Enchanted Isle (9 page)

Walking back to the hotel I kept thinking of Rick, how glad I’d be to see him, to be with him, to have him pat my hand and start talking about our island. But in the lobby he wasn’t there. I looked in the dining room, remembering I’d been gone for some time and thinking he might have decided to eat breakfast. But he wasn’t there, and I came back and went to the desk. I asked, “Would you have Mr. Ruth paged? Mr. Richard Ruth, please.”

“Mr. Ruth has checked out. He left.”

“He has what?”

“Checked out. Are you Mrs. Ruth?”

“Yes, I am. Did he leave a message for me?”

“No, Miss. He left this.”

From behind the counter the clerk lifted my suitcase and set it on the desk in front of me. He kept staring in kind of a funny way. I said, “Oh, I see. Thanks.”

“Yes, Miss.”

I
TOOK THE SUITCASE,
but a bellboy grabbed for it, and also for the coat, which I was carrying now, as it was warmer in Savannah than it had been in Baltimore. But I hung on to them both and staggered to a chair, where I sat down real quick, as I had to. I mean I was stunned and might have toppled if I tried to stay on my feet. Because, of course, I knew by now that Rick had played me a trick, sending me down to that drugstore so he could give me the air and skip with all that money. But the jolt wasn’t all. I was hurt too, as at last I’d fallen for him, so I felt warm and close and friendly. On account of all that I sat there quite a few minutes, while the bellboy still stood by and the desk clerk studied me, like wondering what to do in case I became a problem, which I easily could have, as I had no idea what to do next. However, the first thing seemed to be to get on the trail of Rick. So at last I motioned the bellboy and let him take the bag and load me into a cab. I tipped him and told the driver, take me to the bus terminal.

At the terminal I paid him and went inside and at that hour, which was no more than a quarter to nine, there wasn’t much going on, so the baggage man was sitting on his counter reading the paper. I asked him, “Did a young man in a zipper jacket and gabardine slacks claim a heavy black suitcase here? In the last half hour, I mean?”

“Yeah, about twenty minutes ago.”

“Which way did he go, please?”

“I didn’t notice which way he went. ... Hey, wait, so happens I did. Last I saw of him he was at the ticket window.”

“Thanks. Thanks ever so much.”

I asked the man at the ticket window, “A young man in zipper coat, gabardine slacks, and long dark hair: do you remember what ticket he bought? Maybe twenty minutes ago?”

“Miss, I don’t take note of their coat, their pants, or their hair. All I see is their money. No, I don’t remember.”

I went out on the platform, where people get on the buses, and, of course he wasn’t there. I asked a man in uniform which buses had left in the last twenty minutes, and he said, “Atlanta local; Memphis express.”

“Thank you so much.”

I went to the taxi stand and there was my cab where I’d left it. I got in and told the driver, “Police station, please.”

“OK...Something wrong, Miss?”

“I want to report a theft.”

“Police station’s where you do it.”

But then, after two or three blocks I panicked; I was so terrified. I realized what it would mean, that I would be questioned and would have to tell it all, not only about the money but also about the coat, so I’d have to give it up. I said, “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want the police station yet. I must find a place to stay, so I’ll be settled down before I do anything. Where can I go, do you know?”

“You mean like to a motel?”

“I doubt if they’d take me in.”

“They don’t like young girls, that’s right.”

“I have to go somewhere, though.”

“How about to the Y? They might take you in.”

“I don’t know much about them.”

“Oh, they will take you in, of course. That is if you can pay? You got money, Miss?”

“I have some, yes.”

“Be around five dollars a night.”

“I can afford that much.”

“Maybe a little bit more now. Say, this inflation really hurts. Everything’s going up—except us. We have to charge the same.”

“Y’s fine. Take me there, please.”

So we were passing a park, one of dozens they have in Savannah, and he drove around it so we were headed back the way we had come. And I began thinking of how I’d have to buy a paper for the want ads it would have, and I would begin, where I left off in Baltimore, trying to find a job. And then all of a sudden I upchucked—not really, not the way Rick wanted to do, to make a mess there in the cab. I mean in my mind, so everything came up. It all came up in a flash, what Rick had done to me, how rotten it was, and how I refused to take it, lying down, sitting down, or any other way. I said to the driver, “I’m sorry, I’ve changed my mind again. Back to the bus terminal, please.”

