Her smile faded quickly. “You were crazy to come.”
“No more than you!” I replied, starting the car. I turned on to Park Avenue. “Where to?” I asked.
“Where can you go?” she asked.
I thought that over. She was right: New York wasn’t the healthiest place in the world for me right now. “I know just the place. I’ll be all right, there.”
She didn’t realize where I was taking her until we were on the bridge heading for Jersey. I pulled into the garage and we changed over to my car.
“This job suit you better?” I asked, smiling.
She nodded “It’s more in line with what I expected.” It sure was—a large, black, twelve-cylinder Caddy roadster. I drove over to my place.
I lived in the Plaza Hotel. I had a three-room suite that just suited me fine. Hotel service took care of the place, sent meals up when I wanted it, and left me free of any servant problem of any kind. I liked it that way. It kept people from coming too close to me. I let myself in.
“Won’t you step inside my parlour?” I smiled at her.
She looked at me quizzically as she passed into the apartment. I stepped inside and shut the door.
I reached for her and put my arms around her and drew her to me and kissed her. I hadn’t been wrong. This was different.
Suddenly she pushed me away. Her voice had a breathless quality to it. “Is this why you came to see me?”
I smiled into the dark. I was beginning to wonder about that myself. I reached over to the wall and flicked on the lights. I threw my coat on a chair and went to the telephone and picked it up. “Room service.”
While I waited for the connection to be made, I looked over at her. Her coat was pulled tightly around her as if she were afraid to take it off. “No, darling,” I said, lightly, “I was hungry and I wanted someone to talk over old times with, while I ate.’
She grew angry at that. Her old temper flared up. Her lower lip trembled as if she
were ready to burst into tears. “You’re still the same,” she spoke bitterly. “You know all the answers.” She started for the door.
A voice on the phone answered: “Room service.”
“I’ll call you back,” I said, hastily, and hung up the phone and dashed after her. I caught her at the door and grabbed her shoulders. “If I didn’t want to see you so much, I wouldn’t have gone into town after you.”
She let me draw her back to the centre of the room. I saw there were tears in her eyes. “Then why don’t you say what you feel?” she asked, in a small voice. “Or are you so used to hiding your feelings you don’t know how to express them any more?”
I kissed the corners of her eyes. Maybe she had something in what she said. Suddenly she put her arms around me and kissed me. “I love you—you selfish, stupid animal!” she whispered against my mouth. “I’ve loved you all my life. There never could be anyone else for me.”
I held her close. The sudden, sweet pain I felt inside me at her words told me of the truth in what she said. But it wasn’t anything new. I had known that ever since I saw her in the hospital. I kissed her again.
The phone rang. She looked at me, startled. I smiled reassuringly and let her go so I could answer it.
“This is room service, Mr. Kane, did you call us?”
I looked at Ruth. “Room service,” I said, mostly for her benefit. She smiled at me. “Some cold chicken for two and a bottle of Piper Heidsick ’29, please.” I placed the receiver back on the hook and walked towards her. “Now, how about taking off your coat?”
She slipped it off and gave it to me. Her eyes were glowing and her skin had a rosy hue from the cold November air. I looked at her. She wore a simply cut black dress. “What are you looking at?” she asked, smiling.
“You,” I answered. “You’re beautiful.” She was beautiful. “The man speaks from hunger,” she said.
“Both kinds!” I answered. We smiled at each other and suddenly felt very close and near to each other. Instinctively she held her hand towards me; I took it. I threw her coat on a chair next to mine.
We sat down on the couch in the centre of the room. Her hand was folded through mine; her head rested on my shoulder. We were quiet for a long while. I shut my eyes. This was the first time in years I felt deeply satisfied and contented. It was as if I were a boy again and had come home to my aunt and uncle and we were sitting in the parlour, no one speaking, yet everyone happy and aware of each other’s happiness. It was like that with Ruth and me.
I buried my face in her hair. She turned her face towards me. We looked deeply into each other’s eyes. There was a question in hers—do you love me? She didn’t have to say it, I could see it. Apparently she was content with the answer she saw in mine because she kissed me.
