Some Came Running (96 page)

Frank, of course, was overjoyed when he learned the results. He had been sweating it out for over three months now, never saying a word to anyone, while anxious all the time to talk about it with somebody, and when the long-distance call came from Clark’s father-in-law cheerfully asking him if he could come up to Springfield, he had taken off right away.

He was sitting in the store office just watching Edith work, when the call came in (there wasn’t really much of anything for him to do around the store anymore; Al and his new assistant were handling everything), and he had gone home and packed a bag and said goodby to Agnes, and taken off in the Buick. It was mid-morning when the call came in, and he got there late in the afternoon. It was in many ways—except for his natural anxiety—one of the pleasantest drives he had ever made in his life. Everything was going well at home, he and Agnes were actually getting along better than they had in years, Edith was still the same old dependable levelheaded Edith, the Buick was running beautifully, and he could not hardly help but believe that they would have at least some luck for him up there with the land when he got there.

As soon as he got in, he and Clark’s father-in-law and the Greek had gotten together for a conference downtown in the Greek’s big, rich office, and they had told him the news. It was, of course, much better than any of them had really expected. Clark himself was not there but had left his interests and ideas in the hands of his father-in-law to handle. Whatever they all decided to do would, he had said, be all right with him.

It turned out, when the Greek had finished laying everything out for them, that they all three of them—he, Clark, and Clark’s father-in-law—each had a good deal more of his initial capital left than any of them had anticipated. Even after the Greek had been paid off. Partly this was due to the fact that they could not buy any more than what they could, of course; but partly it was due to the lucky stroke of being able to buy the one man’s frontage without having to buy his whole farm, and also partly it was due to the excellent work done by the Greek’s organization. As a result, both Frank and Clark would have considerably more money available to put back into the Parkman Village Shopping Center. And between the three, they now had most of the best land for development along the bypass. All they had to do was just sit back and wait until the road was put through and people began to want to buy spots for businesses out there, and they could all turn a very neat profit.

But Frank did not want to do this, and told them both so. Although the Greek, of course, was no longer in it, since his part was done and paid for. But Frank, encouraged by finding that he had quite a bit more money left than he had expected, began to lay out for them enthusiastically his whole scheme of development of the shopping center and along with it the movies houses, motels, restaurants, et cetera. To his astonishment, the Greek (it was Clark’s father-in-law he had been trying to impress) suddenly decided point-blank that he himself would like to put some money into it. He thought, he said, if it was done properly it could be a tremendous moneymaking venture. Clark’s father-in-law, who was evidently as astonished as Frank at the Greek’s decision, then decided that if it was good enough for the Greek, he and Clark had better go along, too.

And Frank, hardly able to believe his own good luck, did not say anything about the factories. Anyway they could not get that much of the land; but in his mind, he still had not given up on it. There was always still the possibility that, by paying a stiffer price later on, he might be able to get at least enough of the rest of the land to swing it. But he did not tell them this right now. Better to wait, until all this other was settled first. Some people just didn’t have the ability to see that far ahead all at once. But he’d bring them around, eventually, he thought to himself.

What they decided to do, now that they were agreed upon going into it, was to leave all of the land in Frank’s name. The Greek would see that the deeds were all made to him; it would appear that he was the sole purchaser. Then the four of them would form a development corporation, each holding shares according to his capital, and Frank would sign an agreement with the corporation giving them first option on buying or any development. Then the corporation would, in turn, back Frank individually in building the Parkman Village Shopping Center, which would be a separate venture, by buying whatever share of it was necessary to fill out the needed capital. Clark’s father-in-law would tear up Frank’s mortgages on the store and the house in Parkman for an equal amount of shares in the venture. Frank would throw the Route 1 corner lot, the one where the shopping center would stand, in with the aggregate as part of his share in the capital—and, the Greek smiled, since it was all his idea in the first place anyway, he thought they ought to raise the value of the lot from what Frank had paid for it up to whatever it would be worth after the bypass went through. Smiling also, Clark’s father-in-law agreed for himself and for Clark, and Frank once again found himself thinking with the same sense of astonishment that he had never run into such businessmen before.

