Read Online Border Town Girl by John D. MacDonald - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John D. MacDonald
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“Darling,” he said lazily, “I wouldn’t believe you if you were on your deathbed and I were your only child.”
She called him a short name. He turned and grinned at her. “Now you’re in character again.”
Tears filled her eyes and overflowed down her cheeks. She said in a small voice, “I’ll tell you a story. I suppose it’s a pretty common one. I wouldn’t know. It isn’t a pretty story and it has the corniest possible beginning. It started five years ago in one of those little upstate New York towns, the ones with the elms and the white houses. When I say corny, Lane, I really mean it. I sang in the church choir.”
He turned up onto one elbow. “Oh, come now!” But he looked at her face and knew that she was telling the truth.
“You know how it is,” she said. “You’re full of wanting and wanting and yet you don’t really know exactly what it is you want or how to go about getting it. Everything seems dull and you keep imagining yourself as a movie actress or something. Everybody says you’re pretty. I was a brunette then. And you think of the kind of man you want, and all of them in the town that aren’t married, they seem so young and dumb. Nothing to them.
“Then a band came to town to play for a big dance, I went with a boy and there was a fellow in the band. He played a trumpet. Whenever I was on the floor I could feel him watching me. When I looked at him it was as though we shared some kind of secret we couldn’t talk about. It made me crazy to find out what the secret was. Oh, he wasn’t good-looking. He was nearly bald and he wasn’t tall, but there was something about him.
“When the band left I followed them, on a coach. It was like that. They let me sing with them and they didn’t pay much because I was green and I had a lot to learn. When we were in New York the regular girl singer who had been sick came back to work. I couldn’t go home then. It was too late to go home. The trumpet player went with another band and they went out to the coast and I didn’t have enough money to follow them. I guess he didn’t want me to, anyway.
“You learn a lot when you have to learn fast. And the biggest thing I learned was that my voice was really no good. No good at all. That’s a hard thing to learn, Lane. Then George came along. He was the sort of man I’d dreamed about back in the small town. Tall and dark, with a nice crooked smile. He could order wines and he drove a big car and everybody gave him a table as soon as he went into a place. When it was too late I found out what kind of business he was in. By then I couldn’t leave him. And just the other day I found out that there isn’t any goodness in him at all. Nothing but cruelty. Now I want to hurt him.”
“This George,” Lane said, “he sent you down here to pick up that package? Why?”
“He’s been a little worried for a long time. He was afraid that one of the regular people might be trapped by the law. He thought they might not think I’d be trusted for a thing like this. But George knew he could trust me. Then somehow Christy, who works for him, had someone steal the money I was going to use to pay for it. Then George was angry and he had to send Christy down with more money. I knew that George was getting tired of me, but I wouldn’t admit it to myself. So he told Christy that he wasn’t interested any more and he could have me if he wanted.”
“Wouldn’t that be up to you?”
“Not in George’s crowd, Lane. Not in a group working outside the law like they do. The rules are different. Now do you believe me when I tell you that all I want to do is frame George? I don’t care what happens after that.”
Lane Sanson shut his eyes against the sun glare. He could hear the soft metronome of her weeping.
“There’s a better way,” he said. “We’ll both go back and you tell those people what you want to do. Let them rig it for you. If they want the goods on this George character, they’ll
She called him a short name. He turned and grinned at her. “Now you’re in character again.”
Tears filled her eyes and overflowed down her cheeks. She said in a small voice, “I’ll tell you a story. I suppose it’s a pretty common one. I wouldn’t know. It isn’t a pretty story and it has the corniest possible beginning. It started five years ago in one of those little upstate New York towns, the ones with the elms and the white houses. When I say corny, Lane, I really mean it. I sang in the church choir.”
He turned up onto one elbow. “Oh, come now!” But he looked at her face and knew that she was telling the truth.
“You know how it is,” she said. “You’re full of wanting and wanting and yet you don’t really know exactly what it is you want or how to go about getting it. Everything seems dull and you keep imagining yourself as a movie actress or something. Everybody says you’re pretty. I was a brunette then. And you think of the kind of man you want, and all of them in the town that aren’t married, they seem so young and dumb. Nothing to them.
“Then a band came to town to play for a big dance, I went with a boy and there was a fellow in the band. He played a trumpet. Whenever I was on the floor I could feel him watching me. When I looked at him it was as though we shared some kind of secret we couldn’t talk about. It made me crazy to find out what the secret was. Oh, he wasn’t good-looking. He was nearly bald and he wasn’t tall, but there was something about him.
“When the band left I followed them, on a coach. It was like that. They let me sing with them and they didn’t pay much because I was green and I had a lot to learn. When we were in New York the regular girl singer who had been sick came back to work. I couldn’t go home then. It was too late to go home. The trumpet player went with another band and they went out to the coast and I didn’t have enough money to follow them. I guess he didn’t want me to, anyway.
“You learn a lot when you have to learn fast. And the biggest thing I learned was that my voice was really no good. No good at all. That’s a hard thing to learn, Lane. Then George came along. He was the sort of man I’d dreamed about back in the small town. Tall and dark, with a nice crooked smile. He could order wines and he drove a big car and everybody gave him a table as soon as he went into a place. When it was too late I found out what kind of business he was in. By then I couldn’t leave him. And just the other day I found out that there isn’t any goodness in him at all. Nothing but cruelty. Now I want to hurt him.”
“This George,” Lane said, “he sent you down here to pick up that package? Why?”
“He’s been a little worried for a long time. He was afraid that one of the regular people might be trapped by the law. He thought they might not think I’d be trusted for a thing like this. But George knew he could trust me. Then somehow Christy, who works for him, had someone steal the money I was going to use to pay for it. Then George was angry and he had to send Christy down with more money. I knew that George was getting tired of me, but I wouldn’t admit it to myself. So he told Christy that he wasn’t interested any more and he could have me if he wanted.”
“Wouldn’t that be up to you?”
“Not in George’s crowd, Lane. Not in a group working outside the law like they do. The rules are different. Now do you believe me when I tell you that all I want to do is frame George? I don’t care what happens after that.”
Lane Sanson shut his eyes against the sun glare. He could hear the soft metronome of her weeping.
“There’s a better way,” he said. “We’ll both go back and you tell those people what you want to do. Let them rig it for you. If they want the goods on this George character, they’ll
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