The Nothing Man (2 page)

When she stepped from the elevator, I saw that she toedin a little, her ankles were over-thin, the calves of her legs larger than the norm. But it was all right on her. On her it looked good. She preceded me to the street, the outsize hips swinging on the too-slender waist-or was it the slenderness of the waist that made her hips seem outsize?

One thing was certain, there was nothing at all wrong with Mrs. Chasen's bank balance. Not, that is, unless she'd given Saks Fifth Avenue and I. Magnin a hell of a kidding.

We reached the sidewalk and I started to take her by the elbow. She turned and looked up into my face.

"Have you," she said, "been drinking, Mr. Brown?"

"Why," I said, drawing away a little, "what makes you think I-why do you ask that?"

I didn't know what to say. The question had caught me completely off guard, and I still couldn't make up my mind whether she was stupid or only appeared to be.

As I say, I never could make it up.

"It's pretty early in the day to be drinking," I hedged.

"Not for me," she said, "under the circumstances. I'm going to have a drink, Mr. Brown. Several drinks, in fact. And you can come along or not come along, just as you please. As far as I'm concerned, you and your dear Mr. Lovelace-"

"Tut," I said. "Tish and pish, Mrs. Chasen. You have just said a naughty word, and there is only one thing to be done. We shall have to wash out your mouth."

"What"-she laughed a little nervously-"what do you-?"

"Come, Mrs. Chasen," I said. "Come with me to the Press Club."

I made a Charles Boyer face, and she laughed again. Not nervously, now. Rather, I thought, hungrily.

"Well, come
on!"
she said.

It just went to show-as Mr. Lovelace often remarked. Yes, sir, here was the proof; there was no problem too big for American genius and know-how.

"… You crazy thing, Brownie! Do you always talk so crazy?"

"Only with people I love, Deborah. Only with you and Mr. Lovelace."

"You said it, Brownie! You said it that time!"

"So I did," I said, "and I shall take my punishment with my elbows firmly on the table… Close-order drill?"

"With a barrage, Brownie! A big barrage!"

"Jake," I called, "advance with artillery."

Perhaps she hadn't been too tactful about it, but she'd had a right to be sore at Mr. Lovelace. Her late husband, late and elderly ("_but he was a fine man, Brownie; I liked him a lot_"), had been an oil man. The Lovelaces had often visited them at their place in Oklahoma. Then, six months ago, her husband had died, and she had found herself with a great deal of money and even more than she knew what to do with… Money and time and a growing suspicion that she was not highly regarded in the circles she had formerly moved in. ("_And why not, Brownie? I was good to him. I waited on him hand and foot for ten years_. ")

She had fought back; she had delivered two snubs for every one she received. But you lose at that game, even when you win. There is no satisfaction in it. Finally, she had begun to travel-she was on her way to the Riviera now-and today she had stopped off here. And Lovelace, of course, had given her the firmest brush-off of all. ("_But I'm glad I stopped, Brownie. You know?_") She was lonely as hell, though not the kind to admit it. The chances were that she would always be lonely. Because that manner of hers-whatever its motivation-was not something that would ordinarily win friends and influence people.

I had a hunch that she had even got under the Lovelace hide.

I stole a glance at my wrist watch and looked back at her. Thus far, she was holding her drinks very well. But train time was four hours away-she was catching the four-fifteen into Los Angeles. So it seemed to me that some food was indicated.

I picked up a menu, turned it right side up, and started to pass it across the table.

"I'll," she said, "have the hot turkey sandwich with mashed potatoes and buttered asparagus."

I nodded. "That sounds-Say, how did you know that was on the menu?"

"I read it." She smiled, pleased as a child with herself.

"Upside down? And sitting way over there?"

"Uh-huh. My eyes are wond-I mean, I have very good eyesight."

"In that case," I said, "you had better order the steak. You will be the only person in history ever able to see a Press Club steak."

We had the turkey sandwiches. I bought a bottle from Jake, and we got my car off the parking lot.

"Where are we going, Brownie?" she said. Then, before I could answer: "I know something about you."

"I was afraid of that," I said. "Yes, officer, you have the right person. I am actually Tinka Tin Nose, girl insect exterminator."

"You're sad."

"Why wouldn't I be with a name like that?"

