Some Came Running (152 page)

Frank laughed, nervously. “Honey, honey! Why should I admit something I ain’t responsible for? Honey, you’re just upset. You—”

“God!” Agnes cried. “What a cheap, sniveling little creature you are! Frank Hirsh, the big shot! Frank Hirsh, the
rich man
! God, what a cheap, sneaky, sniveling little pipsqueak of a laughingstock you are! That’s what you are; you know that, don’t you? A laughingstock. All over Parkman. Running around, trying to be a big shot; and everybody laughing at you behind your back!”

Frank stood and took it, still holding the letter, his jaw hardening a little, and anger replacing some of the guilt on his face. But not all of it. Up to now it had all followed the same old, oh-so-familiar pattern. He would stand and take it, guilt written all over his face, and steadfastly he would refuse to admit it. Then he would rush out and drop the women like a hot rock. He had never yet admitted to her that he had ever once been out with Geneve Lowe.

Well, this was
one
time he
was
going to admit it. He owed her at least that much for what he had done to her. Slowly, and methodically, and pleasurably, Agnes peeled the skin right off of him down into a bloody bundle of ruptured ego lying on the floor about his feet. Carefully, she built up a picture of the reverse side of the coin of Frank Hirsh the success: Frank Hirsh, the pipsqueak, the front man for the real big shots, who had done nothing, and deserved nothing—except what the real big shots chose to dole out to him; Frank Hirsh, with his cheap trashy little mistress, the granddaughter of his own cleaning woman, the
office girl
in his own store; Frank Hirsh the laughingstock of Parkman, whom everybody was giggling at behind his back. It was all of it true, too. And what was more, he knew it.

Frank stood and took it, in silence, still holding the letter until finally he remembered it and laid it on the secretary. Several times he tried to protest, unconvincingly. When he went to lay the letter down, Agnes followed him, relentlessly, her voice still cutting and slashing at him, coldly, coolly. He could stand and take it as long as he wanted to, she didn’t give a damn. He could not outlast her. She could go right on forever, if he wanted to stand and take it that long. This time, he was going to admit it to her. And she was right. Finally, when it got to be too much, he did admit it to her. And as soon as he admitted it, he changed.

“All right,” he said, smiling almost dangerously, all guilt disappearing from his face, “it’s true. I did buy her the house; and she is my mistress. And has been for a year and a half now. So what? What are you goin to do about it?”

“Do?” Agnes said, coldly. “Do! I’m going to demand that you never see her again.”

“But you can’t make me,” Frank said, still smiling almost dangerously.

“No, I can’t make you,” Agnes said; “but if you don’t, I’ll leave you.”

Frank’s smile changed, into a grin, almost. He didn’t believe that. “What?” he said soothingly. “Leave Old Frank? Just when we’re gettin really rich. Why, in a year or so, we’re liable to be millionaires. You want to leave all that?”

“Yes,” Agnes said. “I will.”

Frank grinned at her disbelieving, and that was when he began to sweet-talk her, almost confidently.

“I don’t know,” he said, making himself sound abject but not feeling it, where before he had
been
abject and trying to hide it. Agnes watched him closely. “All I know is that I love you. You’re my wife and I love you and I’ll always love you. You know that, too. But I want a mistress. Almost all the men I know have mistresses. And them and their wives love each other. Why do you and me have to be so different? I don’t know. Maybe— Maybe all men are just—just—”

“Polygamous?” Agnes said coldly.

“That’s it,” Frank said, smiling. “Polygamous. I’m tryin to be as honest as I can. But that
don’t
mean that I don’t love
you
. I
do
love you, and I always have.” He smiled again, a little more confidently. “But I want a mistress.”

“And you love her, too,” Agnes said.

Frank smiled again. “Well—” he said; “well—yes, I suppose you could say that. In a way. But not like I love you.”

“And all the time we were so close and so happy,” Agnes said, “you were making love to this—this—” she restrained herself: “this
girl,
too.”

“She’s a nice girl,” Frank said, getting her meaning. “But I told you: It ain’t the same as when I’m makin love to you. You’re my wife. It just ain’t the same at all.”

“You’ve got to get rid of her,” Agnes said coldly. “I demand that you get rid of her.”

