Hunger and the Hate

by Dixon, H. Vernor

  Dean filled his lungs with air and let it out slowly in a long sigh. “I don’t know,” he said. “A deal like that — I don’t know.”

  Hal said testily, “All you wanted from me was the information. What you do with it is your own business.”

  “That’s right. I’ll — ah — I’ll keep you in mind for the end of the season.”

  Hal asked eagerly, “That’s a promise?”

  “Sure.”

  He watched Hal drive away, but hadn’t the energy to start his own engine. He remained under the walnut trees for a while, feeling listless, wondering what was the matter with him. He should be planning, going after Joe, making a deal with him. A ten-car loss at this point could really cripple Steve. Or at any point, for that matter. But he was not sure he wanted it. When he drove away finally he was still uncertain.

  He went to Berdell’s for lunch, got into a dice game at the bar, and dropped four thousand dollars. He walked away without giving it a thought. While he was enjoying a steak in the dining room, another shipper offered to split a dozen cars of celery with him on a deal that would net a neat profit. Dean waved it away: “Too busy.” Sam and Jan Parker came into the dining room as he was leaving and Jan’s face turned white at sight of him. Dean nodded at the two of them absent-mindedly and walked on by. Jan stared after him with open mouth.

  Freeman burst into laughter, later in the afternoon, and told him in his office, “You’re just suffering from delayed reaction. For years you’ve been pounding away to be the kingpin. All right, so you made it. Now you’re on top. But you’re having trouble accepting it.”

  “Aw, it’s more than that. It’s this damned thing with Ruth that has me all upset.”

  Freeman nodded. He had been told the whole story. “Could be,” he said. “That’s part of it.”

  “Imagine me passing up a profit on celery?”

  “Not very well, but it fits the pattern. You got what you wanted and more. Now you don’t know what the hell you want. And you’re the kind of person who has to want something and want it badly.”

  “I’ll buy that. I’ve always been that way.”

  “Take time and cool off. You’ll get used to the new status.”

  “I hope so. I’ll tell you something else. I got the low-down on Joe Biancoli’s deal with Tom Moore. Ten bucks a car.”

  Freeman noddd and frowned, watching Dean anxiously. “That was it. What have you done about it?”

  “This is going to tickle you. I’ve done nothing whatever about it.”

  “Honestly?”

  “Believe it or not.”

  Freeman grinned and squeezed his shoulder and walked away looking very happy. Dean shrugged. It wasn’t important. Nothing was important.

  At home that evening he restlessly paced the floor of the library, waiting for Teddy to prepare dinner. He felt very much alone. He had to talk with someone, and he walked into the kitchen. He sat on the sink and watched Teddy at work and started talking about the business. He explained technical matters about shipping and went into details and was not conscious of the fact that the houseboy was deliberately slowing preparation of the meal to keep him talking.

  When the telephone rang Teddy answered the kitchen extension, then handed it to Dean, whispering, “Miss Truly Moore.”

  Dean held the instrument away and stared at it, then said, “Truly?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “I was hoping I’d catch you at home. I haven’t heard from you.”

  “I thought you were still in the city.”

  “Oh, no. I came back here the first part of the week.”

  Dean started to smile. “It’s nice hearing from you. How have you been?”

  “Very well, thank you. But what I called about — Are you busy?”

  “Busy?” He almost shouted, “Hell, no. Why? What’s up?”

  “Oh, nothing much, really. Steve and Betty are up in the city for the night and I was facing an evening alone.”

  “Same here. So why don’t we get together? Wait a minute.” He placed a hand over the speaker and asked Teddy, “How about that dinner? Is it enough for two?”

  Teddy looked over the pots and pans on the stove and nodded. “Plenty of vegetables, sir. The casserole, though — ”

  “You can skip that. We have steaks, don’t we?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” He lifted his hand and told Truly, “My houseboy has dinner just about ready. It looks good. Suppose I drive up and get you.”

