Calico Palace (86 page)

Marny shook her head. “If you told Kendra something in confidence, she wouldn’t pass it on.”

“It was a bad experience,” said Pocket. “It hurt me deep down. I told Kendra I was over it. Well, I
was
over it. I mean, it didn’t hurt any more. But I think the girl had left me—well, numb. Not hurting any more, but not feeling anything either. I’ve had plenty to do with women since then. I like women, but I didn’t feel anything like love for any of them. I think my heart was sort of knocked unconscious and had to come back to life. And that took time.”

Marny did not answer. She stood running a finger back and forth along the windowsill. Still standing by the table where she had left him, Pocket went on,

“But my heart isn’t numb any more. I do love you, Marny.”

There was another pause. Marny stood with her face turned away from him. She felt distraught. Pocket had said he loved her, and Pocket was one of the sincerest persons she had ever known. And while Norman could tell Hortensia about the ease with which California women could get rid of unwanted husbands, Marny knew this would not be true of herself. She had an independent spirit, but she did not have the sort of callousness it would take to throw away a man like Pocket as she would have thrown away a broken chair. His words had shaken her deeply, and Marny objected to this reminder that she had any depths to be shaken.

At length she turned toward him, her back to the window.

“You haven’t forgotten,” she said, “I’ve done a good deal of shopping around.”

“I know,” he replied serenely.

“And for more reasons than love.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?”

“All right, all right,” said Pocket. “You’ve had affairs with half the population. So have I. The other half. And of course, you know we’re both lying.”

“Why do you say that?”

Pocket smiled, slowly and wisely. “Because, my dear girl, you’re too fastidious. And as for me—I’m pretty good, Marny, and I’ll brag as much as any other man, but I’m not
that
good.”

Marny laughed as she heard him. “Pocket, I do like you,” she said. But she sobered quickly. “Very well, let’s leave it at that. I’ve had several lovers. Aren’t you afraid I might want to change again?”

“You might,” said Pocket. “But if you did you’d say so, and leave. You wouldn’t cheat.”

“How do you know I wouldn’t?”

“Because I know you,” said Pocket. “I’ve learned a lot since I let that other girl knock my heart numb. You’re honest. You don’t cheat yourself when you play solitaire. So you don’t cheat the other players when you’re gambling. A person who’s honest with himself is honest with other people.”

Marny thoughtfully pulled at a lock of red hair that had slipped down over her cheek. “Yes, I remember Shakespeare had something to say about that. You’re right, if I were married I wouldn’t do any dodging about. It’s too much trouble.”

“It’s no trouble for some women,” said Pocket, “but you like a simple uncluttered life. Now will you marry me?”

Marny looked at the windowpane, and back at him. “I can’t cook,” she said.

“Then,” said Pocket, “we’d better plan to live in a hotel.”

“Oh Pocket,” she exclaimed, “let’s stop this nonsense. We’re not planning anything. We couldn’t be married. We’re too different. We don’t like the same things.”

“What would that matter, as long as we liked each other?”

Again, as when she sat by the table, Marny looked at her hands. She spread out her fingers, as if taking pride in how firm and competent they were. “It would matter!” she protested. “You don’t drink, you don’t gamble—” At those words she looked up, her green eyes bright with curiosity. “Pocket, why don’t you?”

“Why don’t I what?”

“Well, why don’t you ever touch liquor?”

At her question, Pocket began to laugh. His laughter was almost a giggle, like that of a little boy caught in a bit of harmless mischief. “If I tell you, will you keep my secret?”

“Yes, of course, but why is it a secret?”

“Because,” said Pocket, “it’s kind of embarrassing. The fact is, Marny, I don’t drink because I can’t.”

“Don’t tell me you belong to the sort of people who take one little sample and then can’t stop till they’re dead drunk. I don’t believe it.”

“I’ve never been drunk in my life,” said Pocket. “I can’t get drunk. Liquor doesn’t make me drunk, it puts me to sleep. One little sample and I start to yawn. Two little samples and I’m sound asleep with my head on the table. I can’t help it. That’s the way I am. I’ve watched men at bars, raising their glasses and having fun, and I wonder how they feel. I’d like to find out, but I can’t stay awake long enough.” His lips were quivering with amusement. “Now what else is it you wanted to know?”

Still standing by the window, Marny asked, “Why don’t you gamble?”

