He laughed softly. He went on out to his car, and drove away. And minutes later, it seemed like I could still hear that laugh of his.
I waited in the kitchen, stood right where I had been standing. Not moving, except for the trembling. Hardly even breathing.
And Papa stayed out in the hallway. Not moving either, it seemed. Just standing and waiting, like I was standing and waiting.
I was sure he was just working up to an explosion. Putting all the mean ugly things together in his mind, so he could cloud up and rain all over me and Mama. That was what he was going to do, I was sure, because he’d done the same thing before. Made us wait, you know. Wait and wait, knowing that he was going to do something and getting so jumpy we were about to fall apart. And then suddenly cutting loose on us.
I wished that he’d cut loose now, and get it over with. I wished he’d just do it, you know; not because it was so hard to go on waiting, but because it would kind of even things up. And maybe he’d stop feeling the way he must be feeling now.
It sounds funny—or, no, I guess it doesn’t—but I’d never really cared about how he felt before. I mean, I’d never actually thought about his having any feelings—about being able to hurt his feelings. Because you’d never have thought it from the way he’d always acted. He’d always gone out of his way to show that he didn’t care how anyone felt about him or acted toward him, so…
Maybe Mama is right. She was an awfully pretty girl back when she married Papa, and Papa was kind of short and stocky like he is now, and about as homely as a mud fence. So, since she never could express herself very well and she’s always been so kind of frozen-faced and shy—just embarrassed all to pieces just by the mention of love or anything like that—why, maybe Papa did think she married him just to get away from the orphanage. And maybe that’s the reason, partly the reason, anyway—
Oh, I don’t know. And the way things are now, I couldn’t care less. Because he certainly doesn’t care anything about me, even if he might have at one time.
How could he—a father that would actually kill his own daughter if he found out a certain thing about her?
Bobbie says I have things all wrong; Papa would do it because he cares so much. But that just doesn’t make any sense, does it, and as sweet and smart as Bobbie is, he can say some awfully foolish things.
Well, anyway, getting back to that night:
Papa didn’t do what I expected him to. He started for the kitchen once, but he stopped after a step or two. Then he took a couple of steps toward the stairs, and stopped again. Finally, he went to the screen door and pushed it open, paused with one foot inside the house and the other on the porch.
“Got to go back to the office,” he called. “Won’t want any supper. Won’t be able to go to the graduation. You and Mama have a good—you two watch out for the squirrels.”
I called, “P-papa—wait!” But the screen door slammed, drowning out the words.
By the time I got to the door, he was a block up the street.
He never wore those clothes again. I saw Goofy Gannder in the Homburg one day, so I guess Papa probably gave him the whole outfit, and Goofy traded the other things for booze.
Well, as I was saying, Mama really had tried to help me that one time, at least, and it wasn’t fair to say that she hadn’t. Also, as I was about to say, it wasn’t very nice of me to get her to try anything again. She’d have to face Papa afterwards. He’d take out on her what he couldn’t take out on me, and an old woman like that—she was forty-six her last birthday—she just wouldn’t be able to take it.
Aside from that, it probably wouldn’t do any good; I mean, she probably wouldn’t get away with whatever she was thinking about doing. She’d be so scared and unsure of herself that she’d make a botch of it, get herself into a lot of trouble without making me any better off than I was now.
So…so I finished putting up my hair, and went back to my bedroom. I put on a robe, went downstairs and told Mama I was sorry about the way I talked to her.
She didn’t answer me; just turned away looking hurt, sullen-hurt. I put my arms around her and kissed her, and tried to pet her a little. That got her all red-faced and embarrassed, and kind of broke the ice.
“It’s all right, girl,” she said. “I don’t blame you for being upset, and I’ll do what I said I would.”
“No, Mama,” I said. “I don’t want you to. Honestly, I don’t. After all, you said you were sure it wouldn’t do any good, so why take chances for nothing?”
