Hunger and the Hate

by Dixon, H. Vernor

  “Oh, I will. I certainly will. And — and thanks again — a million times.”

  Dean hung up smiling to himself, applauding his own cunning. He had planted the seed in Susan’s mind, and now, knowing where she could get the cash, she would never leave Freeman alone until he bought the Davenport house, or something like it. Freeman would then be deeply in debt. There would be no time to worry over his personal brand of ethics. Like it or not, he would be forced to string along with Dean, no matter what his course might be. A smart move, he thought. Very smart. And Susan would carry it through.

  Sunday morning he drove down to the drugstore at the Lodge, which also had a gourmet department, to pick up a sack of coffee. On his way home he noticed a black car parked in the driveway of the Davenport house and slowed down. He burst out laughing when he saw that it was the Mitchells’ new present. Susan was certainly wasting no time.

  He went home in a good mood and enjoyed an excellent breakfast out on the terrace. A covey of quail was feeding on the lawn below him, a flock of wild ring-necked pigeons settled in the branches of a tall pine tree to blink down at him, and two deer, a buck and a doe, were watching him with soft brown eyes as they nibbled at flowers by the edge of the lawn. The whole area was overrun with deer and they did considerable damage to the flower gardens. Dean was one of the few residents that did not care. The deer were more beautiful to him than the flowers. It amused him, too, to watch them for their beauty alone, with no thought of the meat they carried on their frames. Not many years before he would have been thinking desperately of how to get the meat and to hell with their beauty. Now he could enjoy them.

  He heard the telephone ring in the library and listened as Teddy answered it, but could not hear the conversation. Teddy came out to the sun-flooded terrace to tell him, “That was Miss Truly Moore, sir. She called to remind you that she’s expecting you on her boat at one o’clock today.”

  “Was that all?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Teddy went back inside and Dean leaned back in the deck chair with a frown. He had expected that Truly would call and cancel the engagement. Steve and his wife would probably be aboard, and he had figured that as soon as Steve learned that Dean was to be present, he would protest to Truly. One thing Steve had made obvious at Berdell’s, he no longer considered Dean a friend. Perhaps, though, he had not said anything to Truly.

  But Dean had been so positive the engagement would be canceled that he suddenly found himself in the awkward position of not having the proper clothes to wear aboard a boat. He left the terrace to wander into his dressing room and rummage about, but all he could find at all appropriate were slacks, tennis shoes, and sweaters. He would have preferred a completely tailored yachtsman’s outfit, but there was no way that could be achieved on a Sunday. He thought of calling the whole thing off, afraid that he would be ridiculed in the improper clothes, but his curiosity as to how a yachting party was conducted overcame his fears. He decided to make the best of what he had.

  He was not at all happy in his slacks, tennis shoes, and light pullover sweater when he drove down to pick up Ruth, but his spirits rose a bit when she came out of the house. She, at least, had had the foresight to acquire the right clothes. She was wearing white shoes, a white accordion-pleated skirt, a silk blouse, and a double-breasted blue jacket with brass buttons. A blue yachting cap with a white bill was cocked jauntily on the side of her head.

  She called, “Ship ahoy, Skipper,” and came to him, very pleased with herself. Dean beamed at her. By God, he thought, you had to hand it to Ruth. No one on the Monkey-Do would be dressed any better, that was for sure.

  It was but a few hundred yards to the boat landing, so Dean left his car in Ruth’s driveway and the two walked around the Surf Club and down to the old wharf at Stillwater Cove. It was a beautiful day, the surf was low, and there was barely a suggestion of ground swells in the rocky cove. Small sailboats of the Mercury class were already putting out to sea for a race across Carmel Bay and a number of men farther out in the cove were diving for abalone from a rubber raft. A few boats were anchored to can buoys close to the wharf, but the Monkey-Do, overly large for the small cove and the jagged rocks projecting above the water, was swinging at its anchor a bit farther out. Dean could see people on the aft deck and a small power boat putting away from the yacht toward the wharf.

