“Gerro wouldn’t have liked what I said to you. He doesn’t like me to lie about us. The truth is always much simpler, he says.”
I nodded agreement.
She lit a cigarette. “I met Gerro when we were juniors in college. And you know how those things are. One minute you’re talking about a common problem of classwork, and the next minute you find out that there are more important things to talk about.
“But I was the brave one. We’ll defy the world, I said. What the hell are standards? What do we care what people say or think? We’ll show them. But Gerro never said anything. He’d just smile in that sweet, quiet, sincere way he has and not say a word.
“I guess he knew, even then, that I was just talking to keep from facing the facts. My folks wouldn’t allow it. I come from Haiti, and though there was a touch of Negro in us, somewhere back in my great-grandmother’s time, they were even more proud of their color than those who were pure white.
“And Gerro’s family was the same way from exactly the opposite point of view.
“Gerro always wanted to be a writer—a journalist. He studied journalism in school. But the inequity of his opportunity as compared with his training soon became apparent to him. Then he turned to this. He thought if he worked hard enough at it and if others worked hard enough at it, people would grow to accept him in the way they would accept anyone else of equal talent. That’s why I think he must feel so hurt over what happened tonight.
“He’s kept so busy that he hasn’t had time even to see me more than once a week. And when he does come he goes over to the typewriter over there and starts to write things, so wonderful and beautiful and compassionate that I don’t see how anyone who reads them can keep from weeping. He pours out his heart and soul into that typewriter, and then when he’s finished, he looks up at me and smiles and gives it to me to read. And while I read it, he walks up and down nervously, smoking one cigarette after the other, and tries to read my mind as to how I feel about it.
“And when I’d look up at him and tell him how wonderful it is, he takes the pages back from me and he holds them in his fist and shakes them at me. ‘Is it the truth, Marianne?’ he would ask, ‘Is it the truth?’
“It is the truth all right. The truth—naked, raw, honest, uncompromising. The truth—the misery of a man’s soul, his sensitivity to his fellow man’s feelings. But the truth—a torch—a bright, shining torch on a foggy night in a world beclouded with prejudice and stupidity.”
She got up and picked up the little portrait of Gerro that I had looked at before. “I painted him one day while he was working. He never knew it until he had finished his work, then he looked up and saw me. I smiled at him and showed him the painting. And do you know what he said?
“He said, ‘Lord, darling, you make me beautiful!’ As if I could make him beautiful—he who is beautiful and kind and honest in his own right.”
She put the portrait down and stared at it a few minutes. I had finished the eggs and I watched her. She was oblivious to my gaze. “Christ!” she said. “Christ! I wish we were married!”
I started to speak but a voice interrupted me. It was Gerro, and he was standing in the bedroom doorway smiling at us. “I see you two have met,” he said. “But as usual she only tells you her side of the story. She didn’t tell you she won the Ross Scholarship in Art, did she? She didn’t tell you her family is one of the wealthiest in Haiti? She didn’t tell you if I married her we wouldn’t have a penny to live on?”
She got up and ran over to him. “Gerro, I was so afraid for you.”
He smiled at her gently. “Afraid, Marianne? Not you. Maybe I was. But not you.”
I got up from the table. “Look,” I said, “I’m tired. Court’s adjourned for the night. I’ll listen to your side of the story, Gerro, in the morning. Let’s go to sleep.”
I slept on the couch in the studio. I had almost fallen asleep when I heard someone come out into the studio from the bedroom. I looked through the darkened room. It was Marianne. “Marianne,” I whispered, “is he asleep?”
She came toward me and stopped near the couch looking down at me. “You still awake?”
“Yes.”
“He told me what you did. I wanted to thank you. I didn’t realize,” she laughed suddenly to herself.
“What are you laughing at?” I whispered.
“You know what I thought when I first came into the apartment and saw you sitting there in the chair? I thought you were a burglar who had fallen asleep in the chair and just woke up when I came in. There was something on your face that seemed to be laughing at me. It seemed to say: ‘All right, I’m caught. What are you going to do about it?’ I was afraid to come in but I couldn’t go away. I just stood there not knowing what to do. Someday I’m going to paint you—even though I know now you are such a nice boy.”
I didn’t answer.
She bent down and kissed my cheek. There was a perfume about her, a femaleness I was instantly aware of. “That was for being so kind to Gerro.”
I put my hands under her arms and pulled her toward me. “That was for Gerro,” I whispered. “This is for me.”
I kissed her on the lips. At first she was too surprised to stop me. Then she kissed back. Her arms went under my head and held my face close to hers. When we separated I whispered: “For whose benefit was that speech while I was eating—mine or yours?”
For a second she held her face close to mine. We looked into each other’s eyes. Then she straightened up. “You dog!” she whispered evenly. “You dirty dog! I can never paint you now. You are a burglar. I was right the first time.” She moved toward the doorway and stopped there. “I’ll never see you again,” she said definitely.
I turned over on my stomach and looked at her. “Marianne,” I whispered, “would you say that if I weren’t Gerro’s friend?”
