The Cocktail Waitress (18 page)

The next night was nothing but one more night. The night after that Mr. White came in.

I saw him first and turned to the bar, where Jake had seen him too and was already fixing his drink. When it was ready to go he was at his table, the same one he’d always sat at. I served it without saying a word to him, and he asked: “Well? Aren’t you speaking to me?”

“Are you speaking to me is the question. It’s been quite a while, Mr. White. I wasn’t sure you placed me.”

“I place you.”

“I don’t take things for granted. It’s been weeks, after all. Was your business successful?”

“Very much so. It should be signed shortly.”

“And the other matter?”

“It’s a tricky situation, but my lawyer says it can be done.”

“… If you still wish to do it, of course. Let’s not pretend you didn’t go away for a month at least partly to try and forget me.”

“I don’t deny it, Joan,” he said simply. “I did.”

I opened my mouth to go on with it, trade some more blows back and forth, but looking at his expression I knew, the time had come to switch. I hadn’t jumped in his lap, I hadn’t yelped for joy on seeing him, had acted as though neglected, and not too pleased about it. But now I thought maybe it was best that I calm down, and remember the things that had been between us. So I said nothing until a minute at least had passed, and then, very quietly, asked, “So? Could you?” And then: “Did you?”

He let at another minute pass, and then, barely whispering it, said: “… No.”

“… Why don’t you ask what I did while you were gone?”

“O.K. What?”

“Tried to forget you was all.”

“So? Did you?”

I let him wait for a bit, then told him: “No.”

And then he said it, what I’d left Tom’s side to hear: “Joan, we have to get married.”

“Your way?”

“It’s not the way I’d want it—it’s the way the doctors dictate, the way it has to be.”

I stood there with my heart beating up, for I knew the way the doctors dictated was the only way for me—with him. I’ve asked myself, many times since that fateful night, if I was leading him on, pretending one state of mind while really being in another. The answer has to be yes. If I tell what I really felt, there on the floor that night, it was sure exultation, that I’d put it over at last, this gigantic plan I’d had, that would give my darling to me, on a lawn that he could play on, in a house we both could live in, as part of a world that we could be proud of. I’m trying to tell it as it was, not leaving anything out that matters, or putting anything in that isn’t true. So, I was two-faced and now I admit it. But, if you’re a woman, how about you, what would you have done? If you had exactly been in my shoes, with this opportunity offered you and that little boy to think of, I think you’d have done what I did. But not more than I did, not the things the newspapers later accused me of. And I swear on my life, on my blessed son’s life, I didn’t do them either.

“… When?” I asked.

“Not sooner than a week. My lawyer raised some questions that have to be answered—or at any rate, gone into. I want you to be protected—fully protected, by law.”

“On that, I trust you completely.”

“I appreciate that, Joan—but with the best intentions in the world, I could leave you wide open for trouble in case of a certain eventuality.”

“What eventuality, Mr. White?”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Then, if you mean what I think you mean, I’d rather not, either. I hereby withdraw my question.”

“You sound like a lawyer, Joan.”

“I grew up around the sound. My father is one.”

“I’ve often wondered about him.”

“… I’d rather not discuss him.”

The bitterness I felt must have been in my voice, as he did something he very seldom did—reached out and patted me tenderly, on the side of my trunks. Suddenly he announced: “We’ll be married, Joan, but actually, as we’ll order our life, I’ll be a father to you. That way we can be together. I can see you all the time, and fill what must be a void in your life.”

I took his hand and held it, sealing the bargain.

During the night, it occurred to me that if he needed a lawyer, so did I, and once more I called Mr. Eckert in Marlboro, and around noon the next day I drove over to see him. He cut me off when I mentioned a retainer, saying the two-fifty I had already paid “still had some time to run, as I’ve done nothing to earn it—so, you’re all paid up, and what’s on your mind, Mrs. Medford?”

I told him.

When I was done he got up and started walking around. “I don’t like it,” he growled. And then: “I don’t like it even a little bit.”

I waited, and he went on: “You’ll be married, but then if he changes his mind you won’t be. I mean, suppose he seeks an annulment. No consummation, no marriage—you know about that, I assume? So, say you’re willing to consummate, which you might think knocks his suit in the head. But not if non-consummation was part of the contract— a court would hold, I’m afraid, that you can’t have it both ways. If you entered into a marriage that wasn’t a marriage, that’s the marriage
the court has before it, not some marriage you’re willing to make after the fact. And if I were a judge, I’d have to hold that a marriage that excluded consummation was never a marriage at all.”

