The Cocktail Waitress

“Deputy Harrison, I’m listening.”

“Mrs. Medford, it’s so rare for bail actually to be forfeited that I can’t remember its happening. But most bail is signed for by bondsmen, professional bondsmen, who have tremendous political clout. They’re not supposed to have it, but do. In the case of a woman who signed the bond as a friend, who has no particular clout-or do you have?”

“Not the slightest.”

I aimed that at Tom, and saw him wince. “In that case,” Deputy Harrison went on, “I’d say you could be in trouble. You could be the human sacrifice offered up, to prove the law takes its course- without fear, favor, or finagling of any kind.”

“… And is that so, that the law takes its course without favor?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m told Jim Lacey was well known around here, built this building for you.”

At that, he snorted. “Oh, yes. He was known. Sheriff had to tell him three times to stop trying to give the men bottles ‘for after hours.’ Don’t worry that he’s got friends here, Mrs. Medford, for he hasn’t.”

“O.K.”

“But that’s not entirely the good thing you might think it is.”

“Oh?”

“If he did have friends here, they might know where to find him. Now, we’ll do all we can, but it’s not a case with men detailed to search-we just haven’t got the men. What that means, in practice, is you’ll have to find him yourself. The good news is, you might be able to where we couldn’t. After all, I’m sure he does have a few friends somewhere, who wouldn’t help us, but who might shoot off their mouths to you. You see what I’m saying? If you can get them to tell you anything, we’ll be on it right away, if you give us the barest hint. To help a young girl like you, who made a mistake and now is in a jam, we’ll act and act quick-but we have to have something to act on.”

“Well, then we’re at a dead end, because I don’t have the barest hint to give you.”

“But why?” He looked genuinely baffled. “Why wouldn’t you know where to find this guy, or at least his friends?”

“… Me? Why would I?”

“You went his bail, didn’t you?”

I stood there, utterly crossed up, and then at last saw what he meant. I asked him: “You mean there was something personal, as you think, between me and Mr. Lacey?”

“Well it’s what you would think, isn’t it?”

“Lacey’s my friend,” Tom cut in.

“All right, then you must know-?”

“I don’t.”

Deputy Harrison looked at Tom in a very peculiar way, and the way Tom looked away, I suddenly felt that he did know something, at least more than he was telling us. I knew also, if I wanted to find out, I had to get him out of there. So I thanked Deputy Harrison, shaking his hand with both of mine. He smiled, nodded, and squeezed my hand extra, as if to communicate that he really wanted to help. Then I drove home with Tom, and asked: “What was that all about? What are you keeping from me?”

“I thought of someone, that’s all. Jim has a girl. On the side, apart from his wife. I saw her once, leaving his office when I came to pick him up.”

“And Deputy Harrison thought I was she?”

“I don’t know that he knows about her. Probably not, and I wasn’t going to be the one to tell him. But I guess he thought you might be something like that to Jim. He gave his reason for thinking it, and you can’t say it didn’t make sense-until you were explained, that is. Your connection with the case, through me.”

“So who is this girl?”

“That’s the problem. I don’t know-not her name, not where she lives, nothing.”

“What do I do now?”

“Joan, if I knew I’d certainly say.”

I asked him in and he began making calls, or rather the same call, over and over, to at least a dozen people: “Jack?”-or whatever the name would be-“Where’s Jim? I have a reason for wanting to know… O.K., but if you hear something, will you ring me at this number? Oh, and do you have any idea how I might reach his girl? No, not his wife. You know who I mean…” About the fifteenth call I went out in the hall to put my hand on the receiver, so he couldn’t lift it again. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve had about all I can take.”

“It’s all I know to do. These people are his friends, and one of them might know something useful-if they’d want to tell me.”

“O.K., but one more call and I’ll scream.”

“I’m doing this for you, let’s remember.” He shoved my hand aside and lifted the receiver.

I didn’t scream, but I began slapping at him again as he sat there at the telephone table, the way I’d slapped him that night at the Garden. He got up, put his arms around me, wrapped me up, and held me until I calmed down. “I’m sorry,” I said, still trembling. “-I have a temper, as perhaps you’ve found out.”

“Well, you’d better get it under control, Joan, at least where I’m concerned. It’s not my fault Jim skipped.”

That was enough to set me off again. “Not your fault? Not your fault?”

I then recited it at him, the whole book, beginning with the first night, what he did to me and what I did to him; then my signing the bond for his friend Mr. Lacey, and then the thanks I got, being taken to a so-called nightclub that was really a hot-sheets motel in flimsiest disguise-I really screamed it at him, until I was hoarse and could hardly talk. When I collapsed into a chair and started to cry, he took his handkerchief out, wiped my nose, and asked: “Are you done?”

“I guess so. Please, will you go home?”

“Not just yet I won’t. First off, Joan, on this litany you keep hurling at me. When a woman is really sore, when she hates a man for what he’s done, she doesn’t entertain his offers night after night, she tells him so and cuts him cold.”

“Not if he’s a long-standing customer and she’s a waitress who needs her job.”

“O.K.-maybe. But at least, the one night he makes no invitation, she doesn’t proffer one of her own, I think you’ll agree with that?”

I said nothing.

“So then we come to Jim Lacey, and why you signed his bail. Well why did you, Joan? Why?”

“Because you asked me to.”

“I didn’t at all; I never asked you to.”

“O.K., maybe it was so you’d know I wasn’t a pauper, so you would stop treating me like some kind of cocktail girl-”

“You are a cocktail girl!”

“O.K., I’m a cocktail girl, and to thank this poor waif for helping your friend, you take her to a whorehouse.”

“I had a reason for that too.”

“Explain it, please.”

“I had the impression that you liked me, that you might want more of my company than you could have just chatting at the Garden. But I wanted to take you somewhere special for it-somewhere where the lights would be dim and the music low, where people would be having a good time. A place where we could be with each other and not be bothered, but with a touch of excitement, too. You may not have cared for the Wigwam, but the fact is, it’s an exclusive club- they’ve hosted some of the most famous and influential people in this town, perhaps even a president or two.”

“That doesn’t mean a thing to me.”

“I thought at least it would be nicer than promoting an invite here, or suggesting you come back to my house. That felt too much like- well, like what Liz does, where it’s for money, not because two people want each other so badly they can’t stand it.”

“You think I wanted you that badly?”