The Twenty-Year Death (49 page)

And it wasn’t just me. Montgomery also. He really had an ear for dialogue. I’d just need to suggest a scene, and in no time, he had it all marked out, and the characters sounded just as natural as we were talking. Every now and then I thought, I should stop drinking. I needed to go to bed. I needed to find some way to get out of here tomorrow. But the idea of the empty hotel room, of what Vee was up to, was too much, and I knew I shouldn’t be alone. This thing with Joseph would start to eat me up if I went upstairs alone. So we kept talking, fleshing it out. And who could blame me if I kept tossing down the drinks. I was in a bar after all. What did anyone expect?

After a while, I started to notice that Montgomery was slowing down, and was a little green in the gills, hanging over the bar like all he could think about was keeping his head up. And his eyes kept darting to the clock behind the bar. Of course it was
ten minutes fast, but that didn’t change that it was almost eight o’clock and we’d been there nearly six hours.

“Son,” I said, patting him on the back. “It’s time for us to recess. We can resume our composition tomorrow.”

He tried to shake his head, but it hurt him to do it. “No.”

“Don’t you have work in the morning?”

“Work in the morning?” he said as though it were a new concept. As if he had never thought about what it meant to work in the morning. As if he didn’t remember that there was anything outside of that bar.

“Come on, up.” I pulled him to his feet by the arm. I was steady on my own feet, because like I said, I was in that magic alcoholic plateau where I could function normally, but clean, without the anxiety, without the bothersome thoughts that never seemed to go away, that never let me do any little piece of work or pull myself together, get a job of my own, even if it was washing dishes. It would be a comedown, but I was still a man, after all. Who was that doctor to tell me if I drank much more it would kill me? I knew what would and wouldn’t kill me.

Well, I had him to his feet, like I said, and I brought him out to the curb, and he was hanging off of me completely now, and maybe I felt a little guilty, but only a little. We’d had a good time.

The bellman called a cab, and got the back door open for us. I poured Montgomery into the black plastic seat. “Where do you live?” I said.

“My notebook.”

“I put it in your pocket. Tell the driver where you live.” I called to the bellman, “Is there a way to put the cab on my room?”

“Certainly, sir, I’ll work it out.” He went around to the driver’s side, and the driver rolled down his window.

Montgomery said something about Tudor Street and I felt
fairly certain that he would get home all right. I said to the driver, “If you can’t get him to tell you where he lives, bring him back here.” He nodded, and turned back to the bellman. I closed the back door, and went back inside.

But then that empty hotel room began to loom up again. And there was a twinge, and only a twinge thanks to the alcohol, of the panic about the telegrams and Vee leaving me here. But that was silly, I told myself. Someone had recognized me, and worshipped me. If this kid reporter could, then why couldn’t Joseph? But the answer was easy. He could. He just needed a chance to calm down. That was all. And he’d had a chance. All those hours, all afternoon. And it wasn’t too late. Eight o’clock was early for a kid his age. That was just the start of the evening.

I turned around and went back out the revolving door. “Cab,” I said, and the doorman whistled. He opened the door for me like he’d done before, and closed it when he saw I was settled. The driver had his head cocked, waiting for directions. I gave him Quinn’s address—Joseph’s address—and we pulled out of the circular drive onto Chase Street.

The old Hadley mansion was in the neighborhood of Underwood, in the northern part of the city, just above the university. The whole area had been owned by one family up until about sixty or seventy years ago, and when they started to parcel it off and open it to development, the Hadleys took their umbrella fortune and built a four-story brick edifice into the side of a slight hill. There were pitched awnings over all the windows that made the place look like a hotel. A steep multi-tiered set of stairs rose from the street to the main entrance, while the garage and the servants’ entrance was at street level in the back.

Half the lights in the house were on when the cab pulled up front. I got out and paused for a moment with the cab door still open. I turned to ask the driver to wait, but in the end I closed the door and the cabbie pulled off before I had stepped away from the curb. I started up the steep stairs, which proved to be more difficult than I expected. I mean I had had a few drinks, but it had been over a lot of hours, so there was no reason for it but I leaned a lot of my weight on the iron pipe of a railing.

