Galveston (50 page)

“Damn, damn,” I said, and a woman walking past with a little boy looked aghast at me and covered the boy's ears with her hands.

Miss Daniel was standing behind her desk when I re-entered the office and said with expectant pleasure, “Miss an appointment, dear?”

“None of your business,” I told her, and walked back into the file room. She mumbled something about not wishing to interfere, but I only half listened. It was her standard remark, and its lack in truthfulness got on my nerves.

Later I went to the third floor and wrote down the office room number for Sidney Younger and Son, Realtors. Then I penned Rodney a note and sent it out by inter-building mail delivery. “Remember,” it said, “I am a working girl and when duty calls … I came at three-thirty but you'd already given me up. If you still like roast beef I'll meet you at noon tomorrow at Clancy's. If not, I'll have to eat alone.”

It wasn't really an apology, but then my tardiness was not truly my fault. It is hard for me to apologize when I'm guilty of something, and impossible when I'm not.

I arrived at Clancy's before he did, and picked a table for two against one wall. The place was not as crowded as usual. I wasn't sure my note would set well with him; he didn't seem the sort of person to put up with a lot off people. Was this why he continued to interest me, when I normally became bored so soon? I puzzled over these things for a quarter of an hour before he showed up, and when I saw him come through the door I thought, What do I care what the reasons are? I am interested in this man, so why try and pick it apart? If he hadn't come today I should have had to find some other way to get on his good side.

I concentrated on letting none of this show in my expression as he neared the table. “Oh, you haven't got your sandwich yet. I know what you want. I'll get it.”

“You'd better hurry. I only have a few minutes.”

When he returned with the laden tray he was the one apologizing. “A man came to the office just as I was leaving. It seems the American Legion is on a drive to get all the soldiers in Houston to join, and they're bucking to get the next convention held here. He went on and on about why I was obligated to become a member, and told me about the proposal for making November eleventh a memorial day for all the dead soldiers, and so forth, which I'd already read about in the papers. I couldn't get rid of him. Sorry he ran me late.”

“It's all right,” I told him playfully. “I would have been mad if all the roast beef sandwiches had been taken, but since they weren't, I'll let you off easy. Did you join the Legion?”

“No, I'm not much interested in belonging to any clubs just now because I wouldn't have time to participate as I should. I don't feel any obligation, certainly. God knows, I've fulfilled any obligation owed to the country for this last war.” He heaved a sigh and took a bite of sandwich. “Well, so we missed out again.”

“I was afraid you'd be mad, but I really couldn't help it. Time got away.”

“I was impatient, only waited a few minutes. But I can't wait around long for anyone. I'm losing money every minute that house is on the market, and if it doesn't go soon, I face the danger of losing the listing. Owners can be impatient, too.”

“Any new prospects?”

“No, but I've got two good deals working in South Houston.”

“Well then, your spirits will be a bit brighter.”

“Considerably. You know, I was thinking as I walked down Main just now, seeing you is different from anything I've ever done.”

“How's that?”

“Well, I keep feeling I've sort of backed into the whole thing, you know? Doesn't it seem backwards to you?”

“You may find I am backwards in more ways than one.”

His eyes were puzzled, but he didn't pursue the point. “When I got your note yesterday I wasn't really surprised.”

“Oh, you mean you hadn't thought I'd stood you up?”

“No. I figured you got tied up. But one thing you must understand is that right now, my work is the most important thing. If I'm ever to get anywhere, I've got to hustle. I've already lost three years because of the war.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“I thought you were older.”

“And you?”

“Just turned nineteen. I'm a turn-of-the-century child.”

“Good Lord, I'll be accused of cradle robbing.”

“Oh, I left the cradle a long time ago.”

“Are you free tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow, let me see … I have a date already. But I can skip it. It isn't important.”

“Oh, no. I'm not going to have you doing that on my account. You go on your date and we'll get together some other time.”

“But it's just a date. He's nobody special. I can break it, like that,” I said, with a snap of my fingers.

“Don't you dare. He
is
somebody special, who's counting on you. I don't want anything to do with a girl who ditches people when somebody better comes along. I heard too many Dear John letters being read during the war.”

“Ever get one?”

“No. My situation was … well … different.”

“Then I suppose you don't want anything further to do with me, since I do break dates now and then when something better comes along. I'm not going to apologize to anyone for being me.”

“Let me tell you something, Willa,” he said, narrowing his eyes, “that isn't you, at least not all you could be if you wanted to. You love for people to think you're tough, that nothing matters to you, but you're not like that at all.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

“I don't think I'm tough or anything. Just the same, I prefer that people keep their distance.”

“Anyone could see that. One day someone will come along who'll change your mind.”

“I doubt it.”

“All right, but you go ahead with your date Friday night. I'll see you on Saturday. No, I can't Saturday, for I'm busy. Sunday. Sunday afternoon I'll pick you up and we'll go out to the Heights house. What do you think?”

“Fine.”

“By the way, I hope you won't be offended, but I haven't a Stutz to my name, not even a Duesenberg. Only an old beat-up 1916 Ford with a Stewart Starter and no heater.”

“How fast will it go?”

“It has been known—once or twice—to make fifty.”

“How daring.”

It was galling, the fact my lie had fouled me up again.

I had no date for Friday night. I only wanted him to think I did, or rather I had told him that without even thinking. I never expected him to insist that I not break it, and as a result to be left sitting at home alone. Even when Maybelle Crosthwaite, Velma's daughter and something akin to a friend, called and asked me to go see
The Gamblers
at the Crown, I had to tell her no, for what if we should run into Rodney there? He might never speak to me again.

