The Story of DAVID WOOLF 11 page

I turned to look at Amos, who was watching the stage, and a feeling of shock ran through me. He was old. Incredibly old and gray. His hair was thin and his skin hung around his cheeks and jowls the way a skinny old man's flesh hangs.

He lifted his drink to his lips. I could see his hand shaking and the grayish-red blotches on the back of it. I tried to think. He couldn't be that old. The most he could be was his middle fifties. Then I saw his eyes and I knew the answer.

He was beat and there was nothing left for him but yesterdays. The dreams were gone because he'd failed all the challenges and the dry rot of time had set in. There was nowhere left for him to go but down. And down and down, until he was dead.

"Hello, Amos," I said quietly.

He put his drink down and turned his head slowly. He looked at me through bloodshot, watery eyes. "Go away," he whispered in a hoarse, whisky-soaked voice. "That's my girl dancing up there."

I glanced up at the stage. She was a redhead who'd seen better years. They were a good combination, the two of them. They'd both fought the good fight — badly — and lost.

I waited until the music crashed to its finale before I spoke again. "I got a proposition for you, Amos."

He turned toward me. "I told your messenger I wasn't interested."

For a moment, I was ready to get down off that stool and walk off. Out into the fresh, cold night and away from the stench of stale beer and sickness and decay. But I didn't. It wasn't only the promise I'd made Forrester. It was also that he'd been Monica's father.

The bartender came up and I ordered us both a round. He picked up the five and left.

"I told Monica about the job. She was very happy about it."

He turned and looked at me again. "Monica always was a damn fool," he said hoarsely, and laughed. "You know, she didn't want to divorce you. She was crazy mad, but afterward she didn't want to divorce you. She said she loved you."

I didn't answer and he laughed again. "But I straightened her out," he continued. "I told her you were just like me, that neither of us could ever resist the smell of cunt."

"That's over and done with," I said. "A long time ago."

He slammed the glass down on the bar with a trembling hand. "It's not over!" he shouted. "You think I can forget how you screwed me out of my own company? You think I can forget how you beat me out of every contract, wouldn't let me get started again?" He laughed craftily. "I’m no fool. You think I didn't know you had men following me all over the country?"

I stared at him. He was sick. Much sicker than I had thought.

"And now you come with a phony proposition, huh?" He smiled slyly. 'Think I'm not wise to you? Think I don't know you're tryin' to get me out of the way because you know if they ever get a look at my plans, you're through?"

He slid off the stool and came at me with wildly surging fists. "Through, Jonas!" he screamed. "Through! Do you hear me?"

I swung around on the stool and caught at his hands. His wrists were thin and all fragile old bone. I held his arms and suddenly he slumped against me, his head on my chest.

I looked down at him and saw that his eyes were filled with weak old tears of rage at his helplessness. "I’m so tired, Jonas," he whispered. "Please don't chase me any more. I'm sorry. I'm so tired I can't run any— "

Then he slipped from my grasp and slid down to the floor. The redhead, who had come up behind him, screamed and the music stopped, suddenly. There was a press of people around us as I started to get down from the stool. I felt myself pushed back against the bar violently and I stared into the face of a big man in a black suit. "What's goin' on here?"

"Let him go, Joe." Vitale's voice came from behind and the bouncer turned his head around. "Oh, it's you, Sam." The pressure against my chest relaxed.

I looked down at Amos. Jennie was already kneeling beside him, loosening his shirt collar and slipping down his tie. I bent over. "He pass out?"

Jennie looked up at me. "I think it's more than that," she said. "He feels like he's burning up with fever. I think we'd better get him home."

"O.K.," I said. I took out a roll and threw a hundred-dollar bill down on the bar. "That's for my table." I looked up and saw the redhead staring at me, a mascara track of tears streaming down her cheeks. I peeled off another hundred and pressed it into her hand. "Go dry your tears."

Then I bent down and picking Amos up in my arms, started for the door. I was surprised at how light he was. Vitale got our coats from the hat-check girl and followed me outside.

"He lives just a couple of blocks away," he said as I put Amos into the car.

It was a dirty gray rooming house and two cats stood on open garbage cans in front of the door, glaring at us with their baleful yellow night eyes. I looked up at the building from the car window. This was no place for a man to be sick in.

The chauffeur jumped out and ran around to open the back door. I reached out and pulled the door shut. "Go back to the Drake, driver," I said.

I turned and looked down at Amos, stretched out on the back seat. Just because he was sick didn't make me feel any different about him. But I couldn't get over the feeling that if things had turned out a little differently, it might have been my own father lying there.

The doctor came out, shaking his head. Jennie was right behind him. "He'll be all right when he wakes up in the morning. Somebody fed him a slug of sodium amytal."

"What?"

"Knockout drops," Jennie said. "A Mickey."

I smiled. My hunch was right. Vitale had left nothing to chance. I wanted Amos, he saw to it that I got him.

