“If you want my legal advice I must know what you’re aiming at.”
“… Well-naturally I think about money. I imagine everyone does. It’s not all I think about. Certainly not, Mr. Eckert.” And more of the same for ten minutes. When at last I ran down, he said: “In other words, you want me to tell you how to get the money, and at the same time pretend it’s not what you’re thinking about?”
“… Then-yes.”
“O.K., now we’re getting somewhere.”
I took another ten minutes on Tad, explaining where he came in, and he let me talk, but didn’t seem to be listening. Then suddenly he cut in: “O.K., so you have a child, and you want grass for him to play on. So, what you do is go along-you get married this crazy way, and do your best to go through with it. But, Mrs. Medford, there’s a possibility you don’t seem to have thought about: He may want to consummate anyhow-take a chance the doctors could be wrong. My advice to you is: If he wants to consummate, consummate. Because the invitation could be only
“… Why would he do that?”
“He fell in love, didn’t he? He could just as easy fall out-and just as quick.”
“And what makes you think I’d refuse?”
“I don’t say you would. I only said you shouldn’t. If it were really the man’s company you wanted, I’d advise differently-but I think, with you, it’s the money.”
I felt ashamed, and got up to go. He said: “I’m not quite done yet. Whatever you do, put nothing in writing, Mrs. Medford. Don’t sign any marriage contract, or agreement, or anything that mentions this stipulation-except for the routine papers, such as the application for a license, don’t sign
“What ‘thing’ are you talking about?”
“The same ‘thing’ you’re thinking about.”
“You certainly make it plain.”
He stood there, looking down at me, and I stood looking up at him, and his gaze reminded me of Sergeant Young’s, only without any of the kindness. After a moment he said: “If, after you’re married, you want any help of any kind, legal or otherwise, I hope you’ll let me know.”
I asked: “Otherwise? What kind of help would that be?”
“Platonic marriage, to a dame as good-looking as you, might be a bit of a strain. If that’s how it works for you, you might let me know-you might drop over some day and I’ll take it from there. You’re a goddam good-looking gold-digger, and I go for you, plenty.”
He reached out with one finger and stroked it along the side of my face. I wanted to grab it and bend it backward, snap it clean through, but what I did was smile my prettiest smile and lift the digit off me ever so gently.
“If I want you, Mr. Eckert, I’ll let you know.”
I drove back to Hyattsville, with butterflies in my stomach, and a feeling that I might be playing with fire.
21
The week didn’t pass, it flew. Then it was the day, and when I woke up I was panicky-I knew I was holding back, flinching from what I had to do. I found myself furious, frantic with rage at Tom, that he hadn’t called, hadn’t shown up at the bar, not once. He had to have known, the moment he woke, why I left him-I’d told him I meant to get married. And he had to know now when it would happen, since he was in touch with Liz, as she’d betrayed for two or three nights, by the questions she asked of me and the ones I asked of her, the ones she chose not to hear. So she’d told him about it, and why hadn’t he come? To say goodbye, perhaps see me home one night, or something. But no, not even a kind look. He’d kept himself away from the Garden entirely.
I got up, dressed, had coffee and got in the car. Next thing I knew I was in Marlboro, and found myself driving past Eckert’s place, asking myself what I was doing there. Was there more legal advice I wanted — or was I tempted by his other offer after all? I shuddered at the thought. And yet here I was. The prospect of shackling myself to Mr. White was clearly getting to me, though I’d been the engineer and architect of the plan and could hardly complain of the outcome. I turned the car around and headed for home.
At one o’clock I called Blue Bird, and asked them to send a cab to the Safety Garage, then drove my car there and left it. When the cab came I rode home, feeling queer. Before going in I rang Mrs. Stringer’s bell, next door, and when she came gave her my spare key, and the $10 payment I’d offered, for looking in each day, making sure one light was lit, and taking in the mail. Then I went in, walked back to the bedroom and had a look around, as well as in my bag, to make sure I had everything. It was a big one I’d had from Pittsburgh, and the only one I was taking, as that was one thing I’d learned from my father, one of the few memories of him I respected: “Take one bag and one bag only-it’ll hold what you need, if you use the facilities available where you go-the laundry, the cleaner, the bootblack, the barber, the beauty parlor-let them freshen you up. Don’t try to take the whole clothes-closet with you.” I checked my cash, $500 in twenties that I’d drawn and $2,000 in traveler’s checks.
At two o’clock Mr. White’s car stopped out front and I let Jasper get out and ring my bell, so I could have him take the bag and I wouldn’t have to do it.
Mr. White was waiting on the brick platform in front of the mansion’s door, with what looked like the whole household staff lined up behind him. I hadn’t realized there were so many-three women, two in maid outfits and one in a cook’s apron, and beside them three men in workclothes that might have made them gardeners or mechanics or what-have-you. They all looked warmly at me, but to see them arrayed there before me, almost as though for my inspection, gave the screw inside me another clockwise twist. Jasper jumped out of the car, snatched up Mr. White’s two suitcases and loaded them into the trunk. Mr. White gave a little speech to his staff, how he was leaving solo but would return as one half of husband-and-wife, and he trusted they would each welcome me to my new role as mistress of the house. There was much nodding, and I had all I could do to nod back and smile with gratitude rather than bolt down the oyster shell drive.
I followed him back into the car, and a moment later the door closed firmly and then the car began to roll.
“Hello, Joan,” he said.
I said “Hello” back, but knew something more was called for; from the look on his face, he expected it. So I pulled his face down and kissed him. In a moment he kissed me back, whispering, “Our first.” Then: “Joan, your lips are like ice-is something wrong?”
“I’m just the least little bit frightened-I guess your lips know without being told, what your heart is feeling.”
I made myself sound wan, timid, and friendly, and he gathered me into his arms. They were narrow and I could feel the bones through the flesh. I started to cry silently. Then: “Frightened?” he asked. “Of what?”
“Just on general principles. After all, this isn’t something I do every day.”
“But not at something
“Of course not.”
I gave him a pat, and wiped away the tears that had made it out before I regained control over myself. But on account of my lips, I didn’t venture another kiss. We rode along, I making myself lean toward him, though I didn’t at all want to.
We bypassed Annapolis, then were out on the bridge over the Bay. Then we were on the Eastern Shore, which is flat, so a car eats up miles, without even going fast. Then we were in Delaware, and in a matter of minutes we were entering Dover. He said something to Jasper, who said, “Yes sir, I know,” and pulled in shortly at quite a handsome motel. Jasper got out and opened the door for us, then followed us inside, carrying the bags. Mr. White told the clerk: “Three of us-we’re reserved, Earl K. White, Mrs. Ronald Medford, and Jasper Wilson.” The clerk eyed us, then offered the pen to Mr. White, who gave it to me. I took it and filled out the card the clerk gave me, having a sudden panicky feeling at the realization it was the last time I’d write ‘Joan Medford.’ Motels don’t have
