You Play the Black & the Red Comes Up Up (6 page)

And we were like that, her drunker than a filly and howling and me cold sober, and us both coming down along the steep windy road from Palos Verdes in the morning, with the mist floating solid over the valleys so's you couldn't see the land, and the ocean gray and with hardly any waves breaking, and my head aching and my teeth sort of feeling loose. That was the way we came home that morning.

SOME SORT OF LOVE

W
hen I woke up I lay li
stening to Mamie in the kitchen
ette. Then I remembered the chain and lock from the bag. I had forgotten to throw it away.

I was so scared I jumped right up and went to my clothes. I felt at the coat pocket. It was still there. The chain and the lock were heavy inside the pocket.

As I was standing there Mamie came in.

"Feeling for your money?" she asked.

She sounded bright and cheerful. I never knew anyone like that woman for not having a hangover, ever.

"Oh, yes," I said. "I was scared I'd lost it."

"I took it out this morning and put it in the top bureau drawer—way at the back," she said.

She went on walking ab
out, getting breakfast, and gab
bing about how a man wasn't to be trusted and how careless men are and how they never hang their clothes up. I sat on the bed, watching her in that red beach pajama set. I never knew a woman who could be so cheerful in the morning.

"Snap out of it, big boy," she said. "Come on. I've got tomato juice and waffles and honey and little sausages."

"I don't want anything," I said.

"Oh, come on. Drink your tomato juice. Then you'll feel better. Hurry up—waffles can't wait for no man."

I ate my breakfast feeling sure she must have seen the chain and lock when she went through my pockets after the money, but she didn't say anything. She kept on gabbing my ear off and I got to thinking about how she was drunk when we got in and now she felt all right, while I was sober when we got in and now I felt terrible. I couldn't figure that one out. Women are different, I guess.

I felt better after breakfast, just like she kept saying I would. I got
dressed and went out. I went down on the pier. There weren't many people there. There were only a few kids fishing. I walked way out to the end. It was a little misty but the air was coming in fresh, and the waves were rolling in, and it made my head feel better.

I looked at the water a long time, with the pelicans swimming around waiting to steal bait off the fishing lines. Then I dropped the chain and the lock into the water. It went
sp
lash,
and the pelicans
swam over thinking it was some
thing to eat, but that chain and lock had gone way down and the pelicans just looked sort of puzzled a minute, and then they paddled away.

Right after that I felt better. I began thinking that even if Mamie had seen it, she wouldn't know what it was—maybe just think it was a piece of junk like a man sometimes picks up and sticks in his pocket for no reason at all.

If I'd been wise I guess I would have blown out of town right the minute I got that money. But I couldn't do it. I had to stay on account of Mamie. She had taken me in when I didn't have a dime and had spent money on me and hadn't asked any questions. I would have been a heel to run out on her just beca
us
e I had
the money. That's the way I fig
ured it. I didn't want to stay, but I couldn't run out on her with the money.

So I stayed on and we lived high. I didn't care about the money. I was glad to see it go, because I had it figured out that when it was all gone then I was square up with Mamie and I could beat it.

I don't know where all the money went; but how it went! Every day was like payday in the Navy and Sunday on the farm. First off, I bought a little Bugatti. You know those sweet little foreign cars. Can they travel! I meant to fix it up. All it needed was new rings and that would have stopped it pumping oil.

I guess that's ho
w money is. Like the movies say
, it spoils you. I never got to working on the car. It wasn't so much I was lazy, but the minute I got it, Mamie went sour. She didn't say anything, just went round looking offended all day. I thought she would have been tickled to see me interested in something. But she sulked.

Finally I couldn't stand it any longer.

I said, -"What's eating you?"

She just sat on the bed and couldn't say anything.

"Just because I buy a little boat to run around in, you act like I'd kicked your mother in the belly," I said.

Right off she started to cry. Then I felt sorry. I thought it was because I'd said that about her mother.

So I said, "Well, I'm sorry I said that about your mother."

"That's not it," she said. Then she started telling me what she was crying about. She said she knew I was going to use the car so I could go running round with young girls.

"You're nuts," I said. "Why, you treat me swell. What should I want to run round with young girls for?"

