“Please don’t.” He pulled her gently to her feet. “Remember, you’re twenty-three.”
“You’re laughing at me.”
“No. Here, I’ll put on your scarf for you. Will you let me?”
“I guess.” She watched him as he tied the scarf awkwardly under her chin. “Meecham, do we have to go?”
“We have to.” He switched off the hall light and for a moment they stood in the dark facing each other but not touching. “You’re not angry?”
“No.” She shook her head, rather sadly. “But I don’t think I’m twenty-three any more. I think I’m older.”
24
The lights in the Garinos’ basement apartment were on. From the sidewalk Meecham and Alice could see right into the kitchen. Mrs. Garino was sitting alone at a big linoleum-covered table, motionless, as if she was listening for a sound or waiting for something to happen.
Garino answered the door. He had a sleeping kitten nestled in the crook of his arm.
“You arrived fast, Mr. Meecham.”
“Yes. Miss Dwyer, Mr. Garino. Miss Dwyer is my fiancée. She came along for the ride.”
“Come in, come in.” Garino stepped back to let them in, and at the movement the kitten awoke and began sheathing and unsheathing its claws against the rough wool of Garino’s sweater coat. In and out, the claws moved like iridescent needles being thrust in and out of tiny pink plush cushions. “I will get my keys.”
“I could hold the kitten for you,” Alice said shyly.
“Ah, you like kittens, eh?”
“I love them.”
“This one, he is the littlest. He is always the last to eat, and when he sleeps he is always at the bottom of the pile, so I spoil him a little to make up for this.” Alice sat down in an old wicker rocking chair and Garino put the indignant kitten on her lap. “I will go and tell Mama to fix some coffee.”
“I already put it on,” Mrs. Garino said from the kitchen, sounding rather angry that anyone should have to remind her to make coffee.
“Come out here for a minute, Mama.”
“I’m not dressed for company.” But she came to the door anyway, smoothing her skirt down over her hips. “We’re upset around here today. I didn’t have time to fuss with clothes.”
Meecham introduced the two women and they eyed each other carefully from an ambush of smiles before they stepped out into the open.
“She can stay down here with me,” Mrs. Garino said to her husband. “She wouldn’t want to go up there to that...”
“Mama.”
“How many times a day do you have to say Mama to me like that? You might as well be honest and say shut up.”
“That wouldn’t be so polite,” Garino answered blandly. The two men went out into the hall and Garino closed the door.
“Is she still in her apartment?” Meecham said.
“Yes, I went up to check fifteen minutes ago. She is drunk, naturally, but not as bad as I expected. I heard her through the door walking around talking to herself.”
“Does she know that Earl’s dead?”
“I couldn’t tell her. She was so happy today, spending that money, how could I spoil it? It’s a long time since she had money to spend and it went to her head. When you never have more than a dollar, a hundred dollars seems like it would last forever.”
“If my guess is right, there’s a lot more than a hundred dollars involved.”
“Then you know how she got the money?”
“I don’t know how she got it,” Meecham said. “But I know where it came from originally.”
“She didn’t steal it, though?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.” But he sounded relieved.
The door of Mrs. Loftus’ apartment was locked. Though Garino had the key to it in his hand, he knocked once, and then again, before using it.
The old lady was sitting sideways on the battered davenport, her feet up and ankles crossed, her back to the door. She was smoking a cigarette through a long silver holder, her fingers elegantly extended.
She spoke without moving her head. “Don’t I ever get any privacy anymore?”
Garino turned a little white. “I asked you please not to smoke when you’re drinking.”
“You’re a butterinski, Victor. That’s what we used to call people like you in my day. What do you want now?”
“I brought someone to see you.”
“I’ve already seen someone.” She flicked the ashes off her cigarette in the general direction of an ash tray. Some of the ashes spilled on the floor and the rest on her dress. Meecham noticed that the dress already had two or three scorch marks on it though it looked brand new. Everything she wore looked brand new — the magenta-colored dress with a purple velvet flower at the waist, sheer black stockings, ankle-strap suede pumps and a hat made of sleek black feathers. Nothing fitted her. The hat perched on her head like a reluctant raven, the stockings hung in pleats on her legs, and the full skirt of the dress stuck out from her fleshless hips like a ballerina’s tutu.
The room smelled of whisky and of smoke, more acrid than cigarette smoke. Meecham saw then that the old lady had been burning something in the grate. The center of the fire had burned down to a crust of gray and black ash, but around the perimeter some material was still smoldering.
“I didn’t know you were going out,” Garino said.
She bent her head toward him, slowly, as if to avoid frightening the raven on her head. “I am not going out, Victor.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
“I said...”
“It’s very cold and late, and besides, the bars will be closed pretty soon.”
The old lady’s eyes flickered. “Why, I wouldn’t dream of going out on a night like this.”
“Promise.”
“It never even occurred to me to go out on a night like this. As a matter of fact, I was about to retire when I decided to try on my new clothes.”
“It’s a pretty dress.”
“You really like it? It doesn’t fit, but then I didn’t buy it for fit. I bought it,” she added in a very reasonable tone of voice, “for the color. It’s such a cheerful color it makes me feel alive.”
“Ella can maybe take it in at the seams for you.”
She stared at him coldly. “Then you don’t really like it, after all.”
“Yes, I do. I was only...”
“You have no right to force your way into my home and inflict your opinions about clothes on me, Mr. Garino.”
“You’d better go to bed before...” Garino hesitated, looking down at his hands.
“Before what, Mr. Garino?”
“Before Ella has to put you to bed.”
She thought this over quietly for a moment. Then she said with an air of triumph, “I can’t go to bed. I’ve got company.” She pointed the cigarette holder at Meecham. The cigarette had burned down to the end and gone out. “Who are you, company?”
Meecham repeated his name.
“Well, sit down, sit down some place and we’ll all have a cozy drink together. You too, Victor.”
“No, I don’t want one, thank you,” Garino said.
“You needn’t pretend, in front of me, that you don’t drink. I happen to know that you drink in secret all the time. A lot of people do. Billions. Pour some of us billions a drink, Victor.”
Garino’s dark skin showed an angry streak of purple across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. “You can wait for a while.”
“I can’t wait. I need the energy. Whisky is a body fuel. I read that in the newspaper. There’s no reason why I can’t have some body fuel.”