  She laughed and said, “No need for that. I’ll be down in a few minutes. ’By.”

  The evening was no longer a vacuum. Dean’s spirits rose and he was whistling softly as he helped Teddy rearrange the table with his best silver and china. He placed two candelabra on the table and touched a flame to the wicks of the half-dozen tall white candles, then turned off the lights in the room. He also brought in a large silver tray and ice and glasses from the kitchen and proceeded to mix a small pitcher of Martinis, which he placed to chill in a bowl of cracked ice. He was not sure that was the right way to chill Martinis, but he liked the effect of the glass and the ice and the extra silverware. He was mixing a double cocktail for himself when the doorbell rang and Teddy ushered Truly into the house.

  Dean greeted her with a broad grin and held her hand a moment longer than necessary. She was clothed strikingly in an off-the-shoulder bright red dress with white-beaded polka dots, the wide skirt flaring at her knees over can-can petticoats. Enormous hoop earrings dangled from the lobes of her ears, a white cardigan with beaded jewels about the neck and down the front was thrown loosely over her shoulders, and her light hair was brushed meticulously forward about her cheeks and forehead. It was not a costume in which she had been lying about the house for a dull evening alone. Though it had not been long since her call, she had managed a change designed for a certain effect on him. The effect was also meant to be an obvious one. She wanted him to know that she had taken some trouble to highlight their evening together.

  She dropped the cardigan to a couch and accepted a Martini from him, then looked about with pleased interest. Dean showed her about the house, at first worried over her reaction to his bachelor quarters, then happy in the knowledge that she was impressed with his good taste, or at least the good taste he had bought via an interior decorator. She did not comment on the fact that the house seemed designed solely for display and looked as if no one had yet moved into it.

  “Nice,” she said. “Very nice.”

  Dean accepted it as high praise.

  But at the dinner table Dean was again worried and nervous. The candelabra seemed overdone; one would have been enough. There was too much silverware for the relatively simple meal and a good red wine would have been more in keeping with the steaks than the cold bottle of champagne. Truly, however, enjoyed her meal and chatted gaily about the friends Dean had met in the city and another, later dinner party at one of their homes. Her friends had asked about him and the men were convinced that they had tangled with the champion poker player of all time.

  “I told them,” she said, “that your whole business is based on gambling. When they realized that you did more gambling in a day than they did in a lifetime, then they didn’t feel so badly about losing to you.”

  Dean said expansively, “They were good, but they don’t concentrate enough. Gambling requires everything you’ve got, whether it’s cards or business. Makes no difference.”

  They went into the library for coffee and brandy and thin cheese over slices of apple. Truly sat on a couch before the fireplace and Dean was about to drop into a chair opposite her, but she smiled and patted the couch at her side.

  When Dean joined her she said, “Steve was talking about that the other day, the gambling phase of the business.”

  “That’s most of it.”

  “He accepts that now. He tried to look at it from a purely businessman’s angle, but it didn’t work. He had to face the fact that if he was to get anywhere he’d have to gamble and
gamble big.”

  “I’ve heard he’s taking a flyer on a thousand acres of carrots. Is that part of your land?”

  “No. All of my land is in lettuce.”

  “Your decision or his?”

  She crossed her slim knees and the petticoats flared up and out in a faint whisper of material. “Mine,” she replied. “As I’ve said before, I don’t want to become too involved in the business. I’ve told my field manager to stay with lettuce only.” Her gray eyes slanted to his as she asked, “Isn’t that the way Ruth Tinsley plants her land, just the one crop?”

  Dean coughed and cleared his throat and nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Then that’s the way I’ll do it, too. Ruth seems to be a very smart woman. Incidentally, speaking of Ruth — ” She paused and her eyes looked deeply into his, as if searching for something. Then she said, “Ruth and Betty are rather good friends, you know. I overhear the two of them talking together now and then. From what I gather — ”

  Dean’s face flushed red as he interrupted. “We’ve broken up.”

