Vanity Row

by W. R. Burnett

  He got up and began to pace the floor. The sobbing had stopped now. Once more time seemed to stand still.

  The sobbing started again, then Roy heard a faint scream and the girl cried: "Oh, my God!" to emptiness.

  Roy tried to read a magazine he found on a table. He looked at it for fifteen minutes before he discovered that it was a woman's magazine and that he was reading an article on how to increase the size and attractiveness of your "bust."

  He threw it on the floor, cursing, then he went into one of the bedrooms and lay down on the bed in the dark. He felt like leaving the world for a little while and finding a cleaner, simpler and more peaceful place. He fought against this irrational notion, trying to laugh at himself…

  … he woke with a start. He could hear the big girl shouting: "Captain! Captain!" and running about looking for him, her high heels making a clatter.

  He pulled himself to his feet with an effort and went out into the living-room.

  She turned. Her eyes were anguished, her face very pale. "Captain, my God," she cried, "what am I going to do?"

  Suddenly she seemed to collapse. She fell to her knees beside a couch and bending over it, she put her face in her arms, and cried bitterly.

  Roy hesitated, then went over and sat on the couch. After a moment, she looked up at him. There was a shadow of suspicion in her eyes now. "Why did you let me read that?" she demanded.

  "I wanted you to see where you stood."

  "I don't understand you, Captain. Is this a trick? Is this a double-cross? I don't know what to think."

  Roy reached down and stroked her hair. "This is no trick, no double-cross. That's the case against you. They worked it out behind my back in spite of everything I could do."

  Hope began to show in the girl's eyes. "You mean you tried? You… tried?"

  "Didn't I tell you I'd help you?"

  "Yes," said the girl, rising slowly to her feet. "You told me. And I… well, I sort of believed you. I don't know why I should. I've been lied to so much in my life." She hesitated then sat down beside Roy. "But, Captain… that… that document! What can we do? They'll put me on the witness stand, won't they?"

  "They'll try to."

  "They'll ask me hundreds of questions. I can look after myself ordinarily. I've been doing it since I was fourteen. But… I might get mixed up. They just keep asking… and asking. I saw a girl tried once. They made a liar out of her, and a fool-and they convicted her. Captain-what will I do?"

  "Tell the truth, for one thing."

  The girl looked at him warily, then once more her eyes showed anguish. "How would that help? I mean, for me to tell you."

  "Don't tell me then," said Roy. "I don't really care, and I think I know the truth, anyway."

  "I'll tell you," said the girl. "You may hang me for it-but I'll tell you. I can't stand it any longer. It's so awful to be alone and not have anybody to…" She burst into tears and covered her face with her hands.

  "You're not alone, honey. Can't you get that through your head?"

  She lowered her hands and looked at Roy, then turning suddenly, she flung herself half on top of him into his arms. For Roy, the room seemed to spin. He was kissing her and she was responding wildly, and yet it seemed almost as if it was happening to somebody else.

  He lost all sense of time. The girl was whispering in his ear, but he couldn't quite grasp what she was saying. It was something about love, and about fate, and about people meeting seemingly by accident-and yet it wasn't really an accident. A nonsensical jumble… and then he heard himself saying:

  "But wait a minute. Wait. We've got to talk this over. We've got…"

  ***

  A certain measure of rationality returned to him by degrees. He was in bed. He had no clothes on. The girl was asleep, with her back to him.

  His mind almost a blank, Roy went to the bathroom, took a shower, then walked about the living-room recovering his scattered clothes.

  He saw the girl's high-heeled shoes standing upright in the middle of the card-table, and laughed; then he began to whistle as he dressed.

  A great peace was slowly descending over him.

  In a moment, he lit a cigarette and walked out onto the porch. Boley was sitting in a chair asleep. Roy looked at him indulgently, smiling, then he went over to the screen-door and stood staring out at the water. It was still as glass and the reflections from the lights were as bright as the lights themselves and sharply defined. The moon had set. A handful of stars glittered over the far shore-line in a sky that looked like black velvet.

