79 Park Avenue (25 page)

"What're you doin' here?" she asked angrily.

Joe laughed. "We came to help our girl celebrate the weddin', that's all, honey."

She turned to Gordon. "When did they get here?"

"Thish—thish afternoon." He tried to concentrate his gaze on her, but there was too much pain in his head. He needed another drink. He picked up the bottle and held it toward her. "Drink?"

She shook her head.

He drank from the bottle. The whisky felt good in his throat. It was warm and reassuring. He lowered the bottle and looked at her. "I needed that," he said. "Sure you won't have one?"

"No, thanks," she said dryly. She took out a cigarette and lit it. The smoke curied slowly from her Ups.

Joe stood in front of her. "Cmon, have a drink," he urged. "It'll put yuh in the mood for the show."

Her voice was cold. "What show?"

Evelyn staggered from the couch. *'We was tellin' your boy frien' about our act. Joe thought it w^ould be tun to put it on for him."

She turned to Gordon, ignoring the girl. "They told you." It was more statement than question.

He nodded.

Her voice was calm. "You listened without giving me a chance to tell you?" This was more question than statement.

He held the photographs toward her. "The pictures did all the talking. I didn't have to hear anything."

She glanced at them briefly, then silently handed them back to him. He threw them on the table and turned away from her, unable to meet her gaze. "You should have told me," he muttered.

**You wouldn't let me," she answered. "Every time I

wanted tx), you said you didn't care what I had been. You said you knew enough about me."

He didn't answer.

She turned to Joe, her voice cutting. "Same old Joe. Anything to grab a buck. Hope you made out real good this time.'*

"Don't be sore, honey," he said, coming toward her. "The heat's off. We can put on the ol' act again." He tried to take her arm.

Her hand moved so swiftly that his eye couldn't follow. There was just the sharp shock, then the red-and-white stain on his face where her open palm had struck.

"Why, you bitch!" he exclaimed, taking an angry step toward her. "I'U learn yuh!"

A taunting smile came to her lips. "Learn me," she said softly.

He stopped, his eyes focused on her hand. The blade gleamed in the Hght. He stepped back quickly.

Gordon stared at them. "Mary!" he cried.

She turned to him. There was a hurt, angry sound in her voice. "Yuh're just as bad as they are. Yuh wouldn't listen to me, but yuh'd listen to anyone who came to yuh with a story. Did they tell yuh how they ran out an' stuck me without money an' clothes in an apartment? I bet yuh got a big yak outta that, too!"

He didn't speak, but his eyes stared into hers.

"They didn't tell yuh all of it, they didn't know," she continued angrily. "After they left, I hit the turf. I had to. To pay off the rent an' live. I did real good. Forty bucks a day. That's what I was doin' the day yuh picked me up!"

"No, Mary," he groaned.

"But it wasn't enough that I left yuh alone," she said. "You had to come after me. You had to make it a big

thing." Her voice broke suddenly and became very small. *'I was the sucker, not you. I thought this was the McCoy, the genuine article. 1 thought that for once there was some-thin' in this world for me. 1 was wrong." She turned and started for the door.

Gordon caught her arm. There was a curious guilt in him. "Mary."

She looked up into his face, a faint flicker of hope coming into her eyes. "Yuh stopping me, Gordon?" she asked.

He didn't answer. He saw the light fade suddenly from her eyes.

She shook his hand from her arm, and the door closed quickly behind her. He stood there staring at it for a moment, then turned to the others.

Joe forced a laugh to his Ups. "Yuh're better off without her, buddy."

Gordon didn't answer for a moment. When he spoke, he didn't recognize his own voice. It was harsh and filled with hatred. "Get out!" he said. "Get out, the two of you, before I kill you both!"

She staggered blindly down the walk. Tears filled her eyes and silently spilled down her cheeks.

A gentle voice spoke next to her. "Kin I git you a jitney. Miss Mary?"

She looked up. The old colored man was standing there, a world of understanding in his eyes. She shook her head. "No, thank you, Tom." Her voice was cracked and husky. *T—I think I'll walk a bit."

