Ozark Nurse (10 page)

"You really believe that, sir?"

Of course he believed it! All this gibberish about a fellow dedicating his life to suffering humanity was rubbish. "Let me ask you one question, son."

Elbows on the table, Lansing leaned toward Paul, flourishing his cigar. "What did suffering humanity ever do for you?"

Apparently fascinated by the sound of his own voice and by the unquestionable soundness of his ideas, the man discoursed at some length on his opinion of humanity—low—and on the value he attached to money, which was very high indeed.

"Always think about the buck first, my boy. You do right by the buck, and the buck will do right by you. Once you've learned that very important lesson, you'll do fine."

Apparently feeling he had settled that question once and for all, Lansing suddenly rose and left the room abruptly, leaving Paul to wonder what he was supposed to do.

Sit here and twiddle his thumbs? Get up and leave? What? He rubbed his hand.

In a few minutes his host was back, thumbing what looked like a legal document. "Now let's get this little matter settled right here and now, son." He laid the paper and a pen in front of Paul.

"You just sign there on the dotted line, and you're all set."

Set for what? "I don't understand, sir. I haven't agreed to anything as yet; I don't even know what this contract is all about. I assume it is a contract?"

"You bet your life it's a contract. It means you're about to become a newspaper columnist and a television questions and answers man. If the financial arrangements written down there don't suit you, we'll up the ante until they do suit you. How can you do better than that?"

Suddenly Paul was angry. He stood up. "I'm very sorry, sir," he said. "This is a very generous gesture on your part. But in a matter which involves my whole future, I must make my own decisions."

"I won't," he said, his voice sharpening, "allow anyone to pressure me into making a decision I'm not sure about."

He expected a sharp rebuke; perhaps even an angry lecture as to what an impractical idiot he was. He wouldn't have been surprised to be told that this VIP had no more time to waste with a fellow who didn't recognize the sort of opportunity that came once in a lifetime and grab it fast.

He was genuinely surprised to discover that he had won the man's wholehearted approval.

Lansing took back the document, folded it and slapped Paul on the back. "Good for you, son. You're honest. You aren't the kind who grabs the chance to make some quick easy money. I like that. Well, you just take all the time you want to think things over. When you're ready to sign up, let me know."

He looked at his watch, said that he was already late for an appointment, then paused to say one more thing.

"I want you to know, young man, that you're a very welcome guest in this house. That little girl of mine, who happens to be the only human being I care about, has taken quite a fancy to you."

"Well, thank you, sir." Paul felt his face flushing with embarrassment. "You're both very kind."

Lansing continued, exactly as if Paul had not spoken, "It isn't every fellow I make welcome in this house. In a world crawling with fortune hunters, a father in my position has to be mighty careful. One of these days Rita will be a very rich girl. See what I mean?"

"Yes."

All he wanted, continued Lansing, all he really cared about in the whole wide world, was the welfare and happiness of the little girl who was the apple of his eye.

"Her mother died when she was born, and from that day to this my every thought has been to make her happy. If there was anything she wanted real bad, I saw that she got it: clothes, cars, trips, gewgaws, even that fling in New York as a model. I was against that, by the way, but Rita begged, 'Daddy, please.' "

A flourish of his cigar. "I'm known as a hard man, son. But when my little gal says, 'Daddy, please,' I'm soft as mush. Whatever she wants, I get for her. If I can't get it one way, I get it another."

Paul had never before given thought to the problems of a fish being teased and tempted with several varieties of sweet, juicy bait. He did so now.

He had been offered a beautiful contract, beautiful money, a beautiful girl. He didn't get it. I'm not much of a bargain, he thought.

So why?

It was flattering, in a way, but puzzling.

He did not, of course, take into consideration that when a spoiled rich girl goes husband hunting, and sets her sights on an attractive man who appeals to her, logic does not necessarily enter into the matter. The problem is not one of higher mathematics.

Rita came tripping down the wide, circular stairway just as her father bade his guest good night and left.