"You will," she said. She was still crying. "You'll run around with these little floozies! I know you will. Just because I'm a few years older than you are, you'll ditch me. I know you will. Men don't appreciate a home and love and
care. They just want to go racing round with young floozies."

"You're crazy as a goat," I said. "I won't ever ditch you like that."

"Then what do you want another car for? Don't I let you have the Buick any time you want? My goodness, you're always welcome to it and never any questions asked why. Do I ever ask you any questions why?"

I couldn't begin to tell her why I had the Bugatti—how I wanted to fool round with it and work on it. You can't explain that to women. You can't explain it to another fellow, not even if he feels like you do about cars and machinery. You can't explain it, and if he is like you about it you don't have to. He knows how you feel. But you can't explain it. I guess it's like some sort of love, that's all.

So I said, "Well, you and Patsy need the Buick. You know, you're both hepped on this Ecanaanomic gag, and you want to go round together sometimes. And if I had my car—"

"All right. I'll cut out going with Patsy if that's what you want," she said. "Honest, big boy, I'll just stay with you and I won't have no other friends. Honest, I won't. I will just live for you and nobody else. I'll always keep you comfortable and happy. Honest I will. I'd do anything for you, big boy."

"That's all right," I said. "I don't want you to give up your friends."

"I want to, for you," she said.

She kept on like that, till I couldn't stand any more.

"All right," I said. "All right. I'll sell the car first chance I get. I'll never go near it. I'll sell it. Now cut out crying and wash your face and let's get out of here."

She brightened right up then.

"Big boy, you're a real sport," she said. "I'll do anything for you. You just wait and see."

She began fixing herself up right away.

"Come on, we won't never argue anymore," she said. "Let's forget it. Let's go to Hollywood and see the Passion Play. Patsy's seen it already and she says it's really elegant."

So we drove over and saw the Passion Play. I didn't think it was so hot.

SOMETHING IN THE CLIMATE

P
atsy had fallen like Niagara—for this crazy idea Genter had cooked up. She said it didn't look good for her to be doing clerical work, so she'd hired a girl to type letters and things at the office, and she started going round in a white robe and beach sandals painted with gold radiator paint like Genter had outlined. Not only at home and at the office she was that way; she wore the rig all the time, on the streets and everywhere.

She stopped going out with us to the Nude Eel and around, because she sai
d it would look bad for her fol
lowers. I couldn't see she had any followers, but that's the way she was.

Just once in a while she would put on her regular clothes, and we'd drive toward L.A. and stop somewhere and have a party just like old times. Then she'd let out plenty, but she wouldn't drink near home.

Even Mamie started to get all goofy about these Ecanaanomics.

"It's marvelous," she said. "Patsy has it all figured out. It's the biggest thing since Sinclair."

"Yeah—and he didn't get elected," I said.

"Well, he didn't have as good a plan as Patsy," she said.

She kept talking that way, till one night the three of us went out on a party. For once the girls laid off the beer, and I could see they were cooking up something.

Finally Mamie started:

"Whyn't you become a member of Patsy's Party, big boy?" she said.

"All right," I said. "I'm a member, if that'll help."

"No, foolish," she said, "you've got to sign. Look, you sign this blank."

And Patsy really had blanks all printed up, about how the Ecanaanomic Party would bring new incomes to all and redistribute the wealth through revaluation and revolving weekly payment systems. And at the bottom where you signed it, it said you here
by paid ten dollars full Member
ship fees.

"Ten dollars?" I said. "For what?"

"To start the Party on," Patsy said.
"Look, I have it all fig
ured. There are two million people in California eligible to join. That would make twenty million dollars. Think of that!"

"I can multiply," I said. "Then what?"

"Well, lookit," said Patsy. "Each man puts in ten dollars. That's to start the Party."

"You said that already," I said. "Why should anyone give you ten bucks so's you'll have twenty millions?"

"You don't give it to Patsy.
It isn't a gift, it's an invest
ment," Mamie said. "Isn't it, Patsy?"

"An investment in what?" I said.