"I know. You want to know how I know?"

"I've already told you."

"Crazy!" She gave it up. "Where did you say we were going?"

"Well, we have several points of interest. Ensconced in the basement of the public library is the largest collection of Indian artifacts in southeast Pacific County. Why, they have a
metate
there that actually makes your hands itch for a pot, and-"

"Pooh!"

"Check! You're a thousand per cent on the ball, D.C., and let me be the first to congratulate the new manager of our Pooh division… How about a son-of-a-bitch? Would you like to see the world's biggest son-of-a-bitch, Deborah?"

"I thought I'd met him this morning."

"Sharp!" _Or was she?_ "But this guy is in another class. He's our Chief of Detectives here, and-No sale?"

It wasn't. Obviously, and I say this in all modesty, she was quite content with the company present.

"Well," I said, "I'll have to take you some place. I may be asked to account for my time. What about a visit to our city animal shelter?"

"Animal shelter!" She wrinkled her nose. "Double pooh!"

"It's a nice long ride," I said carelessly. "Way out in the country, you know. I think you might enjoy it."

"Oh?" She sidled a glance at me, then nodded firmly. "I think I might, too."

That, then, was the way it happened. And, as you can see, there was nothing sinister about it, nothing premeditated. That trick she'd pulled in the Press Club-reading upside down and backward-had made no real impression on me. I hadn't been even mildly interested in why she thought I was sad.

We drove out to the shelter-well, call it dog pound, if you like-stopping at intervals for drills, bombardments, and barrages. By the time we reached our destination the bottle was empty, and Saks, Magnin, et al. knew little about the anatomy of Mrs. Chasen that I didn't know.

She was a little mussed. She was happy as all hell. I'd brought her back into the human race again, and her heart was right in her eyes. She could carry on by herself from now on. The ice was broken, and she'd be all right-as right, at any rate, as she could be. Much righter than she had been.

… The shelter was-and is-supported by donations; rather, I should say, it was supposed to be supported by them. Because the cash that came in wasn't half enough to operate the place decently. If Mr. and Mrs. Peablossom, the old couple who superintended the shelter, hadn't donated most of their wages, the dogs would have been completely starved instead of the two thirds starved that they usually were.

Mrs. Peablossom insisted on fixing tea for us, and afterward the old gentleman walked us out to the gate of the compound.

"I just don't know what we're going to do, Mr. Brown," he fretted. "The kennels have fallen to pieces. We have to let them run loose there in the court-and they keep coming in, more and more of them, and I can't bear to have them put to sleep-poor homeless fellows-but hardly anyone adopts a dog any more, and…"

He rambled on worriedly, while Deborah and I stood looking through the wire-mesh gate. There must have been two hundred dogs in there, closed in by the six-foot-high wall. They lay panting on the hot, shadeless pavement or milled around listlessly, pawing and sniffing hopelessly at the twigs that had blown over the wall.

I fumbled at my wallet, then shoved it back into my pocket. "I'm a little short of funds today, Mr. Peablossom, but-"

"That's quite all right, Mr. Brown. You've done far too much already."

"But
I
haven't done anything," said Deborah, and she opened her purse. She took out a fifty-dollar bill and handed it to him.

"Bless you!" The old man almost wept. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Chasen. Do you have dogs of your own?"

"No," she said. "I don't like dogs." She saw my frown. "I mean I'm afraid of them. A big dog knocked me down when I was a little girl and I never got over it. I've been terrified by them ever since."

I reached up to lift the hasp of the gate, but Mr. Peablossom caught my arm. "I don't believe you'd better go in today, Mr. Brown. The dogs are so hungry, and-"

"You think they're
that
hungry?"

"Well," he hesitated, looking apologetically at Deborah, "you know how it is with dogs, Mr. Brown. They can smell fear. It makes them worse than they might be ordinarily."

"I know," I said. "Well, we've got to be going, anyway. Mrs. Chasen has less than an hour to catch her train."

The old man saw us out to the car and stood waving until we were out of sight. Deborah leaned back in the seat, looking at me out of the corner of her eyes. "Brownie-"

"Yes?" I said.

"Do you-do you think I'm pretty?"

"No," I said. "You're too big, too little, too something every way I look at you, so you can't be pretty. What you are is just the damnedest, delightfulest chunk of woman I ever laid eyes on."

