So he danced with Marci and told her how well she sang and apologized for the way he danced and found himself telling her, truthfully, that the reason he had never danced was because he was self-conscious, afraid. She danced very well and probably made it look like he knew what he was doing, he thought. He felt very good for having told her about being afraid to dance; very truthful, very honest, really very pleased with himself. He had lied so much to Ellen this night that it was a real relief telling the truth, a real relief really getting away from Ellen because he couldn’t remember the lies that he had told her in the beginning and he had begun to get entangled in them. Marci danced very close, very easy with him, and hummed a little of “I’ll See You ‘Again” and Nick could feel her breath as it passed his ear warmly, and he thought he would call Nora again when this dance set was over.
He told Marci a couple of humorous stories about the army. One about the time in China when he had bet his best friend fifty dollars he couldn’t eat with chopsticks, and lost when the friend took out his pocket knife and sharpened the sticks to a point and used the two pointed sticks like a fork.
He seemed entirely different from the way he had at his home, Marci thought. He was really very pleasant. And there was none of that lazy loafing insolence about him that she had noticed earlier. Of course she realized he was a little tight, which kind of aroused her curiosity, as she would have expected him to act differently tight. She had visualized him, or would have visualized him, she thought now, dancing, as being wild and fiendishly mean and uncontrollable when he was drunk. She certainly never expected this kind of gentleness and inner sweetness and honesty and veritable gaiety that he was now displaying. In fact, she concluded, there was not only something sweet about him, but rather sad, too, she thought sympathetically.
Which was her mistake. Because at once Nick caught the sudden twinge of sorrow that her eyes showed for him. And as if she had tripped the wire of a booby trap, he exploded with a rash of subtle lies that she couldn’t quite detect as being lies, as they were actually unpremeditated little lies that even he did not know he was telling, and had unpremeditatedly and unintentionally told before, and seemed to always tell in order to gain that one thing that he had never seemed to be able to get enough of—Love. Love—the one thing that every other human being had, but that he had always somehow been cheated out of and that by God he was going to get his share of if he had to sell his body or soul or die in the process, he was going to get his share along with a little extra and save up that little extra by God, just like Old Pete saved up money for that rainy day of—Love.
She did not know what it was, but she felt the change in him and tightened up slightly and he felt that and just as the dance ended, whispered laughingly into her ear “I saw you swipe that handkerchief.” And then laughed roaringly and wildly and almost fiendishly as she had originally presumed he would laugh when he was drunk; but what perplexed her was that intermingled in that laugh was a sweetness of soul, an understanding of what she had done that was not accusative. Nevertheless she felt the redness wing through her; her cheeks got hot and pink from the embarrassment of being caught. She had never been caught before.
He led her back to the bar, still laughing. And she said, “Goddamn you, Nick,” and laughed with him. It was the only thing that she could do that gave her any sense of relief. Back at the bar she had taken Pierro’s arm and stood close to him as if seeking refuge, and later glanced down at Nick as he talked to Ellen, wondering if he would dare tell anyone, knowing that he was uncontrollable and wild and hopeless as anyone she had ever met—and she told Pierro she thought Nick was wild and hopeless and drank too much and was a vicious liar when he drank.
Then she and Pierro finished their drinks and they left. Nick got very drunk and wanted to drive Ellen home, but even Louie the bartender said Nick was too drunk to drive and Nick was very pleasant and’ happy and agreed that he was too drunk to drive. Louie wanted to call him a cab, but Nick said he was too drunk to drive a cab, too. Nick said that the only one that was going to drive him home was Louie, his friend. So they all stayed there drinking with that same happy defiance and vengeance until Louie closed the bar and drove Nick and Yvonne home and let them off and took the car to Sam’s garage and left it. Nick fell down in the yard by the porch steps. Sitting on the ground he began to sing, ‘Gentleman rankers out on a spree—’, and Yvonne tried to lift him and quiet him but he was too heavy and too impossibly happy and she found herself laughing at the silliness of her predicament. Finally he made it to the porch steps and began to crawl up them. Then he heard the porch door open and he heard Old Pete say:
“Keep it up, my son, and some day you will be president of a fruit stand.” Then: “Yvonne, come in here.” The last thing he heard was Yvonne giggle. Then later, still dark out, he woke up on the steps and went upstairs to bed.
CHAPTER XV
MARY woke Nick a little after seven. Old Pete was waiting for him down in the kitchen, she said. He was not feeling well, as he had been up most of the night, worried about Yvonne. Nick shouldn’t say anything that would upset him. Mary said Pete was very cross earlier but she had calmed him down some. And how late was it when Nick and Yvonne had gotten in? She was very tired from the excitement of yesterday and had taken a sedative and had not awakened at all.
Nick took a cold shower. He felt amazingly good considering yesterday—and last night especially. He put on slippers, khaki pants, and a tee shirt and went down and joined Old Pete in the breakfast nook. Old Pete had out pencil and paper and was figuring, and Nick sat down across from him.
“Well,” Old Pete said. “I’m not going to say anything about last night. People do crazy things when they’re young. I was young once myself. But you ought to have more respect for your sister.”