“… So? What do I do?”

“You mean, to get the money?”

“Do you have to put it that way?”

“If you want my legal advice I must know what you’re aiming at.”

“… Well—naturally I think about money. I imagine everyone does. It’s not all I think about. Certainly not, Mr. Eckert.” And more of the same for ten minutes. When at last I ran down, he said: “In other words, you want me to tell you how to get the money, and at the same time pretend it’s not what you’re thinking about?”

“… Then—yes.”

“O.K., now we’re getting somewhere.”

I took another ten minutes on Tad, explaining where he came in, and he let me talk, but didn’t seem to be listening. Then suddenly he cut in: “O.K., so you have a child, and you want grass for him to play on. So, what you do is go along—you get married this crazy way, and do your best to go through with it. But, Mrs. Medford, there’s a possibility you don’t seem to have thought about: He may want to consummate anyhow—take a chance the doctors could be wrong. My advice to you is: If he wants to consummate, consummate. Because the invitation could be only
his
way of entrapping you, of getting you to refuse, and in that way achieving an impregnable position in court.”

“… Why would he do that?”

“He fell in love, didn’t he? He could just as easy fall out—and just as quick.”

“And what makes you think I’d refuse?”

“I don’t say you would. I only said you shouldn’t. If it were really the man’s company you wanted, I’d advise differently—but I think, with you, it’s the money.”

I felt ashamed, and got up to go. He said: “I’m not quite done yet. Whatever you do, put nothing in writing, Mrs. Medford. Don’t sign any marriage contract, or agreement, or anything that mentions this stipulation—except for the routine papers, such as the application for a license, don’t sign
anything.
Then, when it happens, if it happens, the one thing that can win for you, there’ll be nothing in this safety deposit box to louse you in Orphan’s Court.”

“What ‘thing’ are you talking about?”

“The same ‘thing’ you’re thinking about.”

“You certainly make it plain.”

He stood there, looking down at me, and I stood looking up at him, and his gaze reminded me of Sergeant Young’s, only without any of the kindness. After a moment he said: “If, after you’re married, you want any help of any kind, legal or otherwise, I hope you’ll let me know.”

I asked: “Otherwise? What kind of help would that be?”

“Platonic marriage, to a dame as good-looking as you, might be a bit of a strain. If that’s how it works for you, you might let me know—you might drop over some day and I’ll take it from there. You’re a goddam good-looking gold-digger, and I go for you, plenty.”

He reached out with one finger and stroked it along the side of my face. I wanted to grab it and bend it backward, snap it clean through, but what I did was smile my prettiest smile and lift the digit off me ever so gently.

“If I want you, Mr. Eckert, I’ll let you know.”

I drove back to Hyattsville, with butterflies in my stomach, and a feeling that I might be playing with fire.

The week didn’t pass, it flew. Then it was the day, and when I woke up I was panicky—I knew I was holding back, flinching from what I had to do. I found myself furious, frantic with rage at Tom, that he hadn’t called, hadn’t shown up at the bar, not once. He had to have known, the moment he woke, why I left him—I’d told him I meant to get married. And he had to know now when it would happen, since he was in touch with Liz, as she’d betrayed for two or three nights, by the questions she asked of me and the ones I asked of her, the ones she chose not to hear. So she’d told him about it, and why hadn’t he come? To say goodbye, perhaps see me home one night, or something. But no, not even a kind look. He’d kept himself away from the Garden entirely.

I got up, dressed, had coffee and got in the car. Next thing I knew I was in Marlboro, and found myself driving past Eckert’s place, asking myself what I was doing there. Was there more legal advice I wanted —or was I tempted by his other offer after all? I shuddered at the thought. And yet here I was. The prospect of shackling myself to Mr. White was clearly getting to me, though I’d been the engineer and architect of the plan and could hardly complain of the outcome. I turned the car around and headed for home.

At one o’clock I called Blue Bird, and asked them to send a cab to the Safety Garage, then drove my car there and left it. When the cab came I rode home, feeling queer. Before going in I rang Mrs. Stringer’s bell, next door, and when she came gave her my spare key, and the $10 payment I’d offered, for looking in each day, making sure one
light was lit, and taking in the mail. Then I went in, walked back to the bedroom and had a look around, as well as in my bag, to make sure I had everything. It was a big one I’d had from Pittsburgh, and the only one I was taking, as that was one thing I’d learned from my father, one of the few memories of him I respected: “Take one bag and one bag only—it’ll hold what you need, if you use the facilities available where you go—the laundry, the cleaner, the bootblack, the barber, the beauty parlor—let them freshen you up. Don’t try to take the whole clothes-closet with you.” I checked my cash, $500 in twenties that I’d drawn and $2,000 in traveler’s checks.

