That reminded me of the car, so I phoned the garage and talked to the mechanic. It was an all-night place, and the man knew his stuff. He said a few gimmicks ought to be replaced, so we kicked it around and I said okay, do it, but save the old parts, I’d use ’em for fishing weights. He knew what I meant and laughed about it. We cried on each other’s shoulders for a while about the way the Buick had been treated, and decided the car would be ready by morning. A rush job is no good; I told him to take his time. After that, I thumbed through the phone book looking for my own name and the names of friends. None of them lived in Phoenix, except me, but I suppose everybody does it. I did look for McElroy, Theodore, and that was listed.
It was too late to do any more of my errands; they’d keep till tomorrow. I was still packing the little bundle with my extra new shirt and shorts and socks, so I decided to try the hotel. Mrs. De Anza had remembered to register for me. The desk clerk handed me a key and called a bellboy. My luggage being in a paper parcel didn’t seem to worry them. Since this wasn’t a cheap joint, I knew it must be because whatever Mrs. De Anza did was okay around here. They knew her. They didn’t know me, but they pretended they did.
It was fine to go along with the bellboy to my room, watch him fixing windows and checking towels, and to hand him half a buck. It had been so long since I’d done this that I didn’t know what to tip, but the way the kid acted, it was just right. After he’d gone, I lay down on the bed and turned myself off.
When I woke up I was thinking about Ed Gavotte.
I must have been tired. It was morning. I had a thick, sour taste in my mouth, but tooth powder fixed that. I showered and shaved, put on clean things, and went out to the lobby. When I turned in my key, the clerk reached in the nest of boxes behind him and handed me a note from the Countess. All it said was, “We’re staying over another night. Meet me in the bar at eight.”
I stuffed it in my pocket. That was all right. I’d have plenty of time to do my errands now. I looked up a drugstore and had breakfast, and then walked over to the garage. The Buick was ready. The mechanic I’d talked to was off duty, but he’d done a good job. The motor hummed like a top. I paid, which left me with about seventy dollars in my pocket, and took the car out for a road test. Finally I parked, downtown, and got out my list of errands.
The druggist De Anza had mentioned knew about the prescriptions, and said he’d have to make them up, so I went over and picked up the record albums the Count had ordered. There were five of them, foreign stuff. I found a typewriter shop, got a new platen for the Royal, and by that time the prescriptions were ready. That left only the grocery. There was one, a big open-front super-market I’d noticed a few blocks back, so I drove there, turned into the parking lot, and finished the shopping, salt and eggs and stuff like that for Benita, carton of Camels for Rafael, a carton of Pall Malls for myself. There wasn’t anything that would spoil overnight. My money was going fast, but I’d kept a list I could turn in to the Countess. Sitting there in the car, I took out her note and unfolded it. She’d meant eight P.M., not A.M. Not even Mrs. De Anza would head for the bar at eight in the morning, and, anyway, it wouldn’t have been open. I looked at the writing. Her pen had dug into the paper, as though she’d been writing fast and hard, and there were a couple of splatters of ink.
Now that I hadn’t much money left, I remembered I should have offered Sherry some last night. It just hadn’t occurred to me. But she didn’t need it, she’d said. Okay, what now? I didn’t know. There was only one thing I knew I didn’t want to do, and that was go to Gavotte’s funeral. Every time I thought about the man I started to tighten up. Not fear, it wasn’t that. It was…I don’t know, jealousy, maybe. But how could I be jealous of a dead man?
I got a paper and looked it over, while I drank more coffee in a drive-in. The Gavotte business was still wide open, as far as the police were concerned. A couple of suspicious characters had been picked up. Tramps, I gathered. I wondered if things could go so far that one of them might get convicted, and what I’d do then, if I saw an innocent man headed for the gas chamber. I stopped that thought. I was afraid of it. It wouldn’t happen, anyway. There couldn’t be any evidence.
I looked up the funeral, too, and checked the time. Then, because I was bored, I started driving around and ended in front of Sherry’s place. I didn’t get out. I waited there, smoking and thinking. She might have left already.
But she hadn’t. When she came down the steps she was wearing black—a black dress and shoes and a bunched-up veil on her hat brim. Her hat was white, a little straw number, and she had on white gloves, but she looked ready for a funeral.
Something was wrong, though. I could tell that. Sherry’s mouth was tighter than ever, and there was something funny about her eyes. They were pink around the edges, the lids a little swollen. But I didn’t see that till I’d got out and headed her off.
“I thought I’d drive you there, if you wanted,” I said. Now I didn’t know if I’d done the right thing, if I was pushing her too much, and my stomach tightened up a little. It was all right, though. She drew in her breath, gave me a quick look that was almost desperate, and nodded. I handed her into the car and got in myself. I started up.
“Anything wrong?” I said.
“No.”
But she was on edge; something had happened. Her fingers kept knotting themselves around the handle of her bag. I stopped at a red light, lit two cigarettes, and handed her one. Then I turned into a side street, where there wasn’t much traffic, and eased the Buick along.
“Something’s happened,” I said. “Is it about Gavotte? Are the police riding you?”