“Yvonne didn’t do anything wrong,” Nick said. “You make her want to do something wrong, though. Spying on her.”
“Spying,” Pete half-hollered indignantly. “Protecting my own daughter, you mean. If you’d protect your sister, if your mother and I could count on you to do that, I wouldn’t stay up half the night worrying. What’s wrong with you, son?”
“My God, Dad,” Nick said. “I’ve only been home a day and you’re on me.”
Old Pete reached over and picked up his pillbox. “Mary,” he said,” “have the maid bring me some water. I don’t feel so good.”
And he really didn’t look too good, Nick thought. Not at all. He was pale and his hands shook when he picked up the pillbox and he seemed to be breathing heavily.
Old Pete took the pills.
“I guess I was a little excited,” Nick said. “Coming home and all.”
“I suppose,” Old Pete said tiredly.
“I mean seeing all my old friends.”
“You shouldn’t take your sister to places like that, though, son,” he said tiredly. “I mean, you’re a man. It’s different with you.”
“I’ll take her some place nice,” Nick said. “Maybe the Edgewater.”
“That’s a good boy,” Old Pete said. “You wanna come down to the office. Maybe I show you a few things about our affairs.”
“Not today. All right, Dad?” Nick said. “I think I’ll go to the beach today.”
“Yeah,” Old Pete said. “Get sun. I wish I had the time—I’d get some sun myself,” he said. “God knows I need it.”
“You don’t look so good,” Nick said.
“I can’t take it like I use to. And the business is tougher than ever. I got to watch out for myself, Nick. I’ve got no one. No one. And my partners—they’re brothers. They’re blood. Not that I don’t trust them. But you can’t beat blood. That’s why I was counting on you, son. If I wasn’t old, and sick, I wouldn’t care so much. But who’s going to look out for our well-being after I’m gone. Who’s gonna take care of your mother. And Yvonne. That’s what I was counting on you so much for, son,” Old Pete said, his eyes misting.
“Take it easy, Dad,” Nick said, putting h
is hand over his father’s and patting it. “Take it easy. Maybe we can work out something so everybody will be happy.”
“I need you,” the old man started to cry, then got up from the table crying and left.
He was so pathetic sometimes, Nick thought. So terribly ignorant and helpless and pathetic.
“I’ll go in and talk to him,” Mary said to Nick. “You stay here and have some eggs and bacon. I’ll calm him down.”
“All right, Mother,” Nick said. “I think he’s just a little tired. He always gets extra emotional when he’s tired.”
“He’s really not too well, Nick,” Mary said.
“He isn’t?” Nick said, genuinely surprised.
“Not like he used to be.”
“I didn’t know that,” Nick said. “Really sick,” he said incredulously as if thinking out loud.
“I never wrote you,” Mary said. “But I talked to his doctor myself. He said your father definitely has to take it easier.”
“His heart?”
“His arteries, too,” Mary said. “They harden as you age. You know that, Nick. I’ll go now. I’ll calm him.”
The maid brought bacon and eggs and he began to eat and read the paper. He had only taken two bites of the scrambled eggs when he read right on Page One near the bottom in bold type:
THEATRE UNION HEAD IN PERU, INDIANA,
HOUSE BLOWN UP BY HOMEMADE BOMB;
SCHOOL CHILD CRITICALLY INJURED
Peru, Indiana,—this small, quiet town was electrified today when a homemade bomb was detonated in front of the home of J. Raker, head of Local 404 of the Motion Picture Projector Operators’ Union. He, his wife, and two small children, Karen, 7, and Arthur, 8, were not at home. But Beverly Small, a nine-year-old school girl in the fifth grade of Peru Elementary School, was critically injured by flying glass. She was rushed to emergency surgery at Peru Hospital, where her condition was listed as critical. No other details were given by hospital authorities.
Chief of Police Arnold Robinson and Fire Chief Ben Stoll released a joint statement which implied the bomb was probably planted in front of Raker’s home because of disputes between the Motion Picture Theatre Operators and Union Local 404. They said they would question executives of Interstate Theatres, a chain operating in that Indiana area, to determine any possible connection.
Oh my God, Nick said to himself. Not a little kid—I wonder if Old Pete’s seen this. I wonder if he was—oh God, no. He couldn’t have—Nick got up and went into the living-room, carrying the paper. Old Pete was sitting on the couch and Mary was sitting next to him reading the horoscope magazine and patting his hand. Old Pete looked up at Nick.
“Have you seen the paper?” Nick asked.
“Not yet, son,” Old Pete said.
“Look at this,” Nick said.
Old Pete took the paper and Nick pointed to the column and Old Pete read. Over the top of the paper Nick could see his face, which was slightly flushed from his last emotional spasm, growing slowly pale and white again. “Oh my God,” Old Pete said finally, weakly. “I swear to God, son, I don’t know anything about this. I swear it,” he said, shocked and bewildered. “Mary, this is terrible. Oh my God, to think that anyone could think I had anything to do with this.” He was very pale and shocked. And bewildered.
“I’ll get you some brandy,” Mary said hurrying off.