  The sound of the sliding of a foot made him turn. Boley had started awake.

  "Roy!" he exclaimed. Then he looked at his wrist-watch. "Do you know it's almost two-thirty?"

  "Is it?" Roy began to whistle again.

  "Roy, you were sure making a hell of a lot of noise in there. I went out and took two or three walks."

  "You always wind up with the evening papers, don't you, Boley?"

  "Yeah," said Boley, sadly. "But I never wind up in clink."

  "Why don't you go sleep in the car? We've got talking to do."

  "Who's got talking to do?"

  "The girl and myself."

  "What? Ain't you said everything? You've had plenty of time."

  Roy laughed. "We haven't said anything yet."

  Boley got up wearily. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe it's me. I was only nine when I came over but I guess I'm not Americanized yet." He went out, slamming the screen-door.

  Roy heard the girl calling him. "Honey, honey! Where are you, honey?"

  He went back into the living-room. "Hurry up and get dressed, Olla. We've got talking to do."

  "I am getting dressed," she called, "but I can't find my… oh, the hell with it. I've gone without them before."

  Roy burst out laughing, then sobered. For the moment, they'd defeated reality, and had created between them an atmosphere of careless lightheadedness as if now they had nothing more serious to face than the normal hazards of living. Yet Roy was never more than half illuded, in spite of his pleasant feeling of returning strength and contentment. But the girl was still remembering the immediate past, and had lost sight of the dangerous, problematical future. He could tell from the tone of her voice.

  The girl was all seriousness now. A few abrupt phrases from Roy had brought her back to reality. And yet her attitude was not the same as it had been when they arrived at the Beach. There was nothing tentative about it, nothing wary, groping. She was sure of herself with Roy and looked at him candidly.

  She was sitting on the couch, leaning forward, and Roy was sitting in front of her on an ottoman, holding her hands.

  "He was crazy," she was saying. "That was it. If you only knew everything! At first he was very nice. I'll admit that. But little by little he changed, and then he started drinking-that was the beginning of the end. I couldn't call my life my own. He phoned me all hours of the night. He hired men to watch me. When we were out together, he got annoyed if I went to the ladies' room. Oh, you wouldn't believe…! Pretty soon I began to feel a little daffy myself. It wears you down, a thing like that. You feel like you're a prisoner… a… I don't know what!

  "… well, about that night. I told you about it, but I… well, I didn't tell you all about it. He acted crazy all evening. Now to tell you the truth I'm not afraid of much of anything. My mother died when I was fourteen and I've had to look after myself ever since, and that makes you tough. But I have a deathly fear of crazy people. Once, when I was a little girl in San Francisco, a man went off his head in our neighborhood and tried to kill his daughter with a hatchet. She got away. She ran over to our house. We couldn't quiet her. She fell down on the floor and had a fit. I was only nine years old. I saw the policemen chase her father up an alley. His face was a funny kind of green color, and his eyes looked all wild, like an animal. Well… Mr. Hobart looked like that, sort of, and I remembered that man in San Francisco.

  "… Mr. Brozsa gave me the gun. The Dreamland was a tou
gh place and I was out to all hours. And then there was that trouble with Carla. Well, I got the habit of carrying the gun in my purse. Pretty soon it was like I wasn't dressed if I didn't have that gun in my purse. I didn't even feel safe without it. Can you understand that?"

  "I think so," said Roy.

  "… well, that night. Finally I thought it was going to be over. I thought Mr. Hobart was going to give up and get out of the car and go see Mr. Sert. You see, maybe I was wrong, but I just couldn't give in to him out of fear. Because then later it would start all over again and it would be worse. But just when I stopped the car at the curb, and opened the door for him, he changed his mind. He said he wouldn't let me go yet. He wanted me to… right there in the car, right there on the street. He talked crazy. He tried to pull my dress off. And when I wouldn't let him, he began to hit me. I only really remember three blows, but there must have been more the way he was flailing his arms. Then he hit me on the cheekbone and I guess I sort of went out for a minute. When I came to he was pulling at me and carrying on… and I was really scared, terrified. I found my purse and got out the gun. When he saw it, he took his hands off me and sort of half fell out of the car on his knees. Then he got to his feet and began to call me everything terrible he could think of. And all of a sudden the gun went off, three times. I don't mean it was an accident. I was so scared and mad I just kept pulling the trigger. He sort of staggered back, so I reached over and closed the door and drove off. I looked back and I couldn't believe my eyes. He was walking down the street, following me. I almost crashed the car, trying to get away…"