  “For good?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. It happened over that trip to the city.”

  She leaned back in the couch, a smile flickering in the depths of her eyes. “I know all about it, Dean. You were a rather naughty boy. You even managed to get me involved.”

  “Oh, hell.” He sat forward with his elbows on his knees and turned to watch Truly’s expression. “Did she accuse you — ”

  Truly laughed and shook her head. “No, Dean. Betty told me all about it. But Betty knows me better than that, so she called the hotel and got the description of Mrs. Sam Parker. It was quite a surprise to learn that Mrs. Sam Parker really was Mrs. Sam Parker. So she told Ruth.”

  “She did? Why?”

  “Well, in spite of the fact that Betty and I have no love for each other, she couldn’t let Ruth go on thinking of me as a cheap, vulgar tramp.”

  “And now she knows. Lord, I’m sorry you got dragged into this mess. Jan was just getting even with me for standing her up. A woman like that, she doesn’t give a damn who she hurts.” Dean frowned, watching her closely. “So that’s why you called me this evening. I was wondering.”

  Truly shook her head. “That isn’t why I called. In fact, I didn’t intend to bring up the subject. I’m sorry I did now, if you think that’s the only reason I wanted to see you.” She rested the side of her face on the couch as her eyes again swung to his. “Now then, would you really like to know why I called you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, for one thing, I’ve discovered that I like you. There’s something ruthless about you that appeals to me. Another thing, you’re no gentleman, not in any sense of the term.”

  “Well,” he laughed, “a fine thing to say.”

  “It is a fine thing, actually. Most of us have become much too civilized. We forget the animal that’s lying there always just under the surface. But you don’t. You never forget. You dress well and you surround yourself with what you think are the better things of life, but you never forget the animal. It’s always there, peering out of your eyes, weighing, calculating, appraising, scheming.”

  “Is that good?”

  “Yes, if the animal is kept under control. The thing is, Dean, you never lose sight of a man’s true goals. I’ve been watching you and thinking about you a great deal lately.”

  She paused and Dean cast about for something to say and finally mumbled, “You’re being very flattering.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “I mean, just thinking of me at all — ”

  He paused helplessly and she smiled at him softly. “Modesty isn’t something I’d expect of you, Dean.”

  “I don’t expect it of myself. But with you — ” Dean stared at her and was lost. A conversation of that sort was beyond his ability to cope with. He had a feeling that she was fencing with him, for some obscure reason, and that her words lacked sincerity. It seemed to be a conversational stage setting in which he was expected to step into the spotlight. But he had no idea of the role expected of him and was quite sure that he would stumble over his lines.

  He said lamely, “Well, I mean, that is, I don’t believe much in modest people; they’re either so small they’re not worth bothering about or so big they wear their modesty like a halo they riveted together personally. Anyway, it’s not for me. With you, though, I don’t feel so big.”

  She asked, with a smile, “The halo slips?”

  “Yeah. You’ve always had a funny effect on me, like maybe a goddess of some kind, or one of those Greek statues on a marble column.”

  “You make me sound terribly unattainable.”

  He remembered the kiss in front of her apartment and said pointedly, “Maybe you’re not.”

  She saw the excitement beginning to flame in his eyes and her smile deepened. She had led him as far as she wanted to go for the moment. She changed the conversation instantly by glancing toward a console cabinet she saw and asking about it. It was a new high-fidelity phonograph, with clusters of speakers hidden about the room, which Dean had acquired a few months before but had used rarely. He was not sure he liked it. He was so used to the limited range of music on the radio that music in full tone rather disconcerted him. But he had a number of good records that he had had selected by a knowledgeable salesgirl in one of the San Francisco music shops. He put them on and they sat back to listen.