“What?” Frank said, smiling. “And what about the house? Hell, I spent over eight thousand dollars on that damned house. Don’t be ridiculous, honey.” He smiled at her again.

“I don’t give a damn about the house,” Agnes said narrowly. She had never seen him quite like this. “But you’ve got to get rid of her.”

Frank smiled at her again, his eyes thoughtful. “I can’t do that, honey,” he said.

“Then I’ll leave you,” Agnes said again.

“Aw, now, honey. You’re just upset,” he said joshingly. “You wouldn’t leave me. Leave Old Frank? Why, hell, just when we’re really beginnin to get into the big money?”

“I don’t care about the money,” Agnes said.

“You’re just mad, honey,” Frank smiled. “You’ll get over it. Look: I’ve got three appointments waitin on me right now downtown. You go back to bed and rest awhile, and when I come home, we’ll go out to the Club for dinner, and then when we come home, we’ll have us a ‘party’ like we use to do. A real one.”

“I’m telling you, I’ll leave you,” Agnes said. “I’ll take Walter, and I’ll leave you. For good.”

Frank smiled at her, almost cockily. “Aw, now, honey,” he said, “you wouldn’t do that.” Smiling, he approached her—although he did not touch her; her eyes forbade that—and began to talk softly, love talk almost, telling her how he had to get to these appointments . . . how foolish she was to think all these things . . . etc., etc., etc.

And as he talked, she looked at him coldly, feeling more hatred for him than she had ever felt for anybody in her life before. He actually didn’t think she would go. He thought he had her whipped. Had snatched victory from the jaws of defeat.

Oh, God! If she had refused to love him, if they hadn’t been so full of love and happiness, hadn’t been on their “second honeymoon,” perhaps she could have understood it. Second honeymoon, hah! she thought acidly.

And then he stood there and had the gall to tell her that a mistress meant nothing to him, and that she was the only one he loved. Well, if a mistress meant nothing to him, then why was it so damned important that he have one?

She could not stand the thought of it, and Agnes looked at her husband coldly and bitterly and hated every inch of him. Every movement, every silly little action he made, every little allusion about his having to get down to the office, and all ready to take off and do his playacting somewhere else. Did he think she was a fool? Did he think he could handle her that easy? All right, go, she thought, and drop dead as you go. And it was then that she made up her mind.

Frank put his hand on her shoulder, smiling. But there was steel in his eyes, too, Agnes thought looking into them. A curious kind of steel. That you could bend, and beat, and hammer, but that you could never break.

“You’ll be all right in a little bit,” he said tenderly. “You’ll get over this. I’ll be back as soon as I can. And tonight we’ll celebrate. Celebrate our love,” he said softly. He still didn’t think she would do it. Confidently, smiling, he looked at his watch; and as she stood immobile, kissed her on the cheek and hurried out. He thought she couldn’t give up the money. Well, she could give up the damned money; as far as that went she could take damn near all of it away from him, if she wanted to; the law was on her side. But she didn’t want to. If she took anything, it would be only what she had given him, the price of her father’s store. She could give it up, even if he couldn’t give up the girl. Well, let him have the girl. Once she had made up her mind, Agnes acted swiftly. She went out in the back and got young Walter—who was sitting in his sand-dirt box, looking at his road equipment.

“Come on in here,” she said. “We’re going away on a visit.”

She packed two bags for herself, and one for Walter. Then she made her phone calls. Six or eight of them, to all her closest friends, and to the people they had dinner engagements with. She had had an emergency call from her sister in Kansas City; yes, her sister was down sick; she just simply had to go to her. Serene, calm-voiced, she handled all of them.

There would be no talk, now. And that left it up to him. If he wanted the whore, let him make the choice. And, in fact, she expected that he would. Except perhaps for Walter. But the whore could probably bear him some brats. Oh, God! she thought suddenly; a whole lifetime down the drain! Just like that! Well, let him choose.

So that he would be sure to know where to reach her, she left a little note, worded carefully so that it would not look like she had left it for that reason:

You
didn’t believe me. Walter and I are going to Mary Ellen’s in Kansas City. I don’t ever want to see or hear from you again.

