Frails Can Be So Tough

by Hank Janson

  She was stretched out on the bed like she’d been asleep when I got upstairs. Seeing her made me forget the throbbing of my arm. She had tiny feet, and they were bare. Her legs were bare, too. Surprisingly bare. I hadn’t noticed it quite so forcibly before. She didn’t move, lay there watching me through half-closed eyes. It was as though she realized I was watching her, wanted to see my reactions. I put down the box of provisions, pulled the papers from my pocket, selected the one with her photograph on the front page.

  ‘That should interest you,’ I said grimly.

  She sat up quickly, grabbed the paper excitedly and pored over it. The cleavage between her breasts was a deep hollow of fascination. I experienced a sudden overwhelming desire to see her close-up the way she had been earlier. Without intending it, I trespassed over the invisible boundary line.

  ‘It’s a lousy photograph,’ she complained. ‘There’s a more recent one than that.’

  ‘No photograph would ever do you justice,’ I said.

  Something in my voice got home to her. She slowly turned her head, looked up at me. The same question was still in her eyes, mingled with a kinda unhappiness. ‘Why did you have to do this?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘You saw the way it was,’ I said. ‘I didn’t kill that guy. They were gonna hang it on me. They doped me, parked me there with the body. That’s why I had to stop you squawking.’

  I could tell by her eyes she didn’t believe me. ‘If you’d wanted money,’ she said quietly. ‘You could have got it other ways. You could even have asked me for it.’

  I moved right up close to her. ‘You figure I’d planned on kidnapping you?’ I asked bluntly.

  ‘Well, didn’t you?’

  ‘I didn’t know who you were until I saw that photograph.’ I pointed to the newspaper.

  Her eyes were level. ‘I wish I could believe that.’

  She was close to me again, white-skinned and perfectly proportioned, the smell of her in my nostrils and the memory of her touch flooding my mind with hot desire. I kept staring until the tension between us became painful. Just a broken shoulder-strap and my memories could be realised.

  All at once, I realized she expected to be kissed. It was unbelievable she’d want that, after the way I’d treated her. Understanding and action were fused into one. Her lips were moist and burning, her teeth even and hard. Her arms encircled my neck so fiercely, I knew I was bruising her lips. She was maddeningly exciting, and I wanted to engulf her completely, consume all her sweetness in one wondrous moment. Her body was soft and pliant. I could feel ripples of ecstasy quivering along her back. I nipped the lobe of her ear with my teeth, and she hugged me more urgently. My lips travelled a gentle caressing path down her neck to her white shoulders. There was that hot haze consuming me again, and I was recapturing that same moment of complete happiness.

  She broke away abruptly, panting hard, tried to push me away. I didn’t want to break. I held her more tightly, locked her fingers in my hair, tugged hard, drawing my head back. She slapped my cheek with her other hand. So hard it startled me, and I let her go. She slapped again then, both hands, each time so hard it was a jolt.

  I staggered back a coupla paces, raised my fingers to my stinging cheeks. ‘What the hell!’ I demanded.

  She was pulling her shoulder-strap back over her shoulder, cupping her breast with her other hand. Two high spots were burning high up on her cheeks. She was breathing so quickly she could hardly speak. ‘Keep away from me,’ she panted.

  ‘Sure,’ I flared. ‘I’ll keep away from you.’

  I turned away from her, took a cigarette from my pocket and paced the room a coupla times, furious with her and with myself.

  ‘Don’t act that way,’ she pleaded.

  The change in her tone made me stop. There was no animosity in her voice.

  I glared at her. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry about it. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘Don’t act like that,’ she pleaded.

  It was strange how expressive her eyes were. Now they showed pleading, and yes … just a trace of tenderness.

  ‘I thought you wanted to kiss me,’ I said gruffly.

  ‘I did,’ she said simply. She was sitting up on the bed, facing me. Her brief undergarment caught up and strained tautly around her loins, her hands supporting her breasts as though to ease the strain of her laboured breathing.

  ‘What’s biting you?’ I demanded bluntly.