  He and Ruth went down from the wharf to a small landing just above the water and stepped into the outboard-powered dory as it swung about. A young deck hand, bare to the waist and wearing only dungarees, grinned at them, twisted the throttle, and gunned the dory away from the wharf. A few minutes later they were alongside the short companionway of the Monkey-Do and Truly was leaning over the rail waving to them. Dean took Ruth’s arm and guided her up to the deck.

  Ruth looked about wide-eyed and exclaimed to Truly, “It’s such a beautiful yacht, my dear, and I’m so happy you invited us!”

  Truly hid a smile. “I wouldn’t really call it a yacht. It’s a cruiser.” Then she turned and smiled at Dean. “Happy to have you aboard. Come on and meet the others.”

  Dean noticed at once, with a distinct shock of puzzled surprise, that he was perfectly dressed for the afternoon and that Ruth was the one out of place. Truly’s feet were bare and she was wearing faded denim slacks and a light, short-sleeved sweater that was rolled up from the bottom to bare her midriff. The rest of the women aboard were dressed somewhat similar to Truly, or they wore shorts and halters or simply bathing suits. Only one woman had a yachting cap on her head, and that she seemed to be wearing as a joke. The men who were not in shorts were all wearing old slacks, sweaters, and tennis shoes. Ruth was as out of place as a formal gown would be on a Sunday-morning hay ride in Iowa. She was not conscious of it, however; she seemed to be enjoying the sly smiles that were turned her way.

  Steve and Betty Moore were there, and with Steve was Hal Smith. Hal smiled warmly at Dean, but there was worry deep in his eyes. Dean made up his mind to steer clear of him for the day, if possible. Tim Harding and his wife were sunning themselves on the afterdeck and talking with Jan Parker. Sam was not about.

  He broke away to make a tour of the boat. The cruiser was a sixty-footer with a spacious deckhouse, a flying bridge open aft to a roomy deck, and a small sunken cockpit at the stern. Forward, below, was the forecastle with pipe berths for two men, then the galley, the engine room with twin Diesels, and aft of that two double staterooms, each with bath and shower. The young man who had brought them aboard in the dory, besides being deck hand, was also the engineer and skipper. There was one other in the crew, an elderly, amiable Filipino known as Mario, who took care of the staterooms, did the cooking, and served the drinks.

  Dean was impressed with what he saw. He wondered what it would be like to own a yacht, but perhaps one a bit bigger. There was something about owning a yacht that seemed to set a person apart. He decided to look into the matter on his next trip to San Francisco. Dean Holt, yachtsman. It had quite an appeal.

  He was in the galley, looking for champagne and brandy, when Truly came down from the deckhouse to join him. She smiled and said, “I know what you’re after. I remembered.” She took a bottle of champagne out of the refrigerator and a bottle of brandy from the liquor chest. She sliced strips from a lemon and then stood aside as Dean mixed a drink.

  “Don’t you ever drink anything else?” she asked.

  “Only beer with sea food.”

  “You work hard at being an individualist, don’t you?”

  “I don’t think I work at it at all. I am one.”

  She cocked her head to one side and appraised him from under half-closed lids. “You may have something there. But I still think you work at it.” She dropped the subject abruptly and asked, “Like the boat?”

  “Yeah. It’s nice. I’d like something like this maybe to run over to Honolulu in.”

  She burst out laughing and shook her head, “If you tried it you’d have to be towed over. This is strictly a coast
wise cruiser. It isn’t built for long voyages.”

  “Then where do you use it?”

  “Around San Francisco Bay mostly.”

  Dean was puzzled. “I don’t get it. A yacht you use to go someplace in. What the hell’s the point of going around in circles in the bay?”

  “Well, it all depends on how well you like boats. Personally, I’m very fond of just being out on the water. I’ve always loved it. I don’t necessarily have to go anywhere to enjoy boating. And when I do go somewhere I like the comfort of a liner or an airplane.”

  “How about a sailboat?”

  “That’s different, of course. With a good, sound sailboat about this size you could go anywhere in the world, if you didn’t mind discomfort.”

  He grinned and raised his glass toward her. “Then I’ll take sails.”

  She leaned back against the Monel-metal sink and held her full lower lip thoughtfully between her teeth. “You know,” she said, “I should have expected that from you. Of course it would be a sailboat. Going around in circles, just for fun, would have no appeal to you. You must go somewhere definite. You must have a goal. You have to be that way or you wouldn’t be where you are.”