She had changed her costume, and was wearing something sheer and clinging, chartreuse in color, which swung enticingly about her slender figure. She looked dreamy. The perfume she wore was provocative. She was an exciting girl, and as she turned on soft music, then drew Paul down to the divan beside her, he wished that he were far, far away.

His thoughts kept drifting far away, then back to Rita, who was chattering away softly, throatily, and smilingly about nothing of the least importance. She was an artist at making small talk. Paul was not. He was not an easy talker, even when he had something to say. When he did not have anything to say, he didn't talk.

So he listened for a time, putting in occasional "Hms" and "Yes, I guess you're right about that." Then his thoughts drifted again.

They drifted to Nora, whom he had been treating badly. If only she could understand the conflict that seemed to be raging inside him. He was like a runner who had suddenly lost the use of his legs, or a baseball hitter whose arm had been paralyzed. Sometimes he wondered if he could be turning into a psycho.

He wondered about that quite a lot. If it were true, if there were even a possibility that it was true, the only kind and decent thing would be to break up with Nora.

She would be hurt, but she would get over that. And if he was all wrong for her—

"You aren't very talkative, are you?" Rita cooed, snuggling close to him. "But I like quiet men. As they say, still water runs deep, and I'll bet you run awful deep. I think you're sweet and cute and I like you. Do you like me a little, honey?"

A flush of embarrassment spread across his face. "You're a very beautiful girl, Rita. Any man would like you." His words held all the ardor of a mechanical man speaking.

"I asked if
you
like me; not any man," she pouted. Then she laughed throatily. "You haven't been around girls much, have you?"

Grinning, he shook his head. "Frankly, no. During my training years, I didn't have the time for dances and playing around. Didn't have the money, either," he added, explaining that his dad had been opposed to his becoming a doctor and had refused to give him more than a bare subsistence allowance.

"I see." Rita's eyes grew very thoughtful. "Well," she said abruptly, "that probably explains why you've been such a pushover for a girl like Nora Hilton. And please," her tone had the cold, sure thrust of a rapier, "don't tell me again all about your beautiful friendship with Nora. Maybe
you
believe that's all it is—"

"I never said any such thing, Rita. If you got that impression, it was a wrong impression. Nora and I—"

"Please, Paul. Don't
you
tell me about you and that girl. Instead, let me tell
you
. Or rather, let me tell you about
her
. As you say, you're a shy guy who doesn't understand girls and their little schemes. You don't really know anything about Nora Hilton except that she is a hospital nurse; that and what she chooses to tell you, of course. But I know all about her, from way back."

Angry, Paul got up. "I'm sorry, but I can't sit here and listen to you criticize Nora. I know everything about her that a man needs to know about the girl he loves."

"Ah, love's young dream!" She sounded amused as her hand reached out and pulled him back beside her. "Sit down, honey. It's such a pretty thing, that dream. The trouble is, a man in love for the first time can't seem to see his One and Only as she really is. What he sees is the image he makes up in his own mind."

She was clutching his arm tightly, as if to make sure he wouldn't get away. "For instance, I suppose you imagine your Nora never looks at any man but you! I suppose you believe that line she hands you about her family, and how she isn't free to marry immediately because they depend on her. You've really swallowed all that rubbish, haven't you?"

Paul stared at her, astounded. What astounded him was the sudden change in this girl whom he had taken to be the soft, cooing, clinging type. There was nothing soft about her now. Her voice was hard. Her eyes had the same look as her father's, the look of a tiger.

"I'd rather not discuss any of this, Rita." He was a guest in the house, and she was a woman. He could not very well follow his desire, which was to slap her mouth.

"But we must discuss it, Paul. I've taken a real liking to you, and I feel that someone should make you face up to facts as they really are. Maybe you think I have some sort of crush on you. If you do think that—" suddenly her smile was warm again, an invitation—"well, could be you're right."

"Listen, Rita. Sometimes girls get ideas about doctors. For some reason they see doctors as romantic figures—"

"Oh, nonsense." She was sharp again. "I'm way past the adolescent, romantic phase. I've had boy friends galore. I see people as they are, and that's what you should try to do. See your girl friend as she really is, not as she paints herself to you."

