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CHAPTER ONE
Enter Madame
It must have been around a quarter to eleven. A sailor came in
and ordered a chile dog and coffee. I sliced a bun, jerked a frank
out of the boiling water, nested it, poured a half-dipper of chile
over the frank and sprinkled it liberally with chopped onions. I
scribbled a check and put it by his plate. I wouldn't have
recommended the unpalatable mess to a starving animal. The
sailor was the only customer, and after he ate his dog he left.
That was the exact moment she entered.
A small woman, hardly more than five feet.
She had the figure of a teen-age girl. Her suit was a blue tweed,
smartly cut, and over her thin shoulders she wore a fur jacket,
bolero length. Tiny gold circular earrings clung to her small
pierced ears. Her hands and feet were small, and when she seated
herself at the counter I noticed she wasn't wearing any rings. She
was pretty drunk.
"What'll it be?" I asked her.
"I believe I need coffee." She steadied herself on the stool by
bracing her hands against the edge of the counter.
"Yes, you do," I agreed, "and you need it black."
I drew a cupful and set it before her. The coffee was too hot for
her to drink and she bent her head down and blew on it with
comical little puffs. I stood behind the counter watching her. I
couldn't help it; she was beautiful. Even Benny, from his seat
behind the cash register, was staring at her, and his only real
interest is money. She wasn't nearly as young as I had first
thought her to be. She was about twenty-six or -seven. Her fine
blonde hair was combed straight back. Slightly to the right of a
well-defined widow's-peak, an inch-wide strip of silver hair
glistened, like a moonlit river flowing through night fields. Her
oval face was unlined and very white. The only make-up she had
on was lipstick; a dark shade of red, so dark it was almost black.
She looked up from her coffee and noticed that I was staring at
her. Her eyes were a charred sienna-brown, flecked with dancing
particles of shining gold.
"This coffee is too hot." She smiled good-humoredly.
"Sure it is," I replied, "but if you want to sober up you should
drink it hot as you can."
"My goodness! Who wants to sober up?"
Benny was signaling me from the cash register. I dropped my
conversation with the girl to see what he wanted. Benny was a
flat, bald, hook-nosed little man with a shaggy horseshoe of gray
hair circling his head. I didn't particularly like him, but he never
pushed or tried to boss me and I'd stuck it out as his counterman
for more than two months. For me, this was a record. His dirty
eyes were gleaming behind his gold-rimmed glasses.
"There's your chance, Harry!" He laughed a throaty, phlegmy
laugh.
I knew exactly what he meant. About two weeks before a girl
had entered the cafe at closing time and she had been pretty well
down on her luck. She'd been actually hungry and Benny had
had me fix her up with a steak and french fries. Afterwards, he
had made her pay him for the meal by letting him take it out in
trade in the kitchen.
"I don't need any advice from you," I said angrily.
He laughed again, deep in his chest. "It's quitting time. Better
take advantage." He climbed down from his stool and walked
stiffly to the door. He shot the bolt and hung the CLOSED sign
from the hook. I started toward the kitchen and as I passed the
woman she shook her empty cup at me.
"See? All finished. May I have another?"
I filled her cup, set it in front of her and went into the back room
and slipped into my tweed jacket. The jacket was getting ratty. It
was my only outer garment, with the exception of my trenchcoat,
and I'd worn it for more than two years. The elbows were thin and
the buttons, except one, were missing. The good button was the
top one and a coat looks funny buttoned at the top. I resolved to
move it to the middle in the morning. My blue gabardine trousers
hadn't been cleaned for three weeks and they were spotted here
and there with grease. I had another pair of trousers in my room,
but they were tuxedo trousers, and I used them on waiter and
busboy jobs. Sober, I was always embarrassed about my
appearance, but I didn't intend to stay sober very long. I combed my hair and
I was ready for the street, a bar and a drink.
She was still sitting at the counter and her cup was empty
again.
"Just one more and I'll go," she said with a drunken little
laugh. "I promise."
For the third time I gave her a cup of coffee. Benny was
counting on his fingers and busily going over his receipts for the
day. I tapped him on the shoulder.
"Benny, I need a ten until payday," I told him.
"Not again? I let you have ten last night and today's only
Tuesday. By Saturday you won't have nothing coming."
You don't have to worry about it."
He took his copy-book from under the counter and turned to
my page. After he entered the advance in the book he reluctantly
gave me a ten dollar bill. I folded the bill and put it in my watch
pocket. I felt a hand timidly tugging at my sleeve and I turned
around. The little woman was looking up at me with her big blue
innocent eyes.
"I haven't any money," she said bitterly.
"Is that right?"
"Not a penny. Are you going to call a policeman?"
"Ask Mr. Freeman. He's the owner; I just work here."
"What's that?" Benny asked, at the mention of his name. He
was in the middle of his count and didn't like to be disturbed.
