The Peddler Page 15

  “It’s not. I know you pretty well, Tony. You’ve changed some way.”

  “We change every day. Like you, Maria. Like you and Angelo.”

  She stared at him. “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean. I know you been seeing him. Haven’t you?”

  She kept staring at him, then said slowly, “Who told you that?”

  “What difference does it make? I know it.”

  For several seconds she was quiet. Then she said, “I won’t lie to you, Tony. I’ve seen him a few times. But I was worried about you; I wanted to know if you were out of trouble, how you were. You didn’t bother much about letting me know.”

  “Don’t give me that.” Tony’s lips curled, the anger and frustration swelling like a bubble in him, making his words harsh. “Of all the slimy characters to pick!”

  Maria’s voice rose a little. “I told you why I saw him. He’s your boss, isn’t he? I don’t know why I ever worried about you, anyway. And what’s wrong with Angelo?”

  “I hate his guts, that’s what’s wrong with him,” Tony said explosively. “So keep the hell away from the bastard.”

  “I’ll do as I please!” Maria stood up suddenly and looked down at Tony, hands on her hips. “You been out of town pawing all the fresh stuff you could get your hands on. You think Ilxn just supposed to sit here in this dead apartment and write your name over and over or something? You wouldn’t even write me, wouldn’t even phone me. I suppose you were having too much fun—”

  “Shut up!” Tony shouted. “Don’t yell at me. You cheap bitch, you stay away from that little bastard. You got to mess with him, you can get your stuff and clear out of here, understand? You can get lost for good.”

  Maria glared at him, anger coloring her face. Then, suddenly, her features softened. She sat down again and reached across the table to touch his hand. “Tony, what we fighting for? Don’t fight with me. I love you, Tony, you know it. Honey, I was with a hundred guys before and it didn’t bother you. Why let something like this get you. It don’t mean anything. Please, Tony, let’s not fight.”

  “Aw, get the hell away from me.”

  She bit her lips, eyes narrowing. She said slowly, “What happened while you were gone? You meet somebody, maybe, somebody you like better than me?”

  “What gave you that idea?”

  “That’s what it is, isn’t it, Tony?”

  “I met a lot ot people. Now knock it off.”

  “No. If you did, Tony, I will get out. You can do anything you want to, but you’ve got to be mine. If you’re not, I’ll pack up and go. Maybe that’s what you want me to do.”

  He leaned forward. “Listen, I told you to shut your face. You talk like an idiot. You gonna knock it off or am I gonna have to slap some sense into you?”

  She said angrily, “I told you once, Tony, don’t ever hit me any more. You got no more respect for me than to want to slap me around, then I don’t want to be with you.”

  He sighed and got up. “Well, shut up. Let’s quit yelling at each other.”

  She started to reply quickly, then stopped herself and said a moment later, “All right, Tony. I told you I didn’t want to fight with you in the first place.”

  He went out. He headed for a bar and bought a drink, thinking that he was back only one night and he could hardly stand being around Maria. But there wasn’t anybody else close to him except her. They’d been together a long time. What was the matter with him? Why couldn’t things stay like they were? He thought about Betty, remembering little things about her, the way she’d smile, the way she’d cock her head on one side and purse her lips when she was seriously considering a question. He had another drink.

  Tony drifted through the next days, angered by trifles, irritated with almost everything and everyone about him. He paid little attention to business. And all the time he thought of Betty. He hated his preoccupation with her memory, but it was like an obsession now and he could not stop thinking about her. He wondered, in almost all of his actions, what Betty would think of what he was doing. He had never before in his life had any standard, or moral yardstick, except his own, but now it was as though Betty’s words and talks with him, her ideas and beliefs, the things that had shocked or perplexed her, were important to Tony. It was as if Betty, herself, had become a kind of standard by which Tony measured all his actions.

  And he finally admitted to himself that he was in love with her. He had been in San Francisco for several days, going through the old routine mechanically, alternating between periods of boredom and anger, thinking of Betty with a kind of sickness inside him. He wanted her with him, wanted her and hungered for her. And he knew that he would have to see her again, at least once again, to tell her how he felt.