The rest of the land, of course, would be under the control of the development corporation, though, of course, this would not appear so to anyone outside the immediate group. Then, depending on how the shopping center came along they would decide what and when to build next. Probably a good filling station, the Greek thought, and a motel next. But the secret he said was to make everything as good a quality as they could, even if that meant holding off awhile on further development, because only with the quality places could you get the quality clientele—and the quality prices. Let the cheap tourists go someplace else. They were all agreed on that.

The state, Clark’s father-in-law told them, was already in process of buying up their right-of-way now. As soon as the deeds in question could be made over to Frank, he could complete his own sales of right-of-way to them. The state expected to begin the grading work this fall, he had been told. With any luck, they ought to be ready to pour the road next fall. That meant that sometime during the winter they ought to start to begin looking into plans about the shopping center. He knew an excellent architect’s firm in Chicago who could handle it for them. He could arrange for Frank to meet with them any time they were ready.

The Greek said that the deeds and right-of-way sales could all be accomplished easily tomorrow early. He would take care of that part. Now, what else was there?

When they left the Greek’s office in downtown Springfield, it was after nine o’clock and already dark. Frank was staying at the Abraham Lincoln. Clark’s father-in-law had asked them both home with him to take dinner. But the Greek had had another engagement, and Frank—thinking about the beautiful breasts and blonde hair of Betty Lee—had declined also. He did not want to be taking any chances with anything now. So instead the old man had called up from the Greek’s office another “friend of Clark’s” to look after him for the evening. (The other “friend of Clark’s” Frank had known before was with Clark, campaigning.) Frank was beginning to catch on a little. The first “friend of Clark’s” was such a pleasant man he had thought he actually was a friend of Clark’s, until just now. He could not help wondering what all these “friends of Clark’s” did when they were not looking after Clark’s or Clark’s father-in-law’s out-of-town friends.

The man, who said his name was Eddie Berra, called him from downstairs in the hotel while he was dressing, and Frank told him to come on up. This second friend of Clark’s turned out to be a small, wiry young man with quick bright eyes. He was, he said, glad to meet any other friend of Clark’s. Or the old man’s. He thought he might line them up a couple dates if, of course, Frank wanted.

While Frank was tying his tie and putting on his coat, this second friend of Clark’s sat down by the telephone table and began calling. Only once did he get an answer, and it was a negative one. He must have made close to thirty phone calls for Frank. Finally, he had to shrug and give it up.

It was decided they would go out together somewhere themselves and have some drinks and dinner and maybe they might run onto somebody. “See, lots of the gals, if they don’t have dates, they go out together someplace. Maybe they happen to meet fellows, you know?” he said. “Okay?”

It was all right with Frank.

“But now if it’s only a girl you want,” the wiry little man said, “I know plenty of places we can go.”

“Oh no,” Frank said. “I wasn’t lookin for a girl especially. Hell, I’m an old married man. It’s just that—you know—it’s always nicer to have somebody along when you go out.”

The man nodded. “Sure,” he said. “I know. Well now, you just take your choice.”

“Let’s go eat,” Frank said.

They went, at Eddie’s suggestion, to another one of the big hotels first. Then they went on, to the clubs. They hit all of them, but they did not have any luck. Frank, after he had had a number of drinks (Eddie did not drink much, it turned out), pointed out several prospects, but Eddie always shook his head. “I’ll try them for you, if you want,” he said; “but I can tell you right now it’s no soap.”

“But how the hell can you tell?”

Eddie grinned. “Hell, I know almost everybody in this town. Them gals all got guys, Frank.”

“Then what’re they doin out by themselves?”

“The guys are probly home with their wives,” Eddie grinned. “Come on, let’s try some other joint.”