"I'll walk a ways with you if you allows me, Miss Mary," he said in his gentle, polite voice. "It's lonely out this way at night."

"I'U be aU right," she said. "Fm not afraid."

He nodded slowly. "You sho' ain't, Miss Mary. You the mos' woman I seen in a long time."

She stared at him without speaking. Suddenly she understood. **You knew all the time," she said in a wondering voice.

He nodded.

"Yet you never told him. Why?"

His eyes looked right into hers. "Because what I said. You a real woman. But Mr. Gordon, he's nothin' but a boy. I was hopin' you would be his makin'. Not no more. Not ever."

She took a deep breath. "Thank you, Tom." She began to walk away.

He hurried after her. "I got some money. Miss Mary," he said quickly, "in case you is a little short."

For the first time that evening a real warmth seeped through her. Instinctively she took the old man's hand. "I can manage, Tom."

The old man dropped his eyes. *Tm sorry, pow'ful sorry. Miss Mary."

She looked at hun for a moment, and a warm, friendly look came into her face. "I've changed my mind, Tom. There is something you can do for me."

He looked up quickly. "Yes, Miss Mary?"

*Tm goin' to ride home. Get me a jitney," she said.

**Yes, Miss Mary."

She watched him hurry down the street toward the main avenue, where cars would be running. She took out another cigarette and lit it. She dragged deeply on the cigarette and looked up at the sky.

The stars were bright and shining and the moon hung heavy in the sky. The faint roar of the surf came to her ears

264 79 PARK AVENUE

and a warm, soft breeze came from the ocean. Suddenly she snapped the cigarette out into the gutter. Her mind was made up.

She had enough of Florida. She was going back to New York. The stars were too bright down here.

Chapter 13

MIKE lifted his eyes from the book in front of him and rubbed them wearily. They felt red and raw and burning. He looked out the window. It was still snowing. In the next room the telephone began to ring. He could hear his mother's voice answering it.

Slowly he closed the books. It was almost time for him to go to work. He had the night beat this month. He got out of the chair and went into the bathroom. His shaving-gear was already spread out on the sink.

He was working the lather into his face when his mother came to the door behind him. "I'm gettin' your breakfast ready, son," she said.

*'Thanks, Mom," he answered, taking the razor and beginning to shave.

She stood there watching him. After a few moments he became conscious of her gaze. "What is it, Mom?" he asked.

She shook her head and began to turn away, then

turned back to him. "You didn't sleep much," she said. "I heard you up siround three o'clock."

"I wasn't tired," he answered. "Besides, I had those books to* read. The pohce examinations come up in a couple of months. You wouldn't want me to be a rookie all my life, would you?"

"No," she answered. "But I would like it better if you were more Uke other lads. It would do you good to go out once in a while instead of all the time burying your nose in them books. Now there's that Gallagliei girl, the druggist's daughter. I see her on the street every day, and every time she asks about you—"

"Ma, I told yuh a dozen times I ain't got no time for girls," he said impatiently. "There'll be time enough for that later. Right now I got too much to do."

She met his eyes steadily in the mirror. "If it was that Marja, you would have time."

He could feel his face flush. "Forget her. Mom. I told yuh that was over."

His mother's eyes were suddenly gentle. "I can forget her, son," she said, turning away. "But can you?"

He Ustened to her footsteps go down the hall, then looked at his face in the mirror. Absently he took a stroke with the razor. A tingling, burning sensation caught his cheek. "Damn!" he said aloud, lowering the razor. He reached for the styptic pencU to stanch the blood.

Quickly he held the white pencil to the cut in his cheek. Its caustic edge burned deeply. Marja, he thought. Marja. " He wondered if his mother was right. He dried his face and walked over to the window. It was still snowing.

He wondered what Marja was doing.

The big clock in the lobby said eight o'clock when

i

Mary came out of the hotel. The snow had covered the streets with a white blanket and muflfled aU the traflSc noises. She turned up 49th Street toward Sixth Avenue. There woxild be more action around Rockefeller Center.

Altogether, there was a better class of trade. The tourists and the white-collar workers from that area had more to spend. Broadway and Seventh and Eighth Avenues were nothing but two-dollar tricks. A giri had a chance for a five- or ten-dollar trick on Sixth Avenue.