Then she turned her head once more and placed it on my shoulder. She spoke softly, almost in a whisper. “I’m not mad, darling, just deliciously insane. This is only happening
because I’ve dreamed it so often.” She turned suddenly and looked at me, her fingers raised to my cheek, her eyes round with half a fear, “This may be a dream. You may be gone when I wake up.”
I caught her hand and turned it palm up and kissed it. “This is no dream,” I said.
She sighed contentedly and leaned her head on my shoulder again. That quiet, peaceful, happy, contented feeling stole over me again. The world moved far away. It was true: I had come home again.
T
HERE
was a soft rap at the door. “Come in,” I called, not getting up. A waiter came into the room, pushing a small tea wagon before him. He rolled it over to us.
“Shall I serve, sir?” he asked, politely, handing us napkins and uncovering the food on the table.
I looked at Ruth. She shook her head slightly. “No, thanks,” I said, giving him a tip and signing the tab. “We’ll manage.”
He bowed and withdrew from the room. Ruth leaned forward and placed some chicken on my plate while I opened the wine and poured it. Then we sat back and began to eat. I was hungry and ate quickly. I was busy with my food and didn’t speak.
Ruth watched me. “You really haven’t changed. You still wolf your food down. I remember when we were kids you used to do that.”
“I’m hungry,” I said, picking up a chicken leg and gnawing at it. “I didn’t have any supper.”
A few minutes later I was finished. I sat back, lit a cigarette, and watched Ruth. When she finished, I offered her a cigarette, and we sat back on the couch comfortably. I looked around the room. It was furnished rather expensively. I saw to that because I paid for it, but it had never seemed like home until just now. Up to now it was just another place to hang my hat.
I reached over and drew her towards me. I put my arm around her waist; she seemed to fit in the crook of my arm. With my free hand I put out my cigarette and turned on the small radio next to the couch. Some band was playing sweet music. I generally go for rocky stuff, but this was just right.
She put out her cigarette and leaned back comfortably against me. A knock at the door
—the waiter returned for the tray. When he had left, I put out the room lights and turned on the small lamps near the couch and sat down again. Her face was lovely in the dim ivory light. We kissed.
“Why did you run away from me in the hospital, Frankie?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I answered slowly. “I wouldn’t have run away if I had known.” “Things must have been pretty bad for you then,” she said.
I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to think about them. Some things are better forgotten. “Do you ever hear from your folks?” she asked.
“No,” I answered. “I could never locate them.”
“That’s too bad. I know how they must feel. I almost gave up all hope of ever seeing you again.”
“Would that have been so terrible?” I asked, with a little smile.
She turned her head and looked at me. “You could never know just how terrible it might have been. I might have gone on waiting forever and turned into an old maid.”
I smiled again. “Not you! There must have been other guys.”
She nodded. “There were. But they weren’t you, and you were what I wanted.”
“I bet you say that to all the boys,” I laughed.
She laughed with me, but her eyes remained serious. “Of course! It’s just part of the line.”
“Feed me more, honey, I love it.”
“You’re fooling.” A troubled look had come on her face.
“I’m not fooling, honey,” I said. “I mean it. I love flattery. I’m a sucker for it.”
She leaned her head against my shoulder, and we were quiet for a while. Then she looked up at me again. “Frankie, I’m worried. I’m afraid of losing you again.”
“Don’t worry, baby,” I said quietly, “you couldn’t lose me with a ten-ton truck.”
“It’s not that I’m afraid of.” That troubled look had come back on her face. “It’s the other things. Jerry—everyone’s out to get you.”
I laughed confidently. “They won’t get me. They can’t make a case no matter how hard they try. Everything’s being done legit.”
She moved away from me. “It’s true what they say about you, isn’t it?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “You know how people are; they love to talk just to hear the noise they’re makin’.”
“But it’s not just noise, is it? It’s true, you do run the gambling setup?” She was persistent.
“What if I do?” I asked. “Somebody has to.”
She took one of my hands and looked at me earnestly. “You’ll have to quit.”
That was funny. I really laughed. A lot of people seemed to have that same idea lately.
