by Orrie Hitt
He lit a cigarette and thought about Kitty. She was married, he was the hired help, he shouldn’t be falling in love with her — but that’s just what he was doing. With Carole it was something else, something entirely different. With Carole it was her body and nothing else. But with Kitty it went far deeper. Yet his feelings for her weren’t totally unexpected. He had liked her from the start, felt sorry for her, and when they had spent those lovely hours on the beach he had wanted to be her man. It crossed his mind that she was married to a wealthy man, that she wouldn’t give all that up to marry some poor slob, but he had read of such things happening. Love, he knew, was the strongest power on earth, even stronger than money or fame. Love made and ruined lives, and to fight against it was to fight a losing battle.
“I love you,” she had whispered to him the previous day.
Had she meant it, or had it just been something for her to say, without either honesty or dishonesty, which had poured forth from her in the heat of passion?
“I love you,” Joan had said a lot of times.
Well, he believed Joan, he was sure she was sincere in what she said, and if she hadn’t been married he might well have married her somewhere along the way. She was the kind of a girl who wanted a home and babies and the normal things in life. Living on a farm, he knew, would be all right with Joan and she wouldn’t complain. And she was good at managing money, far better than he would ever be.
“I love you,” Kitty had said.
It kept coming back to him, pounding him right between the eyes, the fact that she might love him pushing his need for her to greater height, a physical need which was easy to understand and difficult to endure. And the strange part was that she had thanked him for having been nice to her. Thanked him!
“It was a pleasure,” he had said. “You’re all woman.”
Yes, she was all woman. Every sweet inch of her.
He finally got up from the bed and walked to the window, watching the shadows gather over the lawn and the fields and the lake. He would, he told himself, be smart if he packed his things and ran like a fool. Maybe he didn’t have another job and maybe he wouldn’t find one right away, but if he stayed on here at the estate he was bound to get into trouble. He would have to sneak off to be with Kitty and somebody was certain to catch them. What then? Of course he could pick up five thousand dollars if he worked it right, but he had an idea that five thousand dollars wouldn’t last long with a girl like Kitty — if they had to go away together. It would buy a lot of liquor, but it wouldn’t stay with him forever. And what could he offer a girl like Kitty? Some house with outside plumbing on a stinking farm and two hundred bucks a month? He laughed, thinking about it. She would go for that, like hell. Her life with Jennings had spoiled her and she would have to have money, more than he would be capable of counting in an eight-hour day. Maybe he would be able to please her physically, but he would never be able to meet her financial demands with a fast dollar.
He prowled the room, smoking and thinking. To run was to be weak and, to be honest about it, he didn’t want to run. He wanted to stay and have her for his own, taking any chances that he had to. If he got fired he could move on. Just why he had stayed in Twenty Mile River so long he didn’t know. It was a poor part of the county and few of the farms were modern. Once you got over near the county seat the farms were better and the wages were higher.
Stretching out on the bed again he guessed he would stick it out. If it was love between them, if it was the real thing, not just the thrill of sex, he might be able to convince her that their love was all that was needed, and that they could somehow make a go of it. She hadn’t said much about her past, and he strongly suspected that she had at one time been poor. Poor people, he assured himself, could be happy. Some of the happiest people he had known had been barely able to pay their bills, their kids wearing seconds and thirds that had been handed down from friends or relatives.
He was still thinking about her, how they could work it, when he fell asleep.
“Wake up,” somebody said later.
He stirred, thinking that the voice was part of a dream, but when it came again he opened his eyes and blinked at the light.
It was Joan.
“You’ve made yourself scarce,” he said, sitting up, wishing that she had left him alone.
She walked over to the window and lowered the shade.
“I thought you were amusing yourself with somebody else,” she said, her voice edged with bitterness.
“What gave you that idea?”
“Well, you went toward Goose Lake the other day and you didn’t have any of your equipment with you. A few minutes after that Carole followed. Both of you were gone quite a long time.” Joan’s lips formed a pout. “Was she as good as me, Eddie? Did you have as much fun with her?”
He reached for a cigarette.
“You’ve got a rotten mind,” he said.
“No, just the mind of a girl in love. And you should have seen her at dinner that night. She was almost nice to Mrs. Jennings. She had the glow of a girl who had been with a man who had satisfied her.”
“Oh, cut it out, for Christ’s sake. If you must know, I did see her at the lake, but we only talked.”
“Talked? What about?”
He was getting annoyed with her.
“Things,” he said.
Joan laughed shortly.
“She isn’t built for conversation. I’ve seen lots of girls with nice bodies but nothing like that one. I have to admit it. Any man might go a little nuts for her. But she isn’t your kind, Eddie. She’s rich, and you haven’t got a dime.”
He got up, thinking that he shouldn’t sit there naked, even though she had often seen him that way, and put on a robe.
“You’ve got me all wrong,” Eddie said. “I know what Jennings thinks of his daughter, and I wouldn’t take the chance of sleeping with her.”
Joan gave him a dim smile.
“What about his wife?”