“Well, I’m pretty sure that it wouldn’t—that I couldn’t get any money from this party. But…” She paused, relieved that I was letting her off, but a little suspicious along with it. “Look, girl. You’re not planning on—on—”
“On what?” I laughed. “Now, what in the world could I do, Mama? Hold up a bank?”
Actually, I wasn’t planning on doing anything. The idea didn’t come to me until later, when I went back upstairs. It seems kind of funny that I hadn’t thought of it before—under the circumstances, I mean—but I guess it actually really wasn’t so strange. I just hadn’t been desperate enough until now.
“So you just forget all about it, Mama,” I said. “Don’t do anything tonight, anyway. If something else doesn’t turn up in a few days, why—”
“But I’ll have to do it tonight, girl! Have to if I’m goin’ to at all.”
“Why do you?” I said. “If it’s waited all these years, why can’t it wait a little longer?”
“Because it can’t! This party’s telephone will—will—”
She broke off abruptly, turning to stir something on the stove. “My heavens, girl! I get to jabbering with you, and I’ll burn up everything in the house.”
“What about the telephone, Mama?” I said. “What were you going to say?”
“Nothing. How do I know, anyway?” Mama said. “Lord, what a day! I’m getting so rattled I don’t know what I’m saying.”
I laughed, and said I wouldn’t worry again. I told her I really didn’t want her to see the party she’d mentioned—that I’d really be very angry if she did. And she nodded and mumbled, so that took care of that.
I went back up to my room. I took off my robe, put on some fresh underthings and stretched out on the bed. It was nice and cool. I’d left the bedroom door open, and the draft sucked the alfalfa-smelling breeze through the window.
I closed my eyes, really relaxing for about the first time all day. My mind seemed to go completely empty for a moment—just cleared out of everything. And then all sorts of things, images, began to drift through it:
Mama…Papa…Bobbie…the pavilion…Me…Me going into the pavilion. Unlocking the ticket booth. Going into Daddy’s office, and opening the safe. Taking out the change box, and—
My eyes popped open, and I sat up suddenly. Then, I remembered that this was Monday, that there wouldn’t be any dance tonight so I wouldn’t have to work.
I sighed, and started to lay back down again.
I sat back up, slowly, feeling my eyes get wider and wider. Feeling my stomach sort of squeeze together inside, then gradually unsqueeze.
I got my purse off the dresser. I took out my key ring, stared at it for a moment and dropped it back in the purse.
It was almost four o’clock. I undid my hair, even though it had only been up a little while, and then I began to dress.
Mama came upstairs while I was putting my face on. She started to go on by to her own room, but she saw me dressed and fixing my face, so she turned back and came in. She asked me where in the world I thought I was going at this time of day.
“Oh, I thought I’d meet Bobbie in town tonight,” I said. “I think it might be better than having him come here to the house, if people are doing any talking.”
“But it ain’t tonight yet,” Mama said. “You haven’t even had your supper yet. What—”
“I don’t want any supper, Mama,” I said. “Heavens, I just got through stuffing myself just a little while ago, di
dn’t I? Anyway, the real reason I want to leave early is so I won’t have to see Papa. I just can’t face him again so soon, after the way he acted at lunch.”
Mama started getting nervous. She said Papa would be sure to wonder about my being away at supper time, and what was she going to tell him?
I turned around from the mirror, looking pretty exasperated, I guess, because I certainly felt that way.
“Why, for heaven’s sake, just tell him the truth, Mama,” I said. “I mean, tell him I ate late and I didn’t want any supper—dinner—so I just went on into town. I’ll just walk around or drink a malted or something until it’s time to meet Bobbie. Good grief, there’s nothing wrong with that, is there? Can’t I even go down town without explaining and arguing and arguing and explaining until—”
“What you getting so excited about, girl?” Mama looked at me suspiciously. “You up to something?”
I drew in my breath real deep, giving her a good hard stare. And then I turned back to the mirror again.