  She gripped Roy's hands tightly, her lips trembling. Her face was very pale. He saw small beads of moisture on her upper lip. He rose, sat down beside her on the couch, and put his arm around her. She put her head on his shoulder and they sat in silence for a long time.

  ***

  Later she said: "I never went past the seventh grade in school. When I was twelve years old my father left one day and never came back. He was a Belgian, a big, tall, blond man. Mother always thought he sneaked away and went back to the Old Country. He was always talking about it. My mother was Irish. That is, her father had been born in San Francisco, but of Irish people. She was religious and so is my sister, Ellen-she calls herself Helene now.

  "… Ellen never seemed to get in any trouble, maybe because she was fat, like mamma, until she was nearly twenty years old and had gland treatments. She was nearly eighteen when my father ran away so she had an education-at the Nun's school. But I don't think it's education, or I mean, lack of education with me. It was my looks got me into trouble, time after time; and then, let's face it, I'm no big brain. I do things I shouldn't do, always did, just because I felt like it, and the hell with it! Ellen only did what she thought was right. I don't even know what I think is right… do you?"

  "Only in a very limited sense," said Roy.

  "… first time I got in trouble, I was twelve years old-it was not long after my father left. I was beginning to develop and I looked a lot older. It was an arithmetic teacher, of all things-at public school. He was married and had two children. He wouldn't let me alone. I didn't like him at all. I thought he was silly. One night he kept me after school and tried to… well; we had a big fight. I happen to be very strong. I knocked out one of his front teeth."

  "I hope that taught him to stick to arithmetic," said Roy, looking at the girl with a certain admiration.

  "No," said the girl. "It was worse after that. He just seemed to be berserk. So I ran away from school. I never went back. Anyway, my mother couldn't afford to keep me in school any longer. I got a job in a candy factory. I could pass for sixteen before I was thirteen. Well," said the girl, slowly, "I guess that's enough of that."

  "Yeah," said Roy. "I get the general idea."

  ***

  When they started to drive back, Boley was half asleep, and Roy had just about decided to do the driving himself when Boley took out a cigarette and lit it, then seemed to perk up.

  Roy relaxed. The girl was dead for sleep. She wrapped her arms around Roy, put her head on his shoulder, and sighed. Lost in sleep, she grew heavier and heavier, but Roy did not find the burden unpleasant.

  When they reached the suburbs, Boley yawned widely and observed: "Well, another day another dollar-getting richer by the minute."

  "Yeah," said Roy, absently.

  ***

  There was nobody awake but Lois. She looked at the three of them with marked relief.

  "There she is," said Roy. "Delivered safe and sound."

  "I got to go to bed, Lois," said the girl. "Right away. I'm dead."

  "Yes, dear," said Lois. "Good Lord, Captain! You kept her out late enough. This girl needs a lot of sleep. We were getting worried. We didn't know what had happened. All these traffic accidents, and things."

  "I resent that," said Boley, yawning.

  "Goodnight, Captain," said the girl, not looking at him.

  "Goodnight, Miss Vance."

  The girl turned. Lois put her arm around her and helped her down the corridor. Roy stood watching them go. Finally he sighed and started out.

  "All right, Boley. About time we went home."

  "About time."

  They walked back up the ramp together in silence. As they got in the car, Boley said: "I hope you know what you're doing."

  "So do I," Roy replied.

  23

  It was a bright, hot morning with a burning sun and a lukewarm breeze off the river. Windows were open all over the City Building and although it was not quite ten o'clock people were already complaining about the heat. Indian summer, everybody said.