"This young lady is unable to pay for her coffee."
"Coffee is ten cents," he said firmly.
"I'll tell you what, Benny. Just take it out of my pay."
"Don't think I won't!" He returned to his counting.
I unlocked the door, and the woman and I went outside.
"You're a free woman," I said to the girl. "You're lucky that
Benny didn't notice you were without a purse when you came in.
Where is your purse, by the way?"
"I think it's in my suitcase."
"All right. Where's your suitcase?"
"It's in a locker. I've got the key." She took a numbered key out
of the pocket of her fur jacket. "The main trouble is that I can't
seem to remember whether the locker's in
the railroad station or the bus station." She was genuinely
puzzled.
"If I were you I'd look in the bus station first. You're quite a
ways from the railroad station. Do you know where it is?"
"The bus station?"
"Yes. It's seven blocks that way and one block that way." I
pointed down Market Street. "You can't miss it. I'm going to have
a drink."
"Would you mind buying me one too?"
"Sure. Come on."
She took my arm and we walked down Market. It was rather
pleasant having a beautiful woman in tow and I was glad she had
asked me to buy her a drink. I would never have asked her, but as
long as she didn't mind, I certainly didn't mind. I shortened my
stride so she could keep up with me and from time to time I
looked down at her. Gin was my weakness, not women, but with a
creature like her ... well, it was enough to make a man think. We
were nearing the bar where I always had my first drink after work
and my mind returned to more practical things. We entered,
found seats at the end of the bar.
"Say," she said brightly. "I remember being in here tonight!"
"That's fine. It's a cinch you were in some bar." The bartender
knew me well, but his eyebrows lifted when he saw the girl with
me.
"What'll you have, Harry?" he asked.
"Double gin and tonic." I turned to the girl.
"I'd better not have a double. Give me a little shot of bourbon
and a beer chaser." She smiled at me. "I'm being smart, aren't I?"
"You bet." I lit two cigarettes and passed her one. She sucked
it deeply.
"My name is Harry Jordan," I said solemnly. "I'm thirty-two
years of age and when I'm not working, I drink."
Her laugh closely resembled a tinkling bell. "My name is Helen
Meredith. I'm thirty-three years old and I don't work at all. I drink
all of the time."
"You're not thirty-three, are you? I took you for about
twenty-six, maybe less."
"I'm thirty-three all right, and I can't forget it."
"Well, you've got an advantage on me then. Married?"
"Uh huh. I'm married, but I don't work at that either." She
shrugged comically. I stared at her delicate fingers as she
handled the cigarette.
The bartender arrived with our drinks. Mine was good and
cold and the gin taste was strong. The way I like it. I love the
first drink best of all.
"Two more of the same," I told the bartender, "and see if Mrs.
Meredith's purse was left here, will you?"
"I haven't seen a purse laying around. Are you sure you left it
in here, miss?" he asked Helen worriedly.
"I'm not sure of anything," she replied.
"Well, I'll take a look around. Maybe you left it in a booth."
"Helen Meredith," I said, when the bartender left. "Here's to
you!" We clicked our glasses together and drained them down.
Helen choked a bit and followed her shot down with the short
beer chaser.
"Ahhh," she sighed. "Harry, I'm going to tell you something
while I'm still able to tell you. I haven't lived with my husband for
more than ten years, and even though I don't wear a ring, I'm still
married."
"You don't have to convince me."
"But I want to tell you. I live with my mother in San Sienna. Do
you know where that is?"
"Sure. It's a couple of hundred miles down the coast. Noted
for tourists, beaches, a mission and money. Nothing else."
"That's right. Well as I told you, I drink. In the past two years
I've managed to embarrass Mother many times. It's a small
community and we're both well-known, so I decided the best
thing to do was get out. This morning I was half-drunk,
half-hungover, and I bought a bottle and I left. For good. But I
hit the bottle so hard I'm not sure whether I came to San
Francisco on the bus or on the train."
"I'm willing to lay odds of two to one it was the bus."
"You're probably right. I really don't remember."
The bartender brought us our second drink. He shook his
head emphatically. "You didn't leave no purse in here, miss. You
might've thought you did, but you didn't."
"Thanks for looking," I told him. "After we finish this one," I
said to Helen, "we'll go back down to the bus station and I'll find
your purse for you. Then you'd better head back for San Sienna
and Mother."
Helen shook her head back and forth slowly. "No. I'm not
going back. Never."
"That's your business. Not mine."
We finished our second drink and left the bar. It was a long
walk to the bus station. Market Street blocks are long and
crowded. Helen hung on to my arm possessively, and by the time
we reached the station she had sobered considerably. The place
was jampacked with servicemen of all kinds and a liberal
sprinkling of civilians. The Greyhound station is the jumping-off
place for servicemen. San Francisco is the hub for all the spokes
leading to air bases, navy bases and army posts that dot the bay
area.