At two o’clock Mr. White’s car stopped out front and I let Jasper get out and ring my bell, so I could have him take the bag and I wouldn’t have to do it.

Mr. White was waiting on the brick platform in front of the mansion’s door, with what looked like the whole household staff lined up behind him. I hadn’t realized there were so many—three women, two in maid outfits and one in a cook’s apron, and beside them three men in workclothes that might have made them gardeners or mechanics or what-have-you. They all looked warmly at me, but to see them arrayed there before me, almost as though for my inspection, gave the screw inside me another clockwise twist. Jasper jumped out of the car, snatched up Mr. White’s two suitcases and loaded them into the trunk. Mr. White gave a little speech to his staff, how he was leaving solo but would return as one half of husband-and-wife, and he trusted they would each welcome me to my new role as mistress of the house. There was much nodding, and I had all I could do to nod back and smile with gratitude rather than bolt down the oyster shell drive.

I followed him back into the car, and a moment later the door closed firmly and then the car began to roll.

“Hello, Joan,” he said.

I said “Hello” back, but knew something more was called for; from
the look on his face, he expected it. So I pulled his face down and kissed him. In a moment he kissed me back, whispering, “Our first.” Then: “Joan, your lips are like ice—is something wrong?”

“I’m just the least little bit frightened—I guess your lips know without being told, what your heart is feeling.”

I made myself sound wan, timid, and friendly, and he gathered me into his arms. They were narrow and I could feel the bones through the flesh. I started to cry silently. Then: “Frightened?” he asked. “Of what?”

“Just on general principles. After all, this isn’t something I do every day.”

“But not at something
I’ve
done?”

“Of course not.”

I gave him a pat, and wiped away the tears that had made it out before I regained control over myself. But on account of my lips, I didn’t venture another kiss. We rode along, I making myself lean toward him, though I didn’t at all want to.

We bypassed Annapolis, then were out on the bridge over the Bay. Then we were on the Eastern Shore, which is flat, so a car eats up miles, without even going fast. Then we were in Delaware, and in a matter of minutes we were entering Dover. He said something to Jasper, who said, “Yes sir, I know,” and pulled in shortly at quite a handsome motel. Jasper got out and opened the door for us, then followed us inside, carrying the bags. Mr. White told the clerk: “Three of us—we’re reserved, Earl K. White, Mrs. Ronald Medford, and Jasper Wilson.” The clerk eyed us, then offered the pen to Mr. White, who gave it to me. I took it and filled out the card the clerk gave me, having a sudden panicky feeling at the realization it was the last time I’d write ‘Joan Medford.’ Motels don’t have bellboys, so it was Jasper who took up the bags. In a moment I was alone upstairs with mine and a feeling of utter panic.

*

We had agreed to meet in the lobby, and he was waiting when I got down. So was Jasper, and we went out and got in the car. When I asked where we were headed he said: “Lab—we have to have blood tests. If they take their samples now we can get the report in the morning and get our license at once without waiting around.” I said: “Oh,” and Jasper stopped at an office building. The receptionist seemed to know what we wanted without being told, and was so coy it made me uncomfortable. The doctor was smiling too, and made quick work of us both, having us sit with our dab of cotton, holding it to our arms, and then telling us: “Just ask the girl in the morning— she’ll have your certificates ready.” Back in the motel, we went at once to the dining room, and all during dinner he talked of how happy he was, just to be with me at last, without having to get up and go, “or seeing that bartender eye me as though I were some kind of thief for occupying a table without ordering something pricier.” I told him Jake didn’t mean any harm, and that he’d been very nice to me from the first day, but it didn’t do any good, as Jake, something I had not known, was obviously his pet aversion. After the dinner we went back to the lobby to talk over cups of tea in a little sitting area they had. Around nine I said I was tired and would like to turn in, and he took me to my room. For one horrible moment there in the hall I wondered what I would do if he tried to come in, but he didn’t. He stood there, though, as if expecting something, and as I had in the car I knew what it was. I raised my mouth and he kissed me. “Good night, Earl,” I whispered and ducked inside, too jittered to ask if my lips were warmer than they had been, or to care.