Heat of Night Page 5

  “You need a washer,” Juan said. “We got a TV. You got no washer.”

  “Is all right. I love that TV.”

  “Al and Bea,” he said. “Where did they go?”

  “In to the A and ? store to buy something to eat. They said there was nothing in the house.”

  He spread his hands. “Funny, I had no idea we have nothing to eat in the house.”

  Rosa said, “Shu. For that one of Al’s we have nothing. You should know we have nothing for Miss Lace Drawers.”

  “She’s a good girl.”

  Rosa shrugged.

  “The Cunninghams. They have done a lot for our son. He makes plenty of money, I bet.”

  She shrugged again.

  “One of these days,” Juan said. “I get an aqua-lung. A cheap one, even. I no longer need pumps and all that stuff. This is for the weak. When I get that treasure, you see. I buy us a fine new boat, and a washing machine.”

  But his face was drawn, he could work up no enthusiasm.

  Rosa’s protest was only half-hearted. “You must not do this, Juan. Suppose something happen to you? What would I do if something happened to you? I am to find another man like you — and I have not seen one in thirty years?”

  “Maybe you better — without a man like me.” His voice was flat. He sighed. “You think Al can talk to this man — this Hollister?”

  “Alberto is a fine man, Papa. He is smart. He’s selling insurance all the time. He knows the thing to say. You let him handle, Papa.” Her voice was troubled now, all her worries pressing to the surface.

  “I worry. What can Alberto do?”

  “Is not Alberto I worry about. Alberto will talk with him. It is you — what you might do, Papa.”

  Juan looked down at his fists. They were clenched and he had not even known he’d balled them up. The terrible thoughts he had troubled him more all the time.

  “You let Alberto handle, Papa?” There was pleading in Rosa’s voice.

  “Something got to be done.” He was not speaking to her but to his fists.

  She touched his clenched hands, caressing them, willing them to relax.

  “Maybe — like Bea said, Papa, this Hollister not be as bad as we think…. maybe he be good for her, eh, Papa?”

  His voice grew hard. “You know better. A man like that — a man with money like that. And you know what else he is. You know better.”

  She nodded. She knew better.

  They saw Dolores cross the yard from the shell road, going toward the house. She waved to them but did not stop. Her smile brightened the yard for Juan. He moved to follow her into the house.

  Rosa caught his arm. “Papa. Let me talk to her a minute. You do this for me?”

  Dolores was undressing when Rosa came into her bedroom. It was a small room, overcrowded with a chest of drawers and a twin bed. Big Juan had added this room for Dolores when she was fourteen and old enough for privacy. Old pictures of movie stars were pasted on the walls, and figures of Christ on Calvary and the Blessed Virgin. The mirror over the chest was old and smoky.

  Dolores gave her mother a smile.

  Rosa sat on the bed, watching Dolores. “I have something for you, mi corazon.”

  “What is it, Mama?” Dolores was hurried. Her slip was too tight across her breasts and hips and she was searching in the top drawer for a newer one. What she suspected was true: there was none.

  “This, darling. I want you should have it.”

  She held up her beads. They were expensive, an heirloom from her grandmother.

  Dolores stopped rummaging in her dresser. She turned and leaned against it, frowning. “Why, Mama, you don’t want to give me those beads.”

  “I do. I want you should have them. I was much younger than you when they were given to me. When I die, you will get them. Why not now?”

  “Because you are young, because you are not going to die. Why, Mama, you are younger than I am.”

  “When you go to church,” Rosa persisted. “It is nice to have such rich beads.”

  Dolores bit her lip. “When I go to church. Mama, stop worrying about me. Please.”

  “Worrying? What is this worrying? I want you should have these.”

  Dolores sighed. “Oh, Mama, I know. You want to remind me of religion. Of the church. Why don’t you just come out and say it?”

  Rosa sat straighter on the bed, a look of righteous indignation pulling at her face. “All right. I say it then, to you. You must say it to yourself many times. But I say it, if you want so bad to hear it. He is divorce. He is divorced man. He is divorce.”

  Dolores spread her hands, eyes hurt. “And I love him.”