"An investment in the economic future," Patsy said. She was beginning to know all the words and she was learning the tune fast. "An investment in something that brings back a return. You invest ten dollars; in return for that the Ecanaanomic Party works to give each living person in this state a payment of five dollars the first week, and a dollar addition each week until at the end of the 46th week he's getting fifty dollars a week. Just think of that. In the first forty-six weeks you get one thousand two hundred and sixty-five dollars. That's a hundred and twenty-six times your investment."

"Yeah," I kidded, "but what a chance we take!"

"Hey, look," she said. "You'd put ten dollars on a roulette wheel which only pays you thirty-five to one. Why wouldn't you play ten dollars on the nose of the Ecanaanomic Plan, which pays off at more than a hundred and twenty-six to one?"

"Because," I said, "I've got some chance to wi
n at rou
lette, but I wouldn't have
one chance in a million of win
ning on your idea."

"Nonsense," Patsy said, "it's only everyone who says that who stops it from going into operation. If everyone joins, and everyone votes for it, we will elect all our party to office in the state, and then we've got to have the wealth shared just as we outline.
It's sure to win, anyhow. Noth
ing can stop us.

When she said that she got a sort of holy look in her eyes—gazing way out into space as if she was seeing things we couldn't see.

"All right," I laughed. "If it's so sure to go through, I'll sign up, and you can take my membership fee out of the first two weeks' payoff when you're elected."

"You shouldn't kid like that," Mamie said.

"This is a big thing Patsy's on. It's a mission in life, and you ought to be glad she's asked you in person. Why, if she asked most people who had your money, they'd be glad to put up a thousand dollars to help."

"So that's it," I said. "That's what you're after. You want me to cough up a thousand bucks just to puke away on your silly idea?"

"It isn't silly," Mamie said.

Patsy stood up like she was the archangel Gabriel. "Silly?" she said. "Silly? Are all the followers of mine silly and you sane?"

"What followers?" I came back.

She stared through me, and then threw on the table a bunch of blanks. They were all signed. There must have been at least a hundred of them. I kept thinking that the goofier the plan the more quickly people seem to fall for it in California.

"Well, if all these people have paid ten bucks, what do you want my money for?" I asked.

"To spread the seed," Patsy said. She was talking loud, now, as if she were a minister, and a lot of people stopped drinking and listened to her. She started saying real loud that corruption and mismanagement and crooked politicians had all plowed the ground.

"The time is ripe for our plan," she said. "Discontent and depression have been but a fertilizer on the soil. All the people wait for is the seed—to be scattered far and wide. By mail, by radio, by public address, we must sow the seed of the Ecanaanomic Party; and then, when the crop is grown, what a harvest three will be! Ah, what a harvest! But before the harvest, there must always be the seed."

"Yeah, and before the tree there must always be the sap," I said.

Some of the people started grinning to each other in the
beer parlor. Patsy sat down. She didn't seem to mind.

"She means, she's got to have money to print up books and things like that, telling about the plan," Mamie explained.

"Well, she's not going to get it from me," I said. "And that's final."

I wouldn't have given in, either, not if they'd kept chinning at me for forty-eight hours, except that I got a new slant on it.

That night, when we got home, and Mamie stopped chinning and went to sleep, I lay awake thinking. I thought again about how I wished I was out of this town and back into gear with Lois and seeing Dickie. Then, all of a sudden, I saw it clear. The money was the real jinx at the bottom, of it all. It was on account of the money that Gottstein was dead. It was on account of the money that F
elice got pinched for that stat
utory offense. Well, the money had got them. But it wasn't going to get me. It had been holding me in this town. As long as I had the money I had to stick by Mamie. But once it was gone, I would have some peace and then I'd be able to go on my way and get going again and find Dickie.

You chump,
I thought.
All you've got to do is get that money off your hands and you'll stop seeing pink elephants. Why not let Patsy have a thousand? You've got to get rid of it one way or another, and then you'll come out from behind the eight-ball and be square with the world.

I thought about that, but then I got to thinking that in the morning I would change my mind. You know how it is. Sometimes at night, trying to sleep, you can think things out so clear; and then in the morning you think different again. And I knew I was right—it was like that money was holding me and once the money was gone I was free again.

So I woke up Mamie.

"Listen—it's okay," I said. "I'll let Patsy have the thousand if she wants it."