  He left San Francisco in the middle of the afternoon. He knew he wasn’t being smart, wasn’t using his head now, but it was something he had to do. He felt that if he waited any longer he’d blow up, start slugging people, do something crazy. He had to get it settled one way or another with Betty before he could think about his job, or even about his life. He didn’t tell anybody he was going, he just left, leaving undone the things he was supposed to do.

  Tony and Betty were alone in the living room of her house; her parents were out. They had gone directly to her home from the store where she worked, and now they were alone together, Tony didn’t know how to start. It was the same as when he had last been in Napa. He had felt weak and excited when he saw her again, glad to see her and be with her, but unable immediately to say the right words, tell her what he wanted to tell her.

  Finally he said, “I can’t seem to stay away from you, Betty. I kept thinking about you every minute.”

  She said, “Tony, each time you’ve gone, I’ve hoped you’d stay away from me. But I think I’d die if you did.”

  He turned toward her on the couch, took both her hands in his and looked at her. He let his eyes rest on her blue eyes and fair skin, the full red lips. Looking at her mouth he said, “Betty, I told you last time I was crazy about you. But it’s even more than that. Worse, or better. I’m in love with you. I been going crazy in Frisco without seeing you. I—Betty, I want to marry you.”

  Her hands tightened on his, but she didn’t say anything.

  “Well?” he said rapidly. “I want to marry you. Didn’t you hear me?”

  “Yes, Tony. But…” She didn’t finish.

  “But what? Don’t you want to get married?” He licked his lips, feeling flushed and feverish, a nervousness in his stomach. “Will you marry me, Betty?”

  She hesitated and he felt the nervousness increasing, his throat getting drier. He had expected no hesitation from Betty, had considered only his own feelings and made up his mind that he would marry her. He felt suddenly panicky, then realized that he was squeezing her hands tightly, hurting her, and forced himself to relax.

  She said softly, ‘Tony, I love you. I want to marry you. But … I couldn’t be married to you—I don’t know how to say it.” She paused, then said quickly, “You’d have to do something else, some other work. You know how I feel about what you do.”

  “What’s the matter with it? Look, we just don’t think the same way about some things, Betty. There’s nothing wrong with it. You’ll see.”

  She shook her head.

  He went on, speaking the words in a rush, “I don’t make anybody do anything they don’t want to do. I just run things. I got a pretty big spot—and Fll get bigger ones. I make enough money so you can have anything you want.” He took a deep breath, let it out. “Anyway, you’re going to marry me.”

  “No, Tony. I will if you’ll … get out. Do something else. Get a job Uke normal people and—”

  “Come off it,” he said, a trace of anger in his voice. “You want me to be a lousy working stiff, go down to the office at five o’clock every morning, pick up my fifty bucks a week? Betty, what the hell would I do? Sell greeting cards? Wash dishes? Shine shoes maybe? You know I can’t do anything like
that; I’m on my way now, just getting started. I’m going to be big, honey, really big. We’ll be rich. Only I want it with you.”

  “Tony, you don’t understand. I couldn’t be married to you when you—when you make money from prostitutes, from something filthy like that.”

  “Filthy! Are you nuts? Listen, dammit. You know I can’t quit. Why the hell don’t you grow up?”

  “Don’t talk like that, Tony. I love you, but I don’t like what you do. I couldn’t stand it.”

  He stared at her for a second, jaw muscles bulging, eyes squinting. “Betty, do you want to marry me?”

  “Yes, Tony, if—”

  “No ifs. I mean right now. The way I am. The way you are. I mean just get married with no prissy, stupid goddamn simpering about what’s good or bad or filthy or normal. Right now.”

  “I couldn’t, Tony, I—”

  He stood up suddenly, face flushing. “You don’t want a man, Betty. You’d like to marry a hunk of clay; something you could squeeze around any way you’d like it. You get different ideas tomorrow, and you’d want to squeeze it another way. You want something that’s got no mind and no bowels.” He stood up with his fists clenched at his sides, looking down at her, knowing in his brain that he couldn’t have his own life and have Betty, too—and that he couldn’t change himself now, even for her. And the hurt and anger grew inside him because he loved her.

