Girls' Dormitory (14 page)

"Of course, you won't. I know better than that. I broke my back just for the hell of it."

She came close to him, turned quickly and let the hem of the robe ride up.

"There's only one way you'll ever break your back," she said.

Jerry fumbled for a cigarette, found one and lit it. Curiously, he watched her through the smoke. "You've been hitting the bottle," he said.

"One or two," she admitted.

"Or a dozen."

She swung, facing him, and the robe opened again. He didn't know what to make of her. She had been flaunting herself before him lately as badly as that Cathy Barnes. And she had been drinking quite a lot, too. Something, he guessed, had happened to her; something that he didn't know about.

"Things are good," she said.

"That's fine."

"I feel great."

"That makes one of us."

She surveyed the job which he had done on the attic. "Not bad," she said. "Not bad at all. You can do good work when you put your mind to it."

"Sure."

She wet her lips with her tongue and the tip of it was very red.

"You never worked over a weekend before," she said. "What happened? You run out of money?"

"I saw the light."

"I don't believe it. You'd be the last one to see it."

"Well, have it your way."

He hadn't gone down to the room on Kennedy Street and he hadn't worked any of the bars for Helen. He didn't know whether Helen had gone down there or not and he didn't care. A man had to stop somewhere. And he had stopped. Like a train hitting a red light, he had stopped. From now on, everything was going to be straight, everything was going to be on the level. He had the world at his feet and he wasn't going to let it get away from him.

"You can help some of the girls move their things up here," Thelma Reid said. "As soon as they get in from school."

"All right."

"Cathy Barnes comes up here."

"So I understand."

"Marie Thatcher, too."

"Okay."

"And Peggy Markey."

"Sure."

Thelma Reid sat down on the bed opposite but she closed the robe and he couldn't see much of her legs. "You've got it bad for Peggy, haven't you?"

"What makes you say that?"

"I just know. I can tell. Every time you borrow the car she's going somewhere with you. Not only that, but I don't hear you coming up the stairs any more. And you don't drink much. It's almost as though you'd reformed."

"Maybe I have."

"She's a nice girl."

"I think so."

"Too nice for you."

"Why not let her decide that?"

"Because she's not capable of deciding. A girl gets blinded by a man and she can't see for sour grapes."

He had felt it before, that she was leading up to something with him, and now he saw it coming straight at him, right off the top.

"Go ahead," he said.

"I know about your weekends," she said.

"What weekends?"

"Those with you and Helen."

He didn't know what to say.

"You're a pimp, Jerry," she said. "Nothing but a stinking pimp."

He had never thought of himself as one before, but he knew that she spoke the truth. "You followed me?"

"I followed Helen. And I saw you. It's a rotten business, Jerry. A rotten business."

She did not lie; it was. Now when he looked back at it he felt sick about what he had done.

"It's over with," he said. "It is for me, anyway."

She shook her head. "What you've done is never over. That always stays with you."

"A guy can change."

"Not enough for a girl like Peggy. Not nearly enough."

"What are you saying?"

"Leave her alone, Jerry. Leave her alone."

He started to sweat. He had been afraid of something like this, but he thought it would come from that guy Frank, not from Mrs. Reid.

"And if I don't?"

"I'll tell her what you are."

"Why?"

"Why? Because she lives in my house and because I am responsible for her. What do you think her people would say if they knew a thing like this was going on?"

"She's only got a father."

"Or her father?"

"Other guys have made mistakes," Jerry said. "Plenty of them."

"But yours wasn't a mistake," she reminded him. "Yours was deliberate. You took a sweet young thing and sold her body for what you could get for it. Do you call that a mistake? Would Peggy call it a mistake?"

He knew what Peggy would call it. Peggy would call it by its proper name.

"What do you want from me?"

"I told you. Leave her alone."

He could do that. It would be hell, but he could. Later on, when he had a chance to think things out, he would do something about it. Maybe if he told her the truth it would be best. And maybe it wouldn't. He didn't know.

"You're a bitch," he said savagely. "A meddling bitch."

"I have to think of my girls.”

"That's a crook."

She stood up, her eyes bright and filled with something strange, her lips parted wide as she smiled down at him. She was standing close to him now, very close.

"I could be good to you," she said softly.

"Then shut up."

"Not that way. Another way." She hesitated and bent over him. The robe opened at the top, and part of her body was exposed. "I could be awfully good to you."

"Don't make me laugh."

"Well, I could. There are things in life that a woman can find and that she can have, but they aren't always enough. Sometimes she has to have more."

He didn't want to hit her, didn't want to anger her, but he didn't want her either. There was only one woman that he wanted, only one woman he would ever want again.

"Jerry—"

"Damn you!"

He struck her, not too hard but hard enough to drive her away from him. She stumbled and fell on the cot, and the robe gaped wide open.

"Take another drink," he said, getting up. "Take another drink and drown yourself."

She looked up at him from where she lay on the cot.

"You slob!" she cried.

He laughed and started down the stairs.

She was just another bum.

Peggy had all of her things packed.

"You'd think I was moving ten miles instead of just upstairs," she laughed.

"Well, it makes things easier," Jerry answered.

They were alone in the room. Helen had a late class and Peggy had come back without her.

"There's one thing that doesn't go up there," she said.

"What's that?"

"That cardboard carton."

He looked at the box. It was wrapped securely with heavy twine and addressed to Miss Peggy Markey at her home in Warren County.

"The coat," she explained. "The Persian Lamb."

"Why don't you wear it?"

"None of the other girls wear coats like that."

"And you want to be like the rest of them?"

"Yes. Wouldn't you?"

"You could give it to your father this weekend when he comes out for parents' night."

