He greeted me with a fifty-dollar check, which I saw as a good omen. For that article, he explained. Come on out to the porch, we’ll get you a drink.
Drink, hell, I said. I’m looking for unemployment insurance.
He laughed. I might have known — especially after today.
We stopped in the kitchen to get some ice. Of course you knew Segarra was going to quit, I said.
Of course, he replied.
Jesus, I muttered. Tell me, Hal — just what does the future hold for me? Am I going to get rich, or go to the dogs?
He laughed and started for the porch, where I could hear other voices. Don’t worry, he said over his shoulder. Come on out where it’s cool.
I didn’t feel like dealing with a bunch of new people, but I went out to the porch anyway. They were young and they had all just come from somewhere exciting, and they were very very interested in Puerto Rico and all its possibilities. I felt successful and au courant. After days of being blown and buffeted in the rotten winds of life, it was nice to be back on the inside.
Seventeen
I was awakened the next morning by a tapping on my door, a soft, yet urgent tapping. Don’t answer it, I thought, don’t let it happen. I sat up in bed and stared at the door for a minute. I groaned, putting my head down in my hands and wanting to be anywhere in the world but here and involved in this thing; then I got up and walked slowly over to the door.
She was wearing the same clothes, but now she looked haggard and dirty. The delicate illusions that get us through life can only stand so much strain — and now, looking at Chenault, I wanted to slam the door and go back to bed.
Good morning, I said.
She said nothing.
Come in, I said finally, stepping back to clear the doorway.
She kept staring at me with an expression that made me more nervous than ever. It was humiliation and shock, I suppose, but there was something else in it — a shade of sadness and amusement that was almost a smile.
It was a frightening thing to see, and the longer I looked at it the more convinced I was that she’d lost her mind. Then she walked in and put her straw pocketbook on the kitchen table. This is nice, she said in a quiet voice, looking around the apartment.
Yeah, I said. It’s okay.
I didn’t know where you lived, she said. I had to call the newspaper.
How did you get here? I asked.
A cab. She nodded toward the door. He’s waiting outside. I don’t have any money.
Jesus, I said. Well, I’ll go out and pay him — how much is it?
She shook her head. I don’t know.
I found my wallet and started for the door. Then I realized I was wearing nothing but shorts. I went back to the closet and pulled on my pants, half desperate to get out of the place and organize my thoughts. Don’t worry, I said. I’ll get it.
I know, she said wearily. Could I lie down?
Sure, I said quickly, hopping over to the bed. Here, I’ll straighten it out for you — it’s one of those beds that turns into a couch. I pulled up the sheets and tucked the spread around them, snatching at the wrinkles like a charwoman.
She sat down on the bed, looking at me as I pulled on a shirt. This is a wonderful apartment, she said. So much sun.
Yeah, I replied as I moved toward the door. Well, I’ll pay the cab now — see you in a minute. Then I ran down the steps to the street. He smiled happily as I came toward him. How much is it? I said, opening my wallet.
He nodded eagerly. Si, bueno. Senorita say you pay. Bueno, gracias. Senorita is not okay. He pointed meaningfully at his head.
That’s right, I said. Cuanto es?
Ah, si, he replied, holding up seven fingers. Seven dolares, si.
Are you nuts! I said.