  “Tony, don’t be angry,” she said.

  “Don’t be angry,” he mimicked. “What you want me to do? Handsprings? I ask you to marry me, but I’m not good enough for you, no, I’m a slimy bastard. I’ve probably contaminated the hell out of Napa just by sitting here. You make me sick.”

  “Tony! Please, you don’t know what—”

  “I know I wasted a lot of time messing around with you. Good God, you got no idea there’s anything in the world besides this stinking dead town. You belong in a convent where you could play with yourself and think beautiful thoughts. Or a museum.”

  “Tony. Stop it! I won’t have you talk like that.”

  “You won’t? Well, what the hell are you going to do about it? You want me to say, come with me and I’ll join the Salvation Army and save happy sinners? I’ll study the Bible every night and we can sleep in separate beds—separate rooms. Hell, separate houses. Well, baby, I’m gonna beat it, and this time you don’t have to worry about me coming back.”

  She got up and walked to him and put her hands on his shoulders. “Tony, can’t you understand? Can’t you even try to see what I mean, see my point of view? I couldn’t possibly live the rest of my life with a man who—”

  “Drop it,” he said harshly. “Don’t give me no sermon. Listen, honey, you’re all mixed up. You’re such a cold-looking piece I figured you’d be terrific once you melted a little. I was right; you’re sensational. You’d have made me a mint in one of my houses.”

  She dropped her hands and stepped away from him, her face getting white. He saw the sudden pain in her eyes, the tightening of the lines around her mouth, and because she had hurt and angered him he went on, perversely wanting to hurt her more. And, too, he knew somehow that he had to separate himself from her cleanly and irrevocably, once and for all, or else continue moving through his life as he had for these last confused and unbearable days.

  He stared into her face and said slowly, “That shock you, baby? It shouldn’t. I never made no bones about what I am. I’m a king-size pimp, sweetheart, an honest-to-God flesh peddler, and I thought I might be able to do something with you.

  I already sent a couple of your little friends to my whorehouses—Ruthie and June. You must have missed them. But you’re hopeless. I’m slow, but I finally figured it out. So this is the end of the campaign.” He stopped, raked his eyes down her body and up it again. “But I could sure have done things for you, baby. Twenty more like you and I could retire.”

  Her lips were pressed together in a scarlet line across the dead white of her face. She drew back her hand and swung it toward his cheek with all her strength, but he caught her wrist and held it. She stared at him with her eyes wide and her breath racing through her partly open mouth.

  He looked down at her for long seconds, not speaking, knowing he was looking at her for the last time, then he let go of her wrist, turned and left the house.

  Tony turned the key in the lock, and went inside his apartment, hardly knowing why he had come back to it. He felt as if part of him were dead; he had the crazy thought in his mind that something inside him had died and was rotting and soon the stench would rise to his throat and nostrils and sicken him. He saw Maria walking toward him. There was somebody sitting on the cream-colored couch beyond her: Angelo.

  Tony shook his head. There were too many thoughts swirling in his brain. Maria said something to him, but he ignored her words, looking past her to Angelo.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked coldly.

  Angelo stood up, “Where the hell have you been, Romero? It’s after midnight.”

  “So it’s after midnight. So what? I asked you what you’re doing here?”

  “Isn’t it obvious, Romero? I’ve been trying to find you. And watch the way you talk to me.”

  Tony looked from Angelo to Maria, back at Angelo’s face. They both appeared a bit disheveled. Tony grinned tightly. “Sure,” he said. “And it’s obvious enough. Don’t know why I asked. Am I talking all right now?”

  Angelo’s face hardened. “I want to see you later, Romero. Get over to my office in half an hour.”

  “Sure. And you can beat it, Angelo.”

  Angelo frowned, staring at Tony. “What? What did you say?”

