'That is reasonable. Very well, Mr. Benson, you shall have five hundred dollars if it will make you happy.'
'That's the idea.'
'And you think you can make my son a good shot?'
'You said this is the age of miracles. I've thought about it. Now, I believe in miracles.'
'Good.' Again a long pause, then he said, 'I would like to have a final word with you, Mr. Benson. Have you a car?'
'Sure.'
'Then would you come to my hotel tonight . . . at ten o'clock?' He wheezed a little and then went on, 'I would like to finalise our arrangement. I will have the money for you.'
'I'll be there.'
'Thank you, Mr. Benson,' and he hung up.
Lucy was in the kitchen, cutting sandwiches. In our present state of economy, we had agreed that sandwiches were about the cheapest food we could live on. The previous day, I had bagged four pigeons and Lucy had spit-cooked them. With their breasts cut very fine plus a touch of Tabasco and a sliced pickle they made an acceptable sandwich.
I propped up the kitchen doorway.
'We have to have Mr. Savanto's son here, honey,' I said. 'For the next nine days, I've got to live with him eighteen hours a day. Is it okay to put him up in the spare bedroom?'
She finished cutting off the crusts of the bread, then she looked up. Those clear blue eyes were a little cloudy. Worry never helps anyone's face. For the first time since I had met and loved her she looked a little plain.
'Must we have him here, Jay? We've been so happy. This is our place.'
I remembered what my old man had once said. My old man had been a great talker and he had been very proud of his successful marriage.
Women are tricky, he had told me when I was too young t care. My mother and he had had a little spat and I had listened, noting that my father had got the worst of it. When we were alone together, he had sounded off. I guess he was trying to justify his defeat. Maybe he was, but his words stuck.
'Women are tricky,' he said. 'You have to treat them with kid gloves if you want to get along with them, and there'll come a time when you will want to get along with one particular woman, so remember what I'm telling you. The right woman will be the pivot of your life: you'll find everything important revolves around her. A woman has different ideas from yours, but her ideas should be respected. But there comes a time when you know you are right, when you know you have to do this or that and she might not agree. You either do one of two things: you either spend a lot of time persuading her to see it your way or else you stamp over her. Either way works. The first way tells her you respect her opinion, but she is wrong: the second way tells her you're the boss . . . and make no mistake about it, providing you are on the level, a woman wants her man to be the boss.'
I hadn't the time to persuade Lucy I was heading the way I had to head, so I stamped over her.
'Yes, he has to come here. We are about to earn fifty thousand dollars. Unless I have him here, we won't get the money. Nine days from now, we will be rich and we will have forgotten him. So he comes here.'
She hesitated for a brief moment. We looked at each other, then she nodded.
'All right, Jay.' She put the sandwiches on a plate. 'Let's eat. I'm hungry.'
We went out on to the patio.
I was disappointed that the thought of making all this money hadn't excited her as it excited me.
'What is it, honey? What's on your mind?'
We sat down in the sling chairs that creaked under our weight. Even when I knew she was worried I couldn't help thinking that before long we would get rid of these crummy chairs and have something lush on wheels with a sun umbrella clipped to its arm . . . before long.
'The whole thing is crazy!' she burst out. 'You know it is! There's something wrong about it! All that money ! That fat old man ! You must know there's something wrong!'
'Okay, so it's crazy, but crazy things do happen. Why not to us? Here's a man rolling in money . . . he makes a bet . . . he . . .'
'How do you know he's rolling in money?' she demanded, sitting forward and staring at me.
For God's sake ! I told you. He showed me those two bonds . . . fifty thousand dollars. Of course he is rolling in money!'
'How do you know they aren't stolen . . . forgeries?'
Kid gloves, my father had said. My gloves were beginning to wear thin.
'Honey. I've been offered a job of work . . . something I can do. The pay off is more money than I've ever dreamed of. I will have to earn it. Okay. I wouldn't want so much money for nothing. This is a chance in a lifetime. He said I could go to my bank and check the bonds. Would a crook take such a risk?'
'Then why didn't you check them?'
'Will you let me handle this?' I was now using the tone of voice I used with the dopes who came to me to learn to shoot in the Army, but I was using more polite language. 'I'm doing what is best for you and for me. 'Let's skip the talk. . . . Let's eat.'
She looked at me, then away. We began to eat. I found I wasn't all that hungry. Lucy merely nibbled at her sandwich and finally, she dropped it back on her plate.
