by James Jones
And yet in spite of it all, he could see where she might be immensely attractive sexually. There was some kind of obscure smoky hate in her, and in her eyes, that made you want to break her down, dominate her. And something about her that seemed to ask, even beg, for exactly that. Though she would still hate you still more for it.
After the meal, while Doris demurely did up the dishes, ’Bama pushed his hat down over his eyes and slumped himself down in his chair and lit a cigarette.
“How’d the work go today?” he asked.
“So-so,” Dave said. “Slow. But good.” He was reluctant to talk about his work, or anything else personal, around Doris. And ’Bama, of course, knew it.
“Good,” the tall man nodded. “You goin over to Israel tonight?” he asked.
Doris had, after finishing the few dishes, got herself another drink and sat down with them and lit a cigarette herself.
“No,” Dave said. “Not tonight.”
“Well, we might as well go out and play a little poker then,” ’Bama said.
“You’re not going to work tonight, are you?” Doris asked, looking at him with her smoky eyes. She had picked up calling gambling “work” from them.
“Shore,” ’Bama said. “Why not? We got to keep you up in the style to which yore accustomed, don’t we? Them goddamned Spencer rolls don’t grow out of my ears, you know.”
Ordinarily, Doris would have looked hurt, but this time she simply stared back at him expressionlessly, with those slow smoky eyes, while ’Bama himself stared back, coolly and amusedly. But then, breaking out of the stare abruptly, when she found she couldn’t outstare him, she threw back her head and shook her cherrywood-colored hair childishly and laughed.
“I guess it doesn’t really matter too much, does it?” she said. “Except that I thought you were already pretty well fixed for money, ’Bama.”
“Nobody’s ever well fixed for money,” ’Bama said without anger. “Well, come on, David. Let’s be a-goin,” he said and got up. “Just go ahead and make yoreself at home,” he said to Doris. “Maybe Wally or Dewey or somebody’ll come by and play you some Ping-Pong.”
“I think I’ll take a look at Dave’s new copy of Doctor Kinsey’s Sexual Behavior in the Human Male,” Doris said with a smoky smile. “I want to find out what men are really like.”
“Hell, I could tell you all that,” ’Bama said. “See you.”
They left her there, sitting at the table with her drink, but before they even actually got outside the screen door through which the summer night air circulated, she had got up and stretched herself and, walking with little pert steps, her small fine head held as always stiffly above her long straight neck, gone on into the other room indifferent to them, and as much at home as she could ever be in her own house. She had obviously made the move deliberately.
“I hope they don’t any of them romp her on the divan in the living room and ruin it,” ’Bama said as they got in the Packard.
It was the first time Dave had ever heard him make any definite comment about her at all, sexually. Taking advantage of this, Dave asked him the question he had been wanting to ask him for quite a long time.
“Are you?”
’Bama started the car before he answered. “I don’t know,” he said.
“You don’t know!” Dave exclaimed. “What the hell do you mean, you don’t know!”
“Just that,” ’Bama said. “I don’t know. I think I have. But on the other hand . . .” He let it trail off.
“Well, Jesus Christ!” Dave protested.
‘Bama didn’t say anything for a moment, and backed the car on out. Then he grinned. “But she’s good at lots of other things. You know that old saying about schoolteachers: If you get them in a car, they’ll have their head in yore lap—or yore head in their lap,” he grinned, “before you can even get the door shut.”
Dave could not help but grin back.
“Let’s try the Moose tonight,” ’Bama said.
“Sure,” Dave said. And so now, by God, he still didn’t know!
Chapter 47
IT WAS IN AUGUST that Frank finally learned the more or less final disposition of the various bypass lands. The Greek’s men had come and gone so quietly that the supposedly up-and-coming little town of Parkman did not even know that they had ever been there. In the end, out of the eight landowners along the stretch of the proposed bypass, the men had been able to buy out only three. Of the three, they had had to buy the entire farms of two; but the third had been stupidly willing to sell, for a higher price than he anticipated getting from the state, that part of his land where the right-of-way would run plus a strip several hundred yards deep along both sides. Together with Frank’s own acreage he had got himself off of Old Lloyd Monds, that meant they had been able to buy out four of the eight—50 percent; which the Greek had told them would be a very good average. Actually, in acreage, they now owned somewhat less than 50 percent of the land along the bypass. But off-setting this was the fact that of the three entryways into the new highway, they controlled all except three of the twelve corners. Also, one of the purchases made by the Greek’s men adjoined Frank’s own two corners of the Route 1 junction, which meant that they would have plenty of land to build his shopping center. Of the three corners which they did not control, two were the key corners directly across the Route 1 junction from Frank’s own two. These were owned by a dairyman named Allis who had insisted upon selling this whole northeast corner to the state when he sold them right-of-way. As a result, the state now owned the northeast corner of the junction and would make a small piece of parkland out of it! Thus, two of the three corners which they did not control—the most important two—were, thanks to Allis, out of action as far as private enterprise was concerned. And from then on east to where the cutoff ran into town on the old road, there was no other entry road so all of that land—none of which they owned—was useless anyway. The other corner, the third, was the northwest corner of the furthest entry road to the west and could hardly cause them serious damage. Other than that, only the four cutoff corners—two on the west, two on the east, where the old road joined the bypass—could ever be used in competition against them.
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 ligh
ts 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.