by Mary Razzell
I sensed his relief when he hurried away. I saw him get into a cab, lean back and light a cigarette.
Murray dropped my room key on the counter between us.
“He’s kind of in a rush, I’d say.” His voice was emotionless.
“Do you know my dad very well?” Murray was watching the cab disappear around the corner.
“Uh...he’s in a lot.” He turned away, busied himself at the mail slots. “You take those stairs at your right.”
The stairs were steep, uncarpeted. I peered at the room numbers in the dim light. There was only a single bulb in the ceiling to light the whole hallway.
As I was making out the number on one door, it suddenly opened, and I found myself staring at a vast expanse of dirty undershirt. I slowly raised my eyes to see an unshaven, red-eyed man.
We stared at each other. He swayed slightly and I stepped back. He watched me as I found my room and inserted the key. Quickly I locked the door and pushed the bolt across.
I looked around at the brown walls, worn brown carpet—ripped near the narrow, lumpy bed—and outside the dirty window to where the flashing neon signs advertised Oyster Bar and Players Please.
I knew I couldn’t possibly stay in that room all evening, especially with that creep down the hall.
I hung up my few things, put my brush, comb and lipstick on the dresser and beside them a small, nearly empty bottle of Evening in Paris cologne. Mrs. Lawson had given it to me when she was packing for Vancouver. Then I went down to the end of the hall, past the door of the man in the dirty undershirt. I could hear a radio there and a loud burst of laughter, the clink of glasses.
I found the bathroom and, after cleaning out the tub, I filled it three-quarters full. It was luxury to have all the hot water I wanted and to be able to stretch out full length. It wasn’t like having a sponge bath out of a small basin the way we did at home.
I lay there, blissful, the water to my chin.
Maybe I’d meet Jack. I could wear my yellow wool dress.
Someone rattled the bathroom door handle, swore, then left. I got out of the tub, dried myself quickly, dressed and hurried back to my room. I could see by the clock in the newsstand across the street that it was nearly six-thirty. There was still time to meet Jack.
I left the hotel and turned north toward the mountains. As I walked, I wondered if Jack would be there. If he wasn’t, I’d go to a movie. I passed several as I walked along Granville Street. There was one with Bette Davis that I had wanted to see for a long time, Jezebel.
Several people were waiting near the Birk’s clock at Georgia. But I didn’t see Jack until he waved at me. He’d been looking at the watches in Birk’s window. Smiling, he came toward me.
“Say, this is great, Sheila! You made it!” Then, taking my hand, he tucked it into his coat pocket, and we walked to where his car was parked. It was a red Ford coupe, and he opened the door with a great flourish. “My baby,” he said. “I just got it. Do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful.”
Jack was wearing a dark blue gabardine coat, unbuttoned, and drape pants of a lighter blue, wide at the knees, tapering at the ankle.
“You look nice,” I told him, admiring the cut.
“All the guys on the boat get their drapes made in Chinatown. There’s this one place...” And he told me about it as we zipped from one traffic lane to another. We had trouble finding a parking place, but when we did it was near the Bamboo Terrace. Jack said that was the best place to eat.
We ate upstairs. Jack ordered egg foo yong, chow mein and sweet and sour spareribs, and he showed me how to use chopsticks. Then he told me about being in China. He had sailed on freighters to Australia and New Zealand and Fiji. He seemed to have been everywhere.
Then we went bowling in a bowling alley off Pender. Jack showed me how to hold the ball, how to take three steps, crouching on the third, how to bring my arm back and then let the ball roll off my hand. And he was as happy as I when I made my first strike.
On our way back to my hotel, after we parked the coupe at the nearest lot, Jack and I met some other members of the crew. They were standing outside one of the hotel beer parlors.
“Jack!” they called. “Come on, buddy. Join us for a beer. We can sit on the ladies’ side, eh, Sheila?”
“She’ll never pass for twenty-one,” said Jack. “No use trying.” He put his arm around me protectively.
“Oh, I don’t mind. Just as long as you don’t expect me to drink beer. I’ve never even tasted it.”