She sighed comfortably. "You really mean that, don't you?"

"Every word."

"And you like me? You know, Brownie? Like?"

"Like isn't quite the word," I said. "I'm crazy about you. Almost any man would be if you didn't scare him off. Which reminds me, Deborah…"

I suggested several ways by which she could do herself a favor: thinking before she spoke; aiming her laugh in some direction other than a person's face.

"Would you like me better that way, Brownie?"

"I like you just as you are," I said. "But I'm out of the picture. You're leaving and-"

"Leave with me, Brownie."

"Wha-at?" I jerked the car back onto the road in the nick of time. "Why, Mrs. Chasen, are you suggesting-?"

"Anything! Any way you want it, darling. I'd like to have you marry me, but-"

"But-but, honey!" I shook my head. "That's crazy! You don't know anything about me."

"Yes, I do. All I need to know."

I laughed shakily. The whisky was wearing off. My nerves were rising on edge, slicing up saw-toothed through the skin… _All you need to know, eh? What do you know, anyway? That I can spiel the crap until your head spins? Why not? That I'm hot as a two-dollar pistol? Why not? I spiel it out to keep from drowning in it, and I was only emasculated-only!-not castrated_…

"You'll feel different tomorrow," I said. "Let's face it, Deborah, we've had quite a bit to drink today."

"I want you to come with me, Brownie."

"No," I said. "Now drop it, will you? It's too damned idiotic to talk about."

"Then I'll stay here. I won't take my train."

"I said to drop it!" I snapped. "Of course you'll take your train. You've got a drawing-room bought and paid for. You've got your steamship passage. You're going to get on that train and-"

"Not without you," she said calmly. "Either you go, or I stay."

"I tell you, you can't! I can't! We hardly know each other. I haven't got anything but my job, and you-"

"Uh-huh," she nodded pleasantly. "I have plenty for both of us."

"B-But-dammit, people just don't do those things!"

"Pooh on people," she said.

It was like fighting something that wasn't there, something you couldn't believe in fighting-fighting yourself. She'd seemed as lost as I was, and it had been so long, so very long since I'd let myself touch a woman. I'd wanted to help her, shove her back into the mainstream of life that I could never be part of. And…

We were entering the edge of town. I slowed the car slightly. I made my voice harsh.

"All right, Mrs. Chasen. You won't let me do it the nice way, so we'll have to make it the other. I don't like you. I don't like your looks. You're stupid. You're cockeyed. I haven't seen hair like yours since I stopped riding horses. You've got a can on you like a whale, and I wouldn't get near that topside of yours in a high wind for all the-"

"B-Brownie! S-Stop!"

I stopped.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I don't enjoy talking to you this way. You were just a job with me-an assignment-and I tried to-Goddam you!" I said.

For she was laughing. Her head was thrown back and the green eyes were crinkled and flashing, and that topside I'd mentioned was trembling and shivering. She was laughing all over. I could almost see the naked, rippling flesh, feel it shivering against mine, while the green eyes looked up into mine. Hot, then curious. And at last pitying and disgusted.

My hands on the steering wheel were wet with sweat.

"You're so funny, Brownie!"

"Yeah," I said. "Very funny. I even keep myself in stitches."

She put her hand on my knee, gave it a quick, firm squeeze. "Funny and sad," she said. "But you won't be sad with me. I'll make you the happiest man in the world."

"There's just one way you can do that," I said. "Get on your goddamned train and get out of town, and don't come back."

"Huh-uh," she said. "Now, you park right here and we'll go in and get my bags."

We parked. I took her by the shoulders and turned her around facing me.

"No, Brownie"-she tried to squirm away-"there's not a bit of use in telling me that my-my-"

"I'm not," I said. "I'm telling you I'm nuts about you. I think perhaps I even love you. But-well, call me any name you like. Think what you want to. I thought we'd just have a high old time together, and then you'd go your way and I'd go mine. So-I didn't see how it would make any difference. But-"

I didn't have to say it. All the laughter went out of her eyes, and she turned slowly away from me. "That's-?" She changed the question into a statement. "That's true, Brownie."

"It's true. We're separated, but we're still married. She'd never give me a divorce."