Just when I was at the next-to-last landing, the front door opened, and out came Mary O’Brien and behind her Connie, both of them with their heads down, looking for the first step. I wanted to go up to meet them, but I had had enough, so I waited for them to come down. Mary saw me first, from about halfway down the top set of stairs. She caught herself up, and said, “Oh.”

Connie looked up, but the light was too poor to see her expression, her black features like a shadowed mask.

Mary started down again. “Mr. Rosenkrantz, you gave me such a start.” She picked her way down to the landing. “What are you doing here so late?”

I could have asked the same of her, but she was his fiancée, and she had Connie with her, no doubt as a chaperone, and hadn’t it been such a tough day and all, with the will being read, and Joe becoming a millionaire. He must have needed the company to bolster his strength. “Thought I’d see Joe. Didn’t realize it had gotten so late.”

Her face took on a pinched look. She probably smelled the alcohol, but I tell you, I really was fine, only I guess she didn’t know that. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “I was very much hoping to get a chance to talk to you.”

“Well, here I am.” I nodded to Connie, who said, “Mr. Rosenkrantz,” and I said, “Shem, please.”

“Joe was very upset,” Mary said. “I mean at the—earlier. Before. He didn’t...oh, you do know what I’m trying to say, don’t you?”

“Yeah. Sure. It’s awfully nice of you to say even if it isn’t true.”

“Oh, but it is. I mean, well, ask Connie. That’s the only reason we’re here so late. This has all been so hard on Joe. He needed me—us, somebody with him, I almost don’t like to leave him now. Miss Quinn was really all he had,” and realizing what she’d said, “I mean...of course he had you too—”

“And you, and Aunt Alice, and Connie here, right Connie? And any number of other people, but sure, yeah, I know what you mean. Quinn was his mom, of course he’s upset. I’m here to take over for you guys. It’s my shift.” And I tried that dapper
grin of mine, but it was probably sloppy, I was feeling a little green.

“Oh, but, I don’t think now is the right time. I mean...”

“Mary,” I said, “Can I call you Mary? You’re doing a lot of oh-but-ing and I-mean-ing. Take a breath and just relax. If Joe’s not up to my visit tonight, for any reason, sure, that’s okay. I’m disappointed, but it’s okay. Right?”

She took a deep breath, and when she let it out her face looked lighter. It really did. “Joe said you were so unreasonable, and really...” She turned and looked at Connie. “Connie, could you go down. I’ll be right there.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Connie said, and stepped around her, but to me she hazarded a look and said, “Miss Alice was quite disappointed you didn’t make it to tea.”

“Well, Aunt Alice can add it to the list of ways I’ve disappointed her,” I said.

Connie cringed, and really I didn’t have to be so tough with her. She was just doing her job. Sometimes it was hard to remember that, it was so much like she was a member of the family, even if she was a Negro. And how awkward must that be for her, family yet not family, employee and confidante?

“Listen, Connie, I’m sorry, but you know—” I started, but the light in the front room went out just then, and we were plunged into a deeper darkness. I looked up at the windows to see if Joseph was standing there watching us. I couldn’t tell, but I figured he probably was. We all paused while our eyes got used to the dark.

Then Connie said, “I’ll be sure to send her your regards, Mr. Rosenkrantz.” She started down the steps, leaning even more heavily on the railing than I had, dropping one foot onto the step below her, and then limping the rest of her weight after it.

Mary and I watched her for a moment, and when she was nearly to the next landing, Mary turned to me. “Mr. Rosenkrantz...” I had to resist making the wisecrack, ‘Call me Dad,’ but she was trying so hard, it wouldn’t have been fair to her. “I know you and Joseph have had a hard time in the past.”

“A hard time’s hardly saying it. Last time we saw each other he took a swing at me, and that was his high school graduation.”

“Yes. Oh.” He hadn’t told her that one.

“Look, Mary, I appreciate what you’re trying to say. It was stupid of me to come up here. I’ve been sober for months up until today.”

She gave a start at that.

“I guess this whole thing with Quinn is getting to all of us, and I...” I felt like I was maybe going to cry. I didn’t, you understand, but I felt like I
might
.

