The Accomplice: The Stairway Press Edition Page 9

  “Ah, baby, that feels so good,” she said.

  She bent forward to hold for a moment his cock, limp and resting, as a gesture of gratitude. Then she lay back on the bed.

  “One of these days,” she said, “I’m gonna buy a chest of drawers, if I can find one in pretty good shape.”

  “What’s wrong with this here one?” said Beef, pointing to the bureau against the wall.

  “Aw, that one’s no good. I’m talkin’ about one of my own, that I can keep my underwear in and things.”

  It was her own apartment and as such rose above the total cheerlessness of the room in the Folding he had moved out of. Nothing in it, however, belonged to her, save for the large calendar on the wall that displayed a small portrait of every U.S. President. Even that she got for free, but she had already determined she would take it with her when she moved on.

  “Sometimes I wonder why I hang around,” he said on his way to the bathroom. “I should go on down the road.”

  “I’ve been thinking of Utah,” she said.

  It was a state that held no fascination for him. “Why Utah?”

  “I don’t know. People don’t drink so much in Utah. They’re all Mormons or something.”

  Mae was often cold. Her blanket was safety-pinned to the corners of her sheet to cut down the chances of its slipping away during the night. With Beef in her bed, she pressed against his huge warm back. When he stepped out of it, she huddled next to the heat register and waited for him.

  He came out of the bathroom saying, “I should tell them all to kiss my rosy red ass. Maybe not in those words.”

  “Do it then.”

  “I’m gonna do it. You think I’m gonna hang around with a couple of old ladies with wild schemes on their mind all the time? Who the hell am I?”

  Mae was sniffling. She hugged herself and shivered.

  “A lot of talk,” he said. “Talk, talk, talk. Whaddaya think?”

  “If you want to know what some people will do, you’re talkin’ to the wrong chick. I never been able to figure it out.”

  “A lot of talk.”

  “C’mere and give me a hug, will you?”

  Beef enfolded her in his arms. “Thing is, I really like the old gal. I worry about her. You know the way you like some people, even though they’re gonna give you headaches? It’s like God tappin’ you on the shoulder and sayin’, ‘You’re it.’ What we oughta do is get out of the game, pull up stakes and head for Utah, you and me.” He added, to delay their departure, “We’ll become Mormons.”

  She was quiet for a moment. Maybe she hadn’t heard.

  “Sooner or later you’d take off,” she said at last, “stickin’ me with the overdue rent.”

  “I ain’t like that.”

  Mae looked at him.

  “Not anymore,” he said.

  “Let’s get back in bed, okay? I’m freezing.”

  TEN

  Colorado College was playing its first home football game of the season, and Gordon went to see it. He said that was where he was going, but Ginny had her doubts because he wormed out of taking the rest of the family along. So she called a cab and the three of them went after him, to see if he was taking Maria to the game. Gordon was married, that was a clear and legal fact, but Ginny hoped to convince him to travel the paths of annulment or divorce that she knew well herself to be easy. For his part, Gordon rather liked the idea of being married. He found himself at greater ease with the other men on the force, now that he was married like them. He began to anticipate the birth of a son, his own special act of fathering. Most important, he was becoming affectionate. He had brought his wife to orgasm once, in the common manner. He hoped that if he could keep his mother at stalemate until the baby was born, she would be won over by grandmaternal instincts, and be powerless against the new Gordon.

  It was clear to Beef the night of the game that Ginny had suffered a setback in her battle for control of her son.

  “My philosophy,” said Beef to ease Ginny Mom’s suffering, “is that every setback is a lesson learned.”

  “A setback is a setback. Have enough of them and you’re out of business, simple as that.”

  “Won’t believe it,” said Beef.

  “The more setbacks you have, the more desperate you are to succeed. And let me tell you, desperation is an enemy.”

  “Now, that I know for a fact. Any pool shooter knows that.”

  Beef relished these intelligent discussions. Mae never wanted to talk about anything important.

  Ginny paid for the tickets and bought Mrs. Lister a bag of warm peanuts, which she nibbled like a squirrel even though she knew her digestive system was not equal to them.

