Big Eyes glared at me viciously and slammed the ball at me. Easily I returned it. He smashed it back at me. Again I returned it. I was good and I knew it. The next time I cut a little english on to the ball and it veered away sharply from his frantic stab.
I smiled at the girl. “See, baby, it’s easy.”
“The way you do it,” she snowed me, smiling back, “but not for me.”
“Sure it is,” I said casually. “I’ll show yuh.”
I put the racket in her hand and stood behind her. I reached out and held her hands from the back. Slowly I brought her right arm across her left side almost shoulder-high. She pressed back against me as our arms crossed together. She couldn’t help it, I had her tied up. I could feel her breasts taut against my forearm. I smiled knowingly at Big Eyes. He was flaming with anger, but he didn’t dare open his yap. I was too big for him.
I looked down smiling. “Isn’t it easy?” I asked conversationally.
Her face was turning red. I could see the colour coming up from her throat. Unobtrusively she tried to shake my grip. She could just as easy have tried to fly. She couldn’t. I was too strong for her. She didn’t dare say anything because all the fellows were watching us and she’d be marked lousy. “I—I guess so,” she finally answered.
I grinned and let her go. That was one ping-pong lesson she wouldn’t forget in a hurry. The fellows wouldn’t forget it either. I saw them watching me, envy in their eyes. Dollars weren’t the standard up here; dames were. None of them would ever suspect now that all I ever got out of my summers here was dough.
“Just keep practisin’, baby,” I said, and sauntered off the porch feeling pretty satisfied with myself.
I cut off across the ballfield toward the casino. Sam and I shared a one-room bungalow behind it. The first year we had been up here we had slept in a room over the casino and had never been able to get any rest. This year Sam had taken the bungalow and we used it as a combination stock-room and sleeping-quarters. Sam even had a telephone put in so he could keep in touch with the other concessions.
I unlocked the door of the bungalow, went in, and looked around me disgustedly. The place was a mess. Cartons and boxes were all over the room. It seemed I never could get time to straighten it out.
From a line over the bed I took a faded pair of gaberdine swim-trunks and slipped into them. Stepping carefully over the boxes, I made my way to the door and out. I promised myself I would straighten up the room this afternoon. I locked the door carefully and walked to the pool.
The pool was the way I liked it—deserted. I liked room to swim in. That’s why I came down in the morning; the guests rarely showed up until after lunch. I looked at the old sign over the entrance to the pool as I walked under it. I got a kick out of that sign. It used to be a bright red colour at the beginning of the summer, when it was newly painted, but now it was faded and only a gentle whisper:
BEWARE OF ATHLETE’S FOOT.
ALL BATHERS MUST STEP IN
FOOT BATH BEFORE ENTERING
POOL—by ord. Bd. Health
I obeyed its order religiously. One thing I didn’t want was athlete’s foot. I stood there almost two minutes before I walked out on the rim of the pool, my feet leaving wet tracks on the cement walk.
I looked down at the porch to see if anyone was watching me. Big Eyes and the dame were still at the tennis table. Nobody was looking. I felt oddly disappointed.
I cut into the water smoothly and swam briskly down to the far end of the pool. The water was cold this morning and I’d have to keep on swimming if I didn’t want to chill. Good enough. I could practise up on my crawl stroke while there was nobody around. Sometimes I would lose my count and inhale when I should exhale and I’d get a noseful of water. Then I’d come up sputtering and choking and feeling like a fool.
I settled into the stroke, counting grimly. I had been swimming for about fifteen minutes when I heard a man’s voice calling me. Startled, I lost my count and got a mouthful of water. I looked up angrily.
It was one of the bellhops. “There’s a dame down at the desk lookin’ for your boss.”
I swam over to the side of the pool and looked up at him. “You know he ain’t here,” I said heatedly, “so why bother me? Tell her to blow.”
“I tol’ her,” the bellhop said quickly, “’nen she asked for you.”
Who could be asking for me? “She say who she is?” I asked.