"Does the bus station look familiar to you?"
"Of course!" She laughed. "I've been to San Francisco many
times. I always come up on the bus for my Christmas shopping."
I felt a little foolish. "Let's start looking then." She handed me
the numbered key. There are a lot of parcel lockers inside the
Greyhound station and many more out on the waiting ramp, but
in a few minutes we were able to locate the locker. It was in the
first row to the left of the Ladies' Room. I inserted the key and
opened the locker. I took the suitcase out of the locker and
handed it to Helen. She unsnapped the two catches on the
aluminum over-nighter and raised the lid. Her tiny hands ruffled
deftly through the clothing. There wasn't any purse. I looked. No
purse. I felt around inside the locker. No purse.
"Do you suppose I could have left it in some other bar,
Harry?" she asked me worriedly. "Somewhere between here and
the cafe?"
"That's probably what you did, all right. And if you did, you
can kiss it goodbye. How much money did you have?"
"I don't know, but drunk or sober I wouldn't have left San
Sienna broke. I know I had some traveler's checks."
I took my money out of my watch pocket. There were eight
dollars and seventy cents. I gave the five dollar bill to Helen.
"This five'll get you a ticket back to San Sienna. You'd better get
one."
Helen shook her head vigorously this time and firmly set her
mouth. "I'm not going back, Harry. I told you I wasn't and I
meant it!" She held the bill out to me. "Take it back; I don't want
it."
"No, you go ahead and keep it. We'll consider it a loan. But I'm
going to take you to a hotel. If I turned you loose you'd drink it
up."
"It didn't take you long to get to know me, did it?" She
giggled.
"I don't know you. It's just that I know what I'd do. Come on,
we'll find a hotel."
I picked up the light suitcase and we left the station. We
crossed Market Street and at Powell we turned and entered the
first hotel that looked satisfactory to me. There are more than a
dozen hotels on Powell Street, all of them adequate, and it was
our best bet to find a vacancy. The hotel we entered was
furnished in cheap modern furniture and the floor was covered
with a rose wall-to-wall carpet. There were several green plants
scattered about, all of them set in white pots with wrought-iron
legs, and by each foam-cushioned lobby chair, there were skinny,
black wrought-iron ash-stands. We crossed the empty lobby to
the desk and I set the bag on the floor. The desk clerk was a fairly
young man with sleek black hair. He looked up from his comic
book with surly gray eyes.
"Sorry," he said flatly. "No doubles left. Just singles."
"That's fine," I said. "That's what I want."
Helen signed the register card. Her handwriting was cramped
and it slanted to the left, almost microscopic in size. She put the
pen back into the holder and folded her arms across her chest.
"The lady will pay in advance," I said to the clerk, without
looking at Helen. She frowned fiercely for a second, then in spite
of herself, she giggled and gave the clerk the five dollar bill. He
gave her two ones in return. The night clerk also doubled as a
bell boy and he came out from behind the desk with Helen's key
in his hand.
"You want to go up now?" he asked Helen, pointedly ignoring
me.
"I've still got two dollars," Helen said to me. "I'll buy you a
drink!"
"No. You go to bed. You've had enough for one day."
"I'll buy you one tomorrow then."
"Tomorrow will be time enough," I said.
Helen's eyes were glassy and her eyelids were heavy. It was
difficult for her to hold them open. In the warmth of the lobby she
was beginning to stagger a little bit. The night clerk opened the
door to the self-operated elevator and helped her in, holding her
by the arm. I selected a comfortable chair near the desk and
waited in the lobby until he returned. He didn't like it when he
saw me sitting there.
"Do you think she'll manage all right?" I asked him.
"She managed to lock her door after I left," he replied dryly.
"Fine. Good night."
I left the hotel and walked up Powell as far as Lefty's, ordered a
drink at the bar. It was dull, drinking alone, after drinking with
Helen. She was the most attractive woman I had met in years.
There was a quality about her that appealed to me. The fact that
she was an alcoholic didn't make any difference to me. In a way, I
was an alcoholic myself. She wasn't afraid to admit that she was a
drunk; she was well aware of it, and she didn't have any intention
to stop drinking. It wasn't necessary for her to tell me she was a
drunk. I can spot an alcoholic in two minutes. Helen was still a
good-looking woman, and she'd been drinking for a long time. I
never expected to see her again. If I wanted to, I suppose it
would have been easy enough. All I had to do was go down to
her hotel in the morning, and ...
I finished my drink quickly and left the bar. I didn't feel like
drinking any more. I crossed the street and waited for my cable
car. In a few minutes it dragged up the hill, slowed down at the
corner, and I jumped on. I gave the conductor my fare and went
inside where it was warmer. Usually, I sat in the outside section
where I could smoke, but I was cold that night, my entire body
was chilled.
On the long ride home I decided it would be best to steer clear
of a woman like Helen.