  For the entire first quarter they walked the track around the field, searching the bleachers in hope of finding Gordon with his arm around his wife. Ginny said that when they found them she would grab Maria by the hair and drag her down the steps of the bleachers. Beef said, “Now, now.” Mrs. Lister worried her peanuts.

  “Gordie’s going to be twenty-five soon,” said Ginny. “That’s a milestone in a boy’s life, and a crisis for his mother. God, his twenty-first birthday was just awful.”

  “My, the years fly, don’t they?” said Mrs. Lister.

  “Only if you let them, old lady, only if you let them.”

  “You don’t have to be mean.”

  “What are you getting Gordie for his birthday?” asked Beef.

  “You’re being impertinent today, Bomba.”

  “I don’t mean no offense.”

  “I don’t have to call you for impertinence. For that I can dial a number at random.”

  The two women searched in earnest, but Beef found himself becoming interested in the game. He had not played since the service and his dream of becoming a pro was no longer a dream, would soon no longer be even a memory.

  They were an odd parade, like some esoteric object lesson on time, sex, and the generations: yesterday’s hulking lineman with Mother on one arm, Granny on the other, both struggling to keep from flying when he became aroused by the action on the gridiron. They passed in front of the same fans for the third time, looking up at their faces, and they were greeted by uniform expressions of incredulity and ripples of mocking laughter.

  By the end of the first quarter Ginny was convinced that Gordon was not in the stadium. He had told her another lie just to get out of the house, to service that south-of-the-border bitch.

  “Maybe he likes to sleep with pregnant women,” she said. “There are men like that. I think it’s disgusting. Do you think he’s doing it to spite me?”

  “Is he a spiteful boy?” asked Beef.

  “I know that’s why he married her in the first place. I told him not to, so he did. I should have insisted that he marry her, maybe then he wouldn’t have.”

  “Reverse psychology, they call it,” he said.

  They took a seat in the bleachers to rest their tired feet. Mrs. Lister feared that one day the overexertion of keeping up with Ginny Wynn and Bomba would kill her.

  “I need at least ten of them now to get to sleep,” said Ginny, “and when I do I sleep so badly.”

  “You better take it easy on those things,” said Beef. “He doesn’t care,” she said.

  Beef was well into the game now and as he watched the action he explained the positions and object of the contest to the two ladies. At times he became excited and shouted and jabbed them both in the ribs, once knocking frail Mrs. Lister off the bleacher seat and onto the back of another spectator.

  “A bit of deportment, please, Bomba,” said Mrs. Lister, nestling down again.

  Catching Beef’s enthusiasm, the two ladies could not help becoming involved in the game themselves. They oof-ed whenever someone was soundly blocked or tackled, they rose to their feet when the others did, they seconded Beef’s displeasure at an official’s call. In between, Ginny talked into Beef’s unlistening ears about Gordon’s extravagant gift of a TV set to Maria, the check stub for which she had
found while looking through Gordie’s checkbook.

  “She better enjoy it while she can,” said Ginny.

  “Huh?” asked Beef, responding to the threatening tone.

  “Once he does leave her she’s going to find it hard to get credit in this town.”

  “How come?”

  “Well, I’ve gone to all the department stores and a number of smaller merchants. Told ‘em not to let her charge anything because it would only go to dope and nigger boys.”

  “Aw, Ginny, I wish you hadn’t done that,” said Beef. “What if she finds out?”

  “She knows. I told her.”

  “You told her?”

  “One of the benefits of insomnia is that three o’clock in the morning means nothing to you.”

  “You better watch yourself, Ginny. She can make a complaint to the phone company.”

  “The phone company? Do you think that at this stage in my life there’s a way in which the phone company can intimidate me?”

  “I hope you don’t do it every night.”

  “If I miss one, I make it up the next. Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Well, it don’t seem to be doin’ much good.”

  She sighed. “No, no, it doesn’t.”