“Okay, you guys, but no horsing around.” Jack pushed open the door and led us to the darkest table he could find, one in the corner. I sat farthest from the light. The waiter didn’t give me a second look. He gathered up the dirty glasses and wiped the table with a cloth that my mother would have held at arm’s length. Then he set down two glasses of beer before each of us.
I managed to finish one. I hated the taste, but the Chinese food had left me thirsty. Jack drank the other one for me. By the time we left at closing time, I had eaten two bags of peanuts and half of Jack’s potato chips.
“What I save on beer on her, I lose on the groceries,” Jack told the rest of them, but he was smiling.
Before we got to my hotel, he stopped in one of the darkened storefronts and put his arms around me.
“I had a really nice time, Jack,” I said, pulling myself back. “But I’m going with somebody and he’s...kind of jealous.”
“No sweat,” he said, dropping his hands. “Want to go out for dinner tomorrow night?”
“No, I’m going home on the seven o’clock boat. But, thanks.”
“Okay, Sheila.” He raised his hand in a half-salute and started off down the street, whistling as he walked.
I watched him go. I liked him very much, maybe because nothing was complicated with him.
Most of Friday afternoon was spent at the dentist. Even while sitting in the chair, my mouth numb with novocaine and the sound of the drill vibrating in my head, I relived the evening with Jack. Everything had been new and exciting—the sounds, the smells, the sights. Gibson’s Landing was far away.
The nurse made up my bill. “Six fillings at two dollars a filling. That’s twelve dollars.” I counted out the money. It was all I’d earned in the month of Saturdays at Dr. Howard’s, but it was worth it.
At Gibson’s Landing there was the usual Friday night crowd to meet the boat. I didn’t see Nels from where I stood on the lower deck, but I did see Jean, a girl who sat behind me at school. She left the crowd and came over to the boat.
“Sheila, guess what?”
“What?” I asked, leaning far over the rail.
Jean looked around to see who was listening, then stage-whispered, “Nels was out with Gwen Hall at Roberts Creek last night. He took her home from play rehearsal. She told everyone at school today that he kissed her.” Jean had eyes that grew bigger the more she talked.
I felt as if I had been hit in the stomach.
“Oh.”
“I’d sure hate to be you, Sheila.” By this time Jean was standing on tiptoe, her hands clinging to the solid mesh wire that was part of the ship’s railing.
“Why?”
“Arnie Olsen came back on the morning boat, and he told us he’d seen you in the Austin beer parlor, drinking beer with four guys...”
The boat’s whistle blew. Jean let go of the wire mesh and stepped back on the wharf.
“I told him he was crazy,” she shouted at me.
I shrugged my shoulders.
“It’s okay,” I said.
But it wasn’t okay. I was sure of that.
11
ALL DAY SATURDAY I wondered if Nels would call on me for the dance. If he did, he’d want me ready.
After supper I dressed in my new skirt and sweater. I had bought them in Vancouver with part of the money I’d earned at the Lawsons’. The skirt was brown wool with box pleats, and the yellow cardigan had small brass buttons. Nels had given me an enamel pin shaped like a leaf and
colored the reds and browns of autumn. It was perfect with the sweater.
I put Vaseline on the ends of my eyelashes. My hair had grown out of the feather-cut. Nels said he liked long hair, and already it was down to my shoulders.
Four or five times I thought I heard Nels’ truck, but I was always disappointed.
My mother, who was polishing the cook stove with a crumpled newspaper, was still questioning me about Dad and Vancouver. She’d been asking the same things since I got home.
“Tell me, Sheila,” she said, as if it had just occurred to her. “Did your father say what he was doing that he couldn’t even take you out for dinner?”
“No, Mom. I already told you everything.” Which wasn’t quite true. I’d left out the part about him being all dressed up, nervous and in a hurry.
“Do you think,” she said, trying to sound offhand, “that he has another woman?”
“Mom, I don’t know!”
But my mother wouldn’t let it drop. She worried away, returning to it again and again. It was the same way that our dog, Pep, shook an old sweater, as if it were prey.