  ‘It’s what I wanted,’ she said quietly. ‘But when you kissed me–’ Her eyes dropped momentarily and then immediately lifted again, looking at me squarely. ‘Kissing me like that can lead anywhere.’

  Just talking about it got the hot haze thick in my head. ‘You don’t have to be my age to know that,’ I said thickly.

  ‘But it isn’t right,’ she said quickly.

  ‘No?’ I said drily.

  ‘Don’t you see?’ she said pleadingly. She gestured around her. ‘It isn’t right. Not here. Not the way things are.’ Her fingers played at the chain around her waist. ‘None of this makes it right. It’s got to be just you and me without these other things.’

  Understanding washed over me then, changing my blood to cold water. This dame was pulling the wool over my eyes. Using her sex, the one weapon I couldn’t take away from her. Giving me a high altitude temperature and then a pep talk, all leading up to letting her off that chain.

  ‘You’re wasting your time,’ I growled.

  Her eyes were pained. ‘But it’s like that with you, too, isn’t it?’ she pleaded. ‘Between us there is ... something!’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said grimly. ‘Between us there’s a length of chain. And that’s staying around your waist. There ain’t nothing gonna get you off that chain until I’m good and ready.’

  She flushed then. A deep flush that stained her cheeks and neck down to her shoulders. Her face became set and hard, and her eyes flamed. ‘You’re just trying to make me feel cheap,’ she accused.

  ‘Just how cheap can a dame be whose father’s a millionaire?’ I taunted.

  If she’d been standing and wearing high-heeled shoes, she’d have stamped her foot with impotent fury. As it was, she rolled over on her side, pounded her fist angrily on the pillow. The chain clanked in musical unison.

  ‘I’ve got eggs,’ I grunted. ‘D’you like omelette?’

  She sat up, glared at me resentfully. ‘Do I have to beg for it?’

  ‘All part of the service.’

  Now I’d cooled down, I was beginning to notice the throbbing of my arm. I stripped off my jacket, inspected it. It was much more swollen, the skin much redder, maybe with a yellowy tinge! But maybe that was my imagination. Not only was it throbbing perpetually, it was stabbing fire every time I moved my arm. I didn’t replace my jacket, I prepared a meal using my good arm, resting the other one. She saw me inspecting my bad arm, but didn’t say anything. Maybe she thought it was an injury caused by her that same morning.

  I fed her, fed her good. When she was through, I cleared the things away, relaxed in a chair and held a match for her so she could light a cigarette.

  She curled up on the bed in her customary position, blew smoke through her nostrils and stared at me through half-closed eyes. ‘Who are you, anyway?’ she asked.

  I shrugged my shoulders. ‘Does it matter? Lee Shelton is the name I’m known by.’

  ‘Lee,’ she said thoughtfully. She said it again. ‘Lee.’ Listened to the sound of it, as though judging its quality. ‘It’s a nice name,’ she decided.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘It’s a nice name.’ I moved, and winced is my arm stabbed with pain.

  ‘Just how long d’you reckon to keep me here?’ she demanded.

  I thought it over. ‘Depends,’ I said. ‘Like I told you, I was framed for murdering somebody. I can duck out for that. But there’s a guy I’ve gotta settle with first.’

  ‘What do you mean? Duck out?’

  I grinned easily. ‘You’re the only one who can tie me in with that
dead man. I can take my car, cross the border and send a telegram to the cops telling them where to find you.’

  Her eyes were thoughtful. She was giving it consideration. She said, slowly: ‘If these men did frame you, why don’t you duck out now?’ She leaned forward eagerly. ‘If you want to do that, I promise not to tell the cops anything about you. Nothing at all.’

  I looked at her steadily, grinned evilly. ‘I could duck out without telling about you. You’d stay here until you got so thin you could slip out of that chain.’

  ‘You wouldn’t do that,’ she said quickly. She sounded worried.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ she urged. ‘Why don’t you get going? As soon as you’re across the State line, you could telegraph father, tell him where to find me. And I mean it. I wouldn’t tell anybody anything about you.’ Her eyes were earnest, appealing. ‘I really do mean it. You do believe me?’

