In Sunlight or In Shadow
Page 27
Now she did look around, and let something show on her face.
She got to her feet. Not for the first time, she felt a touch of dizziness upon standing. She put a hand on the table for support, and the dizziness subsided, as it always did. She drew a breath, turned, and walked toward the door.
She moved at a measured pace, deliberately, neither hurrying nor slowing. This Automat, unlike the one closer to her hotel, had a brass-trimmed revolving door, and she paused to let a new patron enter the restaurant. She thought about the desk clerk at her hotel, and the twenty dollars. Her purse held a five-dollar bill and two singles, along with those fifteen nickels, so she could pay a week’s rent and have a few days to find the rest, and—
“Oh, I don’t think so. Stop right there, ma’am.”
She extended a foot toward the revolving door, and now a hand fastened on her upper arm. She spun around, and there he was, the thin-lipped manager.
“Bold as brass,” he said. “By God, you’re not the first person to walk off with the odd spoon, but you took the lot, didn’t you? And polished them while you were at it.”
“How dare you!”
“I’ll just take that,” he said, and took hold of her handbag.
“No!”
Now there were three hands gripping the alligator bag, one of his and two of her own. “How dare you!” she said again, louder this time, knowing that everyone in the restaurant was looking at the two of them. Well, let them look.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he told her. “By God, I was just going to take back what you stole, but you’ve got an attitude that’s as bad as your thieving.” He called over his shoulder: “Jimmy, call the precinct, tell the guy on the desk to send over a couple of boys.” His eyes glinted—oh, he was enjoying this—and his words washed over her as he told her he would make an example of her, that a night or two in jail would give her more of a sense of private property.
“Now,” he said, “are you gonna open that bag, or do we wait for the cops?”
There were two policemen, one a good ten years older than the other, though both looked young to her. And it was clear that neither of them wanted to be there, enlisted to punish a woman for stealing tableware from a cafeteria.
It was the elder of the two who told her, almost apologetically, that she’d have to open the bag.
“Certainly,” she said, and worked the clasp, and took out the knife and the fork and both spoons. The policemen looked on with no change in expression, but the manager knew what he was seeing, and her heart quickened at the look on his face.
“I like the food at this restaurant,” she said, “and the people who dine here are decent, and the chairs are comfortable enough. But as for your spoons and forks, I don’t care for the way they feel in my hands or in my mouth. I prefer my own. These were my mother’s, they’re hallmarked sterling silver, you can see her monogram—”
The apology came in a rush, and found her unrelenting. It would be the manager’s pleasure to give her a due bill entitling her to this and so many meals absolutely without charge, and—
“I’m sure nothing could induce me to come here ever again.”
Well, he was terribly sorry, and fortunately no actual harm had been done, so—
“You’ve humiliated me in front of a room full of people. You laid hands on me, you grabbed my arm, you tried to grab my purse.” She glanced around. “Did you see what this man did?”
Several patrons nodded, including the woman who’d spooned all that sugar into her coffee.
More words of apology, but she cut right through them. “My nephew is an attorney. I think I should call him.”
Something changed in the manager’s face. “Why don’t we go to my office,” he suggested. “I’m sure we can work this out.”
When she got back to her hotel, the first thing she did was pay her rent, the month that was overdue and the next two in advance.
Upstairs in her room, she took the knife and fork and spoons and returned them to her dresser drawer. They were part of a set, all monogrammed with a capital J, but they had not been her mother’s.
Nor were they sterling. Had they been, she’d have contrived to sell them. But they were decent silver plate, and while she did not customarily carry them around with her, they served admirably when she warmed up a can of baked beans on her hotplate.
And they’d served admirably today.
In his office, the manager had tried to buy his way out with a hundred dollars, and doubled it quickly when it was apparent he’d insulted her. A deep breath followed by a firm shake of her head had coaxed another hundred out of him, and she weighed that, hovering on the brink of accepting it, only to sigh and wonder if she wouldn’t be best advised to call her nephew after all.
His offer jumped from three hundred to five hundred, and she had the sense he might well go higher, but Alfred had impressed upon her the folly of wringing every nickel out of a situation. So she didn’t jump at it, but thought for a long moment and gave in gracefully.
He had her sign something. She didn’t hesitate, jotting down a name she’d used before, and he counted out the appointed sum in twenty-dollar bills.
Twenty-five of them.
Or ten thousand nickels, Liebchen. If you want to give the cashier a heart attack.