“Or her,” he lied. “You think I want to make every girl who crosses my path?”
“I don’t think you’d turn it down.”
“Thanks. What kind of trust is that? And what about the night you spent in town? What did you do?”
“I took a room at the hotel and saw a movie and then I cried myself to sleep.”
“In whose bed?”
Her lower lip trembled.
“Eddie,” she said, “Eddie, that isn’t fair.”
“Why not? You accuse me, so I’ve got the right to do the same thing to you. Or is it a one-way street?”
Wearily, she walked to the bed and sat down, the uniform pulling tight around her bust and hips.
“You just don’t understand, Eddie,” she argued. “It’s different with a girl. A man, no matter who he is, seeks sex as a form of emotional release. But to a girl in love, it is far more than that.”
“Don’t tell me you don’t enjoy it.”
“Of course I enjoy it. When the job was open here I thought if you took it that we could be together every night. I didn’t care if you gave me a baby or not. I’m not afraid of disgrace. But something has happened to us, Eddie — something is happening. I don’t know what it is, but I can tell. A girl can always tell. You men may be very clever, but you can’t fool a girl, not if she loves you. You’ve been acting as though you don’t care whether or not you ever have me again, Eddie, and that hurts.”
He crushed the cigarette out in an ash tray and remained silent. She was lots smarter than he had given her credit for, but, in a way, he was glad she felt the way she did.
“Eddie, you haven’t been listening to me,” she said.
“I’ve been listening.”
“Can’t you say anything?”
“What is there to say? You’re off onto some crazy kick and you’re going to believe what you want to. And as for us being together every night, it’s too dangerous. You need your job and I need mine. Why don’t we take it easy for a little bit, and let things wor
k themselves out? Wilson is pretty close to Jennings and he’s seen you leaving here. If he shot off his mouth it could be tough on both of us.”
With the shade down it became hotter in the room, and she pulled her uniform up so that her legs would be cooler, rising slightly as she did so and lifting the uniform so high that he could see where her garter belt hooked onto her stockings. A month earlier — yes, just a week earlier — he would have been after her right away but in that moment he felt no overpowering urge.
“Roger Swingle got here,” she offered.
“Oh, he did, huh?”
She made a face.
“He’s a crumb, Eddie. He didn’t even know me but the first chance he got he gave me a pinch on the rump. I told him to keep his hands to himself.”
“He must be hard up.”
“Why? Because I’m not attractive?”
“Sure, you’re attractive. Christ, you’re twisting everything I say to suit your own purpose.”
Joan ignored his remark.
“Mary says that Carole isn’t that kind of a girl and that Roger is always chasing the maid. Mary says Carole knows about it but that she doesn’t care. Sometimes I think the more money people have the more batty they are. I know I don’t want to share you and I don’t see how any girl could share her man. If you love a man enough you try to be nice to him and he tries to be nice to you.”
“What about your divorce?” Eddie asked suddenly.
“I saw the lawyer the other day and there won’t be any problems. It has to be advertised in the paper first and then there’s a hearing before a judge. By Christmas I’ll be rid of Paul. I wonder what he’s going to do when he’s finally released. He did a horrible thing, a terrible thing, and not many people will want to hire him.”
“That’s his tough luck.”
“Come over and sit down beside me,” Joan said, patting the mattress. “Don’t just stand there.”
He strode over and sat down.
“Okay,” he agreed.
“Our marriage won’t be that way, will it, Eddie?” Her voice was almost pleading. “Tell me that it’s going to be everything I want it to be.”
“Well — ”
“Or aren’t you sure, Eddie? Aren’t you sure?”
He had to be honest with her. It might hurt for a while, but it was the only decent thing to do.
“I don’t know, Joan,” he replied. “I honestly don’t. It’s quite a long time before you’ll be free, and a lot of things can happen. I’ve thought about it a lot lately, more than you can possibly know. If we go on sleeping together something can go wrong, and you’d be showing it when you go up before the judge. That might not have anything to do with the divorce, but I don’t think it would be good. It would make you little better than your husband and you don’t want that, do you?”
She started to cry, softly but with feeling, her shoulders lifting and falling as she tried to struggle with the tears.
“You’ve just used me,” she sobbed after a while.
“That isn’t true.”
“You used me like some cheap prostitute and that’s all it meant to you. I remember the first time — do you remember the first time? I didn’t want to but you did and we did it. After that it became part of my life, part of my thoughts, and then we broke up with that stupid argument. After that I met Paul and while he was nice I wouldn’t let him touch me, afraid that it never could be the same with somebody else. When I married him I was scared, all the way through, and it wasn’t the same. It was almost — dirty. It got so that when he left me nights for other girls I was glad, not jealous the way a wife should have been. You know the rest. We got back together again and it was better than it had ever been. Better because I loved you and I needed you and I wanted you, and I knew that you would marry me as soon as I was finished with Paul. But now, Eddie — now it hurts, the thing you just said, and it hurts bad. It — ”
She couldn’t continue, and he didn’t know what to say. What did a man say to a girl when love had ceased to exist, when dreams were shattered too much and hopes were gone?