At times I wasn't certain whether Rodney took a paternal attitude toward me, or considered himself a serious suitor. It might have been different without the ten-year gap between our ages, or if neither of us had known about the gap. But he always expected a lot from me, as a father would from his daughter.

Not
my
father, of course, who thought giving money and gifts was the way to be a good father. I can see now it was his way of showing love, but then I resented the lack of attention … his Sundays spent working instead of taking me to the park when I was a child; all the school programs and plays attended only by Mother. The gifts didn't go far in making up for his absence, and didn't help convince me I was really loved like “blood kin.”

Perhaps, then, I did look upon Rodney as a father type. He made me behave, whereas no other man had forced that upon me, and this unusual aspect of the relationship sustained my interest during the first few weeks, before things got involved in other ways.

That Sunday he drove up promptly on time and we set out for the house he was so enthused about. It was a lovely fall day, with just a chill in the air and plumes of white clouds, soft as underfur, thrust across the blue sky. I had suggested we have a picnic, and even went so far as to offer to bring the lunch.

I was like a high school girl awaiting the hour of her first date. I'd picked a special dress of soft jersey with a large, lacy collar and long tapered sleeves to wear, and pulled my hair back into a twist, with curls left around my face, in an effort to look alluring and feminine. I'd packed sandwiches and fruit, and hot chocolate, and was ready when he knocked at the door.

The fact I was ready on time didn't seem to surprise him, yet he did comment on the dress while he took the picnic basket from my arms and threw the quilt over his shoulder. “It isn't like you,” he said, “or at least what I've seen of you so far.”

“You don't like it?”

“I do like it. I'm just used to your looking businesslike.”

“Well, I'm going to try not to be too businesslike today, because it doesn't fit my mood.”

“Nor mine. I can't wait to show you the house.”

It was as he had said, large with rambling lawn, dwarfing the other houses around it. A paint job was sorely needed, but I agreed with him as we emerged from the Ford the house had unlimited possibilities.

“Wouldn't the seller have been better off if he'd painted before moving away?”

“Yes, but there wasn't time before he left town. If we can't sell it as it is, we're going to hire a paint contractor and bill him for it.”

“This porch is bigger than ours, nice and breezy, but there's too much foliage hanging around it. It ought to be more open, don't you think? To show off the cut glass doors better.”

“The house itself is nothing to compare with the one you live in, Willa, but I can see your point.”

We bantered back and forth like a couple interested in buying the house for ourselves. Wouldn't a highboy be perfect against a wall here, or two Queen Anne chairs across from each other in front of this fireplace or that, a jardiniere either side of this door, a whatnot shelf in that corner, an étagère here?

“You convince me more all the time real estate ought to be your field,” he said finally. “You've a knack for imagining things, and your enthusiasm could be contagious to customers. Next time I have an interested client, I may impose upon you to come out with me.”

“I can't see myself trudging around all the time trying to please picky buyers, or putting up with people who back out of contracts. If I made suggestions to your customers, I would expect them to be carried out.”

He smiled. “What a lot you have to learn about the public.”

“I know all I want to about the public, thank you. Let's look at the undercroft. Through this door?”

“Yes, hold on a minute. I've got the key.”

He fiddled with the latch for a moment, then opened the door and turned on a wall switch, yielding only a taper of light. I felt fright clutch at me as I looked down below, but didn't want him to know. He'd think I was silly. I took in a breath. It was stone cold and musty as we descended the shallow stairs and suddenly a feeling of queasiness came over me. I stopped and put a hand to my stomach.

Rodney turned around. “Something wrong?”

“No, no, of course not. I just felt a little dizzy, that's all.”

“Okay now?”

“Sure. Go on.”

He turned around again and started down. The further we got the more nauseated I became and once we reached the bottom of the stairs I knew I had to get out of there, and quickly. “Look, it's nasty down here. Why don't we go back up?” I asked.

“Sure, if you like. There isn't anything down here anyway but empty shelves, and maybe a hungry rat or two. But with proper lighting and heat, it could be—”

“Please, let's just get out of here, okay?”

He said nothing more and we ascended to the first floor again, but he saw right through me and teased me about my fears back in the kitchen. “Well, you've ruined my chances, I guess. I was all set to keep you down there in chains as a special attraction for clients.”

“Look, you don't have to make fun of me. Is it a crime for a person to feel trapped? I don't even like riding in an elevator—it's why I take the stairs most of the time. I don't know why I'm that way, I just am. Let's get out of here and have our picnic.”

On the back lawn at 1204 Heights Boulevard we spread our quilt under the moss-hung trees. My mood was now as damp as the undercroft, and I was silent as we pulled the picnic things from the basket.

“Hot chocolate?” I asked finally.

“Sounds great. Here, let me open that jug for you.”

“No, I can get it,” I said, but as I closed my hand around the cap I had a stabbing pain. I let go.

“What's the matter?”

“I don't know,” I said, looking at my hand. “I must have hurt it doing something else, and didn't realize. It feels like I'd banged it against a wall,” I told him, holding it down on my lap and trying not to let him know it ached as much as it did. In a moment he'd begin to think I was daffy.

Later, after we'd eaten the sandwiches and drunk the jug dry, he leaned against a tree and considered me. “You're strange, Willa.”

“I know, but I won't apologize.”

“You put on show as a self-confident, sometimes even pushy person, but you're not really like that. I think you're a little afraid all the time.”

“I don't know what you mean. What have I got to be afraid of? I've probably done things you've never dreamed of doing. Besides, if my personality bothers you so much, why do you keep seeing me?”

“I didn't say that. You always jump to conclusions. I was thinking the other day, now there's a girl who is friendly, yet cautious. She's nice in a way, but don't ever cross her.”