  The drink felt good and he liked the faint motion of the boat under his feet and he was enjoying the intimacy of being in the galley with Truly. His smile broadened as he asked her, “Just where am I?”

  “That’s easy. Aren’t you now Mr. Number One in the business?”

  His smile faded and he lowered his glass to stare at her. So Steve had told her about the Delaney deal. And if she knew that she must know too that Steve was beginning to regard him with a jaundiced eye. Yet she had not canceled their engagement. Gould it be that everyone was wrong about her surplus affection for her brother? But no. He had witnessed that himself at the Davenport ranch. Then why the apparent friendliness?

  To feel her out, he said, “Steve is pretty sore at me just now.”

  “I know.”

  “He thinks I pulled some kind of a wrong deal on him. It wasn’t. I’m sorry he thinks that way, because I like Steve.”

  She said casually, “He doesn’t know too much about the business. He’ll learn, in time.”

  Dean was so amazed at her apparent indifference that he gulped down his drink and turned away to mix another. Truly stopped him, however, and said that she would have Mario bring the bottles out to the aft deck. He went up the few stairs to the deckhouse and out to the open bridge, where Truly joined him after a moment. She looked down at Hal Smith, leaning against the starboard rail, and her lips thinned to a line of contempt.

  She nodded toward Hal and told Dean, “Your friendly gesture of sending Hal to my brother could be interpreted as a dirty trick, you know. He’s an ineffectual man. He’s too timid for the business and he lacks the aggressiveness that Steve needs. I’ve already told Steve that I think our Mr. Smith is actually harming the business, but Steve says he’ll have to stay until a better man is found.”

  Dean mumbled, “Hal’s all right, in certain ways.”

  “Yes. In certain ways and working under certain men. There’s no doubt that he knows the business. He was probably a very good man working with you. With Steve, though, he’s no good.”

  “Do you think I deliberately planted him on Steve?”

  She shrugged and cocked an interested eyebrow as she studied his muscular torso and the obvious marks of the rugged life he had led coming up the ladder. “You’re a difficult man to know. I wouldn’t pretend to understand your motives for doing anything.”

  He grinned and winked at her. “You get to know me better and you’ll find I’m a pretty simple guy.”

  “In a few ways, perhaps. You’re an aggressive person and you’re out to dominate the industry.”

  “Is that wrong?”

  “No-o-o-o, I wouldn’t say so. My father was the top man until he died. I realize, more than Steve, what such power meant to him. I think I know what it means to you. I guess I’m like my father. I find no fault with it. I admire a man for knowing what he wants, going after it, and getting it.” She paused, then added pointedly, “I just hope you don’t hurt Steve in the process.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because he’s in your way. Isn’t that reason enough?”

  She turned and saw Mario beckoning to her from the deckhouse and left Dean. Dean was sorry the conversation had been broken off, but he was also relieved. Truly’s perceptions were a bit too sharp for comfort.

  He left the bridge and started toward Ruth, but Hal intercepted him and led him back to the starboard rail. Hal lost no time in complaining, “Working with Steve isn’t the same as being with you. I like the guy and he seems to like me all right, so we get along O.K. personally. But he shoves too much on my shoulders. After all,” he said humbly, “I’m just a salesman. That’s a job I know how to do and I can handle it all right. But Steve falls back on me to make policy decisions and everything else.”

  Dean was still puzzling over Truly’s attitude toward him, and he snapped impatiently, “He’s new. He probably needs your advice.

  “Sure, but it puts me on a bad spot. I don’t mind being responsible for what happens in sales, I’m being paid for that and, thanks to you, paid damned well, but I don’t think it’s fair for him to hold me responsible for policy matters.”

  Dean snapped irritably, “What are you getting at?”

  “Well, the thing is, I don’t like the situation.”

  “You mean Steve isn’t too happy, don’t you?”

  Hal flushed and nodded. “Whatever way you put it, I’ll finish the season with Steve, but I don’t think I’ll be with him after that.”

  Dean looked at him sharply, suddenly interested. “You’re thinking of the future.”