  “A sin. You love a sin. A man that would live in sin.”

  “Mama. He doesn’t look at it the way we do.”

  “No. Oh, no.” She gave a laugh that called herself a woman of the world. “I know how he looks at it, all right. It is plain enough how this one looks at it. A little bit of fun, eh?”

  “Oh, Mama. Please, let’s not fight.”

  “Is not fight. Is trying to make you see what already you got to see inside. This man is not like you.”

  “Bea Cunningham was not like Alberto, either. But you didn’t fight Alberto.”

  “Shu. Bea is a lovely Catholic girl. And she is not in divorce, either. It is not the same. What will the people we know think of you — a man that is divorce.”

  “Mama.” Dolores’ voice was weary. It was as if she’d gone through all this with herself so often she was already fatigued. “Mama, didn’t you ever do anything that might seem a sin to other people — but that for you — you knew it was right for you?”

  “Divorce.” Rosa’s face twisted. “A divorced man. This man is not free. And in your heart you know he is not free…. This is a mortal sin that you take so light.”

  “Mama, you’re not answering me. I asked you. I asked you a question. Didn’t you ever do anything wrong — that you knew was wrong?”

  Rosa’s eyes brimmed with tears. She was more miserable than ever. “This is a sin against God.” But she was remembering the young parish priest so long ago and the way she’d felt about him. She had not loved him as a father, as all the parishioners should, but with the young, urgent, itching kind of desire that waked her up in the night with his name on her lips and nothing to make her sleep again but the touch of his hands and she did not have his hands, and she could not have them, and she did not sleep. In her heart dwelt this sin, bigger even than her heart.

  “It is a sin,” Rosa said again. But her voice was weak. But understanding Dolores’ sin didn’t change it, didn’t make it less a mortal sin. “It is a sin.” This time her voice was stronger.

  Dolores paced the room slowly. At last she spoke. “All right. It is a sin. But I live if I love Mal. I die if I don’t. I am young, Mama. I want to live. I want to love him.”

  Rosa caught her arm, her mouth pulled down. “You want you papa to do something terrible?” She hissed the words. “This is what will happen. Nights, you papa does not sleep. In the day, his face is turned away so I will not see the thoughts in his face. Shu … but I know. The way he hates … the things he might do … and we must lose you papa because you must have this sin — this divorce man!”

  • • •

  Al walked back and forth before the divan where Dolores sat with Rosa. Bea was in a chair facing them. He could see Dolores’ mind was closed against anything he could say. He recognized the look, he’d seen it in the faces of obdurate insurance prospects.

  “Look, kid. If there was anything going to come of this, I’d be the first one to yell and cheer for you. All your life, have I been on your side or not?”

  Dolores chewed at her lip but did not answer.

  Al said, “Look, kid. This guy. He wants a good time, that’s all. Looking at it from his angle, maybe you can’t blame him. It’s just that he picked on you — and we can’t have that.”

  “I love him. He loves me.”

  “Kid, no. H
e’s a business man, a widower — ”

  “A divorced man,” Rosa said.

  Al hurried on, “A man looking for a good time. You think he loves you. But he’s not interested in getting married, eh?”

  “That’s not what he says,” Dolores answered. She smiled wanly, remembering what Mal had said, the way he had held her.

  Al threw up his hands. “What he says. What he says. Right there you prove what a kid you are. Quit believing what a man says. Believe what he does.”

  “Amen,” Bea said. “You just got the word from the master.”

  “Stay out of this, Bea,” Al said. It was a mechanical response by now. He leaned over Dolores again. “Kid, this guy ain’t being honest with you. Men like that who play around with young girls are doing just that — playing around, for God’s sake. Maybe at first they don’t even mean any harm — ”

  “Is that the way you start, Al, not meaning any harm?” Bea inquired.

  Al straightened, turning, gentle eyes blazing. “All right, Bea. Maybe it is. Jesus knows I live at home with a woman who wants a swimming pool in the backyard and a membership in the country club and she wants twin beds — ”

  “That’s between us, Al.”

