Mr. Bridge_ A Novel - Evan S. Connell [126]
“You seem to be under the impression that whatever you want, you are entitled to have,” Mr. Bridge said.
He grinned and shook his head. “No. She’s all.”
“Young man, you presume a great deal.”
“We’re going to get married, Mr. Bridge.”
“Not without my permission you are not.”
“You can’t stop us.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“I’m going to have her. One way or another.”
“Carolyn is too young to consider marriage. She will complete her education before she does anything else. As for you, your time is up. I have been more than lenient with you. Now you make tracks out of here.”
“I didn’t come all the way from Lawrence just so you could kick me out, so don’t pull that stuff on me.”
“You have three seconds to start moving.”
“One, two, three. Bull!” the boy said, lifting three fingers. “Cork told me your folks lived in Sugar Creek.”
It was after dark when they left the office. Gil Davis said he ought to be catching the bus to Lawrence, but Mr. Bridge invited him to spend the night at the house. There was room enough, and it was time he met Mrs. Bridge.
136 Legal Secretary
Julia had worked in the office from the beginning, and he had never forgotten how attractive she was when he first saw her. She had seemed much too young to be an experienced legal secretary, but there was nothing wrong with her references so he had taken a chance. Through the years she had done her work well and every night she rode home on the bus to the crumbling, stone apartment building just off Valentine Road, unless they had worked late. Then he drove her home.
Once in a while they stopped across the street for a drink before going to the garage to get the Chrysler, and because he knew she enjoyed these visits to the cocktail lounge he was careful that they did not become a habit; she ought not to regard these moments as one of her rights. Perhaps if she lived a more varied personal life there would be no harm in treating her to a drink more often, but night after night as punctually and obediently as a child who has been ordered to come straight home from school she took the bus to the apartment and was met by her crippled sister. He had never inquired how she felt about this. It was easy to imagine, just as it was easy to imagine the interior of their apartment—cluttered with potted plants and lace doilies, cheap glassware, enameled trinkets from the dime store—all the junk two unmarried sisters would collect to prevent themselves from admitting the truth. No doubt the place smelled of medicine. Tokens of poor health littering the rooms like a bird’s nest sprinkled with broken eggshells.
One evening when they had finished their drinks and he was anxious to get home for supper she touched him. He had been about to reach for his wallet when she caught his hand. He was very much surprised. He wondered what could be wrong. She fixed him with an imploring gaze. Her eyes were moist, she was breathing uncertainly. It occurred to him she might be sick; he asked if she felt all right, but evidently she did not hear the question. He disliked her hand resting on his. During the many years they had worked together she had not once touched him deliberately, and almost never by accident. He found the touch of her hand unpleasant. He looked at it and saw the usual slender, weak, unimpressive feminine hand with tapered fingers. It was no longer the hand of a young girl. It was creased from work, and although the skin had remained soft and the fingers were still delicate the shape of it had subtly changed. This was now the hand of a middle-aged woman. It was speckled with brown liver spots.
Julia, seeing him observe their hands together, gave a gentle squeeze. Mr. Bridge could not tolerate this. For twenty-five years only one woman had been so intimate. Gradually, without saying anything, as