"He's very run down," the doctor added. "Too much whisky and too little food. He has some fever but he'll be all right with a little care."

"Thank you, doctor," I said, getting up.

"You're welcome, Mr. Cord. I’ll stop by in the morning to have another look at him. Meanwhile, Miss Denton, give him one of those pills every hour."

"I’ll do that, doctor."

The doctor nodded and left.

I looked at Jennie. "Wait a minute. You don't have to sit up all night taking care of that slob."

"I don't mind," she said. "It won't be the first time I sat up with a patient."

"A patient?"

"Of course." She looked at me quizzically. "Didn't I ever tell you I graduated from nursing school?"

I shook my head.

"St. Mary's College of Nursing, in San Francisco," she said. "Nineteen thirty-five. I worked as a nurse for a year. Then I quit."

"Why'd you quit?"

"I got tired of it," she said, her eyes masking over.

I knew better than to push. It was her own business, anyway. "Want a drink?" I asked, going over to the bar.

She shook her head. "No, thanks. Look, there's no sense in both of us staying up all night. Why don't you go to bed and get some rest?"

I looked at her questioningly.

"I'll be O.K. I can catch up on my sleep in the morning." She came over and kissed me on the cheek. "Good night, Jonas. And thank you. I think you're a very nice man."

I laughed. "You didn't think I'd let you walk around Chicago in a light coat like that?"

"For the coat, too. But not only for the coat," she said quickly. "I heard what he said about you. And still you brought him here."

"What else could I do? I couldn't just leave him lying there."

"No, of course not," she said, her eyes wide. "Now go to bed."

I turned and walked into the bedroom. It was a dark and crazy night. In my dreams, Amos and my father were chasing me around a room, each trying to make me do what he was shouting at me. But I couldn't understand them — they were speaking a kind of gibberish. Then Jennie, or maybe Rina, came into the room dressed in a white uniform and the two of them began running after her. I tried to stop them and finally, I managed to get her out of the room and shut the door. I turned and took her in my arms but it turned out to be Monica and she was crying. Then somebody slammed me back against the wall and I stared into the face of the bouncer at La Paree. He began to shine a flashlight in my eyes and the light grew brighter and brighter and brighter.

I opened my eyes and blinked them. The sunlight was pouring in the window and it was eight o'clock in the morning.

Jennie was sitting in the living room with a pot of coffee and some toast in front of her. "Good morning. Have some coffee?"

I nodded, then walked over to Amos' room and looked in. He was lying on his back, sleeping like a baby. I closed his door, walked over to the couch and sat down beside her. "You must be tired," I said, picking up my coffee cup.

"A little. But after a while, you don't feel it any more. You just keep on going." She looked at me. "He talked quite a bit about you."

"Yeah? Nothing good, I hope?"

"He blames himself for breaking up your marriage."

"All of us had a little to do with it," I said. "It was no more his fault than it was mine — or hers."

"Or Rina Marlowe's?"

"Most of all, not Rina's," I said quickly. I reached for a cigarette. "Mainly, it was because Monica and I were too young. We never should have got married in the first place."

She picked up her coffee cup and yawned. "Maybe you better get some rest now," I said.

"I thought I’d stay up until the doctor came."

"Go on to bed. I'll wake you when he comes."

"O.K.," she said. She got up and started for the bedroom. Then she turned and walked back, picking up her mink coat from the chair.

"You won't need it," I said. "I left the bed nice and warm."

She nuzzled her face against the fur. "Sounds nice."

She went inside, closing the door behind her. I filled my coffee cup again and picked up the telephone. Suddenly, I was hungry. I told room service to send up a double order of ham and eggs and a fresh pot of coffee.

Amos came out while I was eating breakfast. He had a blanket wrapped around him like a toga. He shuffled over to the table and looked down at me. "Who stole my clothes?"

In the daylight, he didn't look as bad as he had the night before. "I threw them out," I said. "Sit down and have some breakfast."

He remained standing. He didn't speak. After a moment, he looked around the apartment. "Where's the girl?"

"Sleeping," I said. "She was up all night, taking care of you."

He thought about that. "I passed out?" It was more a statement than a question. I didn't answer.

"I thought so," he said, nodding. Then he groaned. He raised his hand to his forehead, almost losing his blanket. "Somebody slipped me a Mickey," he said accusingly.

"Try some food. It's supposed to have vitamins."

"I need a drink," he said.

"Help yourself. The bar's over there."

He shuffled over to the bar and poured himself a shot. He drank it swiftly, throwing it down his throat. "Ah," he said. He took another quick one. Some color flooded back into his gray face.

He shuffled back to the table, the bottle of whisky still in his hand, and slumped into the chair opposite me. "How'd you find me?"

"It was easy. All we had to do was follow the trail of rubber checks."

"Oh," he said. He poured another drink but left this one standing on the table in front of him. Suddenly, his eyes filled with tears. "It wouldn't be so bad if it was anyone but you."

I didn't answer, just kept on eating.

"You don't know what it is to get old. You lose your touch."