Nick stood there looking down at him as he read the article over. Then over again, still white and bewildered and shocked. Then Mary came with the brandy and he drank it all down in one gulp.
“I know what they’re doing. I told the Stratos to watch out for those union guys. The union people did that. That’s the way they work. They’re tough, they are. They wanted to get rid of that fellow and put the blame on us all at the same time. Smart guys. That’s the way they work—I’d better call Stratos. We gotta make a statement. Right away.”
Old Pete suddenly wasn’t sick any more. But instead, Nick saw, fighting mad. And obviously shocked by the entire affair. And wasn’t going to be blamed for anything he didn’t do. And was going to protect, the hell with his heart, what he had worked to build up.
He called both the Stratos. Then called the corporation lawyer. And asked Nick to drive to the train station. It hadn’t taken him fifteen minutes to make the three calls, put on his coat, kiss Mary good-bye, and get into the car.
In the car on the way to the station he did not seem to know that Nick existed. He sat there doggedly, determinedly, his fists clenched tightly, half-swearing and half-muttering to himself. And just before he got out of the car, slapped Nick a hard friendly slap on the back: “Take it easy, kid. I see you tonight.” And got out of the car and walked doggedly, determinedly away.
Nick watched him walking away, head bowed, and thought how you had to admire him. If Old Pete had asked him to go to the office, Nick certainly wouldn’t have refused now. But now, with the fight ahead of him, he didn’t seem to need Nick or anyone. You certainly did have to admire the old bastard. He asked no quarter. And gave none. And played the game the only way he knew how, as hard as he knew how. In spite of all his faults there were times when you just had to admire him. Sixty-three years old. And up all night. And sick. And suddenly a fight, and he didn’t need anyone. Not you. Or Mary. Or anyone.
Well, Nick thought, he couldn’t go on like that without killing himself. And soon. He was in no condition to get that riled up. The fact of the matter was that he really did need someone. His partners were younger than he, and like Pete said, were blood. He had them to contend with. And he had his normal family responsibilities. Plus all the outside responsibilities that he had taken on: Like Pierro and his mother; The Church; All his relatives back in Verdamah. The real trouble was that he really did need help and really, down deep, didn’t believe that he needed it. And if he didn’t have some real help soon, he would sure as hell kill himself going at the pace he was.
He had driven right past their house and down by the Lake, driving along aimlessly, thinking. Well, I’d better have a talk with Mary when I get home. They’d have to do something right away to slow Old Pete down. Whether Old Pete liked it or not. Goddamn it, it was Nick’s duty to see that Old Pete took care of himself. After all, who did Old Pete have besides his family. And if, within the framework of your own family, you didn’t look out for each other, who would? Goddamn it, it was about time he grew up and showed at least a little responsibility as far as his family was concerned.
Then he swung the car around and drove home. He went upstairs and shaved and unpacked his things and came downstairs and had several cups of coffee with Mary and talked to her about Old Pete. After they had talked a while he told Mary he thought he’d give the office a ring and find out how Old Pete was making out. He called and Miss Keith, Old Pete’s secretary, said Pete was in conference and then Miss Keith talked to Nick for a while, asking him all about where he had been and what he had done, it would be so nice to see him again. He said he would be down Monday with his father. He would see her then—he wanted to ask her a few things about Old Pete and how he was feeling. Then a little later Old Pete returned Nick’s call.
“What can I do for you, son?” Old Pete asked authoritatively.
“I just wanted to know how you were making out.”
“I’ll make out,” Old Pete said. “Don’t worry.”
“Well,” Nick said, “I thought I might be able to help. Or something. As long as I’m in town for a while with nothing to do.”
“Get some sun, son. Take your sister to the beach. Your mother, too, if she’ll go. I’ll take care of things here,” he said in a firm, sure voice.
“I’ll ask Mother,” Nick said. “And don’t worry about Yvonne, Dad.”
“Thanks, kid,” Old Pete said. “See you tonight, kid. Have a nice day. Take the radio to the beach—you can hear the Cubs at two.”
Old Pete put the phone down and sat there tapping one clenched fist on the desk, a satisfied smile on his face. It had been some mor
ning. The Stratos brothers had arrived at the office a little before Old Pete. Charlie Stratos had already talked to his cousin Alex, the fixer, in Peru. Alex had told Charlie they didn’t have to worry one bit—the roustabout who had made and set off the bomb was halfway to Florida by now and besides, just between them, there was no love lost between the Police Chief and Raker, the union man. Too, Alex had said, he had the chief in his hip pocket because the chief had invested some money with him in a property over in Marion, Indiana, that they had bought cheap at a sheriff’s auction by buying the sheriff. Already, Alex had told Charlie, he had had a talk with the Chief and was going to get the Fire Chief and they were going to release another statement to the press stating that they now believed the trouble was caused because of dissension within the union itself.
Of course Charlie Stratos hadn’t told any of this to his brother or Old Pete, but assured them that there would be no trouble, that they weren’t involved, but Old Pete wanted to be reassured.
“For Christ’s sake, Charlie,” Old Pete had said, “this ain’t the Twenties. You can’t go around hurting innocent people.”
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