They hit a number of them, having a number of drinks in each—or rather, Frank had a number of drinks, and by then, it had become a different evening entirely, for Frank, at least. He had been getting frustrateder and frustrateder and drunker and drunker. He wished now he had never started it. Everything had turned into a continuous succession of rounds: drink, bar, prospect—all unsuccessful, with no rest or break in between like the merry-go-round. You rode it and rode it and the faces and lights ran together and always it kept passing and re-passing the brass ring before you were ever quite ready to reach. None of it seemed to bother wiry little Eddie, however.

“Don’t you think we better go somewhere and eat, Frank?” he said several times.

But Frank did not want to go and eat. He wanted to get drunker and drunker, and go faster and faster, and eventually he would catch the brass ring. Did Eddie understand? “Sure,” Eddie said. “Sure, Frank. The brass ring.”

In one bar—by now it was after midnight—Frank approached a woman sitting alone, against the advice of Eddie who said he knew her, and asked her if she would care to go out with him for dinner. He half-bowed politely, and was, in fact, preparing to widen his pleasant smile when her answer braked screechingly into sudden focus like the Lone Ranger’s horse.

“Beat it, bum!” she said.

Shocked, both in his pride and because he had not seen what kind of woman she was at first, he inclined his head stiffly and murmured, “Thank you, madam,” and made his way with great dignity back to the table where Eddie sat. Later on, as they were leaving, he saw Eddie stop and speak briefly to the woman. Probably Old Eddie was setting her straight on who she had been talking to.

In another place—the last place they went to, in fact—Frank became enamored of the waitress who waited on them. The more he saw her, the more beautiful he could see that she was, and he had made up his mind he was going to have her tonight. He was making out with her quite well, too, until he made her mad; but how was he to know she was some kind of a damned anti-feminist? He had given her several lewd winks, and made several suggestive remarks, to all of which she had responded smilingly, and a couple of times when she brought him drinks had sort of leaned sideways against her leg as she set them down.

But then, as she was setting down still another drink for him, he had taken hold of her wrist in a manly way to let her know he was really serious. It was the signal for a miniature explosion. She had quietly got one of his fingers with her other hand and bent it back until he had to snatch his hand back or she would have broken his damned finger.

For a moment, he was half of a mind to just haul off and bust her in the jaw. But then from the corner of his eye, he saw Old Eddie wink at him and shake his head, and he desisted. Old Eddie was right, of course. After all, it was a public place. And by then, she was gone, of course, anyway.

Frank was as shocked—and infuriated—by her change in attitude, as he had been with what the other woman had said when he had only politely asked her to go out to dinner.

“What the hell?” he protested. “What got into her?”

“Oh, you know how women are,” Eddie said.

“You go over and talk to her, Eddie. Tell her, hell, I didn’t mean nothing. Tell her we’ll meet her after they close up.”

He watched while Eddie went over to the bar and talked to her. But when he came back, he said:

“I can’t do a thing with her, Frank. You made her mad when you took hold of her.”

“But, hell,” Frank said. “Well, maybe I better go over and talk to her myself.”

“No, I wouldn’t do that, Frank, if I were you.” Eddie grinned. “She’s too mad. She’d be liable to call cops on you.”

“Hell, I didn’t know she was some kind of a anti-feminist,” Frank protested. “I don’t know what the hells gettin into American women anymore. They don’t want
men,
they all want
kids.
That they can handle.”

“They all got it too easy, Frank,” Eddie said. “They think they got everything coming to them on a silver platter.”

“Well, I for one got a bellyful of it,” Frank said. “Well, let’s have another drink,” he said.

“Let’s have it at the hotel instead,” Eddie said. “I want to blow this firetrap. That gal’s got me disgusted.”

“Okay, Eddie,” Frank said, “if you say so. I guess she’s got me disgusted, too.”

But at the hotel, his stiff anger gone, Frank could not escape a deep sense of horror. The shocks both women had given him had not dissipated, and he was filled with an almost frightening embarrassment. And he could not get over this feeling that something was happening to American women anymore. They all seemed to be turning into Geneve Lowes or Dotty Callters. They had no softness or understanding anymore. And, in fact, it seemed to him that the only single person he had met all night who understood him at all was Old Eddie, Clark’s friend.