“Look, girl,” Mama mumbled, apologetically. “I’m just worried about you. If you’ve got some notion of—well, I don’t know what you might be thinking about doing. But—”
“Mama,” I said. “I’m going to get awfully mad in a minute.”
“But, girl. You just can’t—”
“All right, Mama,” I said. “All right! I’ve argued and explained just as much as I’m going to, and now I’m not going to say another word. Not another word, Mama! I told you why I was leaving early. I told you I couldn’t bear to face Papa tonight, and I can’t. I simply can’t, Mama, and there’s no reason why I should, and I haven’t the slightest intention of making the slightest effort to do so, and—and I’m not going to say another word about it, and I don’t want to hear another word about it!”
She twitched, and rubbed her hands together. I’ll bet they wouldn’t be so red and big-veined if she wasn’t always rubbing them together. She started to argue again, but I told her I’d cry if she did. So that stopped her right at the start.
“Well,” she mumbled, “you’re going to drink a cup of coffee first, anyway. I’m not going to let you leave this house without at least something hot on your stomach.”
“Oh, Mama,” I sighed. “Well, hurry up and get it, if you’re going to! I can’t drink it after I put my lipstick on.”
She hurried downstairs, and brought me up some coffee. I drank it, and started fixing my mouth.
She watched me, twitching and massaging her hands. I caught her eye in the mirror, gave her a good hard look, believe me, and she shifted her eyes quickly. She didn’t look at me again until I was all through.
“Well,” I said, “I guess I’d better run along, now, if I want to miss Papa.”
“All right, girl.” She got up from the bed where she’d been sitting. “Take care of yourself, now, and don’t stay out too late.”
She started to kiss me good-bye; and that was kind of funny, you know, because she doesn’t go in much for kissing. I pretended I didn’t know what she meant to do, turning my head so as not to get my face smeared.
After all, I didn’t have time to fix it again, did I? And if she wanted to kiss someone, why did she have to wait until they were in a hurry and all ready to go somewhere?
“Girl,” she said, nervously. “I don’t want you getting upset again, but—promise me, girl! Promise you won’t—”
“Now, Mama, I have promised,” I said. “I’ve told you and told you, and I’m not going to tell you again. Now, will you please stop harping on the subject?”
“You don’t have to do anything, girl! I’ll go—I’ll think of something. Something’s bound to turn up.”
“Well, all right!” I said. “All right, for heaven’s sake!”
And I snatched up my purse, and left.
She called after me, but I kept right on going, down the stairs and out the door. Then, as I was going out the gate, she called to me again—waved to me from the bedroom window. So, well, I gave her a smile and waved back.
I honestly wasn’t mad, you know, and naturally I didn’t mean to do anything that would make her feel bad. It was just that I had so much on my mind, that I simply couldn’t stand any more.
It was a little after five when I got downtown, about five-fifteen. I wanted Papa to get clear home before I went to his office, so that meant I had almost forty-five minutes to kill. Well, thirty-five minutes, anyway, figuring that it would take ten minutes to walk down to the pavilion.
I sauntered around the courthouse square a couple of times, looking in the store windows. I stopped in front of the jewelry store, pretending like I was interested in the jewelry display, but actually looking at myself in the big panel-mirrors behind it.
I thought I looked pretty good tonight, considering all I’d been through. I honestly looked especially good in spite of everything.
I had on a white Cashmere sweater I’d bought two weeks before—I guessed it wasn’t rushing the season too much to wear it. I had on a new blue flannel skirt, and extra-sheer stockings and my practically new handmade suede shoes.
I studied myself in the mirror, thinking that whatever else you could say about him, you certainly couldn’t say he was stingy. Mama and I could buy just about anything we wanted to, and he’d never say a word. All he ever insisted on was that we pay cash.
Mama always kept a hundred dollars cash on hand. As far back as I could remember, she did. Whenever she or I bought anything, why, she’d tell him, and he’d give her enough to bring her back up to a hundred dollars.
