Mildred Pierce - James M. Cain [79]
"You mean I'll have to, to hold my trade?"
"I mean there's dough in it."
He looked at her with his familiar stare, that was at the same time so vague and so shrewd, and her heart gave a little thump. It was the first time, for some reason, that this aspect of the problem had occurred to her. He went on, a little annoyed at her stupidity: "What the hell? Every drink you sell will be about eighty per cent profit, even at what you have to pay for your liquor. And it'll pull in more people for the dinner trade. If Lucy Gessler wants to take it over, then O.K. If she don't know about booze, I don't know who does. Get going on it, and get going now. It's coming, fast. And be sure you put on your sign, Cocktails. That's what they're waiting for. Put a red star in front of it, so they know you know it's important."
"Will I need some kind of a license?"
"I'll fix that up for you."
So the next time Mrs. Gessler came in, she found Mildred in a different frame of mind. She nodded approval of what Wally had said about the sign, then became coldly businesslike about other obligatory preparations. "I'll need a bar, but there's no room for one until you make alterations, so I'll have to get along with a portable. It'll be a perambular thing that I'll wheel from table to table—the same as most other places are going to use, temporarily. It'll have to be specially made and it'll cost you about three hundred bucks. Then I'll need a couple of hundred dollars' worth of liquor. I ought to have more, but it'll be all I can get, in the beginning. Then I want a couple of leather seats, near the door, with a low table between. Between trips to the tables, I'll be running my own little soiree over here, and I'll sell plenty of drinks to people waiting to be seated for dinner. Then I'll want a special bus, assigned to me alone. Your kid Pancho has a pal that'll do, by the name of Josie. He won't be available for general work, because he'll have to wash glasses for me all the- time, and wash them the way I want them washed, and bring beer from the icebox when I call for it, and ice whatever wine we sell, and he'll have all he can do, just helping me. Then I'll need a full set of cocktail, highball, and wine glasses—not too many, but we'll have to have the right glasses for the right drinks. Then, let's see. You'll need pads of special bar checks, to run separate from the others. It's the only way we can keep it straight. That's about all I can think of now."
"How much, all in all?"
"About five hundred to start—for the bar, glasses, furniture and checks. The liquor will be over and above the five hundred, but you won't pay till the Monday after delivery, and by that time we ought to have' a few dollars coming in."
Mildred gulped, told Mrs. Gessler she would let her know next day. That night she lay awake, and her mind darted first to this scheme, then to that, whereby she could furnish five hundred dollars. She kept a little reserve of two or three hundred dollars, but she dared not dip into it, as sad experience had taught her that emergencies arose constantly that demanded instant cash. It was a long time before her mind darted at last to the only way she could get the money: by robbing the special account for Veda's piano. It now amounted to $567, and the moment she thought of it she tried not to think of it, and began once more her frantic questing for schemes. But soon she knew this was what she had to do; knew that Veda