“No. It’s nothing. Nothing you can fix, anyway. It’s my own fault. I…I don’t know how I could have been such a damned fool. It doesn’t—I’ll have to start over. But I can’t, I can’t do that. Just a few thousand dollars. I haven’t got all the time in the world. I’m getting older, Nick.”
“What’s happened?”
“I’m cleaned out,” she said. “The money I had in the bank—it’s gone. I’ve got just about forty dollars, that’s all.”
“…How?”
“Ed did it. I’ve figured out…I went to the bank this morning to get some money, and my statement was ready too. When I looked at it, I saw my balance was ’way down. There was one canceled check…It was made out to Ed. Nineteen hundred dollars.”
“He forged your name?”
“No, I can’t even say that. I…signed a blank check.”
“But…what for?”
She drew in her breath, not too steadily. “I’ll tell you just what happened. It was night before last. Ed gave me—some extra money sometimes. That night he had a customer’s check for a hundred, and he said he’d give me fifty, so—somehow he worked it around so he endorsed that check over to me, and I gave him one of my own for fifty dollars.”
“Well?”
“He was working on his bills…he had everything laid out on his desk. His little portable and everything. I told you about it—it was that night I came in late, when he’d locked up my clothes and was pretty drunk. This was after he’d calmed down. He gave me a check and I signed it, and then I watched him fill it out on the typewriter. He must have worked it right under my eyes, while I was watching him. I…I know what a fool I was, Nick. I was upset, and so was he, but I never thought he’d—I mean, I’d signed things before, there wasn’t any reason—”
“Did he need money?”
“It wasn’t that,” she said, taking quick, nervous puffs of her cigarette. “It was just the way Ed was. He always expected the worst. Always. And we’d been quarreling.”
“What about?”
“I told you. He was afraid I was going to leave him—for you. He was feeling sorry for himself. He said I’d been saving my money just so I could go away with you—not for my Chicago build-up at all. Oh, I don’t know. I suppose he thought he could keep me if I was broke again. Maybe that seemed like the only w
ay.”
“So he took the money. Didn’t he know you’d find out?”
“Ed never thought ahead, when he was in one of his spells. I suppose he meant to give it back, with something extra, before the statements were sent out—I don’t know, Nick. It doesn’t matter now. It’s too late. I called a lawyer. There isn’t a thing I can do.”
“What about Gavotte’s heirs?”
“I asked the lawyer that. He wasn’t very cheerful. There isn’t any proof.”
“…The canceled check?”
“It doesn’t prove anything. The lawyer’s going to do what he can, but he told me not to count on it. I’m right back where I started. I suppose I could start saving again—God knows how long it would take—but I’m afraid of the time element. I…Nick, it’s been months since that agent said he’d handle me. I’ve still got my voice and my face and figure, but how long will I keep them?”
“You’ll keep them.”
“Standing behind a counter all day? That job I had at the Green Lantern was something special. You don’t find jobs like that every day. And…three thousand dollars. I don’t have any trade. I can’t get a big salary. Even if I managed another setup like the one I had, it…I can’t wait and wait and wait all over again.”
“The Green Lantern’s closing? That’s out?”
“Yes. It’s being sold. I’ll try, of course, but…I feel sick. When you’ve counted on something for so long, to have it drop right out from under you…”
I wished I still had that two hundred Mrs. De Anza had given me.
“Maybe I can do something,” I said.
“No. No, it’s my fight. Thanks. Anyway—”
“You don’t think I’ve got it.”
She didn’t say anything.
“I’ll get you some dough tonight. Or tomorrow at the latest. It won’t be three thousand, but it’ll be enough to eat on. I told you I had a job. I can get an advance easy enough.”
“I don’t care about eating. All I care about is three thousand dollars. Getting that agent to take me on. Oh, you don’t see—thanks, Nick, but I wouldn’t take anything from you; I’ve got to do it my way.”
I drove on for a while. Then I said, “Did you send that check back to McElroy?”
“What?”
She opened her bag, fumbled in it, and brought out a folded slip of paper.
“I forgot about it,” she said.
“You’re not getting any ideas, are you?”
“I—I’m not sure.”
“Not sure?”
“Stop it, Nick.”
“But—for God’s sake, don’t you know?”
She didn’t answer, and I felt that old need of wanting to hit something rise up in me. It didn’t even matter that I was driving a car. I turned and grabbed her arms with both hands. The car wobbled crazily under us as the front wheels hit some bump in the road.
“Nick!” Sherry almost screamed.
It was all over in a second. I let her go and turned back to the wheel.
“You—” she had trouble getting the words out, “you haven’t changed, have you?”
“What about McElroy?”
“I said, you haven’t changed. You’re the same old Nick. Wanting blood when you don’t get your way. Nick—”
“The hell with me,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road. “What about Mac? Now that Gavotte’s gone.”
I glanced at her and caught her biting her lip.
“Nick, don’t be cruel.”
“Cruel, for Christ’s sake. What’re you doing to me? You’re breaking me up inside. Sure, that’s corny, but I get a pain in the middle when I think of you, I want you so much. Sherry, look. I can say this honestly. You’re me, at least part of me. I love you. It’s no wonder I blow my top once in a while, the way you treat me. Can I help it if I love you? Sherry, if you knew what it was like—” I made myself shut up.