She nearly put her hand out to comfort me, but thought better of it. “Maybe we can meet tomorrow,” she said. “I meant to call on you at your hotel earlier, but somehow the day has slipped past. I’ve never been here this late, and if Connie weren’t with me, my parents would have had the police out. They probably have anyway. You’re...we’re all tired. Can I call on you tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

“I just think it would be best if we spoke tomorrow. Things aren’t so simple.”

“Of course, of course. A pretty girl like you? You can call on me anytime you want.”

She looked down and I knew I’d spoiled it with that comment about her being pretty. She was trying, but she’d no doubt heard all of Joe’s stories about my sleeping around—never mind that Quinn did too—and here I sound like I’m trying to pick her up.
“Any time after breakfast, let’s say. At the hotel. We can get a cup of coffee in the hotel café.”

I was starting to sweat heavily then. The cloying heat and alcohol were getting to me and I felt as though I were going to be sick. It didn’t help knowing Joe might be up there watching me talk to her.

“Yes, I’d like that,” she said, and ventured a look at me, and then she sighed in relief and even smiled, and pretty wasn’t really strong enough for what she was. Like I’d said before, Joe was a lucky man.

“After you,” I said, and held my hand out to the steps in invitation. She went down before me, and I looked back up at the looming house again, but it was still impossible to know if Joe was at one of those windows. All of the other lights in the house were still on.

At the bottom of the steps, I was breathing heavily and the sweat was making me irritable, so I just said, “Ladies,” and turned south on foot before they could offer me a ride or inquire after my health. Wouldn’t that have been rich?

I made it to the end of the block, and I turned in, and was immediately sick on the foot of a tree. The heaves were strong enough to make my sides sore. Tears pushed out of my closed eyes. I pressed my forehead against the bark of the tree, both hands bracing me on either side, but it was only later that I felt the pain of the sharp bark cutting into me. I heaved again and the taste of alcohol and acid burned the back of my nose, and I felt chill even as the sweat poured off of me. I heaved and I heaved. A part of me marveled at the volume, but soon there was nothing coming up, and the sour smell of my vomit was sickening in its own right. I brought my forearm up, and leaned my head against that on the tree. The sweat soaked into my
sleeve. I was lightheaded and I shivered as a pang went down my sides. I shivered again. And then I seemed to be finished. There was the taste in my mouth, but nothing was rebelling any longer.

I pushed myself up, and wiped my mouth with my handkerchief. Great job, I thought. A really classy guy. What would Montgomery think if he saw me now? It’s not enough I owe money all over the country and depend on the whims of a hard-boiled whore, I’ve got to drink myself sick a block from Joe’s house when I’ve got the crazy idea about making it up. Yeah, I was nothing but a poor bastard, like I said before, and I deserved everything I got, but don’t let me catch you saying it.

Once I felt sure on my feet, I stepped into the near-black street, crossing to the other side. There, a recessed footlight in a brick retaining wall revealed the vomit on the toes of my shoes. I stopped, pulled out my already soiled handkerchief and, leaning against the wall, lifted one foot, wiped it off, and then the other. When I was done, I threw the handkerchief into the gutter, and started south towards the less residential part of the city near the university where I’d be able to find a cab.

The lights came first, and then the lawns ended, and there was a five-story apartment house visible across University Avenue. If I looked straight down St. Peter’s Street, I could see the lights of the skyscrapers all the way downtown. The roads were empty, and the traffic light went through its pattern needlessly as, still shaky, I crossed University into George Village. Quinn and I used to hang around George Village to be with people our own age, and she knew some men at the university. Not much had changed in the intervening years. The row homes hidden by overgrown trees looked broken down and abused, which they were, rented
short-term to college men who took the job of being college men very seriously.

When I got to the block where the George Village Pub was, I still hadn’t run into a cab. I was starting to feel a bit hungry, my stomach now empty after my little spell. I pushed into the stale smoke of the bar, and was comforted to find that I didn’t look too out of place. The students were away for the summer, so the only people in the bar that night were some loud and coarse citybillies and a few grad students trying to keep their heads down. I ordered a Gin Rickey. The bartender sighed and took his time getting to the hard stuff. In a place like that the only kind of orders they get are draught and the bartender gets lazy. But he made me the drink.