  “Then stay out of this. You know nothing. Sex to you is a dirty word. It’s for husbands and whores.”

  “The master speaks.”

  Al sighed. He turned his back on Bea again. “I’m trying to help you, Dolores. What Hollister says to you don’t matter. I’m telling you if you could see clearly right now, the things he says wouldn’t even make sense. You’d die laughing.”

  “I’m not laughing,” Dolores said. “I’m not laughing at you, either, Al. I don’t think you ought to talk about him. Not until you know.”

  “What’s to know, for God’s sake?” He prowled the rug. “His wife divorced him. He’s found out he can play around with anybody he wants to. So he found you. You’re too good for this kind of thing, Dolores. Too nice. Be a smart kid and tell him where to go.”

  “I love him.”

  “Love. What do you know about love?”

  “Listen to Dorothy Dix,” Bea said. “Ask Abby. Get the word from Ann Landers. Old know-it-all.”

  “I know Mal Hollister,” Al said.

  “Sure you do. How do you know him? You play golf with him? You visit with him?”

  “I don’t have to know him personally, for God’s sake. I know the type.”

  “Al, why don’t you butt out of this?” Bea said. She looked at her wrist watch. “I want to go home.”

  Al yelled at her. “You want to let it drag on until Papa does something we’ll all be sorry for?”

  “I want to go home,” Bea said again. She could not believe that Juan would resort to violence. People just didn’t do such things.

  “Then go home, goddamn it,” Al yelled. “You don’t need me. Your twin bed will be just as cold after you get in it as it is now — ”

  Bea said, “Stop talking like this, Al. Stop taking out all your old hatreds on Malcolm Hollister.”

  “I’m not taking out my hates on anybody.” Al’s voice sank to a hoarse whisper. “You and me. We’re married. All that matters now is what the neighbors think. Okay. I married you. It’s for the rest of my life. But I’m not going home while some guy is trying to mess up my kid sister. Something’s got to be done. I want to be sure it’s the right thing. I’m staying until it’s done.”

  “Al, you promised — ”

  Al ignored her. “Won’t you listen to me, Dolores?”

  She shook her head. “You’re wrong, Al. You’re all wrong about him.” She stood up. “You’re all going to get to meet him tonight when he comes. You’ll see how wrong you are.”

  “We’re older than you are, kid,” Al said. “Why should we all be wrong and you right?”

  Dolores smiled and stroked his cheek. “I don’t know why,” she said, teasing, “but there it is.”

  She looked at them, their faces set against her. She forced herself to smile. “You’ll see,” she said. “All of you will see. When he gets here.”

  The screen door slammed and little Luis came in, cut leg dirtily bandaged. “Sis,” he shouted at Dolores. “You got company.”

  “Mal.” She whispered it involuntarily, in panic. It couldn’t be so late. She looked around, frantic.

  “Naw,” Luis said from the door. “It ain’t the one in the big new car. It’s Ric. He says he’ll wait for you out on the front steps.”

  Dolores stood in the middle of the room, wanting to laugh and cry at the same instant. All their faces had relaxed now, and they were smiling with satisfaction. Ric Suarez was out there, waiting. Right now she could even believe they had sent for him. Damn. She had thought things couldn’t get worse. This just proved how much she knew about it.

  7

  BIG JUAN CAME UP from the piers, carrying freshly cleaned mullet in a pan. He stopped on the porch where Dolores stood with Ric. “Ho, Ric,” he said. “Good to see you. We don’t see enough of you around here.”

  “You know how it is, Mr. Venzino. I’m busy at the lodge — and well, sometimes I ask Dolores,” Ric glanced at her, frowning. “And she puts me off.”

  “You don’t pay no attention to her. Hey? What girl this age knows what she wants, eh?”

  “Papa. Why don’t you go talk to Al — or something?”

  Big Juan gave Ric a sheepish grin. “Yeah. Sure. Leave you two alone, huh? Nice a young guy be alone with a pretty girl, eh?”

  “We don’t know, Papa,” Dolores said. “Who would know around here?”

  Big Juan moved toward the door, paused, stopped. “Ric. You stay for supper with us, yes?”