  “Naturally. I got a lot of responsibilities. I like to know where I stand. I was wondering, now that you have the vacuum plant — Who’s running it, by the way?”

  “Metzner is still there. He has a lot of personal things to wind up, so I let him stay on.”

  “How long?”

  “Another week or so. Why?”

  “Then you and Freeman are going to need another man.”

  “Gould be, but later, not soon.”

  Hal said eagerly, “That’s even better. I’ll finish the season with Steve, and after that — ”

  Dean smiled and said, “You want a place to light. Well, I don’t blame you. Good sales jobs aren’t always easy to find.”

  “I was always good with you, Dean. You know that.”

  Dean turned away from him and leaned over the rail to look down at the water. Apparently there was some strain beginning to develop between Hal and Steve. Hal’s days were probably numbered to the last day of the season and then he would be out of the Moore company. Hal was getting worried. He did have a lot of responsibilities with that family of his, and if he failed to land on his feet quickly after leaving Steve he would be in a desperate position. Perhaps, because of that worry, he could be used even now.

  Without looking around, Dean asked, “How are things going with the Moore outfit?”

  “Oh, good and bad.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, Steve learns fast and he’s catching on to the business, but he makes a lot of mistakes, particularly with the buyers. We’re doing a hell of a big volume, but the profit is lower than it should be. Steve sells to too many bad-credit accounts and we always have too many floaters out.”

  “What’s your best and most consistent account?”

  “Why, you know the answer to that.”

  “Uh-huh. Joe Biancoli, commission broker for the East-West market chain. Of course I know it. Joe has been buying from the Moores for years. But do you know about what the daily average is?”

  “Oh, about ten cars a day.”

  Dean whistled through his teeth. “I didn’t know it was that big. That’s a hell of a lot of cars to one buyer every day. Losing an account like that would hurt anyone, even Moore’s.
Wouldn’t it?”

  There was no reply. Dean looked out at the sailboats on the bay and turned around to face Hal, whose face had suddenly been drained of all its color. Dean said, as casually as if he were talking about the weather, “You know, I’ve always been curious about that account. I’ve always wondered why a guy like Biancoli did business only with Moore. I’d like to know the answer to that. It could mean a lot.” He paused, then squeezed Hal’s arm and smiled and said, “It could even mean a job.”

  He walked away to join the Hardings and left Hal standing at the rail. He glanced back once and noticed that Hal looked a little sick. It brought a chuckle from him. Hal was already considering ways and means of getting the information Dean wanted. Otherwise, he might look unhappy, but he would not be sick about it. Dean turned to the Hardings in high good humor.

  It was a lazy afternoon on the water. A radio was tuned in to a platter program and occasionally one of the younger couples would dance to the music, but mostly the guests lay around basking in the sun, gossiping about mutual friends, talking politics and business, and calling frequently to Mario for fresh drinks. The boat remained at its anchorage and no one cared. It was enough to lie in the sun and listen to the shallow waves playing against the hull and watch the little sailboats returning across Carmel Bay from their race. No one made an attempt to make the day other than what it was, a period of relaxation.

  Ruth was happy gossiping with Betty and Jan, so Dean spent little time with her. He wandered about the boat and he talked with the other guests and did his share of the drinking, but his eyes were never far away from Truly. He watched her closely and noticed the easy manner she had with everyone, while maintaining a certain reserve even at her friendliest moments. She was the perfect hostess, but there was about her also an aura of aloofness, as if she could not quite bring herself to mingle freely and on terms of equality with her guests.

  Dean thought about it and figured that she was probably a terrible snob, but he realized that it also went beyond that. He cast through his mind for all the women he had known in his life, but she was like none of them. Truly was a creature of strange depths and horizons. She was an introvert, yet she enjoyed the extroverted pleasure of driving high-speed cars. It was obvious to him that she liked company and was at her ease on almost any social level, but even in a crowd there was still about her a spirit of withdrawal. Her character was contradictory and not easily grasped, but he had a hunch that the conflicting elements of her nature were caused by her unusual affection for her brother. He wondered what would happen if her soul were laid bare before the gaze of any one man — and savored the idea. Throughout the afternoon he could not take his eyes away from her.