“The terminal it is.”

I knew what I had to do.

I
GOT TO WASHINGTON
around ten o’clock and, instead of taking the bus out, went all the way by cab, as I was pretty tired by then and wanted to get there. So it was $4.25, and I gave the driver five dollars. Then I went up to the front porch, walking on the grass so my footsteps wouldn’t be heard. I peeped in the front window and couldn’t see anything, but a light was on in the living room, so I knew somebody was home. I let myself in with my key, making as little noise as I could, and then from the hall saw Steve asleep in the chair by the arch, the one to the dining room. He was all sprawled out, his necktie pulled to one side, his shirt open at the throat, his belt unbuckled, and his pants half unzipped, while beside the chair on the floor were six or eight beer cans standing around. I set the bag down, opened the closet and hung up the coat, then went in the living room and sat down in the chair by the door. Everything looked the same, the furniture a little bit scuffed, the rug with rose border, the aquarelles of Venice, and the color TV by the fireplace. It came to me about Steve, that if he was more or less drunk he might start something with me, so I got out a knife I had bought at the newsstand in Savannah. On the box it said
“BOY SCOUT,”
but it was really a switchblade. I took it out of my handbag and sprung it open by pressing the button.

But at the
click
he opened his eyes.

Then he sat staring at me like a goof. He was big and thickset, maybe thirty years old, with kind of a bull look, but at the same time kind of a frog look. So he stared for some little time, then rubbed his eyes and stared some more. Then: “Mandy, is that you?”

“Well, who do you think it is?”

“I mean are you really there?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Can I come over and touch you?”

But at that I picked up the knife and warned him, “I don’t mind being touched, but if you start something with me, you’re getting this in the gut. Did you hear what I said, Steve? I bought it special for you, and you make one pass out of line, I’m letting you have it.”

“I won’t do anything to you.”

“Well, see that you don’t.”

So he came over and touched me with his finger, poking me on the shoulder, like he thought I might vanish or something. I said, “And another thing, Steve, you smell to high heaven of beer. So don’t come any closer, please. I just don’t care for beer, ’specially stale beer that makes me sick.”

“I’ll fix that right away.”

Then his pants started to slide, and he grabbed them and zipped them up, then fastened his belt. Then he went over and picked up the cans, piling them in his arms, and went through the arch to the dining room and on through to the kitchen. Then pretty soon he was back, with his shirt buttoned, his necktie pulled up, and his hair combed back neat. That way he looked kind of nice, and I thanked him for showing respect. “And the stink is gone, I hope. I rinched my mouth out, rinched it out good, with Listerine.”

He came close, and I said, “That’s better.”

“Mandy, I’ve been through the fires. When you left and I came home the next day and then your mother showed me your note, I thought I would die. I thought I would and didn’t care if I did. I didn’t want to live anymore. And then, after what happened today, the roof fell in—it’s why I started in on the beer. You have to admit, it’s not any weakness of mine, but I’d come to the end of the plank. Well? I’m not any drunk, am I?”

“OK, if it makes you feel better.”

“Then I opened my eyes, and there you were.”

“But what happened today?”

“It’s like the sun came up. And the moon.”

“I asked you what happened today.”

“All in due time, I’ll tell you.”

“It’s due time now. Where’s Mother?”

“She’s...not here.”

“Her car’s in the garage, though.”

“That’s right. She left it.”

“Well, Steve, say something! Where is she?”

“...She got married.”

“She
what?”

“Got married. To that guy, the one she’s been stepping out with. Mandy, you have to know about him!”

“You mean that Wilmer? The one that has the distillery?”

“Yeah, him.”

“But how could she, being married to you?”

“...Almost married to me. Mandy, we were going to have it done, soon as she got straightened out on that thing with Vernick. But he stood in the way, and then when he wanted to get married again himself, he stood aside and that unblocked it. So she sued and that was that. But by that time she was suspicioning me, and we never did get around to it. She was free to marry any time she pleased.”

“Suspicioning you of what?”