  Roy was back in Boardroom A. Things were not quite so formal this time. They all ignored the big shining table and the double rank of straight chairs. Roy, Grant Perrin, and the great D.A. himself, Bill Wicks, were sitting in leather armchairs near an open window. Beyond them, in the blue, they could see the flag on the Post Office Building fluttering feebly in the half-hearted breeze.

  Chad was pacing the floor, smoking a cigar, and dropping ashes down the front of his coat. "I don't know, Roy," he said. "I don't like the feel of it."

  "What's your objection?"

  Chad turned, stood in front of Roy, and stared down at him for a long time. "My objection, Roy, is as follows: I do not like to be outsmarted by a man who is supposed to be working for me-but isn't. There's such a thing as loyalty, you know."

  "Excuse me," said Roy. "That's only a personal objection, Chad. I'm talking about a policy objection-a political objection, if you like."

  "You haven't any cards, Roy. All you've got is brass, and what brass!"

  "Oh, I've got cards, all right. But I don't want to use them unless I have to. In all fairness to you, Chad."

  "Off, thank you," cried Chad, sarcastically. "That's mighty big and generous of you, Captain Hargis."

  There was a long silence as Chad paced. Roy noticed that young Perrin was looking at Chad with veiled but marked disapproval. The young jerk! Thought he was much smarter, no doubt. Probably thought Chad had outlived his usefulness and should make way for a new generation of world beaters. Every new generation thought it was a world beater, and yet look at the world! Chad had his faults, all right. He was overemotional and slapdash, but he and his brother, Al, with a little help from the outside, had managed to perpetuate one Administration for nearly twenty years. It was quite a record. Chad could blow his top on occasion and get himself and the Administration into serious trouble, but when he calmed down he knew how to ride with a punch, and he knew how to hold on. The word "quit" had no meaning to him. Perrin would learn!

  "Give me your policy objections," Roy insisted. "Your political objections. You want a conviction, and you want a fast one, and you want a sure thing. Okay. I'm offering you all that."

  "It will look jobbed," snapped Chad.

  Roy couldn't help laughing. Chad's face got red and his eyes flashed wildly, then all of a sudden he began to laugh, too. He roared. In a moment he
fell down into a leather armchair and shook all over with laughter, slapping his thigh. Finally he wiped the tears from his eyes, and said to Roy: "You unregenerate bastard! The gall of a door-to-door huckster. Anyway, you misunderstood me. I didn't mean I would object to it looking jobbed. What about the newspapers?"

  "All asleep except the World," said Roy. "And we've got the World in our pocket."

  Meanwhile, the great D.A., Mr. William Jennings Bryan Wicks, looked on indifferently, like an old eagle too tired to fly and not interested in anything else; but his young assistant, Perrin, showed his flat disapproval of the entire proceedings by his compressed lips and a certain cold, contemptuous light in his blue eyes. "These bunglers," he seemed to be thinking; "these irresponsible ones. These laughers! Work is one thing. Fun something else."

  "I still say it will look jobbed," Chad insisted, then he turned to the D.A. "Bill, what do you think?"

  Wicks roused himself. "This girl, Captain-she has legal counsel now?"

  Roy nodded.

  "And may I ask what lawyer?"

  Roy toyed with a book of matches, looking down at it as he spoke. "Ben Lynch."

  Chad dropped his cigar on the floor and bending over to pick it up, almost fell forward on his knees. When he straightened up his face was purple and he began to swear at Roy, a long string of profanity which made Perrin wince. "You ungrateful… you rat!" he shouted. "I ought to… Listen, Roy. This is too much. No deal. Absolutely no deal. It's off. Forget it. We indict the girl and convict her and send her up for life, and you can fight it all you please. We'll ruin you-and Lynch, too. We'll run you out of town. You want a fight? All right."

  There was an appalled silence as Chad struggled ineptly with a handkerchief and a cigar.

  After a while Roy said: "Chad, you're just not thinking straight. Nobody's fighting anybody. It's all friendly. I'm friendly. Mr. Lynch is friendly. Miss Vance is friendly."