Studs Lonigan (108 page)

“She's here every day. It's like dope with her, all right, I hear she's married, and I guess it must be that her husband can't fix her up right. There must be something the matter with him. Because she certainly plays the ponies with a bang. And you know, Studs, when women get that way and start hanging out at places like this, I always suspect that what's wrong with them is they need some guy to give them the right kind of jazzing.”

“She's neat enough, so that there's plenty of guys who'd be ready to give her what it takes.”

“She's not exactly a chicken, but still, she has her points and her curves. I wouldn't be surprised if a lot of the lads around here have tried to make the grade with her. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if some of them succeeded.”

“Hello, Mr. Rolfe.”

“Hi, there, O'Donnell.”

“Good day?”

“So-so.”

Studs noted that they treated Phil with respect, all right. Phil was getting to be somebody. Smart boy, Phil. And yes, at present, to many he was just Phil Rolfe's brother-in-law.

“Say, Studs, I got to get back to business.”

“See you later.”

“How about coming home to supper with me tonight? ”

“Can't tonight, thanks. Some other night, though.”

“You know, Studs, you're always welcome.”

He watched Phil walk back behind the counter with some of that same cake-eater's strut that he'd always had.

He smiled contentedly. All in all, it had been a profitable afternoon, and after this next race he'd be leaving, six bucks to the good. And it had been fun, betting and winning.

The phone rang again. The crowd quieted and listened in that tension that was like so much dynamite being put inside them. Just like dope, all right. And he was glad he hadn't bet on this one. He'd learned from his experience with the stock market to let well enough alone. Phil was barking out the progress of the race and they were like so many engines cranked up, snapping their fingers, shuffling, calling out and begging the horses, shaking their knees, almost praying. Jesus, it was something of a sight, all right. And the girl in blue, the way she shot her head forward with her jaw set, her lips closed as if they had been locked with a. key, her eyes hard on the counter. Ought to approach her by talking about the races, and she'd be pie to make. With the announcement of the winners, he saw her sag limply, drop a card and some papers, sit back in the chair, while all around her others rose, talked, and the lucky ones began clustering at the counter. She switched sidewise in her chair, slowly crossed her legs, lifting one high as if trying to show off what she had. Maybe after the excitement she had to have some guy now to put her in the right shape. She had her head sunk in her hands, thinking. She was sore, now, and tearing up all her papers. She seemed to have caught him staring at her, and she was, or was she, giving him the eye? Getting up, coming toward him with a set look on her face. Was this too good to be true, or was she sore and going to tell him to quit looking at her? He turned as she came closer and swung around again, surprised, when he heard her voice, high-strung and ready to crack with nerves.

“You know what happened to me?”

“Why, no. What?”

“I've lost all my house money, and if my husband finds out, he'll kick the devil out of me. I promised not to bet any more, but I had to. He doesn't understand. I have to have more house money than he can give me in these times, and he doesn't understand. And I haven't one cent for groceries for the rest of the week.”

“Gee, I'm sorry.”

“I simply must have money to preserve my happy home,” she said, with a sudden and forced half-smile.

“I'm sorry but. . .”

“I'm not asking for a loan,” she said sharply, interrupting him. She stepped back a pace. “Look at me!”

“I don't get you.”

“Yes, you do. You've been giving me the eye all afternoon. Well, am I worth two and a half?”

“Well now. . . . Where at?” he said, flushed.

“At my home. Will you come?”

Studs shook his head.

“All right. Wait here a minute,” she said, determined.

“Sister, you got it to give. You got a bunch of personality there and . . .”

“Skip it! Wait here a minute,” she said, turning, studiously surveying various men as they milled around.

He watched her single out others, and he was confused by the unusualness of the offer, excited for her, and he decided that it had certainly turned out to be the nuts of an afternoon. Only, if he could get her alone, instead of with a gang. But maybe this might lead to it, and she might just be what he wanted to have on the string. She winked at him. He nodded knowingly, stepped toward the counter, but Phil was busy and he went outside. When she came out, three others joined her as Studs stepped toward her. She looked grimly at them.

“I don't know you fellows. You better stop in the drug store on the way.”

“You're not dumb, are you, sister?”

“Let's save that and get along. And you better stop in the drug store.”

“O. K., little lady,” a sandy-haired brute of a fellow said in a slow, almost stuttering manner.

She stepped ahead, and a thin Semitic lad took a quarter from each of them.

“We can toss for the extras.”

“That's all right. You can keep 'em,” a medium-sized fellow with a tough face and bushy brows said.

“It's just the rotten kind of luck I would have,” she said, as if to herself, while they straggled around her and the thin fellow cut across the street to a comer drug store.

“Your bad luck is our good luck,” the bushy-browed fellow said.

“What's your name, lad?” the sandy-haired slow-talking fellow asked.

“Lonigan.”

“Mine's AI Coombs.”

“Boys, mine is Burke,” the bushy-browed fellow said.

“Well, that takes care of that,” the thin fellow said, short of wind, as he caught up with them.

“What's your name, lad? Mine's Al Coombs.”

“Cohen.”

“Sister, don't take it so hard. This will never kill a girl. In fact, it's harder on a guy than a girl, and it's just a passing interlude that helps you out of a tough spot and is fun for all concerned,” Coombs said slowly, and she smiled grimly.

“We're not the ape kind. It's just going to be a nice little party, with everybody cooperating to have the best time we can. You're married and know what it's all about, and know it's not going to hurt you. Just a little party to add to the glory of mankind,” Cohen said, and they laughed.

“Skip it, fellow!” she said.

“Sure, if you say so. I only just wanted to let you know we all had the right attitude about it,” Cohen said.

