Half of Paradise (37 page)

“Stop this goddamn patronizing attitude,” Wally said. “If there is anything I can’t stand, it’s to be patronized when I’m drunk.”

The others in the courtyard stopped talking and looked at Wally. The young portrait painter felt that attention was being focused on him, also. He smiled and put his hand on Wally’s shoulder again. His teeth shone, and he gave an appearance of composure and easiness of manner.

“I’m not patronizing you,” he said in a low voice, smiling.

“Do you know one thing about the amount of work that goes into a good piece of fiction?”

“Come over and tell us about it.”

“Do you think that painting some aristocratic pig on Saint Charles is art?”

“Now look, Wally.”

“Tell me.”

“I’ll discuss it with you when you’re not crosseyed.”

“You don’t know anything about art, whether I’m sober or not.”

“Let’s have a drink. This is rather pointless, isn’t it?”

“Hell it’s pointless. I want to know right now if you think painting these pigs is art.”

Suzanne turned to Avery and spoke quietly. “Take him outside for a while. I’ll serve dinner.”

“I’m going out for cigarettes. Do you want to come?” Avery said to Wally.

“How am I in any way involved with your smoking habits?”

“I thought you might like to take a walk.”

“All right. I know I’m obnoxious. I’ll leave,” he said. “I apologize, painter. You’re an artist. Your pigs will be hung in the Louvre someday.”

They went out of the courtyard into the street. They walked along the sidewalk in the dark under the balconies and colonnades in front of the apartments with the trees hanging over the walk, the tattoo parlors, antique shops, the small lighted restaurants with the steamed windows, the ten dollar a week rooming houses that catered to the Tony Bacino clientele, the pool halls and bars and Salvation Army missions, past the girls who stood in the darkened doorways and smiled woodenly, and across the street to the grocery store on the corner with the big screen doors and the green shutters and coarse-grained floors and the rusted Hadacol sign and the glass cases of chewing tobacco and cigars.

Avery bought a package of Virginia Extra and poured the tobacco into the wheat-straw paper. He and Wally walked back towards the apartment. Avery struck a match and lighted the cigarette and watched the paper curl away from the flame.

“How do you feel?” he said.

“Nonrepentant,” Wally said.

“You made it a little hard on Suzanne.”

“I didn’t mean to, old pal. My bile is directed only towards pretentious painters. I can’t tolerate that fellow. He’s such a goddamn boor.”

“Do you think you can go back in now?”

“I’m in excellent shape. By the bye, can we forget that Lardner business?”

“Sure.”

“I know I’m bloody insulting when I get on the grog.”

“Forget about it.”

“It’s merely that I don’t like Kipling or Lardner. Neither of them could write. I can’t understand how these people are given attention.”

“Do you want a smoke?” Avery said.

“Lardner wrote
Saturday Evening Post
fiction.”

Avery walked on listening and not answering.

They passed a package store just before they got to the apartment.

“I say, could you let me have a couple of dollars?” Wally said. “I’m out of booze and I don’t like drinking off the others all evening.”

Avery gave him the money. Wally bought a pint bottle and put it in his coat pocket, and they went back into the courtyard. The guests were eating the barbecued chickens from paper plates with their fingers, and Suzanne was serving several other people who had just arrived. Avery looked at her damp temples and the way her body moved against her dress. He took a beer out of the tub of crushed ice and opened it. The foam came out over the top of the bottle and slid down the side onto his hand.

“How is he?” she said.

“Still plastered.”

“Get a plate. You haven’t eaten anything.”

“Can we be together later?” Avery said.

“We’ll have to go somewhere else. Denise is
going
to be home.”

“Let’s go to the beach.”

“All right. Maybe everyone will leave early.”

“We can rent the beach cabin,” he said.

“Ssssh.” She smiled.

“They can’t hear us. Wally is talking too loud.”

“We’ll have to get him to leave early, too. He’s always the last one to go. He spent the night on our sofa one time.”

“Maybe we can send him home with the painter. They seem to get along well.”

“Excuse me a minute, darling. I have to go upstairs and get some more chickens.”

“I’ll help you.”

“I can do it by myself.”

“I’ll help you, anyway,” he said. She smiled back at him.

They went up the stone steps to the apartment. When they were inside he closed the door behind them. He kissed her on the cheek and mouth in the darkened living room.