  Beef pulled a pint of Old Grand-Dad from inside his jacket and was about to take a nip. He handed the bottle to Ginny and said, “Sorry, ladies first”

  Ginny looked at the bottle disapprovingly. She wrinkled her nose. “Bomba, I’m surprised at you.”

  Beef took a swig and said, “Just to keep the chill off.” He handed the bottle to Mrs. Lister and said, “Missus?”

  Mrs. Lister took it and said to Ginny, “It is cold out here.”

  She put the bottle to her lips and tilted it. She shuddered once, handed the bottle back to Beef, and fanned her mouth, trying to cool it.

  “Oh, my,” she said, “I see stars.”

  “Well, if you two aren’t a sight,” said Ginny.

  Beef and Mrs. Lister passed the pint back and forth like two old drinking buddies until it was empty. Beef dropped the dead soldier through the bleachers to the ground. By game’s end, Mrs. Lister was fast asleep, sitting in an upright position, her head against Beef’s shoulder. Beef had to carry her out to catch a cab, an encore comedy for the delighted spectators.

  They stretched her out on the back seat of the cab, her head on Ginny’s lap, her feet on Beef’s. They were driven to Maria’s apartment, and there on the corner was Gordon’s car.

  They helped Mrs. Lister out of the cab. Ginny paid the driver and walked over to the car. She brought her handbag back and slammed the roof with it. She unlocked the door and they put Mrs. Lister in the back seat.

  “You’d better stay here with her, Bomba.”

  “Where’re you going?”

  “Why, I’m going to see why Gordie lied to me, naturally.”

  “Don’t start up a lot of trouble, Ginny Mom, it ain’t worth it.”

  “Stay with Mrs. Lister,” she said, and she walked away toward the apartment house.

  Beef got into the front seat of the car.

  A light was on in the living room. Ginny rapped on the door, her rage falling over her like handfuls of rice at a wedding. She looked into her handbag for a possible weapon. She found a ball-point pen and gripped it tightly, determined to ram it into Maria’s throat as soon as she opened the door.

  But no one answered her knock. She rapped louder and said, “I know you’re in there. Open the door this instant!”

  The landlady stuck her head out of her door and said, “Leave the young people alone.”

  “This is a family matter, dear landlady, thank you very much.”

  Gordon finally opened the door. His clothes looked hastily put on. He was not wearing shoes or socks. He was exasperated to see his mother there. “Mother, we cannot go on like this.”

  Maria’s voice came from behind him. “Let her in, darling.”

  In the car, Beef said to Mrs. Lister, “Every family has its squabbles, ain’t?”

  “It’s just the way people are,” she said, like an agreeable drunk.

  “My own family’s a mess. I gotta admit it.”

  “But it’s awful to live alone. There’s nothing to keep you from getting bored.”

  Beef turned and looked for Ginny. Evidently she had gained entrance.

  “Ginny, though,” he said, “she don’t know when to stop.”

  “She’s a go-getter.”

  “Like saying she wants to kill old Maria. She shouldn’t talk like that. Somebody might take her serious.”

  “She is serious.”

  “C’mon!”

  “You don’t know Ginny.”

  “I seen enough movies to know that when you murder someone you do it in a way so they don’t find out it was you done it.”

  But it made Beef think. Anyone who ever slept under a newspaper knows that the world’s gone crazy.

  “I’m gonna see what’s keeping her.” He got out of the car and walked to the apartment.

  By the time he turned the corner and faced the units, the meeting had gone to invective. “You scheming little bitch!” screamed Ginny. He could hear Gordon’s voice, high-pitched like a frightened child’s, but he could not distinguish his words. The landlady opened her window when she saw Beef and said, “I’m going to call the police. I won’t have this sort of thing.”

  “Don’t do that,” he said. “She’s leaving now.”

  Ginny stormed toward him, but she turned and stamped her foot and called, “Gordon!”

  Gordon came out of the apartment carrying one shoe. He stopped to try to put it on. Maria appeared behind him and stopped, framed by the doorway. Beef felt his heart rise. Inevitably, he compared her to Mae, oppressed by the betrayal.

  “Maria,” Beef whispered, like a lover.