  ‘I’m not ready to duck out,’ I said grimly. ‘I’ve got things to settle first.’

  Her eyes narrowed: ‘What things?’

  Maybe the smouldering hate and anger was gleaming in my eyes. The anger was always with me; living with me, sleeping with me, growing inside me all the time. ‘There’s a guy I’ve gotta settle with,’ I said grimly.

  ‘The man who tried to frame you?’

  ‘That’s him,’ I said bitterly. ‘I’ve gotta settle with him.’

  ‘It’s eating away inside you, isn’t it, Lee?’ she said swiftly. ‘It’s festering there. Something he did. Something that hurt you pretty bad.’

  I gritted my teeth. ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘I hate him pretty much.’ I wasn’t hearing or seeing her. I was seeing Frisk’s face, and my hand clenched like I was gonna take a sock at him.

  ‘What did he do to you, Lee?’ she asked quietly. ‘What can a man do to make you feel so bad about him?’

  ‘It wouldn’t interest you.’

  ‘But I am interested.’ She clambered around on that bed like a kitten. She’d turned around now, resting her feet on the pillow and her elbows supporting her chin at the foot of the bed. ‘Tell me what he did, Lee,’ she encouraged.

  ‘You wouldn’t believe it, anyway,’ I growled.

  ‘Tell me just the same.’

  It was the expression in her eyes that got me talking. Somehow in the last half-hour she’d changed, become a different person, warm and friendly, almost a good pal.

  ‘It happened a long while ago,’ I said.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I’d disliked Frisk on sight. Even though I was just a kid, ten years of age, I’d instinctively distrusted him.

  It was different for my mother. She’d been a widow for eight years. I guess she’d got tired of living alone, and Frisk could be charming with women when he put himself out. He put himself out as far as my mother was concerned. I was horror-stricken when my mother first told me I was going to have a new father, and that I must learn to obey and respect him.

  Being just a kid of ten, I didn’t realize the significance of everything. But in later years, thinking back, I was able to tie up the odd little things that happened, realize and fully understand exactly how Frisk tortured and drove my mother to death.

  In the first place, he lied to her about his financial position. He was always smartly, flashily dressed, and during his brief courtship was constantly buying orchids and candies for my mother. But from the day he brought her back from the church as his bride, everything changed with breathtaking suddenness.

  Previously, he had been charming, suave and ingratiating. Now he was domineering, smilingly cruel and utterly selfish. I remember distinctly the wedding day. There was no honeymoon, on account I had to go to school and mother would not leave me to fend for myself. There was no wedding party, because none of my mother’s relatives would knowledge Frisk. Frisk himself had no personal friends he wanted to invite.

  The three of us sat at table, and the coloured maid served tea. Mother said, looking at him tenderly: ‘When will our furniture be arriving, John, dear?’

  He smiled that smile I grew to know so well and hate. ‘It’s outside in the hall.’

  My mother stared at him. ‘Just two suitcases?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘But the other stuff you have. The furniture you’re so proud of. When will that be coming? We must make room for it.’

  Again that smile. ‘There is no furniture, my dear.’

  My mother stared at him, forehead crinkling in perplexity.

  ‘Perhaps now is the best time to tell you,’ he said calmly. ‘I am a pauper. I have come to the end of my resources.’ His kindly eyes smiled at my mother. ‘Our union for that reason alone is highly gratifying to me.’

  My mother had money. She owned the house we lived in and had securities and annuities that would take care of her for the rest of her life.

  ‘You’re joking, John,’ she said. She gave a timid little laugh. ‘You’re pulling my leg.’

  ‘I was never more serious, my dear. I’m entirely reliant upon you. I have no income, no job.’

  Again my mother’s perplexed frown. ‘But why, John? You’ve always had plenty of money, you told me your job was …’

  ‘My money, my dear!’ he interrupted. ‘You think only of money. Now I’ve told you …’

  ‘But that’s not fair,’ she burst out. ‘It’s just such a surprise you didn’t tell me this earlier.’

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, you know now.’ Again that smile. ‘Doubtless we shall work out something between us.’