  The records were badly arranged, so Truly got to her feet and put them in proper sequence. Music, where Dean was concerned, was for background purposes only. He paid little attention to it. He watched Truly at the console, he watched her moving gracefully about the room, and he listened to her talking casually, but with considerable knowledge, about contemporary music. He closed his eyes and could see her as mistress of the house, running a staff of servants, the gracious hostess at his table, greeting a whole new “upper level” of guests. A goddess to come home to. A statue come to life before his fireplace. He opened his eyes and frowned deeply into space. What the hell, he thought. Where did I get ideas like that? Level out and fly right, Buster.

  He noticed once that she too was staring off into space and thought that perhaps she had become bored. He mentioned going to the Lodge, but she vetoed the idea. She wasn’t interested in going anywhere.

  “I thought maybe you’d like to dance somewhere.”

  She laughed and said, “We have music here, haven’t we?” and stood up and held out her arms.

  He moved into her arms and her lips brushed lightly along his cheek. He held her tightly and his lips sought hers and again she was yielding. The telephone rang and Dean swore under his breath and Truly laughed at him, but pushed him away.

  When he answered the phone on the desk it was Ruth on the wire: “Dean? I’m so glad you’re home. Are you alone?”

  He glanced at Truly, then said into the phone, “Just a minute. Hang on.”

  He put the phone down on the desk and hurried into the dark kitchen. He switched on the light and lifted the extension phone. Teddy had apparently gone to bed. He glanced at the kitchen clock and was surprised to notice that it was after midnight. Time certainly passed fast with Truly around.

  He frowned at the phone in his hand, then said, “Yes, Ruth? What’s on your mind?”

  She stammered, “Well, I — I just thought I’d call and see how you were.”

  “I’m fine. And you?”

  “Oh, all right, I guess.” There was a pause, then she said, “Oh, hell, why beat around the bush? I found out about that week end finally. It was that Jan bitch you were with. How do you like a character like that? She goes up there with you herself and then she comes back here with a long tale about you carrying on with someone else and I fell for it like a ton of bricks. She sure took me over the hurdles. I was a fool.”

  Dean started to smile as he said, “But I was up there with a woman.”

  There was a long silence, then Ruth sighed, “I know. I don’t like that either. I don’t like
it at all.” Her feminine viewpoint then came as a surprise to Dean: “But I’m damned if I’ll let a bitch like that louse up my life and break us up. That’s just what she wanted. Well, the devil with her. Dean, I’ve been getting those flowers of yours every day. You ask me to forgive you. All right, I’ll do it.”

  “I’m forgiven?”

  She cried gladly, “Yes, yes. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m happy, darling. I’m terribly happy. Look, I have to see you. I’ll come right over.”

  Dean almost shouted, “Hey, wait a minute. No, no.”

  “But why not? You are alone, aren’t you?”

  He heard a sound behind him and turned around and saw Truly standing in the doorway of the kitchen. She smiled and said, rather loudly, “I’m thirsty, Dean. I’ll just help myself here in the kitchen. Hope I didn’t disturb you.” She walked by him and to the kitchen sink and turned on the cold-water faucet. Ruth screamed in Dean’s ear, “Who was that? Who was that woman I heard?” Truly took her time drinking a glass of water, again smiled at Dean, and walked slowly out of the kitchen.

  Ruth shouted, “You louse! You aren’t alone. That sounded like Jan.”

  Dean said wearily, “No, it wasn’t Jan.”

  “It sure sounded like her to me.”

  “No,” he repeated, “it wasn’t Jan. That was Truly Moore you heard. She was just thirsty, is all.”

  Ruth gasped, “Truly!”

  “That’s right.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “We’re having a little party. Just the two of us. Would you like to talk with her?”

  “No.” Then she screamed, “You’re making a fool of me again. You’re laughing at me.”

  “Believe me, Ruth, I’m not laughing at you.”

  “You are so. This is the last straw. You hear me? Jan I can understand. You’re the same type. Maybe you couldn’t help yourself. Truly I can never understand. Never. Good-by, Dean. And this is good-by for the last time.” She gasped and cried, “So help me.”