Mildred Pierce - James M. Cain [50]
"What is it?"
"I'll show you."
He kept following Colorado Boulevard, and then at her direction he turned, and presently stopped. "You wait here. I won't be a minute."
She got out her key and ran to the door, her feet crunching on the gravel that had been dumped for the free parking. Inside, she groped her way to the switchbox, and threw on the neon sign. Then she ran out to observe its effect. He was already under it, peering, blinking. It was, indeed, a handsome work of art, made exactly as she had pictured it, except that it had a blazing red arrow through its middle. Monty looked first at the sign, then at Mildred. "Well what the hell? Is this yours?"
"Don't you see whose name is on it?"
"Wait a minute. The last I heard, you were slinging hash in that—"
"But not any more. Yesterday was my last day. I quit early to run off with you. From now on, I'm a business woman."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't get any chance, that I noticed."
At this tribute to his prowess as a lover, he grinned, and she pulled him inside, to see the rest of it. She switched on the lights and took him through, lifting the painters' cloths to show him the new maple tables, pointing out the smart linoleum floor covering, explaining it was required by the Department of Health. She took him to the kitchen, opened up the great range. He kept asking questions, and she poured out the whole story, excitedly flattered that a professional loafer could be interested. Yet it was an amended version. There was little in it of Wally, or Bert, or any of the circumstances that had actually figured in it, a great deal about her ambitions, her determination "to be something before I die." Presently he asked when she was going to open. "Thursday. The cook's night out. I mean everybody's cook."
"Next Thursday?"
"At six o'clock."
"Am I invited?"
"Of course you are."
She switched off the lights, and for a moment they were standing there in the dark, with the smell of paint all about them. Then she caught him in her arms. "Kiss me, Monty. I guess I've fallen for you."
"Why didn't you tell me about all this?"
"I don't know. I was going to, but I was afraid you might just think it was funny."
"I'll be here Thursday. With bells."
"Please. It won't be the same without you."
He took her home, handed her to the door, made sure she had her key. As she was waving good-bye to the disappearing Cord she heard her name called. Automatically she looked toward the Gesslers', but their house was still dark. Then she saw a woman coming across lawns, and saw it was Mrs. Floyd, who lived two doors away.
"Mrs. Pierce?"
There was a sharp note in the voice, and Mildred had a quick prescience that something was wrong. Then, in a tone of virtuous indignation that the whole street could hear, Mrs. Floyd cut loose. "Where in the world have you been? They've been a-trying to reach you ever since last night, and—where have you been?"
Mildred choked back an impulse to tell her it was none of her business where she had been, managed to inquire civilly: "What did they want with me, Mrs. Floyd?"
"It's your daughter."
"My—"
"Your daughter Ray. She's got the flu, and they've taken her to a hospital, and—"
"Which hospital?"
"I don't know which hospital, but—"
Mildred das:hed into the house and back to the den, snapping on lights as she went. As she picked up the phone a horrible feeling came over her that God had had her number, after all.
CHAPTER VIII
As MOM MADE her dozenth remark about Mildred's disappearance over the weekend, Mildred's temper flared. It had been, indeed, a trying hour. She had rung a dozen numbers