And leaving the house in a mess from the packing—and enjoying angrily the fact that she was doing so—she took Walter out to the little Ford and loaded up the bags.

“Are we getting separated?” Walter said gloomily, as she slid in behind the wheel. “Are we getting a divorce?”

“Did you hear what went on there in the house?” Agnes asked, startled.

“Well, I couldn’t help but hear some of it,” Walter said. “You both talked so loud.”

“Well, you just forget you heard it,” she commanded. “Yes, we probably are getting a divorce. But don’t you worry. You’ll always stay with me, honeybun.” She started up the car.

As she pulled out of the drive, she looked back at the house and tears filled her eyes. Just only a few months ago, they had been talking about selling it and building a fine new home. And now she was leaving it for good. She couldn’t help but cry. But then she shook the thoughts out of her mind and blinked away the tears and squared her shoulders.

What would Dawn think, when she found out? Well, she would write her a long letter as soon as she got out to Mary Ellen’s in Kansas City.

And resolutely, she drove away. But she could not resist driving past the house her husband had bought for his mistress. Something in her, some deliberate self-hurting painfulness, made her drive by and look at it. It was a pretty little green house, with white shutters and a pretty little yard. Once again, tears filled her eyes.

Driving out of her way to pass the other house had put her out of the way so that she had to turn back to get back on North Main that led out to the bypass. Her eyes brimming with tears, she could hardly see where she was driving.

“Turn here,” Walter said, after they had gone a couple of blocks.

Blinking her eyes, Agnes pulled up and stopped at the corner. “Well, I don’t know if I can,” she said. “All of these east-west streets are one-way streets now up here.”

“Can’t you see which way the cars are parked?” Walter said disgustedly.

Blinking again, Agnes looked and saw that the cars parked along the street were all headed east, and suddenly she laughed.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, of course.” Suddenly, she leaned over and hugged the diminutive solemn-faced little boy. “You’re my boy, aren’t you?” she said tenderly. Then she turned the corner and went on down the street, resolutely.

No man in the world was ever going to do something like that to her. Well, at least, she did have little Walter.

F
RANK WAS FEELING
pretty chipper, when he left the house that afternoon, after talking to Agnes. For the first time in his life, really, he felt he had finally made Agnes understand just what the difference was, between a wife and a mistress. Naturally, he was elated. And as he drove downtown to the new offices to meet his appointments, with his new elation boosting him up, Frank began to plan ahead how he could get himself another, second mistress. In addition to Edith Barclay.

Hell, he should have talked to Agnes about this long ago. It would have saved them both all kinds of trouble. She was mad now, of course. But she would get over that. In time. It had hurt her vanity a little, to find that men were really polygamous. But he thought he had made her understand it. And once she got over being mad, she would accept it. Agnes had always been one for accepting facts. She was a real realist. And, of course, she wouldn’t leave him. She’d talk like that when she was mad, but as soon as she cooled down and her reasonable nature reasserted itself, she’d forget it. She loved him too much to ever leave him. And anyway, hell, she’d be a fool to just up and leave the kind of setup she had here, with him; and Agnes was no fool. She wasn’t about to leave him, and he knew it.

Hell, maybe he’d even get himself two more. That would make three mistresses in all. He’d be able to afford three, in another year or so. His heart squeezed in him with the joy of possession when he thought about it. Christ, why hadn’t he talked to Agnes about it before? He’d get himself one in Terre Haute first. Some nice young girl about like Edith—only a little older, and more experienced. It was really better to have them unmarried, like Edith. Then you could set them up in a house and just go there whenever you pleased.

It would probably be better, he thought enthusiastically, to set this second one up in Terre Haute, rather than here in Parkman. He didn’t want to make Edith jealous, too, and have to go through a scene like this with her, too. Later on, of course, he could let her know and bring her around. Just like he had Agnes. Then he could maybe set the third one up over in Israel where the Frenches lived. Now there was an idea!

Of course, that third one would have to wait a year or two. Until the shopping center and the rest of the enterprises really began paying off. But that
second
one! Hell, he could start in on that second one this winter. He’d start looking around for some nice, professional gal, over there in Terre Haute. Christ, he was happy! He didn’t know when he had felt so good! Three mistresses to go to, whenever he wanted. Hell, he felt like Midas!