“Same reason. It puts me to sleep.”

She did not understand this, and he explained,

“I mean, it bores me. I can’t get interested.”

Reaching into the pocket of her skirt, Marny took out her ever-present pack of cards. “I like playing cards,” she reminded him. “For you or anybody else, I don’t mean to stop.”

“I haven’t asked you to stop.”

Marny thought this over. When she spoke again she spoke seriously. “Pocket, I like you. I think I like you better than anybody else I know. But marriage—no. I’m not the marrying type.”

“You’re the type I want,” he said with assurance.

“No,” said Marny. She thought a moment, then went on. “I have a lot of respect for you, Pocket, and I’m proud that you want me. But it wouldn’t work.” She came back to his table and picked up her gloves. “Now I’d better go. I’ll get back to my business and you can get back to yours.”

He shook his head, but she touched the papers lying on the table.

“You were at work this morning. Now go back to it.”

“I’d rather talk to you,” said Pocket.

He spoke with confident good humor, but Marny wanted to discuss this subject no more. To keep the talk away from herself she touched the big sheet with the diagram on it. “What’s this? It looks like a street map.”

“That’s what it is,” said Pocket. “A copy of that map on the wall.”

Marny picked up the sheet. The map was clear and well detailed. With a glance at the sheets covered with figures she asked, “What are you doing? Or maybe you’d rather not tell me.”

“Why no ma’am,” said Pocket, “I don’t mind telling you. I own some property around town. And most of the buildings,” he added with a rueful smile, “were not put up by Dwight Carson. They went down in the fire, which means a big job of rebuilding. I’ve been figuring costs.”

While he talked, Marny had been looking over the map. “These X-marks in boxes,” she said inquiringly. “They aren’t in the wall map. What do they mean?”

“They mark my lots,” said Pocket.

“Oh, I see. Then you own—
Pocket
!”

“Yes ma’am?”

Marny lowered the map. Her green eyes were big with amazement. In a shocked voice she asked, “Pocket—do you own
all
these lots?”

“Yes ma’am,” he answered simply.

Thunderstruck, Marny gasped, “Pocket—you must own half of Montgomery Street!”

“Oh no,” he returned modestly. “Not that much.”

Marny’s eyes were searching the map. “And you own this lot we’re standing on.”

“Yes ma’am,” said Pocket.

“And these lots on Kearny Street!” said Marny. “You own the ground under the Calico Palace—”

“Yes ma’am.”

“—so you’re the landlord who’s been squeezing us for that outrageous rent, all this time—”

“Nobody would have let you have it for less,” Pocket said without concern. “If you want a spot on the plaza you’ve got to pay for it.”

“—and you’re the bloodsucker who gets all those other rents from Norrington—”

“Not all,” said Pocket. “Norrington collects rents for other owners besides me.”

“—and you own the house Loren and Kendra lived in,” Marny continued sharply, still studying the map. “You’re that nameless cavalier who offered Kendra the house rent free after Loren died. Yes, she told me about that. Oh Pocket,” Marny exclaimed with reproach, “you’re a skirt-chaser but you’re not a fool! Didn’t you know Kendra wouldn’t say yes to any such proposition?”

“Now this I won’t take,” Pocket interrupted her sternly. “I didn’t have any such notion in the back of my mind. I didn’t know Norrington had dunned her for the rent until he told me she couldn’t pay. I knew what Kendra had been through. I was there, same as you were. I told Norrington never to dun another tenant of mine without getting my approval first, and told him to let Kendra have the house as long as she pleased. It didn’t occur to me she’d read my offer the way she did. I just didn’t think of it, that’s all.”

Marny regarded him with a faint smile, as if reproving a naughty boy. “You
are
pretty simple-minded sometimes,” she remarked.

“I’m afraid so,” he admitted meekly. “Anyway, that’s how it was. But when I heard she was going back to the Calico Palace, I thought if I really wanted to do her a service I’d let her go. It was better for her to keep busy than to sit alone all day with nothing to do but brood about her sorrow. Don’t you think so?”

“Yes, I think so. You’re a nice fellow, Pocket. Even if you do have your witless moments.” Marny had laid the map on the table again. Looking down at it, she stroked the design with her fingertips. “Pocket,” she asked thoughtfully, “how long have you been buying town lots?”