She went into the bedroom without answering. I turned over on my back and looked up at the ceiling, half smiling to myself. She was right. I would never see her again, not as long as Gerro was my friend. It was too dangerous for both of us. I liked her—more than I had ever liked anyone before. There was something about her—about us—that seemed to draw us together. I sensed it when I first saw her. I knew she did too. I liked her voice, her mobile, expressive face, her hands with long, capable, sensitive fingers. I liked the way her lips felt against mine, the corners of them moving a little. But I would never see her again, not as long as Gerro was my friend.
I left early in the morning before either of them had awakened. It was Monday and I had to be at work. I slipped out of the apartment like a thief—a burglar.
50
A few minutes after we had opened, Terry came in. She was as mad as hell. “I thought you were going to get in touch with me last night,” she said furiously.
“I couldn’t,” I said, trying to cool her off. Harry was looking at us curiously. “Gerro was hurt pretty bad and I stayed the night with him. What happened after I left?”
She cooled off quickly. “I don’t know. I called the cops like you said I should, and then went home. I guess the place must be wrecked. How is Gerro?”
“He’ll be O.K.,” I said. “We got away over the roof.”
“What are they going to do about the club?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I answered. We went out into the street and looked up at the club. All the windows had been smashed. We went upstairs. The little furniture that had been there was thoroughly smashed. Obscenities were chalked on the walls. We went outside again. Terry had a funny look on her face.
“I guess it’s all over now,” she said slowly.
“Maybe,” I said. “You never can tell. It if means enough to the members, it will open again.”
“If it does mean enough!” she answered.
I was curious. “What did it mean to you?” I asked. “What did you get out of it?”
She hesitated a moment before she answered. “It was a place to meet people, to make friends, and talk about t
hings. It was a place to get together.”
“Wasn’t it a place where you could help share what you had? Didn’t it mean more than just a place to have fun?”
“I guess so,” she said doubtfully.
I was right. Most of the people that came there didn’t know what in hell the score was—it was just a place to go. Any good work that came out of it was only through the planning of its officers, men like Gerro. The ordinary member didn’t really know how important it was for them. I said good-bye to Terry and went back to work.
Wednesday afternoon, Harry answered a phone call. “It’s for you,” he said, holding the receiver toward me.
I took it. “Hello.”
I recognized Gerro’s voice. “Hello, Frank. This is Gerro.”
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“O.K. now,” he said. “I just wanted to call and find out if you can have supper with me tonight.”
“I’d like to, thanks,” I said. “Where’ll we eat?”
“Down here at Marianne’s,” he said.
I didn’t expect that. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to go down there; I didn’t want to see her. That is, I wanted to see her, but I knew I had better not. I had thought too much about her the last few days—more than I thought I would. It was funny the way she had crept into my mind. “What time?” I asked.
“About seven-thirty.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “I just remembered. The truck comes tonight and I have to wait around for it. I won’t be able to come. I’m sorry.”
“Oh!” He sounded disappointed. “Marianne wanted you to come down. We’ll both be disappointed that you can’t make it.”
It was funny the way my heart jumped when he mentioned her name. “Tell her I’m sorry I can’t make it, but you understand.”
“Yes,” he said, “I understand. Maybe some other time.”
“Yeah, some other time.” We said good-bye, and I hung up.
I felt good after that call. I knew she had thought about me too or else I wouldn’t have gotten that invitation.
Gerro called me again next week, and I had dinner with him at a restaurant on Fourteenth Street. We had a nice talk. I was beginning to like the guy a hell of a lot. He was the first guy I had met who I seemed to cotton to in a long time. He was smart and friendly.
“What are you going to do now?” I asked him while we were having our dessert.
“I’m being transferred to a club uptown,” he answered, “up in Harlem.”
“I don’t know why in hell you bother with that bunch! Most of the people don’t know or care what you are really trying to do. All they’re looking for is a place to have a good time.” I thought I was telling him something he didn’t know.
“I know that,” he said readily. I looked surprised. He continued: “I know that most of them don’t understand what we are trying to do. But that isn’t my reason why we shouldn’t try to help them. Sooner or later everyone will realize that what we’re trying to do is the right thing. It may take a little time but they will learn.”
“So you’re going uptown,” I said ruminatively. I was thinking about the Harrises. There was a hell of a lot he could do up there. He was the right kind of a guy too.
“Yes,” he said. “The organization feels I’d be able to do a better job up there among my own kind.”
“You did a hell of a good job down here!” I said.
“I thought so too,” he said, shaking his head, “but now I don’t know. I had hoped that by working with the people, we would forget the old animosities and differences. That’s the only way for us to get along: by working together in a common effort. That way we’d get to know each other and understand that each of us are looking for the same thing. Then we wouldn’t have any differences.”
“I guess you’re right,” I said. I didn’t know how right he was, but I did know you couldn’t make people change overnight.
I met him once a week after that, and it was the most interesting evening of the week for me. I looked forward to it. We had become fairly good friends.