She looked up at the sky. It was still snowing heavily. There wouldn't be much doing tonight, but she couldn't afford to stay in. She had no money left, and rent was due m a few days. She walked along slowly, her face turned away from the street toward the store windows as if she were interested in what they had to offer.

Actually, she was looking at the windows as if they were mirrors. Each man who came by was carefully scrutinized and, by instinct alone, appraised. She turned left on Sixth and walked to the comer of 50th. Almost no one was out. She went into the cafeteria on the comer and ordered a cup of coffee.

She took it to a seat near the window, where she could watch the entrance to the Music Hall across the street. There would be a show break in about twenty minutes. Crowds would pour out then, and very often there was some action in them. The yokel sports made the early show so they could have the night free.

Her cup was almost empty when the theater began to empty. .Quickly she finished the coffee and walked across the street. She stood in a comer of the lobby as if waiting for an appointment.

An usher walked by. She glanced at her watch impa-

tiently as if tired of waiting. People pushed by, but they were nothing but faces. The crowd was thinning now. A few minutes more and she would go out into the snow again. It looked as if there was nothing here tonight.

She was about to leave when an instinct made her look up. A man standing across the lobby was watching her. Quickly she looked at his shoes. They were brown. Automatically that made him safe. Cops wore black shoes. Slowly she looked up into his face again, her eyes carefully blank, then turned and sauntered out into the street.

She waited on the comer for the traffic light. Without turning around, she knew that the man had followed her. When the light changed she crossed the street and entered the RCA building. She went down a small flight of stairs into the arcade and stopped in front of a window.

In its reflection she could see the man pass behind her. He stopped at a window a few doors away. She walked slowly past him, through the revolving door, and up the steps. She went past the post office and stopped in front of a restaurant that had the lower half of its windows painted black so that you could not see into it. Here she opened her pocketbook and took out a cigarette. She was about to light it when a flame sprang up next to her.

The man's hand was trembling slightly as she looked up at him. He had a round, smooth face and dark eyes. He seemed okay. "Thank you," she said, lighting her cigarette.

He smiled. "Can I buy you a drink?" His voice was guttural and heavy.

She raised an inquiring eyebrow. Her voice was friendly and devoid of insult. "Is that all you want?"

The man seemed flustered. "No-no," he stammered. «But—"

**Then why add to the overhead?" she smiled. "You don't have to spend money on me."

He cleared his throat, drawing himself up as if hoping to appear a man of the world. *'Er—ah, how much?"

**Ten dollars," she said quickly, watching him carefully, ready to come down in price if he seemed to balk.

**Okay," he said.

She smiled and took his arm. Together they walked up the stairs and out into the street. She led him toward the hotel. "There's nothing like snow in the winter," she said.

"Yeah," he answered.

"But it's no good in the city. Everything gets all slopped up. You can't do anything."

He ventured a joke. "I'm doin' okay."

She laughed and held his arm tighter. He wasn't so dumb. They were near the hotel now. She took her hand from his arm. "I'm goin' in here," she said. "Give me five minutes, then come up to room 209, second floor. Room 209. Got it?"

He nodded. "Two-oh-nine. Five minutes."

She was wearing a kimona when the knock came at the door. Quickly she crossed the room and opened it. The man stood there hesitantly. "Come in," she said.

He entered slowly and stood in the middle of the room as she closed and locked the door. She turned toward him. "Your coat," she said.

"Oh, yes." He shrugged off his coat and handed it to her. She put it on a hanger and hung it on the door. When she turned back, he already had his jacket off and was loosening his tie.

She smiled and sat on the edge of the bed, her legs

swinging. He watched her as he took off his shirt. Muscles rippled in his shoulders. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Mary," she answered.

"How come you're doin' this, Mary?" he asked. "You seem like too nice a girl—"

A bored look crossed her face. They all had the same question. Sometimes she thought they came more for the story than for anything else. She shrugged her shoulders. "A girl's gotta eat," she said.

He started to loosen his belt.

"Haven't you forgot something?" she asked.