“Ever since I’ve been in California,” said Pocket. “When I got here nobody knew anything about gold, but with such a harbor and such fine ranch land around it, I could see that San Francisco was a settlement bound to grow. I bought some lots in town while I was a clerk up at Sutter’s Fort. That was four years ago, back in ’47, before you got here.”

“I’d love to know,” said Marny, “what you paid for them in those days. Do you mind telling?”

“Why no ma’am. At an auction you could get a lot close to the water for fifty or a hundred dollars—”

“On Montgomery Street!”

“Yes ma’am. The town lots farther inland cost twelve dollars, and you paid three dollars and sixty-two cents more to register your title.”

Marny thought of the fortune those lots would cost today. She gave a deep respectful sigh. “And you’ve been buying land ever since.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Marny looked down at the map. Pocket waited politely. She wondered if he had ever been noisy about anything, or impatient, or uncivil. Impulsively she looked up and spoke.

“Pocket, I asked you why you didn’t drink or gamble, and you told me. Now tell me something else.”

“Why of course,” he answered. “Ask me anything.”

He smiled at her, and his eyes met hers. They were standing on opposite sides of the table. What pleasant eyes he had, she thought, that hazelnut color of bright ruddy brown, with dark brows and lashes. She asked, “Pocket, why do you keep it a secret, how rich you are?”

“Why, it’s not exactly a secret,” he answered genially. “Hiram and Mr. Eustis know my holdings because I do business through their bank; and Norrington knows.”

“But you don’t live rich!” she exclaimed. “Why did you choose to live in that little room downstairs, when you might have had a suite in some comfortable place like the Union Hotel?”

“I’m right comfortable in my little room,” said Pocket. “I don’t have to go out in the wind and rain to get to my office, and anyway, I’m not a showy fellow.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Hiram wasn’t being showy when he lived in the Union Hotel! Why shouldn’t a man live well if he can afford it?”

“Hiram’s a banker,” said Pocket, as if this gave her a key to her question. “People expect a banker to be hard-hearted.”

With a puzzled frown Marny asked, “What’s that got to do with it?”

“Quite a lot,” said Pocket. He spoke with amusement. “Marny, rich men get
pestered
so. I’m not mean or stingy. I’m glad to help folks in trouble. But I won’t be pestered by every whining lazybones in town.”

Marny smiled in assent. “And you couldn’t get a stony reputation if you tried.”

“No, I couldn’t,” he answered with innocent regret. “You know, Marny, if a man has been raised to have manners, and if he has an easy voice and kindly ways, folks get the idea that he’s not only soft-hearted, he’s soft-headed. And if word goes out that he’s rich too, then the leeches come swarming.” Pocket gave a shrug and a sigh.

For a moment or two Marny said nothing. She looked at the map. Then, raising her head, in a wondering voice she asked, “Pocket—all this—why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why should I?” he asked.

“You’re a very rich man,” said Marny.

“Well, yes, I suppose so.”

“Don’t ‘suppose so.’ Any man who has sense enough to acquire this much property in the right places has sense enough to know what it’s worth. Now answer me this. When you asked me to marry you, why didn’t you tell me how rich you were?”

“Why Marny,” he said with surprise, “I didn’t think of it. Why should I tell you?”

“Why shouldn’t you?”

“Oh, it sounds—so mercenary. It sounds like I thought you were in love with money.”

There was a moment of silence. Marny stood looking straight at him. She said clearly, “Pocket, when did I ever say a word, or do one single thing, to suggest to you that I was not in love with money?”

Pocket caught his breath. His eyes opened wider. “Why Marny!” he almost gasped. “If you had known I was rich—would you have said yes?”

She gave a short little laugh. “Now that it’s too late, I might as well tell the truth. Of course I would.”

“You would?” Pocket echoed.

Marny shrugged. “I would. But I didn’t know you were a gold mine, so I didn’t stake a claim.”

Pocket gave the merriest chuckle she had heard from any man in a long time. He said, “All right, now you know. Will you marry me?”

M
ARNY PUT HER HAND
to her throat as if she felt herself choking. She stood staring at him. With an effort she found her voice. “May the Lord take care of you,” she said slowly. “You don’t know enough to take care of yourself.”

“You haven’t answered,” said Pocket.

“I’m answering,” she returned. “I’m saying I never met a man so stupid in my life.”