“Sure that hubby won't be around to catch us?” said Coombs.

“No danger,” she answered decisively.

“It wouldn't kind of look so right if he did. And he wouldn't like it, would he? Ha! Ha!” Coombs said.

“He won't be home until at least seven.”

“That's O. K. by me, sister. I like your looks, and I don't like to think of any irate husbands coming around to spoil our little round of fun,” Cohen said.

Studs caught her wincing. He felt like walking out. Hell, they were all taking advantage of her, and she didn't like the idea of doing this. Her husband, too, he must be a tough, tow-headed bastard or she wouldn't have propositioned them rather than tell him she'd lost the dough. Women were just too funny for his comprehension. Laying strangers, like a common whore, rather than tell her husband she'd lost the house dough on the ponies. Suppose the guy did come home? A mess then. But there were four of them, and this Coombs boy looked plenty big. And was she nice! Anticipating it made him feel just raring to go. He forgot everything else, and he tried to hold the image of her naked in his mind, her flesh soft and white.

“Play the races regular?” he asked, ranging himself on her left, wanting to make a better impression on her than the other lads might.

“Yes . . . but I never had such bad luck before as I had today. I lost on every single race.”

“It runs that way,” he philosophized sympathetically, thinking that he might tell her something about his own rotten luck with the stock.

“I know it. But this week has been my downfall,” she smiled. “And I thought that I had worked out a good system to win. Oh, well, it's all in a lifetime.”

“Yeh, it's all to be charged up to the school of experience.”

“If my husband knew it, he would darn near kill me. George has such a vile temper. And he just doesn't understand. When I win money, I buy extra little things for the house and the baby. And a woman has to have some excitement in life. I can't sit at home all day sweeping and cooking and washing diapers and twiddling my thumbs, and then in the evening listening to him talk about business and politics. And when he turns on the radio, do you think he listens to music? Not on your life. Always to speeches.”

“Wouldn't this make him sore?” asked Burke, and it led Studs to think, pleased, that he was going to tamper with another man's woman, put something over on the poor sap.

“What he doesn't know will be no skin off of his ears. I got to have money, that's all there is to it. I've never done a thing like this before, and I wouldn't be doing it if I didn't need the money right away.”

“You mean that all your experience has been with George?” asked Cohen.

She looked angrily at him.

“I know it's none of my business. But you know, it's just in such things that variety adds to the spice of life, and you look to me to be smart enough to have learned that.”

“I keep my own secrets,” she smiled.

“I can see that. You look smart to me, girlie,” he said unctuously.

“I keep my own secrets. But even so, I've never had a secret like this one to keep before,” she said, slipping her arm through Cohen's, and Studs, keeping pace with her, jealously thought that he was just a goofy-looking kike and she was making up to him; he quickly took her other arm.

“Me neither, sister. I ain't never done this before, either. But you know, I'm a charitable guy, and I couldn't resist helping you out. When I first got into the joint and saw you, I said to myself, there's a little sister I like and I don't mean maybe.”

“The same goes for me.”

“Thank you,” she said sarcastically, freeing herself from their arms.

“But why all the temperament? A minute ago we were getting along swimming, and now you're ready to fly off the handle. This little business is natural, isn't it? If you didn't have the stuff, we wouldn't have bitten on this proposition, would we? I got a wife myself, and I like her. She's swell, and I don't want any other wife. But a pleasant little vacation, you know. You got your man, and know that all the time together it isn't so good. A little change and you can compare, see differences. It's like discovering new tricks and perfecting your own technique.”

“I hope George doesn't try your tactics of vacationing,” she laughed.

“With a little lady like you, maybe he shouldn't. I'll bet you keep him toeing the mark,” Coombs said, stuttering as he butted into the conversation.

“I'll try and show you boys whether or not I'm able to make it worth while for my old man to be a one-woman man,” she said, winking lasciviously.

“Well, I'm getting anxious. How much further have we got to go?” said Cohen.

“Oh, tell me how long must I wait? Can I have it now or must I hesitate?” Studs sing-songed.

“I live on the second floor of the yellow brick apartment house right down here. Come up, one by one, and give me a few minutes start. I have a gabby old crowd for neighbors, and what they don't know won't hurt them.”

“Looks like it's going to be a good little piece,” Burke said while they watched her cross the street and trip on to her flat.

“What you say, Lonigan?” Coombs asked, grinning.

“She's built for a bed,” Studs said, pleased that they smiled at his crack.

“I li-like her,” Coombs said seriously.

“I've been watching her around the joint for a couple of weeks now. If you lads ask me, I'd say she doesn't get enough from George. Looks to me like she's built for endurance. So this is our chance, boys. There's smouldering passion in every inch of that dame's chassis, and why let it smoulder. Four good men and true, well, we ought to give her enough.”

“Say, Cohen, I think you're right,” Coombs said.

“I'm ready,” said Studs.

“Them's my sentiments. I'm ready to face the test,” said Burke.

“Well, somebody s-start off and go up,” Coombs said.

“We're to go up and wait and when we all get there fix up our turns, huh?” asked Burke.

“Yeah,” Cohen said.

“All right, Lonigan, you go and we'll fo-follow.”

Nervous and anxious, he walked toward the building, kind of wishing he hadn't gotten into it, because it might be dangerous, and still glad, because he needed it, and she was as good a piece as a guy could expect to get on quick notice. And wouldn't this be some experience to talk about! He read the name on the second floor mailbox. George Jackson. Well, George, here goes.

When she admitted him, he saw her in pink bloomers with pink brassiere, her milky skin patched with a few pink blushes, her hips wider than he had thought, her breasts saggy, her body strong and muscular.

“I was getting ready,” she said, abashed.