Was that a car stopping? I looked out the window. It had begun to rain lightly and was already dark. I saw a car’s headlights on the side of the road, shining through the trees.
I found my new lipstick, Tangee Medium Red, and put it on carefully. There were only a few drops of Evening in Paris left. I pressed them on my temples, in the hollow of my throat.
“Do you know where my jacket is, Mom?” I rushed around. “Nels and I are going to the dance. I’ll be home about twelve.” I paused at the back door. “Mom, maybe Dad had some business of some kind. Something to do with that job he wants in the interior.”
“I doubt it. Unless it was monkey business.” She rattled the grate of the stove, pulled out the drawer of ashes roughly. But I was already halfway out the door.
When I got to the top of the road, I was out of breath. I made myself slow down. The truck was like a dark, crouched animal behind the rain-misted headlights.
Nels held the door of the truck open.
“I bet you thought I wasn’t coming,” he grinned.
“I didn’t know,” I answered. Was he making fun of me?
“Come on, don’t stand there, get in.” He waited until I’d closed the door. Then, suddenly serious, he asked, “You want to talk about it now or later?”
“Now, I guess.”
We drove up the back road and pulled off to the side. The leaves were almost gone from the trees, and bare branches scraped at the roof of the truck. A wind gusted, bringing squalls of rain that lashed at the windshield.
“It looks like a Squamish. Wonder if there are any dead trees around?” I rolled down the window, stuck my head out to look, relieved to be doing something. “None,” I reported, “but it is a Squamish.”
The wind made my eyes sting. Closing the window, I sat back again and waited tensely for Nels to begin.
He was leaning against his door, and I did the same on my side so that we faced each other. He seemed to be in a good mood. His mouth was relaxed, his hands loose. There was a faint smell of whiskey in the truck.
“I took Gwen what’s-her-name home on Thursday night.”
“Hall. Gwen Hall,” I supplied quickly. “Yeah, well, I guess so. And I kissed her goodnight.” He waited, as if I was supposed to say something, but I didn’t.
“Wanted to see what it was like, being with another girl. Maybe I was missing something.” He looked at me. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t...” His voice trailed off, then came strongly. “She’s okay, but she isn’t you.”
I didn’t know what to say. I felt relieved, but I wanted to stay angry with him a little longer.
“There’s no use pretending you’re so innocent, Sheila. Arnie Olsen came back from Vancouver, and he couldn’t wait to tell me about you and the guys from the boat.”
“But I didn’t kiss anyone.”
“No, I didn’t think you would. You’ve got to admit, though, Sheila, it didn’t look good.”
“I know that,” I said. “I’m sorry, Nels. But really, there wasn’t anything to it!”
He leaned toward me.
“Don’t do it again,” he said, taking hold of my hand. “Okay?”
I pulled my hand away and faced the front of the truck. The wind was whining through the cracks.
“How about you? Doesn’t it work both ways?”
“I told you before, Sheila, not to be too sure of me.”
“Sounds kind of one-sided.” My hands were tight fists at my sides.
“Sure it’s one-sided. What’s the matter with that?” He grabbed my hand again, this time pinning it down so that I couldn’t pull it away. “You know you can’t stay mad at me,” he said, laughing now as I tried to yank my hand from under his. “Let’s forget it, okay? Come here, I haven’t kissed you for—how many days? Too many, anyway.”
He began to unbutton my sweater, then bent suddenly to kiss the top of my breasts. He had never done this before, and I felt a swift, sweet stab in my lower stomach.
I could see the shape of his head, how it curved. And the long line of his neck. It made me ache.
He brought his head up then and kissed me, his mouth opening slightly on mine until finally he pulled back and said, his voice unsteady, “If we’re going to the dance, we’d better go.”
Was this the way he had kissed Gwen, I wondered? He switched on the headlights. The rain was sheeting down; it was almost like being under water. The wind slapped wetly at the windows.