“Mandy, you have to know.”

“Something having to do with me?”

“You’ve been my life for a long time.”

“Is that when she moved to her room?”

“Yes, that’s when...but by that time Wilmer had showed again, after bumping into her by accident on the street in Washington one day. So they started up again. But before she could marry him, she had to arrange about you—that’s what she called it, ‘arrange,’ when she sat down and talked to me today while waiting for him. And she admitted she had hoped you would fall for me, marry me, and...”

“Well, I won’t!”

“OK, but don’t leave me, Mandy. I can stand anything but that! Not again!”

“You mean I just stay here with you?”

“I’ll behave, I promise you. But listen, you did love me once! I could feel it. I can’t be mistaken!”

“As my father! When I thought you were!”

“OK. Let me be him again!”

“Steve! It’s all I’ve been looking for!”

“Oh, Mandy, it would make me so happy!”

“Then, I’ll think about it.”

He backtracked then, to tell more, and I kind of put things together: how Mother had held off her marriage until I was out of the way, and how this morning, when she thought I was, the idea popped in her mind that she’d have a showdown about it, and then if the answer was yes, she’d call me back and tell me—but I wouldn’t say where I was. So it seemed the answer came pretty quick, that Mr. Wilmer not only told her yes but to stand by and he’d be right down, which he was in a couple of hours. So they went to Dover, Delaware, where there’s no waiting period, and then called Steve from there—and how he celebrated was to get himself slopped on beer. Before they left she brought Mr. Wilmer in, “the first time I’d met him, Mandy. A real nice guy, a big shot as you know right away, just by looking at him.” And while waiting for him she talked, “the first time in her life she ever leveled with me, to tell it like it was, friendly and straight and honest.” Then he got back to me and came to where I was, in the chair, and touched me, my cheek, hair, and knee; I still had on the hot pants I’d put on in the room at Savannah. Then he took my hand and kissed it. So then I patted him and felt like I had before, when I’d climb all over him and muss him and punch him and tickle him. Then at last I said, “OK, Steve, be my father.” He kissed me then, on the forehead. I said, “You mind if I fix myself something? I didn’t have any breakfast and didn’t get off anywhere. Off the bus, I mean, to eat.”

“You mean you haven’t eaten all day?”

“Or drunk anything either. I feel kind of funny.”

“Well, there’s eggs out there, of course, and bacon and stuff, but you’re not fixing yourself anything. You’re going out, and I’m taking you. That Bladensburg place is still open.”

So we went to the place in Bladensburg, which is a bar that also serves food, and he ordered me steak, fried potatoes, and slaw, with pie a la mode for dessert, and had the same himself, as he hadn’t eaten either. So everything was good, and right away I commenced feeling better. But it was cool and I’d put on the coat, and he kept staring at it. At last he asked, “Mandy, is that the coat? That Vernick called about?”

“Oh? She told you about that, then?”

“I was half the night calming her down.”

“She was still kind of upset, talking to me.”

“Where did you get it, Mandy?”

“Is that any business of yours?”

“I hope to tell you it is. Because if a guy gave it to you, I know what he got in return. I ask you once more, where did you get that coat?”

He got the same wild look in his eye he always used to get when he took down my panties and beat me, and I took out the knife once more. I snapped it open and held it in front of me. I said, “Suppose a guy did? Suppose he did give it to me? Suppose he got what you think? What then?”

He clasped his hands together, and I could see the knuckles whiten. Then he closed his eyes. Then after a long time: “OK, I take back what I asked. It’s none of my business where you got the coat.”

“You’re not taking my panties down?”

“Well, not here, I hope.”

He laughed but right away caught a sob before it came out, kind of gulped it back, in a way that left me shook. I mean all of a sudden he didn’t look like a bull, or even like a frog, but a guy with a round face, a nice guy that I liked very much. I felt warm toward him and reached out my hand, first putting the knife away. I patted his hand and told him, “No guy gave it to me.”

“For that piece of news, thanks.”

“I did run off with one, that much is true, that I met at the bus stop, and I meant to do something with him, I can’t pretend I did not, to get even with you for beating me up, and a little bit at Mother for letting you. I would have, but he couldn’t.”