“I mean it, Frankie,” she said, still holding my hand. “If you don’t, you’ll only wind up in jail, or in some alley, riddled with bullets.”
“I don’t think so, baby,” I said. “The law can’t pin anything on me and most of the monkeys in town haven’t the nerve to start anything on me because they know they’ll never get around to finishing it.”
“They will in time.” Her jaw had set stubbornly.
I smiled. “Forget it. I’m not worried about it, and I don’t want you to worry about it, either.”
“I wouldn’t like it to happen,” she said, quietly. “It would be a terrible thing for me to wake up some morning and find you in jail.”
“I’ll be here tomorrow morning,” I said, pointedly.
“But how about all the other mornings after that?” There were tears in her eyes. “Can’t you see, Frankie? We could never be married unless we were sure we’d be together— unless I was sure you were safe. There wouldn’t be any happiness for us any other way.”
I listened to her in amazement. Who said anything about getting married? But the more I looked at her, the better I liked the idea. She’d be nice to come home to. I laughed to myself. I got it bad, I thought—and quick!
“Why not?” I asked. “What has my work to do with out getting married? I make a lot of dough. If I didn’t, we couldn’t get married, anyway. That’s silly.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s not silly. You’ve got the idea that money can do everything. It can’t! You can’t buy pride and respect. The person commands them, not
the price.’
“I’m not ashamed of what I do.” I was getting a little angry. “I had enough of messin’ around on measly little jobs and half starvin’ to death, and I don’t like it. And you don’t have to be ashamed of me, either. I worked damned hard getting a setup like this and I’m not going to throw it away because some stupid blue-noses say I louse up the air.”
“You don’t see what I’m trying to tell you, do you?” She was very still, her body almost rigid.
“No, I don’t.”
Her eyes had hardened, and her jaw had set into familiarly stubborn lines. “I didn’t think you would,” she said, coldly. “I can see now there’s no use in trying to make you understand.” She walked towards her coat and picked it up.
I watched her. “What are you going to do?” I asked.
“Go home,” she answered. Her shoulders sagged. Lines of weariness etched themselves around her mouth. “I was chasing a dream, I guess. There’s nothing here for me.”
I was angry now. “Nothing here for you?” I asked, sarcastic ally. “If I played ball your way, what would be in it for me?”
Her head went up, her shoulders back, sparks shot from her eyes. “I’ll tell you what’s in it for you, if you don’t know.
“It’s a chance for you to come home, to become a human being. A chance for you to join society and live with people. A chance for you to hold up your head and belong to, instead of fighting against. A chance for you to come out of the jungle and stop snarling and scratching and torturing yourself into a frenzy of hate against the really important things around you. A chance for you to love and be loved, to share and be shared with, to give and be given.
“A chance to spend days without fear, without schemes, without mean little doubts to disturb your sleep. A chance for you to stop being lonely. A chance for you to live and be human and to have children——” Her eyes flooded over with tears, and her sobs stuck in her throat. She couldn’t speak. She just stood there looking at me, her heart in her eyes.
I didn’t dare to step near her. If I did, I would be lost. There was a tight, constricted feeling in my chest. I couldn’t look into her eyes. I turned my head away. I had fought too long and too hard to relinquish what I had earned for anyone. I looked at the carpet. My voice was low and hard. “I’d rather have this,” I said. “I know what this is.”
She didn’t answer. The tears stopped falling. She took a step towards me. Then, her mouth set in a thin line as if she were biting on her lips to keep from speaking, she turned and walked towards the door and went out silently.
My back was towards the door, and I heard the latch click gently. I sat down on the couch heavily. The perfume of her clung to my nostrils. I shut my eyes and could see her framed against my eyelids. Ruth! The name of the scent she had used suddenly popped into my mind. “Poor Fool!” They certainly named it right!
I certainly was!
T
HE
phone woke me up. I had had a bad night. For the first time in years I hadn’t slept well. I turned and tossed, and, at last, in the early hours of the morning, I finally fell into a fitful sort of slumber. Cursing the phone, I reached for it, picked it up, and said: “What the hell do you want?”