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Authors: Peter Rabe
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one.”
“No,” said Jordan. “I don’t care if he laughs.”
“Go ahead. If there’s anything I can’t abide….”
“No,” said Jordan. “Besides, he’s drunk.”
“Maybe that’s why you should hit him now. While he’s drunk.”
Paul said this from the booth, where Jordan could not see him. But he’s looking straight at my neck, thought Jordan. He’s sitting very still, waiting, the punk talking, waiting for a fight that won’t cost him any effort.
“Harry’s leaving right now,” said the girl. She walked over to the drunk and said, “He’s leaving right now. You hear me, Harry?”
“Well, mam, I was done anyhow, Betty, but if the button gentleman over there….”
“Please, Harry. I don’t want trouble. Why does there always have to be trouble—”
The drunk got up and gave Betty’s arm a pat. He laughed again when he walked past Jordan and then he went out the door. Nobody said anything after that and Jordan got up and put a bill on the counter. He could hear the sound the bill made when the girl picked it up and behind him was a sound from the booth, Paul scratching. Kemp sighed and watched Jordan stand at the counter.
“Good rest tonight,” he said, “and you’ll be all right.” If he doesn’t stop talking to me, thought Jordan, if he doesn’t—
“You got a place yet?”
“No.”
“Listen. Don’t go to the hotel. That hotel….”
“There’s two,” said Paul.
“Don’t go to any of them.”
The girl said thank you when Jordan gave her a tip.
“You want a nice room?” said Kemp. “How long you going to be here?”
“Couple of days,” said Jordan. He thought about it and said, “Week, at the most.”
“I tell you about a nice room,” said Kemp. “Now this here, this is Third.”
“Yes.”
“Next block that way is Fourth. You go to Fourth and the up-and-down sort of catticorner from where I live—I live right there, see the building?”
“Yes,” said Jordan. “Right there.”
“Well, catticorner from there on the Fourth block is this up-and-down with a sign says Rooms. You go there and ask for Mrs. Holzer and tell her I sent you. My name’s Kemp.”
“Kemp,” said Jordan. “Yes.”
Kemp held out his hand and Jordan had to take it. He had to shake the hand and then had to give a name. He said his name was Smith. He wanted to give a better name than Smith but shaking the other man’s hand was making him stiff and dull.
“You go tell her I sent you, Smith,” and then Kemp and his man got up and walked out of the diner.
When the diner was empty Jordan stood there and wished nothing had happened and he could start now. The girl was at the sink and her back was turned; she wore a white dress but with skin tone showing through where it lay close on her skin. Jordan watched the stretch folds move in the cloth and then he turned away. Jinx job, he thought. I met him and nothing gained.
When Jordan opened the door, the girl looked up and said good night. Face empty, he thought. Doesn’t want anything.
7
There was always a half-hour slump that time of night when she would sit down for a moment and do nothing. If I smoked, she thought, I would now smoke a cigarette. She drank a glass of water and listened to the neon sign hiss in the window. The red, which was a beer-bottle shape, flickered. Then she finished her water, cleared the counter, washed the dishes. Next she swept the alley between booth row and stools which was always the time when Mr. Wexler came in.
He came in without saying hello because he was the owner. He looked wrinkled under the light of the ceiling and all his joints looked like big knots of bone. This showed on his hands, wrists, down the bumpy bend of his back.
The first thing he did was to walk by the girl too close. The side of his hip, like a shovel, pressed along her buttocks. He always did this and she said nothing. He went around to the back of the counter and drew black coffee for himself. He sat down and
“No,” said Jordan. “I don’t care if he laughs.”
“Go ahead. If there’s anything I can’t abide….”
“No,” said Jordan. “Besides, he’s drunk.”
“Maybe that’s why you should hit him now. While he’s drunk.”
Paul said this from the booth, where Jordan could not see him. But he’s looking straight at my neck, thought Jordan. He’s sitting very still, waiting, the punk talking, waiting for a fight that won’t cost him any effort.
“Harry’s leaving right now,” said the girl. She walked over to the drunk and said, “He’s leaving right now. You hear me, Harry?”
“Well, mam, I was done anyhow, Betty, but if the button gentleman over there….”
“Please, Harry. I don’t want trouble. Why does there always have to be trouble—”
The drunk got up and gave Betty’s arm a pat. He laughed again when he walked past Jordan and then he went out the door. Nobody said anything after that and Jordan got up and put a bill on the counter. He could hear the sound the bill made when the girl picked it up and behind him was a sound from the booth, Paul scratching. Kemp sighed and watched Jordan stand at the counter.
“Good rest tonight,” he said, “and you’ll be all right.” If he doesn’t stop talking to me, thought Jordan, if he doesn’t—
“You got a place yet?”
“No.”
“Listen. Don’t go to the hotel. That hotel….”
“There’s two,” said Paul.
“Don’t go to any of them.”
The girl said thank you when Jordan gave her a tip.
“You want a nice room?” said Kemp. “How long you going to be here?”
“Couple of days,” said Jordan. He thought about it and said, “Week, at the most.”
“I tell you about a nice room,” said Kemp. “Now this here, this is Third.”
“Yes.”
“Next block that way is Fourth. You go to Fourth and the up-and-down sort of catticorner from where I live—I live right there, see the building?”
“Yes,” said Jordan. “Right there.”
“Well, catticorner from there on the Fourth block is this up-and-down with a sign says Rooms. You go there and ask for Mrs. Holzer and tell her I sent you. My name’s Kemp.”
“Kemp,” said Jordan. “Yes.”
Kemp held out his hand and Jordan had to take it. He had to shake the hand and then had to give a name. He said his name was Smith. He wanted to give a better name than Smith but shaking the other man’s hand was making him stiff and dull.
“You go tell her I sent you, Smith,” and then Kemp and his man got up and walked out of the diner.
When the diner was empty Jordan stood there and wished nothing had happened and he could start now. The girl was at the sink and her back was turned; she wore a white dress but with skin tone showing through where it lay close on her skin. Jordan watched the stretch folds move in the cloth and then he turned away. Jinx job, he thought. I met him and nothing gained.
When Jordan opened the door, the girl looked up and said good night. Face empty, he thought. Doesn’t want anything.
7
There was always a half-hour slump that time of night when she would sit down for a moment and do nothing. If I smoked, she thought, I would now smoke a cigarette. She drank a glass of water and listened to the neon sign hiss in the window. The red, which was a beer-bottle shape, flickered. Then she finished her water, cleared the counter, washed the dishes. Next she swept the alley between booth row and stools which was always the time when Mr. Wexler came in.
He came in without saying hello because he was the owner. He looked wrinkled under the light of the ceiling and all his joints looked like big knots of bone. This showed on his hands, wrists, down the bumpy bend of his back.
The first thing he did was to walk by the girl too close. The side of his hip, like a shovel, pressed along her buttocks. He always did this and she said nothing. He went around to the back of the counter and drew black coffee for himself. He sat down and
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