  That was the beginning. Right from the first, he made it clear to mother he’d married her for her money, although right then she probably didn’t realize what he was telling her. Later that evening, he made it abundantly clear what he thought of her in other ways.

  For an hour or more, mother and I had been playing cards. Frisk, who declined to play, sat smoking a cigar, drumming his fingers on the table impatiently. Finally he pulled out his watch, consulted it and ordered: ‘All right, Lee. Up to bed now.’

  I looked at him indignantly. ‘It’s too early for me to go to bed.’

  He looked at me steadily. ‘Don’t argue, boy. Up to bed when I tell you.’

  Mother intervened. ‘But John, dear. It’s early yet. He never goes up until later than this.’

  He stared at her levelly. ‘You’re going to bed, too,’ he said meaningfully.

  She laughed like he was joking. ‘But John, dear, I don’t want to go to bed yet.’

  ‘I do,’ he said heavily.

  She flashed a quick glance at me and looked back to Frisk warningly. ‘Lee will go to bed presently. We’ll follow him.’

  She musta been embarrassed. My father died when I was two. It was gonna be a new experience for her to take a man up to her bedroom.

  Frisk’s voice didn’t change its inflection. It was still mild and gentle. ‘My dear. We’re going to bed now. Fur three months you’ve been boasting about your spotless moral behaviour. I cannot wait to enjoy the advantages of your stored-up, hidden passions.’ His voice was mocking and cynical. Mother’s cheeks stained red. She said, sharply: ‘John. Please. The boy!’

  Right then, I didn’t understand the words he used. But I sensed they were hurtful to my mother. I glowered at him.

  ‘You have been so arrogant, so proud of your purity,’ he mocked. ‘It is my intention now to humble that pride, shatter your illusions that I respect shy and retiring womanhood.’

  Mother was on her feet, her cheeks flaming. ‘Stop, John,’ she burst out. Her hand thumped the table. ‘Don’t dare talk that way.’

  He was easy and unconcerned. He turned his head casually, stared at me. ‘Go to bed.’

  I sat there, glowered at him.

  ‘Very well, my dear,’ he said mildly. ‘I will describe in detail exactly what will take place from the moment we arrive in our bedroom. In the first place, I shall …’

  Mother turned white. She swayed,
placed her hand to her forehead. She said, quietly: ‘Lee; kiss mother goodnight and go to bed.’

  ‘I don’t want to go to bed,’ I protested.

  ‘Be a good boy, Lee,’ she insisted. ‘Kiss mother goodnight and go to bed now.’

  I went to bed reluctantly. And, of course, I didn’t stay there. Wearing pyjamas, I crept out of my bedroom, spied on them. I was curious, like all kids.

  And what I saw sowed the first germs of hatred of Frisk inside me. It was happening in our dining-room, my mother, with flushed face and shamed eyes, pleading with him while he made her submit to embraces that were loathsome and horrible.

  To me, it was the end of the world. My mother, my gentle, kindly, lady-like mother, with that man under such circumstances! For weeks, I couldn’t bear the shame of it, slunk away from the other boys at school, hid myself whenever possible, always afraid someone would see in my eyes that I knew of these horrible things.

  From the day they were married, it was a divided home, Frisk coming between my mother and me like a grim shadow, and always lounging around the house, smoking or inviting his newly-found friends to play cards. Often there were wild parties and I was locked in my bedroom. In the morning, the dining-room would smell of cigar smoke and be littered with empty bottles.

  In later years, I linked together the bits and pieces of information, the scraps of conversation I overheard and remembered. Much too late, I understood the deadly, merciless nature of Frisk’s plans.

  It was mother’s dough Frisk was after. But when she realized his true character, she fought him, kept control of her property and income.

  The fact she refused to pass control of her estate to Frisk was a constant bone of contention. She managed her own affairs, gave Frisk a small allowance with which to gamble and drink but paid all the housekeeping bills and the cost of his wild parties. She’d resigned herself to having a husband without morals or scruples. And she suffered. She must have suffered terribly in his lewd embrace, knowing from his own lips that he had come direct from another woman’s arms. A woman who had been bought with her money!