“Hello,” Kerrigan said.
“You go to hell.”
“Still mad at me?”
“Do me a favor. Drink some poison.”
Bella was in her middle twenties. She’d been married three times, once by a judge and twice by common law. Somewhat tall and on the plump side, she was a slightly smaller edition of her mother. Her hair was the same jet black, her eyes dark and flashing, her complexion a Cherokee russet. She had the same generously rounded build as Lola, and emphasized it with tightly fitting blouses and skirts.
She had a loud and very bushy mouth, an evil temper, and she wasn’t afraid of a living soul with the exception of her mother. Some weeks ago, during an argument in the parlor, she’d kicked Kerrigan and really hurt him, and Lola grabbed her and tore her up so badly with an ironing cord that she couldn’t leave the house for two days.
Kerrigan smiled at her. “What’s the gripe this time?”
“Take a walk,” Bella snapped. “I told you a week ago you’re off my list.”
He sat down beside her on the doorstep. “I still don’t know what you’re sore about.”
Bella stared straight ahead. “You got a short memory, mister.”
Somehow tonight he found her presence invigorating and her nearness gave him a feeling of comfort and pleasure.
He said, “I think it was something about a blonde.”
She scowled. “Can’t you remember which one? Maybe you got so many on the string, you forget their names.”
“Was it Vera?”
“No, it wasn’t Vera. And while we’re at it, who the hell is Vera?”
Kerrigan shrugged. “She’s a waitress. When I’m in a diner I gotta talk to the waitress. I gotta tell her what I wanta eat.”
Bella didn’t reply. Kerrigan offered her a cigarette and she grudgingly accepted. He pulled a book of matches from his trousers pocket and lit it. For a while they sat there just smoking.
Finally Bella said, “It wasn’t no waitress I saw you with. To me she looked like a two-dollar type. You took her for a walk up Second and then you went in a house with her.”
“What house? What are you talking about?” He frowned with genuine bewilderment and rubbed the back of his head. Then, as the incident came back, “For God’s sake, that was no house, it was a store. She’s married and has five children. Her husband sells secondhand furniture. I told her we needed another lamp for the parlor. If you don’t believe me, go inside and take a look. You’ll see the lamp I bought.”
Bella was convinced, but not mollified. She said, “Why didn’t you tell me that when I asked you the first time?”
“I didn’t like the way you asked me, that’s why. Didn’t even give me a chance to explain. Just came leaping at me like a wildcat.”
“Did you have to punch me in the face?”
“If I hadn’t, you’d have torn my eyes out.”
“One of these days I will.”
He showed her an easy grin. “Don’t do it when your mother’s around.”
“She won’t stop me the next time. Nothing will.”
Kerrigan let the grin fade. He didn’t like the look on Bella’s face. There was a grimness in her eyes that made him know she meant every word she said.
“What’s the big beef?” he said. “What’s eating you?”
For a moment she was quiet. Then she said, “I’m tired of waiting.”
“Waiting? For what?”
Her eyes drilled him. “You know.”
He looked away from her. “Hell,” he muttered. “Are we gonna start that again?”
“I want it settled once and for all,” Bella said. “We getting married or ain’t we?”
He took a final pull at the cigarette and flipped it into the street. “I don’t know yet.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? What’s holding you back?”
He groped for an answer, and couldn’t find any. His shoulders were hunched, his folded arms pressing on his knees as he scowled at the pavement.
“Why shouldn’t we get married?” Bella demanded. “We go for each other, don’t we?”
“It needs more than that.”
“Like what?”
Again he couldn’t provide an answer.
“Where’s the complication?” Bella wanted to know. “We’re living in the same house, we eat at the same table. It ain’t as if you gotta make some major changes. All we do is kick Frank out of your room and put him in mine. Then I bring my clothes across the hall and we’re all set.”
His scowl deepened. He tried to say something but his lips wouldn’t move.
She inclined her head slightly, studying him with open suspicion. “Maybe you got some other plans that don’t include me.”