"And have him forget it somewhere? This is much simpler and safer."

Jerry put the box aside.

"I'm going downtown after a while," he said. "I can mail it for you then."

"Thanks."

"Haven't you forgotten something?" she wanted to know.

"I'll come back for the rest of it."

"No, not that. Something else."

He knew what she expected, but he said, "What?"

She came to him.

"This," she said.

She reached up, pulled his head down and kissed him on the mouth. He stood there, still holding the suitcases, feeling the pressure of her lips.

"I haven't changed," she said. "It meant something to me, Jerry."

"Did it?"

"You know it did."

He wanted to hold her in his arms so much. But he knew that he shouldn't.

"I'm no good for you," he said.

Her eyes were wide and honest. "Don't say that!"

"It's true. I'm no good for anybody."

"Jerry—"

"I'd better get these things up to the attic."

When he came back from taking up the first load Peggy did not speak to him. He knew that he had hurt her and in a way he was glad. If he hurt her, she would leave him alone. And if she left him alone there would be no reason for Thelma Reid to tell her the truth about him. And the truth would hurt more than anything else, far more than anything that he might do to her.

"I'll mail your package," he said, coming down the last time.

"Don't bother."

"It's no bother."

"Jerry."

It pained him to look at her. "There's nothing to say," he told her. "And we both know it."

She was crying when he left her.

Part way down the hall a door opened and somebody called to him. It was Evelyn Carter.

"I've got to see you," she said.

"Not now."

"Now."

Still carrying the box, he entered her room and closed the door behind him.

"What did you find out?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"You didn't ask?"

"I didn't ask."

Tears rushed to Evelyn's eyes and her chin trembled. "I was counting on you," she said. He put the box on a chair and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Maybe you were but you don't see it the same way I do. You could die doing a thing like that."

"If I die it's my business."

"No, it isn't. It's the business of the guy who does the job and it's my business if I find somebody to help you. And if anything happened to you we all could get in lots of trouble."

"Are you that scared?"

"I am when it comes to something like this."

She was wearing a knit wool suit and he could tell that she was pregnant. Anybody could tell. He had read some where that an abortion was dangerous after the third month and she was much further along than that. Probably the fourth or the fifth.

"You're in a lot of trouble anyway," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"Just what I said. I can blame you for this baby as well as I can blame anybody else."

"Don't try to kid me."

"I'm not kidding you. I could say that you raped me and you would go to jail."

"Nobody would believe you," Jerry said, but the palms of his hands were clammy with sweat. "You don't have a chance with a story like that."

"Don't I?"

"No."

"I think you're wrong. A lot of the girls here know that you've been coming up to my room—not just this year, but last year too. I could say that I came back to Youngsville last summer and that, it happened then. You'd have no way of proving that you didn't."

"And how would you prove that I did?"

"I don't have to prove anything. I just have to accuse you. And even if it didn't stick you would be ruined. You know that, don't you, Jerry? It would ruin you."

He saw it all very clearly. She was desperate and she would do anything, anything at all.

"Why don't you have the baby?" he asked, trying another approach. "A lot of single girls who get caught go through with the thing. Some of them bring them up and some of them put them out for adoption. The kid has a right to live, Evelyn."

"Don't hand me that."

"I'm not handing you anything. I'm saying what's the truth. These things leave scars, mental scars, and they aren't always erased."

"What do you think having a baby without a father would do?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure. All I know is what I have read."

"The Kinsey report said that a lot of girls, even married ones, have abortions."

"You won't be living with a report," Jerry said. "You'll be living with yourself."

"Let me worry about that."

"Why should I?"

"You just find somebody to help me. I can't. I can't go to the places that you could go or ask the people you could ask. If I could, I would. But I can't. You have to help me, Jerry. You have to!"

He talked with her more and tried to reason with her, but it was impossible. She had made up her mind and there was no way to sway her. Either he make the arrangements for her or she would go to the police. If she had to be disgraced, she would drag him down with her. He had his fun and now he would pay for it.

"What about the money?" he asked.

"You put up the money."

"Hey, now!"

"You put up the money and I'll pay you back."

"Three hundred bucks," Jerry said. "It'll take that kind of money to turn the trick."

"I don't care."

"Well, I do. I haven't got three hundred bucks."

"Get it.”

"How?"

"That's up to you. You've been pretty clever sneaking around this rooming house; maybe you can be just as clever at something else."

He hadn't been clever. He had been stupid. He had believed that everybody walked around with their eyes closed and that certainly wasn't so. Mrs. Reid was a good example, and Evelyn was another. A man played both ends against the middle and the first thing he knew he found himself trapped in the middle.

"I'll do what I can," he said after a while.

"Right away."

"Right away."

"The sooner the better."

He picked up the box and walked to the door. "I feel sorry for you," he said. "You don't know what you're doing. You just don't know."

"I know," she disagreed. "And so do you."

Jerry drove downtown, the box on the seat beside him. He didn't have a dime, not a dime, and now there was this thing with Evelyn. It was enough to chase a guy into the nearest bar.

He turned the car south on Warren and drove in the direction of Kennedy Street. Frank would know. If any body knew, Frank would know.

Frank, smelling of whiskey and dirty clothes, was sweeping out the front hall.

"I've got a boy to do this," he explained, as though the work were beneath him. "But I pay him on Sunday and he don't show for two days. All he does is drink and hell it up."

Jerry leaned against the faded green wall and stared at the dirt on the floor.

"I'm looking for a woman," Jerry said.

"You've got a woman."

"Not the kind I’m looking for."

"Yeah?"

"Or a doctor."

"I get it. One of those things?"

"One of those things.”