The bellhop shrugged his shoulders. “How’n hell would I know? I didn’t ask. I was too busy lookin’ at this babe. I’d see ’er ’f I were you. She’s really got it.” He rolled his eyes expressively and smacked his lips.
I grinned and climbed out of the pool. The water ran down off me and formed small puddles around my feet. I reached for a towel and began to dry myself. “What are you waitin’ for, then?” I asked. “Send her up here.”
As I finished drying myself and sat down on a bench to slip into my sandals, a shadow fell across my feet. I looked up.
“Hello, Danny.” Miss Schindler was standing there smiling at me.
I jumped to my feet, suddenly self-conscious. With surprise, I realized I was a good head taller than she was. “Muh—Miss Schindler,” I stammered.
She looked up into my face, still smiling. “You’ve grown, Danny. I wouldn’t have recognized you.”
I stared down at her. It was funny how she made me think of home. It was almost like another world up here. Suddenly I remembered that I had to answer Mamma’s letter. It had been lying on the table back in the bungalow for almost a week.
Chapter Eight
“SAM isn’t here right now,” I replied in answer to her question. “He’s checking the other concessions. He’ll be back to-night.”
A curious look of relief came over her face. “I was just in the neighbourhood,” she said quickly, “and I thought I’d drop by.” She stood there awkwardly in the bright sunlight and squinted up into my face.
I kept it blank and unknowing. Close neighbourhood. Ninety miles from the city. “Sure,” I said. I had an idea. “Where are you staying? I can have him call you when he gets back.”
“Oh, no. He can’t do that!” she answered. Too quickly, I thought. Her husband must be around somewhere; she wouldn’t want him to know. She must have guessed what was going through my mind. “You see, I’m travelling around and I don’t know where I’ll be stopping tonight.”
“How about here?” I suggested brightly. “It’s a nice place and I can get you a discount.”
She shook her head.
“Sam will feel bad if I tell him you left without waiting,” I said.
Her eyes were shrewd as she looked at me. “No,” she said definitely. “I’d better not.”
I was disappointed. Suddenly I realized that I wanted her to stay. In a way she was a touch of home and I was glad to see her. The telephone in the bungalow began to ring. I grabbed my towel and started to run toward it.
“Wait a minute,” I called back over my shoulder. “That’s probably Sam calling. I’ll tell him you’re here.”
I pushed open the door and grabbed at the phone. “Hello. Sam?”
“Yeah.” His voice was husky through the receiver. “How’s it goin’?”
“Okay, Sam,” I answered. Excitement crept into my voice. “Miss Schindler’s up here to see you.”
Sam’s voice grew huskier. “What’s she doin’ up there?”
“She said she was just passing through an’ she thought she’d drop in an’ see you.”
“Tell her I can’t get back till late tonight,” he said quickly. “Get her a good room an’ keep her there till I get back.”
“But, Sam,” I protested, “I already asked her. She don’t want to stay.”
His voice grew confidential. “Listen, kid. I’m dependin’ on you. If you ever had a yen for a babe like I got for her, you’d know what I mean. Get her anythin’ she wants, but keep her there. I’ll be back before one in the mornin’.”
The phone
went dead in my hand. I looked at it bewilderedly. What did he expect me to do? Kidnap her? Slowly I put the receiver down and turned to the door. Sam had spoken as if I knew what to do, as he would to another man, not a kid. I began to feel a glow of pride as I started for the door, but before I reached it she stood framed in the doorway.
She peered into the bungalow curiously. “May I come in?” she asked.
I stood still in the centre of the room. “Sure, Miss Schindler.” I pushed some boxes from the floor in front of her so she could pass.
“I was supposed to straighten up, but I haven’t had time,” I explained.
She closed the door behind her and I straightened up to face her. My face was flushed.
“Was it Sam?” she asked.
My eyes met her gaze. I nodded silently.
“What did he say?”
“He said for me to get you a room an’ anything you want an’ to keep you here until he comes,” I said boldly.