  “Blow. Get lost.” Tony laughed. “You know, beat it.”

  Angelo seemed not to comprehend for a moment, then the corners of his mouth pulled down. He stared at Tony for a moment longer before he walked to the door, jerked it open and went out slamming the door behind him.

  Tony turned to Maria. “I told you I didn’t want that bastard here.”

  “Haven’t you got any sense, Tony? Talking to him like that? He wanted to see you.”

  “Sure. Your face is messed up, honey. Your makeup’s smeared. How do you keep from throwing up around that guy?”

  “Will you listen to me? He came here looking for you. I told you a while back there was talk about the Eastern bunch coming in here. Well, Angelo’s got something on the fire. That’s why he was so anxious to see you.”

  Tony remembered Willie Fife saying something about the Syndicate coming in; there’d been some noise about that for quite a while now, and maybe things were coming to a head.

  He said, “What about the Syndicate bunch?”

  “I don’t know. He’ll tell you. But there’s something supposed to be settled tonight. If you’d been here there’d of beeu no trouble. But Angelo’s going to talk to them tonight.”

  “He couldn’t send one of his boys here, could he? He had to come himself? You have fun, baby?”

  “You’re a fine one, Tony. Don’t you think I can figure out where you went? The way you been acting lately, it’s easy to figure. You went to see that girl, whoever she is.”

  “Betty, honey. Not ‘that girl.’” He laughed again. “We’re a great pair. I’m out talking to a girl half in the cradle, and you’re in bed with Angelo.”

  “I wasn’t in bed with him.”

  He shrugged. “So you missed tonight.”

  “You wouldn’t care if I went to bed with a horse. Tony, I don’t know, I just don’t know. You’re not Tony Romero any more. You’re not you. And I don’t like the way you are.”

  “I like it. Now shut your face.” He went to the bar and began mixing a drink. Maria walked up to him. “Tony, listen. I told you a long time ago you were getting in too deep, and if you kept on you wouldn’t be able to get out. Now the Syndicate’s coming in. Maybe that’ll be bad for you, I don’t know. But you’ve got to slow down. And the way you talked to Angelo—you can’t do that, Tony. You got to take it easy,
especially if the big guys come in.”

  “I told you to shut up. I’m doing O.K.—and I’ll do better. Angelo doesn’t bother me a bit.”

  “He’ll probably talk to the Syndicate men tonight. Doesn’t that bother you? You can’t get funny with them.”

  “So maybe I’ll talk to them, too. Angelo’s not the only guy can talk to them, is he? Maybe I’ll talk to them instead.”

  She frowned at him. “What do you mean? Don’t talk crazy, Tony. What’s the matter with you? You going crazy or something? You talk like you’re out of your mind. You’ve already gone too far with Angelo.”

  Tony swallowed at his drink, ignoring Maria. She griped him, always worrying, yakking at him about something. It was like having a nagging wife.

  She said, “Tony, you could still get out. We could go somewhere away from here and—”

  He turned to her angrily, “Stop this get-out noise. I told you before. I’m in and I’m staying in.”

  She put a hand on his arm, kept talking, pleading with him to get out of the racket while he was still all right, still alive. Rage built in him as he glared at her, watched her mouth working. This was the same kind of thing Betty had given him, the same, stupid woman argument, trying to change him, make him something that he wasn’t. He stared at Maria’s mouth opening and closing, only half hearing her words, rage growing and burning, flaring hotter.

  “I tried to tell you,” she was saying. “But you act like you’re crazy, like you’re—”

  He swung the back of his closed fist against her mouth. She staggered, and fell to the floor, blood starting to spill from her lips. He walked to her and stood over her. “I told you to shut up!” he said loudly. “I told you to quit yapping at me. Now will you stay shut up?”

  She put a hand to her mouth and rubbed it over her lips, never taking her staring eyes from him. Slowly she got to her feet. “That ends it,” she said. “That ends it, Tony. I’m getting out.”

  “Good. Beat it. Maybe you can catch Angelo. The sonofabitch. I ought to fix him a little, too. Maybe I will.”