I began to see less of Terry. The club had moved to new quarters about five blocks away, and I didn’t attend any of the meetings there. Somehow since I had met Marianne I had changed. I was beginning to feel there were more things I wanted from a woman than the mere physical possession of her body. Terry was a nice kid but she didn’t have what I wanted. There was no pretense of love between us. Our relationship was purely physical. In some vague manner I began to feel that I wasn’t being given all that I wanted. I didn’t have that feeling of lift, excitement, curiosity or awareness that I felt when I thought of Marianne. I began to wonder whether I had fallen in love, but I laughed it off. The idea of falling in love was a foolish thing to me. It was something you read about in books and saw in the movies, but it had no place in real life. I felt sure I hadn’t fallen in love.
One evening in March when we were standing in the hallway of Terry’s house, I had kissed her and she had pushed me away. This time I didn’t press myself on her. She stood there in the dimness looking at me. At last she spoke.
“You’ve changed, Frank,” she said.
I laughed.
“No,” she said seriously. “You’ve changed. I mean it. There’s something on your mind.”
“Nothing that I know about,” I told her flippantly.
“You may not know it, but there is.” She looked at me, trying to see what expression there was on my face. “And I’ve been thinking too. This thing we’ve been doing will have to stop.”
I didn’t answer.
“I was right,” she said, more sure of herself now than before. “A few months ago you would have argued with me. Now you don’t say anything. And I’m glad. I was going to stop even if you didn’t. I’m going to get married.”
She misunderstood my sigh of relief. I had expected something else.
“To that fellow I was telling you about. He’s a bus driver, and he has a pretty good job and makes about forty a week. He loves me, and if I marry him, I can move out of this dump and have all the things I want. We can live on Long Island in a nice steam-heated flat, not this cold place. I won’t have to worry about bills and food. We won’t have to try to stretch pennies.”
I tried to look unhappy but I had a hard job doing it.
She put a hand on my arm. “Don’t feel too bad about it, Frank. It’s something we couldn’t help.” She sounded like a dame in a picture we had seen last week. “We had a lot of fun together and some laughs. Let’s part friends.”
I looked at her strangely. She really didn’t believe that crap she was handing out. Her face was perfectly serious; she meant every word of it. I cleared my throat of a wild desire to laugh. “If that’s the way you want it, Terry,” I said. My voice sounded strangled to me because of the attempt to control it.
She thought I felt bad. “This is good-bye, Frank,” she whispered.
I played the game. “No,” I said, “you can’t mean it.”
“Yes,” she said, “I mean it. This is good-bye.” She was so carried away by what she said there were actually tears in her eyes.
I bent over and kissed her on the cheek. “I guess you’re right, baby,” I said. “I’m not good enough for you. I hope you’ll be very happy. Good luck.”
She burst into sobs and ran upstairs crying. I watched her go and then walked out into the street grinning.
A month later as I walked into the restaurant to meet Gerro, I saw Marianne sitting at the table with him. I stopped a moment in the doorway and then walked over to the table as he caught my eye. I sat down.
“Marianne is having dinner with us.” Gerro smiled.
“So I see,” I said. “How are you, Marianne?”
“I’m all right,” she replied, smiling at me in a way that set my pulses to racing. “How have you been?”
“Pretty good.” I nodded, looking down at the menu so she couldn’t see what was going on in my mind.
&nbs
p; “If you will excuse me,” Gerro said, standing up, “I’ll be back in a minute. Order some tomato juice to start for me.” He walked toward the men’s room.
I spent an awkward moment looking at the menu.
“What’s the matter, Frank?” Marianne asked with a smile. “Surprised that I came?”
I nodded. “A little.”
“Well,” she said, “don’t let it bother you. I was just curious to see what you looked like in the daylight.”
I looked out the window of the restaurant. It was dark. It had been dark over an hour.
She followed my gaze and laughed. “You don’t believe me then?”
“No,” I said succinctly.
She laughed again. “Frank, I think you’re afraid of me—that you think I’m a wicked woman.”
“I told you before,” I said, “Who you are and what you are doesn’t interest me. I’m Gerro’s friend.”
“Touché!” she said, then leaned forward earnestly. “Frank, it’s possible for a woman to be in love with two men at once. Gerro is wonderful—he’s sweet and kind and everything a woman should want in a man. I wish we were married, and I mean it. But you’re different. You’re wicked, selfish, dishonest. I can see it in your face. You seem to want everything that someone else possesses. But you attract me. I want to take you apart and find out what makes you tick. But you’re elusive. I knew you wouldn’t come down to see me, so I talked Gerro into taking me along. I had to see you again. I had to know how you felt about me. And now I know. I can see that in your face too, under that mask you keep in place.”
“Well then,” I spoke quietly, “maybe you can also see that you’re Gerro’s girl, and that he has a hard enough job to do without my messing up his personal life. For years the thought of you has kept Gerro alive. I’m not going to take that away from him.”
She looked down at her plate and bit her lip. I could see the color pour into her face. She blushed very easily. She started to answer, but Gerro came back to the table and we dropped the conversation.
Harold Robbins Organized Crime Double Page 29