“Evening, brother,” said the girl—in the old language. She was sitting down beside me in the Canadian bar.
“I’ve got no money,” I told her, stiffly.
“So what,” she said. Just like that. And she was from my own country across the sea. “I know what love is,” she said.
I know your kind of love, I thought. But I wasn’t going to get into that. She’d only get angry.
“You’re a knockout,” she said. “A real knockout.”
I grinned. What else could I do?
She won’t hang around long, I thought. She’ll see I’m not standing her aity drinks, so she’ll sit around for a while and then push off. I really didn’t have any money left. I was down to the last ten dollars of my pay, and I was damned if I was going to blow it on her.
“Well, how about it, huh? Aren’t you going to stand me a drink? You’re as tight as a …, oh, never mind.”
She’s angry, I thought. I’ll have to stand her a drink.
“I’ve got no money,” I told her.
“Who’s asking you for money?” she demanded, raising her voice. “I don’t give a damn about your money. Besides, if I was after money, I wouldn’t come to you.”
“You need money to buy drinks,” I said. This, I knew, was my last card.
“And you need a little class,” she replied. Then she lifted a leg, pulled up her skirt just like they do in the movies, pulled out a ten-dollar bill from the top of her stocking, and threw it down in front of me. “There’s your money! Now stand me a drink.” The barman smiled knowingly.
I felt uneasy. They’ve been cooking up something between them again, I thought.
“Come on, stand me a drink!” she said.
“There’s no point.” I pushed the ten dollars back to her.
“Why not?” And without bothering to wait for my answer she continued, “Because it’s me who’s paying?”
I nodded. What the hell did I want to come in here for, I thought, cursing my luck. Why did I have to pick on this place?
“Forget it,” she said, and she put away the bill. “What’ll you have? I’ll have a double scotch on the rocks.”
So—she was still trying. And now with my money, what’s more.
As if I didn’t know what a double scotch on the rocks was. She was up to something, I was sure of that. But what was she after? “I’m doing fine.” I said. I pointed to the unfinished bottle of beer in front of me.
“Beer? How the hell can you drink that stuff?”
“It’s cheaper.” I shouldn’t have said that. It probably would rile her.
She gave me a low look. “You’re a knockout, I’m telling you. A real knockout.”
I kept quiet and tried to smile. She isn’t cross, I thought. Seems like she’s not done too bad today. She isn’t cross.
“All right,” she said, “I won’t have a double scotch on the rocks. Get me a Canadian Club. Have one yourself. It’s great with beer. Which beer are you drinking?” She turned the bottle round and looked at the label. “You must be … never mind what. How can you drink this horse piss? Don’t let me ever catch you drinking it again.”
I ordered two Canadian Clubs. “Take your money,” I told her. “I’ve got enough for two Clubs.”
“So, you want to get rid of me, eh?”
“No,” I said. “No, I don’t.”
“You’re lying.”
I was silent. The waiter brought the two Clubs. I took out my last ten and paid. Once the bartender had gone, I whispered to her softly, “That’s the end of my pay.”
“Come on!” she said. I could see she simply wasn’t paying attention to what she was saying. She had fixed her eyes on a tall, red-haired man who was coming into the bar. I took a drink. “D’you see him?” she asked. “That red-haired guy? He’s rolling in money.”
Then suddenly, out of the blue, she asked, “Does your wife write to you?”
What the hell’s she getting at now? I wondered. “Now and then,” I answered.
“Fool.”
I had no idea which of us she meant.
“Order another two.”
I ordered the drinks and made a swift calculation. Only six dollars and eighty cents left.
“He won’t give me the slip,” she said. “Not on your life he won’t. He owns three buildings, old lobster there does. And seven hundred a month in salary. You can’t even begin to imagine what that’s like,” she said.
“No, I can’t,” I said, to make her happy.
“Of course you can’t. You’d go out of your head if someone gave you seven hundred dollars a month. That’s for sure.”
Just give me seven hundred dollars a month, I thought, and we’ll see if I go out of my head or not.
“Really,” she said, downing her second whiskey. “What would you do if you suddenly started earning seven hundred dollars a month?”
“I’d know what to do, if I could just get my hands on it.”
“No you wouldn’t,” she said. “You aren’t the money-making kind, believe me you aren’t.”
That’s only because I don’t have any, I thought.
“You know, friend,” she went on, staring more and more aggressively at the red-haired man, “you could… Take my hand!” she said. “Take my hand when I tell you! Go on! More gently, you fool! more gently! Take my hand as if you were trying to talk me into something. Numbskull!”
“I don’t get you,” I said. I really didn’t understand what she was after.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “You’re a … oh, the hell with it! I picked you up. Listen, now. Listen carefully.” She leaned over and began whispering in my ear. “Look into my eyes as if you were in love with me. Smile. Smile a little, dammit! Ooooh!”
She’s gone crazy, I thought. But, of course, I did as she told me. Why make her angry?
“Pretend you’re trying to talk me into something. Understand?”
“I don’t understand a thing,” I told her. “But don’t worry, I’ll do as you say.”
“You’ve always been stupid, believe me.”
All right, so I’m stupid. You should have thought of that earlier. I looked at her, smiled, and stretched out my hand as if I wanted to grab her around the waist.
“Don’t start getting ideas,” she said.
“I’m not getting any ideas,” I answered. Not bloody likely, I thought, coming to myself.
“Order another two Clubs,” she told me.
“Maybe you’d better slow down,” I said.
“Come on! Order the drinks!”
She was going to get drunk, I knew. But what could I do? I ordered the drinks.
Five dollars and twenty cents. Twenty cents less for the tip. That leaves an even five. Just great.
“You’ll get drunk,” I told her.
“No I won’t!”
You’ll get drunk, I thought. I know you. You’ll get drunk on my last ten dollars, and what’ll it all come to in the end? Nothing.
I cast a glance at the red-haired man. My God, I thought, he’s fallen for it. How about that! “I’ll get my cut?” I whispered to her.
“It depends,” she said. “Squeeze me a little. A little more. Lift that great paw of yours higher, for God’s sake! That’s right.”
“What does it depend on?” I asked.
“On you,” she answered.
I really didn’t know what she meant. On me? How?
“On you,” she repeated, without offering any explanation. What business was it of mine? “Now try to give me a kiss,” she told me. “When I slap you across the face, you jump back.”
“What’s this about slapping?” I asked, trying to shake her off.
“Don’t try to back out of it now,” she muttered through her clenched teeth. “You’re not going to budge from here, get it?”
No, I thought. No, I won’t. I’m getting out of this. I don’t like it. The cops here are on to you before you can turn your head. For the first time I spoke my thoughts aloud:
“I won’t.”
“Why not, meat-head?”
“I don’t want any trouble with the cops.” That was the truth. You could get a pretty stiff sentence for molestation. Six months at least. No, I wasn’t going to get mixed up in it.
“What d’you mean, cops! There’s no cops for miles around, you idiot. Squeeze me round the waist. Hard.”
The red-haired man got up and went to the gents. “He was drinking before he came here,” she remarked. She pushed me away from her.
the art is inside