By the time we got to the dance, the rain had slackened, but the wind was stronger than ever. It was a strong Squamish. It had funneled down between the mountains at the head of the Sound and would finally blow itself out past the Gap. Now it whipped at us as we ran from the truck to the hall.
I loved dancing with Nels; he was easy to follow. And it was wonderful to be with him again. No one cut in on us. It just wasn’t done, not for a couple going together as we were. Nor did Nels dance with anyone else.
The only times he left me were when he went outside to have a drink with his friends. He went out four or five times in the evening. Each time he stayed a little longer.
Embarrassed to be standing alone waiting for him, I went into the girls’ dressing room. It was where we changed for basketball, and there was always a strong smell of running shoes and stale gym clothes. The room had a few hooks on the wall, a cracked and wavy mirror, a bench on either side. It was empty now as I combed my hair, trying to find a place on the mirror that didn’t divide my head in two.
Then I saw the blur of another face in the mirror. It was Gwen Hall. She took a step backwards when she saw me, then changed her mind and came in.
“Hi, Gwen,” I said.
She seemed relieved, friendly. She flipped up her skirt and yanked down her blouse and then began to comb her hair, which was blonde and naturally curly. Her large brown eyes stared at me. She always reminded me of a yellow pansy with a velvet brown center.
“I hope you’re not mad at me,” she said, getting out her lipstick, a poppy pink. “About Nels.” She put the lipstick on carefully, running the top of her little finger lightly around the outline of her lips. She worked her mouth. “I didn’t go after him or anything. I knew you were going with him.”
“That’s all right.” I found it easy to be friendly. I was the one Nels loved. “Don’t worry about it.”
“He is nice! Though all he did was talk about you.” She turned to me. “Sheila, you’re so lucky...”
“I know,” I answered, feeling privileged. Everyone liked Nels.
We left the dressing room together. Arnie Olsen was waiting for me just outside.
“You’d better come,” he told me. “Nels is sick.”
“Sick? Where is he?” Worried, I followed him down the short hall.
“Out back, in his truck. He wants you.”
We had trouble pushing open the door against the wind. An empty garbage can rattled across
the back porch. The rain had stopped, but the ruts and holes in the parking lot were filled with water, and it was impossible to avoid stepping in them. Arnie came as far as the truck, then left me, hurrying back to the hall.
Nels was sitting on the passenger side of the truck, hunched over.
I put my hand on his shoulder.
“What is it, Nels? Do you hurt somewhere?”
He didn’t seem to hear me. The truck reeked of whiskey. I rolled down the window, but the wind filled the truck. Hurriedly I closed the window except for a crack.
“What’s the matter? Arnie said you were sick. Do you feel like throwing up?”
He groaned and turned away from me. I didn’t know what to do. Nels’ face was wet with perspiration, and he breathed in short, panting gasps.
“Nels, I’m going to get one of the boys to take you home.”
He didn’t answer, but turned back, putting his head down on my shoulder. I put my arms around him.
After a minute, I felt him stir, become restless. Then he lunged to open his door. I could hear him retching out on the grass.
He was still vomiting when I left to find Arnie.
Arnie was hanging around the back door. He seemed surprised to see me.
“I thought you were with Nels!”
“I was. I don’t know what’s the matter with him, other than he’s had too much to drink. Would you take him home?”
“Oh, yeah, sure, Sheila. Sure thing. I’ll get a couple of the guys.”
I found my jacket under the pile of coats at the door and hurried back outside. I watched Arnie and Doug Jackson support Nels between them as they walked him to Doug’s car. I saw Nels bend over, being sick again, before he got in.
When they drove off, with Arnie and Doug in the front, Nels had his head hanging out the back window.
I had a four-mile walk home. I bent my head into the wind and pulled my jacket collar up as far as it would go. By the time I was through Gibson’s Landing, I was soaked, my feet sloshing in my shoes and my new skirt, heavy and wet, dragging with every step I took. Going through the Indian reserve where the trees grew right to the edge of the road, I heard ominous creaks and groans. Branches were blowing off trees and into the road. Once in a while a tree splintered with a shriek and crashed.