  “Come on, Gordon!” Ginny shouted shrilly.

  “Mother, keep your voice down,” said Gordon, in a forced whisper.

  “Well, hurry up.”

  “Gordon,” said Maria, “you can’t have a wife and a mother in the same person.” Professionally, she had often been an objective third party to other family disputes. She tried to bring the same objectivity to this one, but here she ran the risk of victimization and all prior training became useless.

  Beef heard her voice for the first time. He wanted to lose himself in it.

  “I will leave Gordon to interpret that remark for himself,” said Ginny, sensing a victory of sorts.

  Gordon looked up from tying his shoelace, a pained and indignant look on his face. “The remark wasn’t necessary, Maria. I’m doing the best I can.”

  “You’re doing what she tells you.”

  “She’s not always like this,” said Gordon. “I’ll take her home.”

  “He was never deceitful before he met you,” said Ginny.

  “You provided the need,” said Maria, sick of being bullied.

  “He learned that from you, you little slut.”

  “Other things, Mrs. ‘Wynn, he learned other things from me.” Her voice cracked. “Things you couldn’t teach him, things you made sure to drive out of him, to make him helpless.”

  “Well, I...”

  “Look,” said Gordon, “let’s just stop now before one of us says something we’re sorry for.”

  “Gordon, if you go now, you’ll despise yourself for it,” said Maria, pleading, as much for him as for the both of them.

  “Listen to that, Gordie, that’s your so-called wife. She’d like to see me dead.”

  Maria lashed out. “Isn’t the feeling mutual!”

  “There!” screamed Ginny. “I told you!”

  “Maria, what a thing to say.”

  She leaned against the doorframe. Beef wanted to engulf her in his arms.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” she said, on the edge of exhaustion. “She threatens me every day. Oh, Gordon, make her stop. I can’t stand it anymore.”

  Gordon walked back to her. Beef wanted him to stay and y
et he wanted her for himself, if only in dreams.

  “I will, I promise,” said Gordon. “I have to get her away from here, calm her down. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Stay!” she shouted. Then softly, “Please stay.”

  “I can’t, look at her.”

  Ginny stamped her foot and said, “That’s enough! I want to go home.”

  Gordon left Maria crying in the doorway.

  Beef saw her cover her face with her hands. He wanted to punch Gordon.

  They walked past him, toward the car. Beef looked at Gordon with contempt. He took the first step toward Maria. He wanted in some way to comfort her, to offer her support, to offer her whatever she would have from him. She saw him move toward her. Their eyes met. Beef recognized the fear in her face and he stopped short, asking for no more than the right to protect her. Crying, she slowly backed into her apartment and shut the door.

  He was sure he had fallen in love with her.

  “Bomba, come along!” snapped Ginny.

  Automatically, he turned and trotted after her.

  ELEVEN

  Beef enjoyed all the symptoms of an adolescent in love. He was reminded of when life was truly felt in the deepest parts, when one dreamily submitted to total surrender, unreasonable, unexplainable, unconditional surrender, not caring should it prove painful.

  She was always in his thoughts, but frequently there was room for nothing else. He yielded cheerfully to the power of her presence, devoting himself to it. Sometimes it would come upon him as he roofed a house, and he would stop his work and gaze over the neighboring rooftops as though they were so many steppingstones.

  Although he was not unwilling to make love to Mae, he had lost the desire. She seldom initiated their lovemaking anyway, and he remained free to dream. He found himself falling asleep in her presence. He told her he might be coming down with the flu.

  He hoped that Maria had not had many lovers. He wanted to be the one she would remember. Her husband Gordon did not count. He was an insect, a slug. Beef wanted to squash him under his foot.

  When Ginny approached him with a new solution to her problems, Beef quickly agreed to help. No one was going to kill Maria, not with him around. Others would die first, he promised ominously. He did not tell Ginny this, however. As far as she was concerned he was still the slow-witted Salvation Army day worker become roofing man, living illicitly with a snaggletoothed barmaid above the Goodyear tire shop. That fit his plans better than having her know his true identity: a man in love. His goal? To cherish.