Her voice grew challenging and suspicious. “He seems pretty sure of himself, doesn’t he?”
I could feel the flush grow deeper and my eyes fell away from her piercing look. I didn’t answer.
She sounded angry now. I had been too wise. Somehow she realized that I knew. “What will you tell him if I don’t stay?” she snapped.
I turned away from her and fiddled with a few of the boxes. I still didn’t answer.
Her hand gripped my shoulder and turned me around. Her face was flushed now. “What will you tell him?” she repeated heatedly.
I looked deep into her eyes. To hell with her. There was nothing she could do to me. I wasn’t in school now. “Nothing,” I said mockingly. I took her hand from my shoulder.
She looked at my hand gripping her wrist, then slowly around the room. I could see she was making up her mind. Her eyes came back to me. “All right,” she said suddenly, “I’ll stay. Clean up this room for me.”
I was startled. “But Sam said for me to get you a room——”
Her voice grew stubborn. “I said I’ll stay here.”
“But it’s all messed up,” I protested. “You’ll be much more comfortable up in the hotel.”
She turned toward the door and opened it. “Sam said you were to do anything I wanted if I stayed. I’m staying here.” She stepped over the threshold and looked back at me. “I’m going down to get my car. You can clean up the room while I’m gone.”
I watched her close the door. She had me and she knew it. I wondered why she was so angry, I couldn’t have let on that much. I walked over to the window and looked out after her.
She disappeared below the swimming-pool. I could understand how Sam felt. She sold more with her walk than most of the broads up here did in a bathing-suit.
I turned back from the window and looked disgustedly around the room. Mamma’s last letter gleamed whitely at me from the table. I hadn’t answered it yet, in more than a week. Now I wouldn’t have time.
Mamma tied the smock around her as she walked down the stairs. The air was still and quiet and she knew it would be another hot day. She was tired before the day began. She was always tired lately. She hadn’t been sleeping well.
Papa had brought home a tonic for her. She had taken it every morning for a week, but it hadn’t helped. Of course she had told him that it had helped her—it made him feel good. A man had to feel useful, and he felt bad enough over the way business was going.
She felt sorry for Papa. Last night in his sleep he had cried. His voice in the dark woke her up and she lay there quietly, listening to the soft, mumbled words coming from his heart. He seemed so bewildered that tears had come to her eyes.
She hadn’t been able to fall asleep afterwards. The night seemed to last forever. Now she was tired again and nothing would help. The muggy heat of the morning didn’t make it any easier. These last few weeks of August were generally the worst. She felt she could not take much more of this heat and wished the summer was over already.
She walked through the kitchen and opened the icebox door and looked in. It was almost empty. She had always taken great pride in keeping a well-stocked icebox. She had always said that she liked to keep enough in the house so that she didn’t have to run out shopping every day. Now something about its bleakness was another ache in her body. The small piece of ice, shrunk from the day before; the almost empty carton of eggs; the half a quarter pound of butter. Even the milk bottle with the small drop of milk in it seemed to hurt her.
She closed the icebox door slowly. The three eggs would do for breakfast. Suddenly she was glad I wasn’t home. She decided to look in the mailbox to see if my letter had arrived.
The sound of the milk wagon came to her. She began to feel better; she would be able to get eggs and butter from him as well as milk. And at least he would put it on the bill so she could use the few dollars she had in the tumbler over the sink for a soup chicken. She hurried to the front door to catch him before he went away.
The milkman was kneeling in front of the storage box when she opened the door. He slowly rose to his feet with a peculiarly guilty expression on his face. “Mornin’, Missus Fisher,” he said in a strained, embarrassed voice.
“Good morning, Borden, it’s a good thing I caught you,” Mamma replied. The words were spilling from her lips breathlessly from her slight exertion. “I need some eggs and butter this morning.”
The milkman shifted awkwardly on his feet. “Gee, Missus Fisher, I’m sorry but——” His voice trailed off into nothingness.