“But it went well,” she told Alfred, speaking the words aloud in the little room. “I pulled it off, didn’t I?”
The answer to that was clear enough not to require his stating it. She hung her hat on the peg, her coat in the closet. She sat on the edge of the bed and counted her money, then tucked away all but one of the twenties where no one would think to look for them.
Alfred had schooled her in hiding money, even as he’d taught her how to get hold of it.
“I couldn’t be sure it would work,” she said. “It came to me one day. I had a fork with one bent tine, and I thought how low-quality their cutlery was, and I could imagine a woman, oh, one who’d come down a peg or two over time, bringing her own silverware in her purse. And then I forgot about her, and then she came back to me, and—”
And one thing led to another. And it had worked splendidly, and the nervousness she’d felt had been appropriate to the role she’d been playing. Now, seeing the incident from a distance, viewing it with Alfred’s critical perspective, she could see ways to refine her performance, to make more certain the taking of the bait and the sinking of the hook.
Could she do it again? She wouldn’t need to, not for quite a while. Her rent was paid through the end of the year, and the money she’d tucked away would keep her for that long and longer.
Of course she couldn’t return to that particular Automat. There were others, including a perfectly nice one very near to her hotel, but did the chain’s managers keep one another up to date? The man she’d dealt with, the man with the thin lips and the mean little eyes, had hardly covered himself with glory in their encounter, and you’d think he’d want to keep it to himself. But one never knew, and the less one left to chance—
Perhaps, for at least a while, she’d be well advised to take her custom elsewhere. There were many places nearby where the shabby genteel could dine decently at low cost. Childs, for example, had several restaurants, with a nice one nearby on Thirty-fourth Street, in the shadow of the Third Avenue El.
Or Schrafft’s. The prices were a little higher there, and they drew a better class of customer, but she’d fit in well enough. And if one of them had the right sort of manager, she’d know what to do when her funds got low.
One had to adapt. She was too old to slip on a just-mopped floor at Gimbel’s, too frail to stumble on an escalator, and there were all those routines Alfred had taught her, gambits you couldn’t bring off without a partner.
Schrafft’s, she decided. And she’d begin by scouting the one on West Twenty-third, in the heart of the Ladies’ Mile.
Would they have apple crisp? She hoped so.
PERMISSIONS
All works by Edward
Hopper (1882–1967) and oil on canvas unless otherwise noted. We gratefully acknowledge all those who gave permission for material to appear in this book. We have made every effort to trace and contact copyright holders. If an error or omission is brought to our notice we will be pleased to remedy the situation in future editions of this book. For further information, please contact the publisher.
Megan Abbott, “Girlie Show”
The Girlie Show, 1941 (p. 2)
32 × 38 in. (81.3 × 96.5 cm). Private collection/Bridgeman Images
Jill D. Block, “The Story of Caroline”
Summer Evening, 1947 (p. 22)
30 × 42 in. (76.2 × 106.7 cm). Private collection © Artepics/Alamy Stock Photo
Robert Olen Butler, “Soir Bleu”
Soir Bleu, 1914 (p. 40)
Oil on canvas, 36 × 71 in. (91.8 × 182.7 cm). Whitney Museum of American Art, New York; Josephine N. Hopper Bequest 70.1208 © Heirs of Josephine N. Hopper, licensed by Whitney Museum of American Art. Digital Image © Whitney Museum, NY
Lee Child, “The Truth About What Happened”
Hotel Lobby, 1943 (p. 52)
32 ¼ × 40 in. (81.9 × 103.5 cm). Indianapolis Museum of Art, William Ray Adams Memorial Collection, 47.4 © Edward Hopper
Nicholas Christopher, “Rooms by the Sea”
Rooms by the Sea, 1951 (p. 62)
29 ¼ × 40 in. (74.3 × 101.6 cm). Yale University Art Gallery, Bequest of Stephen Carlton Clark, B.A. 1903
Michael Connelly, “Nighthawks”
Nighthawks, 1942 (p. 80)