I hadn’t meant to talk like that. Maybe I shouldn’t have. I gripped the wheel hard, watching my knuckles show little white double ridges under the skin, and waited for her to say something. I held my breath.
But she didn’t say a word. She didn’t even move. The silence gradually got worse and worse, until it seemed to me anything at all would be better than just sitting there beside her without a word. I glanced sidewise at her. She was looking straight ahead, and there was something funny about the way she held her head and the way her eyes looked.
“Sherry?” I said, very softly. She shook her head, not turning toward me. But I remembered that look. I leaned forward a little to make sure. There was a rim of brightness along her lower lids and her eyes had that swimming look she always had when she was right on the verge of crying.
“Sherry!” I said.
“No!” She shook her head again, impatiently, and turned away from me to hide her face. Her voice sounded muffled and angry. “Maybe I do know what it’s like, Nick,” she said. “That’s my business.”
I gave the wheel a hard turn toward the curb, not quite sure what I was going to do. I wanted to give all my attention to this. But Sherry said, “No, don’t park, Nick. I mean it. Go on.”
I said, “But—”
She laid her hand on the door handle. “If you stop, I’ll get out and walk. There’s nothing to stop for, Nick. There’s nothing that needs to be said.”
“But Sherry, I thought you meant—I thought you said…”
She sniffled a little, got a handkerchief out of her purse and blew her nose angrily.
“I don’t know what I said. Don’t push me, Nick. I’ve got too much on my mind.”
“Why are you crying?” I asked, watching the road.
“Because you—because—”
“Because you’re still in love with me? Is that what you meant?”
She put the handkerchief back and closed her purse with a snap.
“That’s my business.”
“Mine, too. If you meant it, Sherry, then why can’t we just—”
“Pick up where we left off?” Her voice sounded hard.
“Well, why not?”
“Remember where we left off, Nick?”
I said quickly, “Don’t think about those days, Sherry. I told you I’d changed. I’ve got a good job now, and things will be different.” There was a clear space in the road ahead, and I turned to look at her. “You did mean what I think you mean, Sherry? You do know what it’s like, what I’ve been through in the last year? Has it been hard for you too, Sherry? You do still love me?”
“I didn’t say that. Watch where you’re going, Nick.”
“Will you say you don’t love me, then?”
She was quiet for a while. Then she gave her head another shake.
“It doesn’t make any difference. I couldn’t possibly live with you again, Nick. You know that. I’ve got my plans and I hope you have yours. We gave marriage a good try and it didn’t work out. It wouldn’t, no matter how hard we tried. I just couldn’t stand going through all that again and I won’t. You can’t change my mind, Nick.”
“Say you don’t love me,” I said.
She was silent.
“Sherry—”
“Don’t push me, Nick!”
I said, “Okay, Sherry. I guess I’ve got the answer.”
I turned the car around and headed back toward town. Neither of us said anything more for a while. I suppose neither of us knew what to say. After all, she was going to the funeral of a guy who…I didn’t bother with the rest of the thought.
“About that check from McElroy,” I said as we hit the edge of town. “You—”
“I’m going to give it back.”
“When?”
“Tonight,” she said sharply. “Ten thirty tonight. He’s meeting me somewhere, and I’m giving the check back to him then. Now I don’t want to talk any more. About anything.”
“Suit yourself.”
I kept driving, thinking about Gavotte and Ted
McElroy and Sherry, and a lot of things, including three thousand bucks.
Neither of us spoke till we’d reached the funeral parlor. I let her out and she asked me not to wait.
“Whatever you want, Sherry,” I said. “When can I see you again?”
All she did was shake her head, as though she didn’t know what to say. So I let her go. I drove off, heading toward the edge of town and out on the highway. Then I let the Buick out. I told myself it was a road test, but it wasn’t. I wanted to feel the power of the Buick pushing up my leg and into my body. When I jammed my foot down, I wanted to feel that big, roaring car thunderbolt forward as though nothing could stop it.
Somehow I found myself at the same place I’d taken Sherry on my first night in Phoenix. I felt my stomach turn over. I jammed on the brakes, spun the car around, and drove her back, fast.
Once, in the rear minor, I noticed a dark sedan making a U turn, about half a mile back, and that gave me an idea. I kept watching the mirror off and on, and pretty soon I felt certain the sedan was trailing me. The way I felt, I didn’t give a damn.
Ahead of me Phoenix grew larger. I had a queer thought: I could go right on driving, faster and faster, till I saw a yellow Cadillac in front of me, and then—not stop.
Three thousand dollars. McElroy had it and I didn’t. And Sherry was fed up.
I began to think about Ed Gavotte and the dirty trick he’d played Sherry. I liked him less than ever. I hated the bastard. I wanted him to be alive again, so some of the power vibrating through the car could smash him. It wasn’t the Buick’s motor any more, it was me, it had charged me like a battery. It was jealousy. Plain, ordinary jealousy. It was strong enough to make me want to smash Gavotte and keep on smashing him. But Gavotte was dead.
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