“My head,” she said. “My head hurts.”
“Her head hurts yet. Listen to that. Naturally your head hurts, dear. You’ve been hitting the bottle.”
“No. I never drink, never.”
“You were reeking of the stuff when I found you out cold on my doorstep. I was saying good-bye to one of our regular customers who came in for his treatment, and when I opened the door there you were, lying against it. Stiff, dear. But stiff.”
“That’s impossible. I don’t drink.”
“Just rinse your mouth out now and then, eh?” The fat woman was laughing, every inch of her was laughing, mouth, chins, belly, breasts. When she had finished she wiped the moisture from her face and neck with a handkerchief. “That’s my trouble, I’m too jolly. I laugh too much. It makes me sweat. Oh, how I sweat, dear, it’s just not human the way poor Bella sweats. How about another nip of whiskey, dear?”
“No. No!” Miss Clarvoe tried to get up, lost her balance and rolled over on to the floor. “I must — I must get home — they’re waiting for me.”
The fat woman put her hands under Miss Clarvoe’s armpits and helped her to her feet. “Who’s waiting for you, dear?”
“I... I don’t know.”
“Well, if you don’t know, there’s no hurry, is there? Lie down for a bit. Bella will make you feel better.”
“No, no.” The fat woman’s breath was hot against the back of her neck and smelled overpoweringly of aniseed. “I must... They’re waiting.” Someone was waiting for her, she knew that, but she couldn’t remember who it was. The faces in her memory were blurred and indistinct, people were shadows, places were all alike. She leaned against the wall and said faintly, “May I... have some water?”
“Certainly, dear.”
The woman brought her some water in a paper cup and watched her while she drank.
“Feeling better now, dear?”
“Yes.”
“Your coat’s dirty. Give it to me and I’ll brush it off for you.”
“No. No.” She clutched the coat tightly around her body.
“Ah, you’re one of the shy ones. Bella knows. Bella’s been in this business for a long, long time. You don’t have to be shy with Bella. Lots of ladies come in here. All they want’s a little affection. Nothing wrong about that, is there? By the way, who recommended me, dear?”
“I don’t understand.”
“How did you get my name?”
“I didn’t. I don’t know your name.”
The fat woman stood very still. Her eyes, tucked away under folds of flesh, were dead and purple like grapes. “How come you picked my place?”
“I didn’t. I didn’t pick any...”
“We mustn’t tell fibs, dear. Bella hates fibs, they stir her to anger. Who gave you my name?”
“No one.”
“You just came here by a lucky accident, eh? Is that right, dear?”
“I don’t remember,” Miss Clarvoe whispered. “I can’t remember — Evelyn...”
“Is that who you are, dear? Evelyn?”
“No. No! I was... I was with Evelyn. She brought me here. She said...” Miss Clarvoe paused, holding her hands against her trembling mouth.
“What did she say, dear?”
“She said I belonged here.”
The fat woman nodded and smiled and rubbed her chins. “She’s a discerning girl, that Evelyn, oh my, yes.”
“I don’t understand what she meant.”
“Don’t you, dear. Well, lie down and rest a bit and Bella will show you.”
“Show me what?”
“How to be happy, dear. How to be so happy. Men are pigs. They know nothing, they care nothing. Bella is different. Bella knows. Let me take your coat, dear. What sweet ankles you have. I used to have a well-turned ankle myself in the old days. Now I eat. I eat and eat because nobody loves me. Nobody loves Bella, she is fat as an elephant, yes, but she knows tricks. Give me your pretty little coat, dear.”
Miss Clarvoe stood stiff with terror.
“I revolt you, eh, dear? No matter. They all say that at first, then later on they change their tunes. Bella makes them so happy. Bella will make you so happy you will want to come back and back and back.”
“Stay away from me!”
“Don’t be shy, dear. Bella knows her business, Bella will be gentle.”
“You monstrous old slut,” Miss Clarvoe said and lunged towards the door.
But the fat woman was there ahead of her. She stood with her back pressed against the door, her arms crossed on her enormous breasts.
“Bella hates to be called names, dear. It stirs her to anger.”
“If you don’t let me out of here, I’ll scream, I’ll scream until the police come.”
Bella was quiet a moment, then she said bitterly, “I believe you would, you’re a nasty piece if I ever saw one. Well, that’s gratitude for you... I take you in, I look after you, you lap up my good whiskey, I say pretty things to you, none of them true, of course, your ankles are lousy, they’re like pipe-stems...”
“Open that door.”
Bella did not open the door, but she moved away from it, still talking, half to herself: “All the things I do for people and what do I get in return? Dirty names and looks. Bella is human, maybe she is as fat as an elephant, but she is human, she likes a little gratitude now and then. It’s a wicked world, there’s no gratitude in it. Get out of here, you nasty girl, get out. Bella is stirred to anger. Get out, get out.”
But the nasty girl had already left, and she was talking to an empty room. She sat down heavily on the couch, one hand pressed against her heart. It was still beating, fluttering like a captive bird under smothering folds of flesh.
“People are no damned good,” Bella said.
Helen Clarvoe couldn’t run, her legs felt weak, as if the muscles had atrophied from long disuse, and the pain in her head had become worse. When she tried to think, her thoughts melted and fused and only one stood out clearly and distinctly from the others: I must get away. I must escape. I must run.
It was not important where she ran to. She had no plan, she didn’t even know where she was until she reached the corner and saw the street signs: South Flower Street and Ashworth Avenue. She repeated the names to herself, hoping they would form a pattern in her mind, but neither of the names meant anything to her, and the neighnorhood was strange. She knew she had never seen it before just as she knew that she didn’t drink. Yet she’d come here, had walked or ridden or been carried, and when she arrived she was drunk. Stiff, Bella had said, but stiff. Naturally your head hurts, dear, you’ve been hitting the bottle.
“I never drink,” Miss Clarvoe said. “I never touch liquor. Someone must have poured it down my throat. Someone. Evelin.”
An old man waiting at the corner for the traffic light to change, looked at her over the top of his bifocals with interest and pleasure. He often talked to himself. It was nice to know other people did it, too.
Miss Clarvoe saw him look and she turned away and color flooded her cheeks, as if he had caught a glimpse of her, naked.
“Heh, heh, heh,” the old man said and shuffled across the street, his shoulders shaking with mirth. Even the young ones talked to themselves these days. It was the age of the atom. Madmen have taken over. “Heh, heh, heh.”
Miss Clarvoe touched her face. It was burning with humiliation. The old man had seen her talking to herself, perhaps he’d seen more than that. Perhaps he’d been walking by when she came out of Bella’s place and he knew all about what kind of place it was. She must get away from the old man.
Miss Clarvoe turned and began running in the opposite direction, her coat billowing behind her, her thin legs moving stiffly like pipe-stems.