He didn’t reply. He had the vague notion she’d spoken an important truth that he couldn’t admit to himself.
Bella said, “Whatever you do, don’t play me cheap. I ain’t in the market for any raw deals.”
He frowned at her. “You’re too jealous.”
She didn’t say anything for some moments. Then, very quietly, “I got every right to be jealous.”
His eyes flared, his voice climbed. “Whatcha want me to do, lock myself up in a closet?”
“I wish you would.” She wasn’t looking at him. She stared at the cobbled street as though its lifeless stillness were the only audience for her deeper thoughts. “What is it with me?” she murmured. Then, moving her head slightly to indicate Kerrigan, “I got this guy in my blood like a disease. It’s reached the point where I can’t think about anything else.”
Kerrigan gaped at her. For the first time he was fully aware of Bella’s great need for him, the extent of her want, which went far beyond the physical drive. He had long known that she was genuinely attracted to him, and her behavior on the mattress was always sufficient proof that he gave her something special. But he’d never anticipated that her hunger for him would become the major factor in her life. He realized now that he’d been taking Bella for granted, that although he always looked forward to being with her, he’d never had the deeper feeling, the feeling she was now expressing toward him.
Suddenly he sensed that he’d been giving Bella a bad time. His eyes clouded with guilt. He wanted very much to say something affectionate and reassuring, but he couldn’t find the phrases.
She was looking at him. She was saying, “Some nights in bed I sit up wide awake, trying to figure out what it is with me and you. For some crazy reason I keep having a dream where I see you standing on top of a mountain. I’m somewheres around, just where I don’t know. And there’s a hundred thousand other women reaching up to get you. For months now I’ve been having that same dream.”
Kerrigan smiled gently. “Don’t let it bother you. You got no competition.”
“If only I could believe that.”
“I’m saying it, ain’t I?”
“Saying it ain’t enough.” There was worry in her eyes, and her voice was dull and heavy with doubt. “I just can’t get rid of this jealous feeling. Why should it hit me so hard?”
He shrugged. “Beats the hell out of me. All I know is, I haven’t messed with any other skirt since you and me got started.”
It was evident that she believed him. And yet the worry stayed in her eyes. “It’s not that I’m imagining things. And it ain’t the way you look at women, either. It’s the way they look at you. Even when they’re on the other side of the street and you come walking past, I see them turning their heads. I know just what’s in their minds.”
He shrugged again. “These Vernon dames’ll look twice at anything wearing pants.”
“No, they won’t,” she said. “I’m one of them, I ought to know. It’s just that there’s something about you that women go for.”
There was nothing complimentary in the way she said it. Her tone was sullen and resentful. “I’ll be damned if I know what makes them so weak for you. After all, what are you? Just a big chunk of beef, an ordinary dock-walloper who never even finished high school. And you sure as hell ain’t pretty. I’ve seen punch-drunk pugs who could give you cards and spades and come out in front. So I know it ain’t looks. And it ain’t brains. I wish to God I could figure out what it is.”
Kerrigan was vaguely uncomfortable and somewhat annoyed with this probing of his physical and mental make-up. “Don’t knock yourself out trying to figure me. Just relax and take me as I am.”
For a long moment she just sat there and looked at him. Then gradually her lips shaped a smile, the sparks came into her eyes, and the red of her cheeks grew redder.
She stood up and said, “Come on, let’s go in.”
He started to move. But something kept him seated there on the doorstep. He frowned slightly and said, “I want to sit here for a while.”
“How long?”
“Just a few minutes.”
“All right,” she said. “But don’t make it longer. I don’t feel like waiting.”
He heard the door opening and closing behind him, and told himself that he was alone now. It was as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. But at the same time he wondered why he was thinking in terms of a burden instead of enjoyment.
As he sat there gazing moodily at the pavement, there was the purring sound of an automobile approaching at low speed. He looked up and saw an open-top sport car gliding toward the curb.
He winced, then stiffened, staring at the golden hair of Loretta Channing.