“Ummmmm,” she said. “You’re nice.”

She put her arms around his neck and held him close.

“Do you think they would miss us for a few minutes?” he said.

“Oh, darling, wait until tonight.”

“It would only take a few minutes.”

“We can’t. Someone might come in.”

“Let’s stay at the beach house all night, then.”

“Won’t you be too tired to work tomorrow?”

“We probably won’t get to work a full day. It’s supposed to rain.”

“We haven’t gotten a whole night together in a long time. Won’t it be lovely?” she said.

“Do you think the others will go home early?”

“I’ll ask Denise to suggest that everyone go to that cellar place on Burgundy.”

“Will they do it?”

“I think so. It’s one of those sandal and beard places. It’s artistic to be seen there.”

He kissed her on the neck and held her and put his face in her hair. He felt the smoothness of her body against him.

“I want you so much,” she said.

“You’re a precious lady.”

“I love you terribly.”

“Can’t we go in the other room?”

“It will only be a couple of more hours.”

“We haven’t had each other in four days.”

“I know, darling. But it will be so good tonight. Let’s wait.”

He kissed her cheek again and bit the lobe of her ear.

“We have to go back,” she said. “Stay a little longer.”

“I have to cook.”

“Let’s don’t go to any more parties for a while.”

“All right, darling.”

“We’re around other people too much.”

“We won’t go to any more parties unless you want to, and we’ll only see each other.”

“Do you mind not seeing anyone but me?” he said. “Of course I don’t. We have good times together.”

“Don’t go back yet.”

“We have to. Be good and help me carry the food down.”

They went down the stone steps to the courtyard. The light from the Japanese lanterns fell on the oleander and jasmine and Spanish daggers in the flower beds. There was the whisper of silk and petticoats, and the quiet talk of couples in the shadows, and the clink of ice in cool glasses of gin and quinine water. Avery reached his hand down into the tin tub and took out one of the last bottles of beer and opened it. The cap clicked on the flagging of the court. Suzanne stood under the willow by the iron gate to greet some people who had just come in. She came over to Avery.

“We’ll have to get more beer,” she said. “Can you go down to the grocery store?”

“It’s closed now.”

“That place on Esplanade is still open. Go in the car.”

“Where are the keys?”

“Upstairs, I suppose. You don’t mind going, do you? I’d ask Wally, but he’d never come back.”

“When are they going to leave?”

“It won’t be long. I’ll talk with Denise. Be a good darling.”

Avery went upstairs and got the keys and came back down and started out the courtyard.

“Where are you going, old pal?” Wally said.

“To get beer.”

“Is it all right if I go along? That painter has started talking again. I swear to Jesus I can’t tolerate listening to that fellow.”

“I’m only going to be gone a few minutes.”

“Maybe he will have left when we get back. If he’s still here I think I’m going to hit him.”

“You’d better come with me.”

“Rather. I’m not keen on getting into a bash with such a disgusting fellow.”

They went around the side of the building to the cobbled alley where the car was parked. Avery started the engine and drove out onto the street with the convertible top down and pressed on the accelerator. The exhaust roared against the pavement and echoed off the quiet buildings. The car, low-slung and flat with a wide wheelbase, could turn a corner with a slight twist of the steering wheel.

You couldn’t use all the gears except on the highway; and when he pushed down on the gas he felt the power pull him back in the leather seat. They went to the grocery store on Esplanade and bought a half case of beer. They put it on the front seat between them. Wally opened one of the warm beers on the bumper of the car by putting the cap against the metal edge and knocking it down with the palm of his hand until it popped loose. The beer foamed up over the front of his coat. He upended the bottle and drank fast, his throat working, to avoid spilling any more. Avery put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb and made a right turn into the Quarter.

“One-way street,” Wally said.

Avery stepped on the brake and put the car in reverse. He backed into a driveway to turn around. The exhaust throbbed against the stucco wall of the building. An automobile was coming down the street towards them. Avery waited for it to pass before he pulled out. It stopped in front of them and blocked the driveway. The headlights went out, and Avery saw the city police emblem on the door. He could hear the police calls coming over the mobile radio inside. The officer got out and walked towards them. He had a flashlight in his hand.

“Put the beer under the seat,” Avery said.

“There’s no room.”