She lit a cigarette and smoked lazily for a moment, studying him through plumes of smoke. "Paul, I've been giving this whole matter a lot of thought. I'm certainly not one to say a malicious thing about another person just for the sake of being mean. But I don't believe, either, that it's right to let a fine man throw himself away on the wrong girl—when a few words spoken at the right time could save him."

Paul wanted to get up and walk out. But how would that look?

"I've known Nora Hilton practically always." Rita let go of his arm, leaned back and continued to smoke. "She came from some poor white trash family in the backwoods. The Hiltons adopted her, so to speak, but they've always treated her like a little slave. Everybody in town knows that. To do her justice, I suppose you can't blame the poor kid too much for wanting to make a good marriage and better herself."

Paul interrupted curtly: "If you are implying that Nora wanted to marry me to get away from her folks, you couldn't be more wrong."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because had it been left up to me, we would have been married months ago. She was the one who kept postponing our wedding, because she feels such a deep obligation to her family."

Rita smiled.

"She shoulders a lot of the expenses and—well, she argued that it would take time to work things out."

"How noble of her! How sweet and self-sacrificing! And I suppose it never occurred to you that she was simply holding you in reserve—in case a better opportunity failed to present itself."

Paul laughed. "You'll have to do better than that. Knowing Nora as I do—"

"All right; I'll do better than that. A question, my friend. Did you give Nora that diamond wrist watch she is wearing?"

"What?" He stared at her blankly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I thought not."

She rose and drifted beautifully down the room to swing out a movable bar. Returning, she handed him a tall, frosted glass tinkling with ice cubes.

"Drink this. It will help cushion the shock."

She reseated herself beside him, tasted her own drink, then lit another cigarette. Had she happened to mention that she worked off and on in the
Clarion
office? Since the business would be hers one of these days, her daddy felt that she should learn about newspaper work from the ground up. She was learning how to take camera shots, how to write up news stories slanted in such a way as to capture reader interest.

"So today," said Rita, "when I was having my little heart-to-heart talk with Nora in your office, I observed the flashy watch our gal was wearing. I was tempted to ask her about it, but," laughingly. "I was afraid that might seem too nosy."

She reached for her drink, then leaned toward Paul, who tried to assure himself she was dreaming up the whole thing. Many a time he had wished he had the money to buy a decent watch to replace that battered relic she had worn for years. "Who wants a fancy watch?" she would ask, as if she couldn't have cared less. "This one keeps time, doesn't it?"

"I know an expensive article when I see one, Paul."

"You must have—"

"Must have what?" She laughed gaily. "Been having an hallucination? No, honey. I saw what I saw: a diamond-studded watch that never cost a cent less than five hundred bucks. So I wondered. Obviously she couldn't buy that sort of thing on her salary. Also, obviously, no one in
that
family could afford to buy it for her. And I was fairly sure you couldn't either. So?"

The single word, her drawling voice, the toss of her head, her suggestive smile—all threw the question in his troubled face for him to answer. "Where did she get it?"

"There's some very simple explanation, I'm sure." It was all he could think of to say.

"Oh, I'm sure of that, too, Paul honey." But she was terribly curious to know what the answer was.

Paul got up and left a few minutes later. Rita wanted to drive him home, but he refused, insisting that he needed a good, brisk walk in the fresh night air. He had a lot of troubling things to consider, problems to decide.

By the time he reached home, he had made several decisions. He had, in a way, reached his moment of truth. But it was a far cry from the "truth" Rita had meant to present to him. Rita had schemed herself right out of the very thing she was scheming to get.

Another man would have been wild with jealousy at the thought that Nora had accepted an expensive gift from some other man. But not Paul. There was a feeling of hurt, of course, and a deepening sense of his own inadequacy. He would have liked to give her so much, and now, the way things were shaping up, he seemed able to give her nothing but worry and trouble.