He opened the door. He started to climb in and then he stopped and said, “This is very nice upholstery. You sure I won’t get it dirty? I’m wearing my working clothes.”
“Please get in.”
She was starting the engine. He got in and settled back in the seat. The car moved away from the curb. They took a corner and then another corner and the MG came back onto Vernon. She wasn’t pushing it, just letting it glide. He settled back and told himself to enjoy the cruise. The hell with her. It was a nice hunk of automobile and it was giving him a smooth ride and that was all. But then he wondered if his grimy trousers were dirtying the upholstery. He bit at the side of his mouth.
Then he noticed they were headed in the direction of Wharf Street and he said, “We’re going toward the docks.”
“Yes, I know.”
“You been here before?”
“Many times,” she said. “But I’ve never seen the river at night. Do you mind if we have a look at it?”
He shrugged. “You’re the driver.”
The MG came onto Wharf Street and turned left and moved parallel to the docks. They were going very slowly now, cruising past the hulking shadowy shapes of piers and warehouses. In the black water along the wharves the big freighters were settled like motionless oxen waiting for morning. Within another hour the river activity would begin, the trucks would arrive to receive cargo from incoming ships, and workers would be straining under the weight of bales and crates and heavy cardboard boxes. But now, in the moonlight, the piers were deserted, and the only sound was the engine of the MG.
The car made a sudden and unexpected turn. He saw she was taking it onto the planks of a wide pier. On one side of the pier there was a big Dutch tanker, and the other side showed the suspension bridge that spanned the river like a huge curved blade of silver in the black sky. In front, the edge of the pier gave way to a couple of miles of deep water, its blackness streaked and dotted with the reflection of city lights. It was like millions of varicolored sequins on black satin.
They were parked at the edge of the pier and she was gazing out at the river. “It’s breath-taking.”
He didn’t know what she meant. He looked at her.
She moved her hand to indicate the river and the sky and the ships and the bridge. “It’s really magnificent.”
He grunted. “Well, that’s one way of looking at it.” Then, with a shrug, “I guess it’s a nice view for the sight-seers.”
“Why do you say that? Don’t you think it’s a nice view?”
“Maybe I’d think so if I didn’t work here.” He gazed down at the calloused palms of his hands. It was quiet for a long moment, yet he could sense the question she was putting to him. And finally he said, “I’m a dock laborer, a stevedore. It’s rough work, and I guess it gives me a different outlook.”
“Not necessarily,” she murmured. She pointed to the moonlit river. “We’re both seeing the same thing.”
“Take a closer look,” he said. He gestured toward the splintered pilings of the pier, where scum and garbage were floating. “See that green stuff? That’s bilge from the holds of the ships. There’s nothing dirtier. If it gets on your skin it crawls right through you. You never get it off you, no matter how hard you scrub. The smell—”
She shuddered. He saw her mouth twisting in a grimace of disgust. She swallowed, pulling in her lower lip.
“Feel sick?” He was grinning at her.
“I’m quite all right,” she said.
His eyes were wide and innocent while he told himself to rub it in deep, really let her have it. “I’m only trying to give you the full picture. You come down to see the dirt, I’m showing you the dirt.”
“Why do you call it the dirt?”
“That’s as good a name as any.” He saw the way she was watching him, her eyes intent, and he said, “Don’t get too curious, Miss Channing. You’re messing around with rough company.”
“You’re not rough,” she said lightly. Then, more seriously, “You remembered my name.”
He looked away from her. He didn’t say anything.
“You’re attracted to me,” she said.
He was staring past the windshield, at the dark water of the river. He told himself the best move was to get out of the car and take a walk.
“You’re really interested,” she said. “Why don’t you admit that you’re interested?”
There was a strange thick feeling in his throat. He wanted to look at her and he was afraid to look at her.
“Of course,” she murmured, “I could be wrong about this. Maybe you just don’t go for my type.”
“Let it ride.”
“I can’t.”
“That’s tough,” he said.
“For both of us.”
“Not for me.”
“You’re lying,” she said. “You know you’re lying.”
His fingers gripped the door handle. He begged himself to open the door and get out and walk away.
He heard her saying, “You excite me.”
“All right, cut it out.”
“But you do,” she murmured. “You know you do.”
Without looking at her, he knew that she was leaning toward him. He tried to open the door but somehow the handle would not move.
“Look at me,” she said.
He looked at her. She was entrancing and he could feel the warmth coming from her body and flowing into him. He told himself he mustn’t touch her. His brain pulled frantically at the reins, but she was close and coming closer, sort of floating. Or maybe he was moving toward her, he wasn’t sure. The only thing he was sure of was that he was getting dizzy with the nearness of her. And then the reins snapped and there was nothing he could do about it. He had his arms around her and his eyes were closed and he was kissing her.
It was something he’d never felt before, something he’d never known or even imagined. It put him on a cloud going up and away from Vernon Street and the docks and the city, and far away from all the world. It was a feeling of immeasurable delight and it had a flavor that made him terribly thirsty for more and more. But all at once he was able to think. And his brain said, She’s just fooling around; all she’s doing is getting her kicks in a new way for her.
He pushed her away. He did it roughly and she winced. Then she sat there staring at him and shaking her head slowly. She said, “What happened? What’s wrong?”
He couldn’t talk.
“Please,” she said. “Please tell me what’s the matter.”
He opened the door and got out of the car. But he couldn’t take it past that. He was standing away from the car and wondering why he couldn’t move.
“You look frightened,” she said. Then, her eyes widening, “You are frightened.”
He looked at her. He said very quietly, “Get going.”
For a long moment her eyes remained wide. Aside from that, she was quite calm. Finally, with a slight shrug, she started the engine. The MG backed off the pier and drove away.
6
It was several minutes later and he was on Vernon Street, headed toward home. But as he came closer to the Kerrigan house, he thought of Bella and the battle that would undoubtedly flare up when he got there. She was probably sitting in the parlor waiting for him, and chances were she had some heavy object in her hand, all set to heave it at him the instant he opened the door. Momentarily there was something downright appetizing in the prospect of a clash with Bella. He wanted to hear some noise, and make some himself, and maybe hand her a clout or two. He sure was in the mood for hitting something.