Mildred Pierce - James M. Cain [15]
Along about midnight, Wally lit a cigarette. Feeling warm, Mildred kicked the covers off and let the cold damp air prickle her quite lovely nakedness. She raised one leg, looked at it judiciously, decided once and for all it was not bowed, and that she was going to stop worrying about it. Then she wiggled her toes. It was a distinctly frivolous operation, but there was nothing frivolous about Wally as he set an ashtray near him, and pulled the covers over his more or less lovely nakedness. He was silently, almost ostentatiously glum as he lay there and smoked, so much so that Mildred said: "Penny."
"I'm thinking about Bert."
Without hearing any more about it, she knew what this meant: Wally had had his fun, and now he was getting ready to get out from under. She waited a moment or two, as she often did when angered, but in spite of her effort to sound casual, her voice had a vibrant sound to it. "And what about Bert?"
"Oh—you know."
"If Bert left me, and he's out of my life, why do you have to do all this thinking about him, when nobody else is?"
"We're good friends. Goddam good friends."
"But not so goddam good that you wouldn't block him off from a job he was entitled to have, and then go around playing all the politics you knew how, to get it for yourself."
"Mildred, cussing's no good, coming from you."
"And double-crossing's no good, coming from anybody."
"I don't like that."
"I don't care whether you like it or not."
"They needed a lawyer."
"After you talked to them they did. Oh yes, at least a dozen people came to Bert, and warned him what you were doing and begged him to go down and put his claim in, and he wouldn't do it, because he didn't think it was proper. And then he fo-und out what was proper. And what a pal you were."
"Mildred, I give you my word—"
"And what's that worth?"
She jumped out of bed and began marching around the dark room, bitterly reviewing the history of Pierce Homes, Inc., the incidents of the crash, and the procedure of the receivers. He -started a slow, solemn denial. "Why don't you tell the truth? You've had all you wanted of me, haven't you? A drink, a dinner, and other things I'd prefer not to mention. And now you want to duck, and you -start talking about Bert. Funny you didn't think about Bert when you came in here, wanting to pull those apron strings. You remember them, don't you?" -
"I didn't hear you saying no."
"No, I was a sap."
She drew breath to say be was just like the rest of them, and then add Mrs. -Gessler's phrase, "the ditty bastards," but somehow the words didn't come. There was some core of honesty within her that couldn't quite accept Mrs. Gessler's mterpretations of life, however, they might amuse her at the moment. She didn't really believe they were dirty bastards, and she had set a trap for Wally. If he was wriggling out of it the best way he could, there was no sense in blaming him for things that were rapidly becoming too much for her, but that he certainly had nothing to do with. She sat down beside him. "I'm sorry, Wally."
"Hell, that's all right."
"I've been a little upset lately."
"Who wouldn't be?"
Next morning, Mildred was glumly washing the dinner dishes when Mrs. Gessler dropped over, to give an account of the party. She rather pointedly didn't refer to Wally until she was leaving, and then, as though she had just thought of it, asked how he was. Mildred said he was all right, and listened while Mrs. Gessler added a few more details about the party, and then said abruptly: "Lucy."
"Yes?"
"I'm on the town."
"Well—you don't mean he actually left the money on the bureau, do you?"
"All but."
Mrs. Gessler sat on the corner of the table, looking at Mildred. There didn't seem to be much to say. It had all seemed