“I’m going,” she managed after several minutes.
“All right.”
“And I won’t come back until you want me, Eddie. I won’t ever make a nuisance of myself. I don’t know all that’s going on inside of you, but it must be something you can’t control. It isn’t enough to tell yourself that you ought to love somebody. I know that. I tried it with Paul, but it didn’t work. You either love or you don’t, and there’s nothing that can be done about it. It isn’t your fault and it isn’t mine.”
After she had gone he turned out the light and lit another cigarette. He felt his eyes getting wet, something that hadn’t happened to him since his father died. Joan was a good girl, one of the best, and she would make a good wife, a wife who would work with her husband and never complain about what she didn’t have. If she had children they would never want for love, for the gentle care that every child should have.
Well, if he didn’t love her it was better for her to know now than later. He wished desperately that he could return her love, but he couldn’t find that feeling within himself. When he had been living in town, when she had come to him on her nights off, it had been enough but now it no longer was enough. There had to be something more to love than sex, a deeper, finer meaning, a willingness to be happy or to suffer together and to build a future that was sound and secure. He had never known the love of a mother, and he suspected this might have something to do with his attitude toward women. But it wasn’t, he was sure, that he was looking for the mother love he had missed.
He twisted on the bed, the sweat sticky against his body, and he thought of Carole Jennings and her five thousand dollars. Maybe he should take the money and get away while the getting was good. How many men at twenty-three had a chance for that kind of money? Not many, from his kind of background. On five thousand dollars he could travel far alone. Given enough liquor and enough women he would forget Kitty and eventually he would find somebody else. Yet he knew, somehow, that he would walk alone and that he would wake up from a deep sleep and feel Kitty’s arms around him, her body responding to him as he made love to her, her body lifting to his, her lips moving furiously against his mouth.
After a while he heard someone coming up the stairs, quick, hurried steps. He wondered if Joan was returning, and what he would do with her if she were. He grinned up into the darkness. He knew what he would do. Well, why not? She was pretty good in bed and just because he didn’t love her that didn’t have to stop him.
The door opened and he smelled perfume.
“Are — are you awake, Eddie?”
It was Kitty, and the burning hollow that had been in his stomach the first time he had known her came back again.
“Yes, I’m awake.” He sat up quickly. “I was just thinking about you.”
Her laugh was soft and filled with music.
“About how easy I was? Is that it?”
“No, not that.” It wasn’t exactly true; she had been easy, like picking up some slut in a bar and giving her the mad rush. “No, not that,” he repeated. “I was thinking that it probably didn’t mean as much to you as it meant to me.”
It was a long time before she replied, and he knew that she was getting out of her clothes. Presently she joined him on the bed.
“You’re wrong,” she told him. “It meant more than you can imagine.”
He swallowed. “Aren’t you taking a chance coming here, Kitty?”
“Not much. Frank is so drunk he can’t possibly wake up until morning.”
“What about the others? Carole and that guy?”
“They’re to bed.”
He felt a strange pang of jealousy.
“Together?”
“Oh, no. She wouldn’t dare, not in the house, where I would know and could tell her father. And she isn’t that kind, Eddie. She’s saving it for her old age.” Kitty laughed. “It won’t do her much good then. Nobody will wa
nt it.”
“Maybe they will. People just don’t quit because they get old.”
She fumbled for a cigarette, found one and lit it. He could see her body in the glow from the match, the wonderful mounds that pointed toward the ceiling and the red, red lips that could kiss so searchingly.
“I checked to see that Joan was in her room,” Kitty said. “She was crying. You two have a fight or something?”
“We agreed to disagree.”
“Any special reason?”
“No.”
“She’s a nice girl, Eddie.”
“Yeah, but you’re nicer.”
She leaned over and kissed him in the darkness.
“I’m also married,” she reminded him, resuming her former position.
“If there isn’t love there isn’t much sense to marriage, is there?”
“Money could be one reason,” she replied. “I’ve nursed that guy and cared for his wants, even to his personal needs. I’m determined to get my share when he goes.”
“That might be years yet.”
The tip of her cigarette burned brightly as she filled her lungs with smoke.
“He could have an accident,” she breathed.
“You hate him, don’t you?”
“Hate his guts.”
“What if I had five thousand dollars? What then?”
She kissed him again, her lips lingering this time, her tongue a wild and searching thing.
“It wouldn’t be enough,” she said, gently. “One day we would be living in a hotel and the next night we’d be sleeping in a dump. Why settle for that? There are millions here, Eddie. Millions! Have you ever thought how much a million dollars really is?”
“I never had cause to,” he said, but he was thinking about it now. “It must be a hell of a lot of money.”
“You’d never have to work again, Eddie. And we could take trips and do things like that.”
“I guess we could.”
“If we had kids they could go to the best schools. There isn’t an advantage in life that they couldn’t have.”
Eddie took the cigarette from her, sucked on it, tasting her lipstick, and gave it back to her.