"You didn't lose it," I said. "You threw it away."

He picked up the whisky glass.

"If you're not interested in my proposition," I said, "just go ahead and drink that drink."

He stared at me silently for a moment. Then he looked at the small, amber-filled glass in his hand. His hand trembled slightly and some of the whisky spilled on the tablecloth. "What makes you such a do-gooder all of a sudden?"

"I'm not," I said. I reached for my coffee cup and smiled at him. "I haven't changed at all. I still think you're the world's champion prick. If it was up to me, I wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole. But Forrester wants you to run our Canadian factory. The damn fool doesn't know you like I do. He still thinks you're the greatest."

"Roger Forrester, huh?" he asked. Slowly the whisky glass came down to the table. "He tested the Liberty Five I designed right after the war. He said it was the greatest plane he ever flew."

I stared at him silently. That was more than twenty years ago and there had been many great planes since then. But Amos remembered the Liberty Five. It was the plane that set him up in business.

A hint of the Amos Winthrop I had known came into his face. "What's my end of the deal?" he asked shrewdly.

I shrugged my shoulders. "That's between you and Roger," I said.

"Good." A kind of dignity came over him as he got to his feet. "If I had to deal with you, I wouldn't be interested, at any price."

He stalked back to his bedroom door. He turned and glared at me. "What do I do about clothes?"

"There's a men's shop downstairs. Call them and have them send up what you want."

The door closed behind him and I reached for a cigarette. I could hear the faint murmur of his voice on the telephone. Leaning back in the chair, I let the smoke drift idly out through my nose.

When the clothing arrived, I had them leave it in his bedroom. Then the buzzer sounded again and I cursed to myself as I went to the door. I was beginning to feel like a bloody butler. I opened the door. "Hello, Mr. Cord."

It was a child's voice. I looked down in surprise. Jo-Ann was standing next to Monica, clutching the doll I had given her in one hand and her mother's coat in the other.

"McAllister sent me a telegram, on the train," Monica explained. "He said you'd probably be here. Did you find Amos?"

I stared at her dumbly. Mac must be losing his marbles. He must have known there was a three-hour layover in Chicago and that Monica would show up here. What if I didn't want to see her?

"Did you find Amos?" Monica repeated.

"Yes, I found him."

"Oh, goody," Jo-Ann suddenly exclaimed, spotting the breakfast table. "I'm hungry." She ran past me and climbing up on a chair, picked up a piece of toast. I stared after her in surprise.

Monica looked up at me apologetically. "I'm sorry, Jonas," she said. "You know how children are."

"You said we'd have breakfast with Mr. Cord, Mommy."

Monica blushed. "Jo-Ann!"

"It's all right," I said. "Won't you come in?"

She came into the room and I closed the door. "I’ll order some breakfast for you," I said, going to the telephone.

Monica smiled. "Just coffee for me," she said, taking off her coat.

"Is the doctor here yet, Jonas?"

Monica stared.

I stared.

Jennie stood in the open doorway, her long blond hair spilling down over the dark mink coat, which she held wrapped around her like a robe. Her bare neck and legs made it obvious she wore nothing beneath it.

The smile had gone from Monica's face. Her eyes were cold as she turned to me. "I beg your pardon, Jonas," she said stiffly. "I should have known from experience to call before I came up."

She crossed the room and took the child's hand. "Come on, Jo-Ann."

They were almost to the door before I found my voice. "Wait a minute, Monica," I said harshly.

Amos' voice cut me off. "Ah, just in time, child," he said calmly. "We can leave together."

I turned to look at him. The sick, dirty old man we had found in the bar last night had disappeared. It was the Amos of old who stood there, dressed neatly in a gray, pin-striped, double-breasted suit, with a dark chesterfield thrown casually over his arm. He was every inch the senior executive, the man in charge.

There was a faintly malicious smile on his lips as he crossed the room and turned, his hand on the door. "My children and I do not wish to impose— " He paused and bowed slightly in the direction of Jennie. Angrily I started toward the door. I opened it and heard the elevator doors open and close, then there was silence in the hall.

"I’m sorry, Jonas," Jennie said. "I didn't mean to louse things up for you."

I looked at her. Her eyes were large with sympathy. "You didn't do anything," I said. "Things were loused up a long time ago."

I went to the bar and poured myself a drink. All the good feeling had gone. This was the last time I'd ever play the good Samaritan. I swallowed the drink and turned back to Jennie. "Did you ever get laid in a mink coat?" I asked angrily.

There was sadness and understanding on her face. "No."

I poured myself another drink and swallowed it. We stood there, looking at each other silently across the room for a moment. Finally, I spoke. "Well?"

Her eyes still on mine, she nodded slowly. Then she raised her arms and held them out toward me, the coat falling open, away from her naked body. When she spoke, there was a note in her voice as if she'd always known that this was the way it was going to be. "Come to mother, baby," she whispered gently.

Date: 2015-12-24; view: 503