33 × 60 in. (84.1 × 152.4 cm). Friends of American Art Collection, 1942.51, The Art Institute of Chicago
Jeffery Deaver, “Incident of 10 November”
Hotel by a Railroad, 1952 (p. 92)
31 ¼ × 40 in. (79.4 × 101.9 cm). Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, Smithsonian Institution; Gift of the Joseph H. Hirshhorn Foundation, 1966. Photography by Lee Stalsworth
Craig Ferguson, “Taking Care of Business”
South Truro Church, 1930 (p. 106)
29 × 43 in. (73.7 × 109.2 cm). Private collection
Stephen King, “The Music Room”
Room in New York, 1932 (p. 118)
37 × 44 ½ in. (94 × 113 cm). Sheldon Museum of Art, University of Nebraska-Lincoln, Anna R. and Frank M. Hall Charitable Trust, H-166.1936. Photo © Sheldon Museum of Art
Joe R. Lansdale, “The Projectionist”
New York Movie, 1939 (p. 126)
32 ¼ × 40 in. (81.9 × 101.9 cm). Given anonymously. The Museum of Modern Art, New York, NY. Digital Image © The Museum of Modern Art/Licensed by SCALA / Art Resource, NY
Gail Levin, “The Preacher Collects”
City Roofs, 1932 (p. 156)
29 × 36 in. (73.7 × 91.4 cm). Private collection
Warren Moore, “Office at Night”
Office at Night, 1940 (p. 168)
22 × 25 in. (56.4 × 63.8 cm). Collection Walker Art Center, Minneapolis; Gift of the T.B. Walker Foundation, Gilbert M. Walker Fund, 1948
Joyce Carol Oates, “The Woman in the Window”
Eleven A.M., 1926 (p. 184)
28 × 36 in. (71.3 × 91.6 cm). Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, Smithsonian Institution; Gift of the Joseph H. Hirshhorn Foundation, 1966. Photography by Cathy Carver
Kris Nelscott, “Still Life 1931”
Hotel Room, 1931 (p. 208)
60 × 65 ¼ in. (152.4 × 165.7 cm). Madrid, Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza. Inv. N.: 1977110. © 2016 Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza/Scala, Florence
Jonathan Santlofer, “Night Windows”
Night Windows, 1928 (p. 234)
29 × 34 in. (73.7 × 86.4 cm). Gift of John Hay Whitney. The Museum of Modern Art, New York. Digital Image © The Museum of Modern Art/Licensed by SCALA / Art Resource, NY
Justin Scott, "A Woman in the Sun"
A Woman in the Sun, 1961 (p. 256)
Oil on canvas, Oil on linen, 40 × 60 in. (101.9 × 152.9 cm). Whitney Museum of American Art, New York; 50th Anniversary Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Albert Hackett in honor of Edith and Lloyd Goodrich 84.31 © Heirs of Josephine N. Hopper, licensed by Whitney Museum of American Art. Digital Image © Whitney Museum, NY
Lawrence Block, “Autumn at the Automat”
Automat, 1927 (p. 264)
Oil on canvas, 36 × 28 in. (91.4 × 71.4 cm). Des Moines Art Center, Permanent Collections; Purchased with funds from the Edmundson Art Foundation, Inc., 1958.2. Photo Credit: Rich Sanders, Des Moines, IA
IN SUNLIGHT OR IN SHADOW
Pegasus Books Ltd.
148 W 37th Street, 13th Floor
New York, NY 10018
Compilation and foreword copyright © 2016 Lawrence Block
Girlie Show, copyright © 2016 Megan Abbott
The Story of Caroline, copyright © 2016 Jill D. Block
Soir Bleu, copyright © 2016 Robert Olen Butler
The Truth About What Happened, copyright © 2016 Lee Child
Rooms by the Sea, copyright © 2016 Nicholas Christopher
Nighthawks, copyright © 2016 Michael Connelly
The Incident of 10 November, copyright © 2016 Jeffery Deaver
Taking Care of Business, copyright © 2016 Craig Ferguson
The Music Room, copyright © 2016 Stephen King
The Projectionist, copyright © 2016 Joe R. Lansdale
The Preacher Collects, copyright © 2016 Gail Levin
Office at Night, copyright © 2016 Warren Moore
The Woman in the Window, copyright © 2016 Joyce Carol Oates
Still Life 1931, copyright © 2016 Kristine Kathryn Rusch
Night Windows, copyright © 2016 Jonathan Santlofer
A Woman in the Sun, copyright © 2016 Justin Scott
Autumn at the Automat, copyright © 2016 Lawrence Block
First Pegasus Books cloth edition December 2016
Interior design by Maria Fernandez
Frontispiece: Cape Cod Morning, 1950. Oil on canvas;
34 × 40 ¼ in. (86.7 × 102.3 cm)
Gift of the Sara Roby Foundation, Smithsonian American Art Museum.
Credit: Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington, DC/Art Resource, NY
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