Mildred Pierce - James M. Cain [130]
Reserve, being a sort of sacred cow outside the routine bookkeeping system, didn't often come into Miss Jaeckel's purview, so there was no immediate danger she would learn of Mildred's withdrawals. And yet in March of 1940, when Miss Jaeckel made up the income statements, and took them down to the notary and swore to them, and left them, with the tax checks, for Mildred's signature, Mildred was in a cold sweat. She couldn't now 'face Miss Jaeckel and tell her what she had done. So she took the statements to an accountant, and swore him to secrecy, and told him what she had done, and asked 'him to get up another set, which she herself would swear to, and which would conform with the balance at the bank. He seemed upset, and asked her a great many questions, and took a week making up his mind that nothing unlawful had been done, so far. But he kept emphasizing that "so far," and looking at Mildred in an accusing way, and he charged $100 for his services, an absurd sum for what amounted to a little recopying, 'with slight changes. She paid him, and had him forward the checks, and told Miss Jaecke'l she had mailed them herself. Miss Jaeckel looked at her queerly, and went 'back to her little office in the pie factory without comment.
Then, within a week or two, two things happened, of an elusive, tantalizing sort, and it was hard to say what was cause and what was effect, but the Laguna business took an alarming drop, and didn't recover. The Victor Hugo, one of the oldest and best of the Los Angeles restaurants, opened a place not far from Mr. Gessler's place, and at once did a thriving trade. And Mrs. Gessler, white-lipped and tense, informed Mildred one night that "that little bitch, that trollop from Los Feliz Boulevard, had moved down here."
"Is Ike seeing her?"
"How do I know who Ike sees? He's out on call half the time, and who knows where he goes, or when he comes back."
"Can't you find out?"
"I've found out, or tried to. No, he's not seeing her, that I know of. Ike's all right, if he gets half a bre'ak. But she's here. She's working in that pottery place, up the road about three miles, in a smock and—"
After that, it didn't seem to Mildred that Mrs. Gessler quite had her mind on her work. Trade slacked off, and Mildred couldn't think of 'any way to get it back. She cut prices, and that didn"t help. She would have closed the place down, but she was bound by a lease, unless she could get rid of it, and the other three places wouldn't yield enough to pay rent under the lease, and maintain her establishment in Pasadena too. It was almost weekly now that Miss Jaeckel came to her for more cash, and the transfers from Reserve, instead of being $500 each, dwindled to $250, to $150, to $100, to $50, and still the spiral was going downwards. Mildred lived a queer, unnatural life. By day she was nervous, worried, hunted, afraid to look Miss Jaeckel in the eye, sure all her employees were whispering about her, suspecting her, accusing her. By night, when she came home to Monty, to Veda, to the inevitable guests, she abandoned herself to quiet, mystical, intense enjoyment. In these hours, she sealed herself off from the crises of the day, permitted herself no anxious thoughts, stared at Veda, drew deep, tremulous breaths.
But there came a day when Reserve, on the books, was' $5,003.61 and at the bank was $3.61. She had to tell a long story to Miss Jaeckei, to cover her inability to make another transfer. Two days after that she couldn't pay her meat bill. Bills of all kinds,