Actually, she—or I should say, I—hadn’t spent much until this summer. I was actually scared to death of going in a store; afraid, you know, that the clerks might be laughing at me or talking about me behind my back. And Mama was even worse than I was. We never bought anything until we just had to. When we couldn’t put it off any longer, we’d just take the first thing that was showed to us and practically run out of the place.
Papa just talked awful about us. I never will forget some of the mean things he said. He said he’d rent Mama out as a scarecrow, if it wouldn’t’ve been so hard on the crows. And he said I looked like a leaky sack of bran that was about to fall over.
Well, he certainly hasn’t had any cause to talk that way since I started going with Bobbie. Not about me, anyhow. I simply couldn’t look dowdy around Bobbie, so I just made myself shop like a person should. And after I’d done it a few times, I didn’t mind it at all. I mean, I actually really liked it, and I really did do some shopping from then on.
Nowadays, I hardly ever go into town without buying something.
Why not, anyway? Papa has plenty of money. If he can’t treat me decent, why at least he can let me look decent.
I glanced at my wristwatch, saw that it was getting close to six. I started for the pavilion, walking fast. Wondering how much money there’d be in his strongbox.
I never touched the strongbox ordinarily. I had no reason to, in my ticket-selling job, so I didn’t know how much was in it. But I knew there’d be a lot. Papa didn’t do any business with the banks that he didn’t absolutely have to. He’d always paid “cash on the barrelhead,” as he says, for practically everything. And when you have as many interests as Papa, that takes a lot of cash.
Of course, the dance business had fallen off quite a bit, and some of his other things weren’t doing so well. But, goodness, what of it? Look at all the property he owned! Look at all the money he’d made when business was good! Papa could lose money for years, and he’d still be rich. Everyone in town said so. Maybe there wouldn’t be as much in the strongbox as there used to be, but there’d still be plenty. Two or three thousand dollars, at least.
I was about a half block from the pavilion when I saw Ralph Devore come out of the rear exit, and climb up into the air-conditioner shed.
I stopped dead in my tracks. I thought, Oh, golly, how could I have forgot about him? Why does he have to be working all the time? I was actually sick for a moment,
I was so disappointed. Then, I just tossed my head and kept right on going. Because it suddenly dawned on me that it didn’t make a bit of difference whether Ralph was there or not. Even if he saw me, which wasn’t likely, it wouldn’t matter.
Ralph wouldn’t think anything of my going into Papa’s office. After all, I was the owner’s daughter, and it just wouldn’t occur to him to try to stop me or ask me what I was doing. Of course, he’d talk later when Papa missed the money, but I didn’t care about that. Bobbie and I would be gone by that time, and we’d never come back.
I went through the door of the pavilion. I started across the floor, my knees just a little shaky. Ralph was pounding on something back in the air-conditioner shed—hammering on something. The noise came out through the ballroom air-vents, thud-bang, thud-bang, and I kind of walked—marched—in time to it.
My feet began to drag. That crazy pounding, it was just awful; it made me feel like I was in a funeral procession or something. And it kept right on going on, after it wasn’t going on. I mean, I realized suddenly that Ralph wasn’t pounding any more, and all that noise was coming from my heart.
I took a deep breath. I told myself to stop acting so silly, because there just wasn’t any sense to it.
Bobbie and I would be a long way from here in another hour. Papa would know I’d taken his money—I wanted him to know it! But he wouldn’t be able to catch up with us himself, and he’d never call on the police. He’d have too much pride to let anyone know that his own daughter had stolen from him.
I was at the door of his office. I opened my purse and took out my keys, fumbled through them until I found the right one.
I unlocked the door. I stepped inside, closed it behind me, and flicked on the light. And screamed.
Because Papa was there.
He was sitting at his desk, his face buried in his arms. There was a half-full bottle of whiskey in front of him.
He sat up with a start when I screamed. He jumped up, cursing, asking me what the hell was the idea, and so on. And then when I just stood staring at him, my mouth hanging open, he slowly sat down again. And stared at me.