“Cover it with your coat.”

Too late, old pal.”

The officer shone the large three-battery flashlight at them and into the car. The bottles were amber in the light. The officer was young and looked as though he hadn’t been on the police force long. He wore a tight, well-fitting light blue shirt and dark blue trousers with a black stripe down the side. He had a pistol and holster on his hip and a thick leather belt with the .45 cartridges protruding through the loops and handcuffs in a black leather case and a short billy with a spring and a lead weight in it. He was tall with dark hair and athletic features. There was a pair of sunglasses in his shirt pocket.

“Do you know this is a one-way street?” he said.

“I didn’t see the sign,” Avery said.

The officer shined the light on the bottles.

“Have you been drinking?”

“Not in the car.”

“Let me see your driver’s license, please.”

Avery took out his billfold and opened the celluloid viewers.

“Take it out of the wallet, please.”

Avery gave it to him. The officer looked at it under the flashlight.

“This expired last year, Broussard.”

“I didn’t look at the date on it.”

“I say, I’m the only one drinking, officer. This fellow is quite all right,” Wally said.

“You’ll have to come down to the station with me.”

“I’m not drunk,” Avery said.

“You have liquor in your possession and you’ve been drinking.”

“Look, couldn’t you give me the ticket and let it go?”

“Both of you get in my car, please.”

“I say,” Wally said.

The officer opened the door for Avery to get out.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“You can’t get me on a D.W.I. I’m not drunk.”

“He’s disgustingly sober,” Wally said.

“Don’t make it hard on yourself, Broussard.”

“I haven’t had more than four beers this evening.”

“Get out of the car.”

“I’m not going to jail for a D.W.I.”

“You just have to go to night court and pay your fine.”

“We’re absolutely broke. That means the can, doesn’t it?” Wally said.

“Come on, Broussard.”

“All right, but I want a test. Do you understand? I’m not going to jail on a drunk charge.”

“Have you been in jail before?”

“No.”

“Put away your beer and come along, too,” he said to Wally.

“Righto. Just a moment. I never leave an unfinished drink about.” Wally drank down the last of the beer in the bottle.

“I want the test right away. As soon as I get in the station,” Avery said.

“You’ll get it.”

“No jail, either. You understand.”

“Both of you get out.”

“Let go of my shoulder,” Avery said.

“I told you to get out.”

“Take your hand off me.”

“You’re making trouble for both of us. Now climb out of there.”

Avery knocked his hand away.

“All right, stand up,” the officer said. “You heard me. Put your hands against the car.”

“Isn’t this a bit absurd?” Wally said.

“Put your hands on the car and lean on them, Broussard.”

Avery stood with his feet wide apart and his weight on his arms. The officer shook him down carefully. He kept one leg inside Avery’s as he patted with his hands along his trousers so he could kick his feet out from under him if he attempted anything.

“You’re next. Lean against the car,” he said to Wally.

“You haven’t any abnormal complexes, have you?”

“Do what I tell you.”

Wally turned around and placed his hands on the car fender. The officer searched his pockets.

“Get in the back seat of my car,” he said.

The inside of the police car was fitted with a thick wire screen which was attached to the roof and bolted to an iron bar that ran along behind the driver’s seat so that the driver was protected from anyone behind him. Wally and Avery got in, and the officer pulled the car up to unblock the driveway and went back to move Suzanne’s sports car out into the street and park it by the curb.

As they rode down to the police station Avery began to feel afraid. It was an empty sick feeling in his stomach, the same sick feeling he had when he was taken to the work camp on the train in handcuffs and a prison guard met him and the deputy sheriff at the depot and they drove down the dirt road in the pickup truck and he had looked out the window and had seen the white barracks through the pines and the denim uniforms of the men and the high fence with the strands of barbed wire at the top. He felt in his pocket for his cigarettes and found that he had only the package of Virginia Extra he had bought earlier in the evening. He tried to roll a cigarette and the tobacco shook out of the paper. He took a cigarette from Wally, but the smoke tasted bad in his mouth. He tried to remain reasonable and to think of the best thing to do, and then he knew that there was nothing to do; they had him and maybe they would fine him and let him go, or someone might check and discover that he was an exconvict, and that would mean the jail without bond and a trial for parole violation and then the ride on the train back to the work camp and two more years on the gang.