Authors: Harold Robbins
The old man smiled at her with sudden wisdom. "I remember. But it won't do yuh no good. Yuh still look like Marja to me. The hot Polack blood is still runnin' around inside yuh, and yuh can't change that."
She looked at him, the smile still on her lips. "I'll change lotso' things before I'm through."
"But not yourself," he said quickly. He began to turn the crank that opened the gate. "Where yuh goin'?" he asked.
"I don't know," she said. "But first I'm gonna check into a hotel and sit in a bathtub for two hours without anybody draggin' me out. Then I'm goin' to buy me some clothes I feel good in, not these rags. Then I'm gonna
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treat myself to a big dinner an' go to the movies, maybe Radio City. Then I'm gonna have me two ice-cream sodas an' go to the hotel an' sleep till two tomorrow afternoon."
"After that, what're you goin' to do?" he asked.
"I'm goin' to j&nd me a job an' go to work," she answered.
"Do that first," he said wisely. "You may need your money." The iron gate was open. He gestured toward it. "Your world waits, Marja. I hope it's kind to you."
She took a half-step toward it, then turned back to the old man. Quickly she kissed him on the cheek. "Good-by,Pop."
"Good-by, Marja," he said, an unexpected sadness in his voice.
Caught by the sound, she looked into the old man's eyes. "You're the only thing about this place I'll miss, Pop."
"Yeah," he said, gruffly embarrassed. "I bet you tell that to all the boys."
A mischievous smile came to her Ups. "No, Pop. Only to you. Want a quick feel for old times' sake?"
A curious dignity came into the old man. "No, Marja."
"No?" she echoed, a note of surprise in her voice. "Why?"
"It's only for my girls," he said quietly. "Not for me. It makes 'em feel good to know that someone's botherin' 'em. Even an old man like me. It's bad enough in there. All women, an' not feelin' wanted by nobody. Their families. Nobody. So I bother them an' they laugh an' feel good."
Impulsively she kissed his cheek again. "Thank you, Pop." She turned and started through the gate.
"Be good, Marja," he called after her.
She looked back at him. "I'll try, Pop," she laughed. The gate clanged shut behmd her and she walked out into the street. She stepped off the sidewalk into the gutter. Looking down at her feet, she kicked her heel into the pavement.
It made no sound beneath her, and there was a curious softness to its feel. Asphalt, not cement. Cement gave off a funny sound beneath your feet and had no give to it. Cement was beneath your feet everywhere back there. In the halls and on the walks outside. You could hear yourself everywhere you went. But this was quiet. Happily she walked along in the gutter. Free. Really free.
A strong hand closed over hers, the one that gripped the valise. A familiar voice spoke in her ear. "Yuh can get killed walkin' in the street like that. Forget about automobiles?"
She knew who it was without looking up. She had been expecting him from the moment she stepped through the gate. She looked up slowly, still holding onto her valise. Her voice was as expressionless as her eyes. "Yuh forget about a lot of things in a year an' a half, Mike."
There was a nervous smile on Mike's face. 'T came to take yuh home, Marja."
She didn't speak.
"I been waiting here all morning," he said.
She drew a deep breath and shook her head. "No," she said. "No."
She could see the hurt creep into his eyes. "But, Marja, I—"
She pulled the valise from his grip. "Yuh got the wrong girl,- Mike. Everything's changed. Even the name."
"I don't care what's changed, Marja. I don't care what's
happened. I know yuh never answered my letters, but I came to take yuh home."
She stepped up onto the sidewalk and looked into his eyes. "Who sent for you?" she asked coldly.
His eyes stared back into hers. "I love you, Marja. You said you loved me."
"We were kids then,'* she said quickly. "We didn't know any better."
"Kids!" he said angrily. "How much older are you now? Two years make that much difference?"
"Yes, Mike," she said slowly. 'Two years can make a thousand years' difference. I grew up in a hurry."
"I grew up, too," he said almost boyishly, "but I still feel the same about you. I'll always feel the same."
"Idon't,'^shesaid.
*What have they done to you, Marja?" There was anguish deep in his voice.
She shook Jier head wearily. "Nothing," she answered. "I did it all myself. It's over, Mike. We can't go back. We'll never be kids again."
