very hungry. Had some orange juice and coffee on the way. Helen, I've been noticing something about you. I haven't told you about it, but I've noticed it."
She turned from the stove and stood facing him.
"You're homesick," he said.
She lowered her eyes for an instant, and that slight movement indicated to him that he had hit upon the truth. He needed no verification, however, for he had known it long ago, possibly the very day they left Brooklyn. It was a natural enough feeling in a girl like her, a decent girl who had lived a quiet secluded life within her own circle, never been very far from home.
"It's been bothering me, Helen."
"Bothering you?" She raised her eyes quickly and smiling came towards him. "Why darling? Why should it? I don't understand."
She had taken the bait, swallowed it whole.
He caught her hand in his and squeezed it. "I've been thinking that one of these days you might just pick up and leave me. No warnings, no goodbyes-just disappear."
"Joe, dear, you know I wouldn't."
He frowned thoughtfully and turned from her. He raised his hand to his mouth and stood thus, staring off into space, apparently pondering. She placed her hand gently on his shoulder. "Oh darling, you know-you just know I wouldn't! I'd be leaving a part of me behind. I'd rather the! I told you that once, darling, and I meant it. I'd the!"
"You could prove it to me, Helen," he said softly; "prove to me that you'd never leave me to return to them-Sue, Henry Kohler, Barton Whitmore, and the rest of it."
"You need no proof. You know!"
He turned to her, and smiling sadly said, "Humor me then, won't you sweet? Prove it to me."
"How can I? Tell me-I'll do it."
"It'll sound fantastic, I know. You won't believe me." He shook his head. "No. I won't tell you, you'll think I'm crazy. And yet, if only you would."
"What? What is it you'd have me do?"
He broke it gently: "Transfer some of your bank account here."
She looked at him in amazement. "Why? How would that prove ... I don't understand, darling."
Fie explained it to her. "You've got a thousand here, and that's enough for the time being, right? II we were transients and intended to return to New York in a month or so, it would be more than enough. Hut that's just it, don't you see? We're not transients, we're going to stay here permanently horn now on. You and me. We're going to settle down and live here."
"Oh, I see." There was doubt and uncertainty in her eyes. "You want me to put more money in the account so that you'd know-"
"So that I know you intend to stay on with with me-didn't intend to run back to them."
She shook her head and lowered her eyes. "It doesn't make sense, dear. How would that prevent me from running off?-Oh, but I wouldn't dear. How could I?"
"Then, just to humor me-put me at ease-do as I say."
She continued to debate the logic of it; yet he knew that in a little while she would submit. She had to she could refuse him nothing.
"How much?" she asked at last.
"Not much-a few thousand." He hesitated. "About seven, eh?"
"Seven thousand?" she considered a moment. "Do you want me to go to the bank this afternoon? There are papers to be made out."
"This afternoon would be all right. I'm not doing anything, so I could go with you."
The weeks that followed were most trying on poor Helen. She was weak, submissive, foolish, her eyes were clouded with the strange and almost unnatural love she felt for this boy. Yet she was as Joe himself had admitted-far from a stupid girl. A stupid girl might have entered, but surely would not have graduated from, college. A stupid girl would not have been capable of holding down the job she had, or have appeal as a wife to a-man like Henry Kohler. She knew that Joe had an ulterior motive in getting her to transfer part of her money to Miami Beach. She knew he was seeing Fran Mullins-the young hussy!-every night. He kept it no secret from her. She might even have guessed at what was on his mind, and who had put him up to it. Her instincts were sharp in such matters....
Yes, she knew, she couldn't go on deceiving herself! Joe, and that young hussy Fran Mullins, were planning to get their hands on the seven thousand which she had transferred. And then they would run off together! She must prevent it somehow. There was a way-there must be a way. For her sake, yes, but for his too. Not for the sake of the money, either. The way she felt now, she would give him it gladly, if only he would come to her and ask her for it, if she could only trust him to be honest with himself.
No, it was the prospect of his running off with Fran Mullins that alarmed her. Fran was a vulgar creature, hard, cynical and calculating. Should she once get Joe in her clutches she would never release him; she would ruin him, bring him down to her level, never let him rise again.
Worry began to tell on her. She stayed indoors, ate less, wept often, paced, the floor, muttered to herself. The problem never left her, never for a moment. She awoke with it on her mind, spent the long dreary day with it, slept with it. Occasionally a wisp of memory would float though her thoughts. She would seem to hear Sue's sweet voice, or see Barton Whitmore's kind face, or feel Henry Kohler's gentle, loving touch upon her wrist.
These tricks of the mind did not soothe her. She could think only of the wrong she had done them. Soft and submissive she might be to others, but to herself she was heartless. She did not allow the possibility that her loved ones might have forgiven her by this time. How could they?-she did not deserve to be forgiven for what she had done to them. And yet at the same time she realized she could not have helped herself, and would most certainly do it again if ever the same situation were to come up.
She began to suffer from headaches and insomnia, she lost weight, her color faded, circles of gray appeared around her eyes. When she walked she became dizzy, had to pause now and then and hold on. The things that had previously given her the merest bit of pleasure, she no longer allowed herself. No more ice cream or sweets. She refused to go to the beach with Joe. Without a sideward glance she passed the marquees of cozy air-conditioned movie houses. She ho longer read the books and novels she loved. Nothing mattered, nothing. Only that she must somehow think of a way to prevent Joe's running off with that awful creature!
One afternoon she was strolling aimlessly along Lincoln Road. It was mid-January and the winter season was at its height. The sidewalks were crowded to overflow with vacationers, the gutter was choked with autos and taxis. Horns were honking, humans were laughing and shouting, little Pekinese dogs were yapping. She looked about her and tried to focus her mind on something, to keep down the vertigo that' was rising in her. The sea of faces flowed by; the autos became shadows trimmed with chrome, and this chrome, reflecting the sun, cast beams which penetrated her brain. If only she could see an object, a thing, a person....
Then suddenly she thought she saw a familiar figure in the crowd ahead. She started after it, walking rapidly at first, then running. "Wait," she screamed. "Wait! It's me, Helen darter. Save me, Henry! Oh, you must save me, Hen-ry!"
She fell down in a faint.