Young Lonigan - James T. Farrell [367]
If only he could meet her by accident somewhere, then his hands would be clean. He wouldn’t then give her the impression that he was coming on bended knees, with his hat in his hand to get the thing patched up.
Maybe she would telephone him tonight, if she saw he was determined. If she could stand to let it go on, and he called up, he would just show all his cards. Then she’d think that he’d only been making a bum gesture when he’d walked away from her. Best thing to do was to go home, read a few nice stories, listen in on the radio, and sit tight. Let her come around. If she didn’t think he was worth coming around to, well, maybe it was just as well to let it go smash.
McGoorty, with a shiny, black, caped raincoat, slopping along. How did they let such a dumb bastard on the force?
It would be dumb sitting home all afternoon, and the old lady would keep after him with questions about the scrap with Catherine. Mrs. George Jackson. That was the ticket. Nothing could be sweeter than a warm dame like her on a cold and rainy day. He pulled out his wallet. Ten bucks. Hell, why not afford the two and a half. It would put him in the right spirits, and he could lay around with her. Hell with Catherine. She didn’t know what Mrs. George Jackson knew.
He bought a slug, looked up her number, and phoned. Temporarily disconnected. Couldn’t afford to pay her bill, he guessed. Well, under the circumstances, he’d be a welcome and profitable visitor.
He hastened out of the store, bent his head, and trudged along in the pelting rain. This little hardship would make it all the nicer, and he could let his shoes and socks dry while he engaged in a real serious bout of love. Thinking of how she had looked stripped, he plunged his foot into a sidewalk puddle, cursed, proceeded at a more tiring pace.
Damp, his feet wet, he rang her door-bell and climbed the stairs. She stood in the doorway in a soiled apron.
“Hello, I thought I’d come around and see you again,” he said familiarly, wiping his feet.
“Come in a minute, please,” she said, startled, and he hopefully stepped in.
“On a bum and dreary day like this, a fellow needs someone like you to make him feel that he’s a man,” he said in a strained voice while she closed the door.
“But I never asked you to come back.”
“I thought it would be a surprise, particularly if you’ve been feeling as dopey this morning as I have.”
“You know, I’m not a chippy and my home is not a disorderly house. What do you mean by coming here like this?”
“I didn’t mean it in that way. I just liked you, and wanted to see you under more favorable conditions than the other day, so I thought, what the hell, nobody would be the loser if I came,” he said, trying to smile persuasively and break through her discomforting, unyielding glance.
“You’d better go see a chippy. I can’t do that. I’m not that kind. If you had any feeling, you’d have realized the kind of fix that forced me to do that the other day, and you wouldn’t have come back here like this, uninvited.”
Nice little greeting after his trip in the rain.
“But you don’t stand to lose anything, and it won’t hurt your husband if he doesn’t know about it. If you’ll play ball with me, I’ll give you five bucks. Come on,” he said, pulling out his wallet and drawing out a five-dollar bill.
“Please go.”
He felt like a clown and her voice seemed like a whip. He tried to win her by an intense and impassioned stare, and she returned it with a curling sneer.
“Come on, sister, you know the ropes and it’s not going to hurt you. It’ll mean five bucks extra for the ponies. I wouldn’t have walked all the way here in the rain if I didn’t think you were worth it.”
“I’m sorry to inform you that I cannot return your compliment.”
“I don’t see why you should treat