She began to turn away from him, but his strong hands on her shoulders spun her back. "Why, Marja? What happened?"
She didn't answer.
His eyes burned into her face. "Yuh owe me that much for what we were. Tell me!"
He would never forget the mask that dropped over her eyes at that moment. It was as if they were suddenly so deep that nothing was reflected in them, not even the sunlight of the morning. "Tell me, Marja!"
"I had a baby, Mike. While I was in there I had a baby, and I don't even know whether it was a boy or a gurl. I signed it away before it was bom." Her voice was flat and
expressionless. "Yuh still want to know what happened, Mike?"
There was a look of disbelief on his face. His grip on her shoulders had slackened. "Whose was it? Ross's?" he asked hoarsely.
She shook her head. "It couldn't be. He was away. Re>-member?"
His hands slipped from her shoulders. Lines of pain had formed around his mouth. "You mean there were others?"
She didn't answer.
His eyes were a deep, hurt blue, and there were tears in them. "How could you, Marja? You loved me."
Her voice was still cold, still cahn. *There were other things too, Mike. There was a girl back in there. She liked me. She taught me games to help pass the time. Yuh want to hear about them, Mike? It was fun."
"I don't want to hear," he said in a shaking voice. "You're telling me that Ross was right all the time. He said you were a cheap—" He couldn't bring himself to say the word.
She said it for him. "Whore."
His hands gripped her shoulders tightly. He stared down into her face. "Were you, Marja? Were you what he said?'*
She didn't answer.
"Why did you lie to me, Marja? Why?" he asked fiercely. "I would have done anything for you. Why did you lie to me?"
Her eyes met his gaze without flinching. "Nothing matters now, Mike," she said slowly. "The truth is something you beUeve, not what someone tells you."
A taxi came down the block. She signaled, and it pulled in to the curb. "Let me go, Mike. The cab's waiting."
His hands dropped from her shoulders. She entered the cab swiftly and shut the door. As it pulled away from the curb, she looked out the window. Mike was standing there, looking after her. She felt a sudden rush of tears to her eyes. Desperately she fought them back until her eyes were burning. Freedom was so many things she had almost forgotten. It was people you loved and people you hurt. *1 love you, Mike," she whispered to herself.
"Where to, lady?"
The cab-driver's voice turned her from the window.
"Hotel As tor on Broadway," she said in a shaking voice.
When she turned back to the window, Mike was gone. Suddenly she could hold the tears back no longer. She could never be right for him. Too many things had happened to her. She was tainted with an ugly scar, and she would have it in her all her life.
He deserved something better. Someone clean and new and fresh. Someone who shone like he did. Not someone like her, who would cheat him of what he deserved.
Chapter 2
SHE looked down at the registration pad the desk clerk pushed toward her. She hesitated a moment. Three and a half dollars a day was a lot of money. Even for a de-lnxe room with private bath and shower. Her money wouldn't go too far at this rate. She had only a little more than a hundred dollars.
But she had waited too long for that fact to stop her. She had promised herself this treat ever since she had gone up there. Quickly she began to scrawl:
Mary Flood . . . Yorkville, N. Y Nov. 20, 1937
She pushed the pad back to the clerk. He looked at it, then punched a bell on the desk. He smiled at her. "Just down from school, Miss Flood?"
She nodded. He didn't know how right he was.
A bellboy came up and picked up her valise. The desk
Book Two, Mary 201
clerk pushed the key to him. "Show Miss Flood to room twelve-oh-four."
She waited until the door closed behind the bellboy and then threw herself on the bed. She felt herself sinking de-liciously into it. It was hke resting on a cloud. This was a bed, a real bed. Not one of those imitations they had up there. She rolled completely over and off the other side, and opened the door to the bathroom.
Its shining white porcelain and tiles gleamed at her. She gazed admiringly at the tub. It was the new kind, sunk into the floor. Tentatively she touched its sides. Smooth, not scratchy like the old iron tubs. She let her hand rest on it lightly while she looked around the room.
Turkish towels were on the rack. She moved quickly and picked one up. It was light and soft and fluffy. She buried her face in it. It wasn't coarse like the cotton towels. She
^-. took a deep breath. This was living.