She just made some noise or other and went back to sleep. I thought she hadn't heard. But when I woke the next morning I found she'
d heard all right. She was cook
ing a big breakfast in the kitchenette and was all smiles and telling me how she'd never forget it and how Patsy would be always grateful.

When I walked into the apartment there was Quentin Genter sitting there, and there was Mamie looking proud and pleased, and on the couch was Jira Mayfair. It stopped me like that—a movie star sitting right in the same room with me. I knew those people really existed, but it seems funny when you, meet them and they are really there. It is as if you've dreamed something.

"Hello, Dick," Genter said. "Greetings and salutations. You know Jira, of course, don't you?"

She said howdedo, and shook hands with me. I guess I stood like a dummy.

"Oh, honeyboy," Ma
mie said. "Do run down the drug
store and get a couple more bottles of Shasta Water. I didn't know we were so low," she said to Jira, "or I would have stocked up."

"Never mind," Genter said. "Now Dick's here, let's all go out and get a drink. We'll pick up Patsy Perisho. I want Jira to meet Patsy."

So we all piled into Genter's car, and the chauffeur drove us to Patsy's apartment. She was there, wearing her robes and busy writing in a penny notebook, but the minute she saw Jira she was ready to come along. She wanted to change, but Genter insisted she come along as she was.

We drove all the way up to Beverly Hills, and Genter took us into a night club.

"Say, this place is too swell for me," I told him.

"Nothing's too swell for you, Richard."

He had a tux on, and I didn't want to go in.

"Nonsense," he said. "You're my friend, and whither I go, there also thou goest—whether it's haywire, native, or the way of all flesh."

We went to the table and the wait
ers kept bowing to Gen
ter and pulling the chair out for Jira. And they hustled round and pulled the chair out for Patsy. She was getting so that robe and the gold sandals didn't cramp her style at all.

Then Genter got Patsy talking about the Ecanaanomic Plan, and Jira listened all the time. Patsy surprised me the way she could dish it out. She had all the answers ready no matter what you asked her, and when she'd talk she'd get that holy sort of look.

"Didn't I tell you?" Genter said to Jira. "Isn't it as good as I said?"

"It's heavenly," Jira said. "Unbelievably heavenly!"

"It's really terrific. It's Armageddon!" he said. "Don't you think Patsy's absolutely Apocalyptic?"

"If you ask me," I said, "I don't think she knows enough to spell Jesus with a little
g.
And her nut plan is dumb as she is. Plain goofy crazy, if you ask me.

"That's it," he said. "You've hit it on the head. That's why it will succeed." He dropped his voice so he had that funny excited whisper again. "You see, I'll tell you a secret. No one is sane here. No one is sane and nothing is real. And you know what it is?"

"Sure, it's the climate," I said, kidding.

"That's it—exactly," he said. His eyes were going sort of funny in the middle, and he was shouting in a whisper. He got real excited. "Dick, you know, you're the only man beside me in the whole world who's discovered it. It's the climate—something in the air. You can bring men from other parts of the world who are sane. And you know what happens? At the ve
ry moment they cross those moun
tains," he whispered real soft, "they go mad. Instantaneously and automatically, at the very moment they cross the mountains into California, they go insane. Everyone does. They still think they're sane, but they're not. Everyone in this blasted state is raving mad. I'm mad. You're mad. So is Jira. We're all perfectly, gloriously mad.

"You know,' he whispered again, real low, "we see things. Do you see things?"

"Sure," I kidded. "I've never acted right since I've been here."

"That's it. It's the climate," he said. "Now look, you see those mountains?"

He pointed out to where the hills went up, blue-black against the darkness, and with lights winding round on the roads like fire-pearls.

"Sure," I said.

"There! That proves it," he said.

"Proves what?" I asked him.

"Proves you're mad," he said. "You see those mountains too just like I do. And you know what?"

I shook my head.

"They're not there," he whispered. "We only think they're there. And they're not. It's just a movie set. If you go round the other side of
that mountain, you'll see noth
ing but two-by-fours that hold up the canvas.

"And you see this restaurant? Well, it isn't here. It's a process shot. All Hollywood is a process shot. It's a background just projected on to
ground glass. And the only rea
son nobody knows that is because we're all mad."