  “Maybe Ric has something else to do, Papa,” Dolores said.

  “Ho. What else he got to do? You stay, Ric? Right?”

  Ric glanced uncertainly at Dolores.

  “If — Doll wants me to,” he said. “Why sure, I’d like that fine.” He was watching her face.

  Dolores was angered. It showed clearly in her black eyes. She averted her face, and then thought, why shouldn’t he stay? Why not? Stay if you want to. I won’t be here.

  • • •

  She sat on the top step, hands locked about her knees, watching him ramble about the front porch with the nervous energy that would never let him sit still, that had him forever fiddling with something, pulling at light cords in lamps, fussing with strings on mats, worrying the catch on the door. His hands were never still. It was as if Ric would not be able to endure the boredom of who he was and what he knew himself to be if he stood still long enough to think about it.

  “Had a real live one today,” Ric said.

  “What?”

  “A hunting party. Came to the place last night, as a matter of fact. Fellow swore he knew me when I played for the Bears. Beats me. I never saw the guy before, you know?” He shook his head and paced the room. “This guy. Don’t even look a little familiar. And I got a pretty good memory for faces, you know — ”

  “You must have seen an awful lot of faces.”

  “When I played for the Bears, you mean? Yeah. Only, this guy I never saw. You know what I think? I mean, you know?”

  “What?” Why wouldn’t he go home? Why wouldn’t he admit to himself that the summer she had loved him had been a lot of winters ago — he’d been a sophomore back-field sensation in Dead Bay High. She’d been just a kid. Since then he’d been a sensation for the University, for the Bears. A lot of winters ago.

  “I mean I think some of these characters may have seen me play football. You know? And maybe somewhere, maybe they’ve seen my picture — maybe in the papers. And they decide because they know what I look like and have seen me play football, they figure they know me and I oughta know them. You think maybe that’s it?”

  “I’m sure of it. You’re a pretty famous guy, Ric.”

  “Yeah.” His voice was flat. He was no longer impressed with his type of fame. He slapped his big fist into the palm of his hand.
“Looks like then I could make a go of this hunting camp idea of mine … I tell you, Dolores, I never had a idea that looked so good when I got it. I ever tell you when I got this here idea of a hunting camp?”

  She nodded but he didn’t notice. He paced the front porch, bumped the old swing with his knee and then sidestepped it when it returned. She watched him fiddling with the flowers Rosa grew in coffee cans. He’d very likely uproot them without knowing he did it.

  “I was playing football. With the Bears.” He turned and glanced at her. “I guess when you used to watch me play for the little old high school in this dump you’d never think some day Ric Suarez would be playing for the Bears. Huh?”

  “I knew you’d do something wonderful, Ric. Whatever you wanted to do.”

  He was silent a long time. He’d forgotten the hunting camp idea born to him when he was playing football for the Bears.

  “No. I never done a damn thing I wanted to do. I wanted something … something big and exciting that I could do … I used to get that feeling. I felt like that when I used to play football in high school. I liked them notices I got. I liked having coaches and sports writers come as far as from Miami just to watch me play. They used to clown with me before the games in the locker room, and kid me to make me mad so I would brag before the game how many points I was going to score — maybe twenty-one or twelve — or whatever I had that feeling about in me — I always had this feeling before the game how many points I could make if I wanted to. Mostly, I’d keep it inside me. But they got on to how they could rag me and I would tell them what I was going to do in that game — and then I would go out and do it.”

  “I know.”

  “Sure. I got the rep for having a swell head. But it wasn’t like that, Doll. You know me. I’m no swell head. Really what I am is a guy who wants something real bad — something that half the time I don’t even know what it is I want, you know?”

  “It’s all right, Ric. You’re young. You can still be anything you want.”

  “No.” He shivered visibly. “No. When the Bears fired me … I knew then I’d had it. All I was ever going to be was in back of me when they fired me. I felt just the same, and I would look at myself at night standing naked in my hotel room and I looked just the same, but I just didn’t have it any more. And it got through to me that I was finished. Just like I was an old man.”