J She looked at her watch. It was almost noon. She had some shopping to do before she would take that lazy bath she had promised herself. Almost reluctantly she put the towel back on the rack and left the bathroom.
She picked up her handbag and opened it. Once again she counted her money. One hundred and eighteen dollars. That was what she had left of the pay they had given her for working in the laundry. She shook her head for a moment as if to clear it of the steam and the acrid smell of harsh soap and sodium-hypochlorite solution that had hung around her for so long. Resolutely she snapped the bag shut and went to the door.
She stood on the steps of the hotel and looked down at Broadway. It was lunch hour and the streets were even
more crowded than usual. Everybody was going somewhere. People had intent, serious faces and never once stopped to look aroimd. She marveled at them. They took so much for granted, so much that^e would never take for granted again.
She looked down the street. The Paramount was playing the new Bing Crosby picture, the one with Kitty Carlisle. The Rialto had two horror pictures, and the New Yorker was showing two westerns. The Nedick's on the comer across the street was busy, the customers standing three deep around the counter. The Chinese restaurant between 42nd and 43rd still advertised a thirty-five-cent limch. Hector's cafeteria opposite the hotel still boasted the biggest selection of pastry in town, and the faint sound of music from the dance hall on 45th mingled with the discordant blare of traflBc.
With a feeling of contentment she started down the steps to begin her shopping. There were some stores here where she knew she could buy clothes fairly cheap. Plymouth for underwear and blouses, Marker's for skirts and dresses, Kitty Kelly's for shoes. She found herself humming as she crossed the street. She had been wrong in what she had told Pop that morning.
She was home.
She leaned back in the tub lazily, a delicious languor seeping through her. The water was covered with sparkling, exploding bubbles, and their perfume hung heavUy in the air. Slowly she stirred, running her hands down over her body. She could feel the sting of the cheap soap they had used in the Home. Somehow she had never felt clean after using it It seemed to leave a coarse layer over her skin.
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Book Two. Mary 203-
But this was diflferent She could feel her flesh soften in the water.
She pulled a towel from the rack beside the tub and Wddded it into a small pillow. Carefully she placed it on the edge of the tub and leaned back on it. It would keep her hair from getting wet, and it made it easier for her to rest. She closed her eyes. It was so good. So good. She was warm and comfortable and safe. No one could bother her now. No one could call her. No one could tell her what to do. She began to doze Ughtly. It wasn't like the time in the Home.
Not at all like the time when the baby was bom.
The pains had been intense through most of the morning. At last the nurse had taken her down to the infirmary. The doctor examined her quickly. He nodded to the nurse. "Get her ready. It won't be long now."
She stretched out, gasping, on a hard white bed. The nurse began to prepare for delivery. Between the waves of pain she was conscious of a sense of shock when the nurse shaved her pubis. Finished at last, the nurse covered her with a white sheet and left the room.
She closed her eyes, breathing heavily. She was glad it was almost over. It had seemed so long to carry a sense of shame and violation inside her. There was a rustling sound at the side of the bed and she turned toward it.
The superintendent was standing there, her gray-black hair frosty over her glasses. She held a sheet of paper in her hand. "How are you, Mary?"
She nodded. "Okay, Mrs. Foster."
"You haven't told me yet about the baby, Mary."
She managed a wan smile. There was nothing to tell. In a htde while it would be here. She didn't answer.
"The father, Mary," Mrs. Foster insisted. "He should be made to pay for the child's care."
A pain wrenched through her and she closed her eyes against it. A moment later she turned to the woman. "It doesn't matter," she said in a shaking voice. "It never mattered."
Mrs. Foster shrugged her shoulders and looked down at the sheet of paper. "Okay, Mary. According to this, you want the child placed for adoption."
Mary nodded.
"You know what it means," Mrs. Foster said in a cold voice. "You give up all rights to the child. You may never see it or even know who has it. It will be as if it had never been bom, as far as you are concerned."
The girl was silent.
"Did you hear me, Mary?" Mrs. Foster asked.
She nodded.
**You won't know anything about the child," the woman said implacably.