Disappointment etched her face. “You mean you’re all out?”
He shook his head silently. His hand gestured toward the storage box on the stoop in front of her.
Mamma was bewildered. “I—I don’t understand,” she said hesitantly, her eyes following his pointing fingers. Then she did understand. There was a yellow note in the box. Only the note, no milk.
She picked up the note slowly and began to read it. They were stopping her service. She owed them three weeks’ bills. The eyes she raised to the milkman were filled with horror. Her face was white and sick-looking.
“I’m sorry, Missus Fisher,” he murmured sympathetically.
A spray of water began to fall across the lawn in front of the house. She was suddenly aware of Mr. Conlon, who had been watering his garden. He was watching them.
He saw her glance. “Good morning, Mrs. Fisher,” his voice boomed out.
“Good morning,” she replied automatically. She would have to do something. She was sure that he had seen and heard everything. She looked down at the bill again: four dollars and eighty-two cents. There was just five dollars in the tumbler over the sink.
She forced her voice up into her throat and tried to smile. Her lips were almost white and the smile was more like a grimace on a stone statue. “I was just going to pay you,” she said to the milkman in a purposely steady voice. “Wait a minute.”
She closed the door quickly behind her. For a second she leaned against it weakly; the bill fluttered to the floor from her trembling fingers. She didn’t try to pick it up; she was afraid she would faint if she did. Instead she hurried back into the kitchen and took the money from the tumbler over the sink.
She counted the bills slowly, reluctantly, as if with each re-counting some miracle would make them double. There were only five dollars. She felt cold. A shiver ran nervously through her as she turned and went back to the door.
The milkman was standing on the stoop where she had left him, but now he had milk, butter, and eggs in a little wire basket on his arm. She handed him the money silently, and he put it in his pocket and counted out the eighteen cents change into her hand.
“Here’s your order, Missus Fisher,” he said understandingly, not quite meeting her eyes.
She wanted to tell him to keep it, but didn’t dare. Shame coursed inside her as she took the basket from his hands. She didn’t speak.
He cleared his throat. “It’s not my fault, Missus Fisher. It’s the credit man down at
the office. You understand?”
She nodded her head. She understood all right. He turned and ran down the steps as she watched him. Mr. Conlon’s voice boomed out at her.
“It’s gonna be a scorcher today, Mrs. Fisher.” He was smiling.
She looked at him absently. Her mind was far away. “Yes, it is, Mr. Conlon,” she replied gently, and, closing the door behind her, went back into the kitchen.
She put the milk, butter, and eggs into the icebox thoughtfully. The box still looked empty. She felt she should be crying, but her eyes were dry. There was a noise on the stairs. She closed the icebox door quickly. The family was coming down for breakfast.
A few minutes later the milk and butter and eggs were out on the table and they were eating. As she watched them, a slight warmth came into her body.
Mimi was excited. There had been an ad in the papers last night. A&S, one of the downtown Brooklyn department stores, wanted some part-time girls to act as clerks and she was going down there. Papa ate his breakfast silently. His face was drawn and weary, showing the lines that appear when sleep is not restful.
Then the kitchen was empty and Mamma was alone. Slowly she finished washing the dishes. Then she noticed the milk and butter and eggs still on the table. She picked them up and balanced them on her arm. With her free hand she opened the icebox door and put them in. Nothing remained of the little piece of ice; it had melted. She closed the door.
She heard footsteps on the stoop. It must be the mailman, she thought. She ran to the front door and opened it. The mailman had already gone on to the next house. She opened the mailbox quickly, took out a few letters, and turned them over in her hand. Nothing from me. Only bills. She went back into the kitchen slowly, opening them as she walked. Gas, telephone, electricity—all overdue.
She dropped them on the table, holding one more unopened letter in her hand. She didn’t recognize its marking. She opened it. It was a notice from the bank that the mortgage payment on the house was overdue.
A Stone for Danny Fisher (1952) Page 7