“You know, I was downright glad when the army called him. I thought it would help him—resting, eating right. If I'd said anything, us being married and all, they would have turned him down. But I kept quiet. It didn't work. He was twenty-five then and the two years he lost.... He should never have returned to the ring when he came out. But he had his hopes, faith in his luck, and boxing is all he knows. It's a mean dirty business, but it was his trade and I had no right pushing him to do what I wanted. These last years, I don't know how we existed. That's why I took numbers. I thought if we had a place of our own, if we both worked, we could live a little, at least have a few hours of home life every day. I mean, I'm only twenty-eight. Tommy's thirty two—we still have most of our life ahead of us. Trouble is, when you have it good, you don't know it.”
“Maybe,” Ruth said, lighting another cigarette, hoping her amazement didn't show on her face. This wreck of a woman only twenty-eight! “But don't blame yourself, none of us can tell what the future will turn up. Even if you hadn't become ill... say Tommy had gone on to be a champ, pugs always seem to end up poor anyway.”
“Not rock-bottom-poor. Tommy was never a playboy. If he had been a champ, as he should have been, no matter what else happened, he'd have been a success. He'd have been champion and they couldn't take that from him. Even if he lost his money, he'd be fronting for a restaurant or a bar now, not... Most times now he's on the bum, actually hungry. That's why he never came around to see me much, he was ashamed....”
Ruth crushed her cigarette on the floor. She had this feeling she simply couldn't stand hearing another word of this wretched tale, interrupted May with “Look, this is no time for words. Tommy is waiting downstairs, in the cold. Supposing you wash up and I'll send Tommy up here. Meantime, my husband and I will make arrangements. I think you can live at my sister's for a time. She's across the river, out of town. Has a house full of kids, so she'll be glad to have a built-in baby sitter. You'll be safe there. Okay?”
“Of course. Anything you say. God bless you... Ruth.” May started for the door, then stopped. “I didn't have time to pick up a washcloth or a towel... and they don't have any paper here. Can you spare a hankie I can wash with?”
Ruth gave her a package of tissues, a comb, and her lipstick. When May returned she looked a little better. Ruth said she'd send Tommy up and as she left the room, she saw May stoop, pick up the butt Ruth had left on the floor.
Downstairs, when she told Tommy not to argue with May, he said, “Argue? What are you talking about? All I want is to see her, hold her,” and rushed up the steps.
Trembling slightly with the cold air, Ruth thought, How odd, the sincere eagerness of this homely little man for his drab, plain, beaten woman. Or is it odd? I'm getting to have the patronizing, true slick story mind—only the beautiful, the perfect, can love.
Walt, stamping his big feet to warm them, glanced at her, asked, “What are you smiling about? What's the joke?”
“That's what I was wondering. Not what the joke is but rather who the jokers in the deck are. We only realize the—”
“Turn philosophical some other time,” Walt said curtly. “We have to phone your sister and I'll see if I can borrow a car.”
As they walked toward a lighted window,—a bar,—and a phone, Ruth said, “Tommy is such a quaint character. So pathetic.”
“Somebody might be trying to murder 'quaint' Tommy, because he is so pathetic.”
TOMMY
It was past one-thirty when Walt and Ruth dropped Tommy off at his hotel. He was thoroughly confused, had been ever since he'd taken May in his arms, began crying as he kissed her braised face. When she told him why she had taken the money, Tommy had merely said, “Honey, I never knew the apartment meant so much to you. Look, if you want, I'll get a job, become a dishwasher, do like you say. I mean, soon... if anything goes wrong between me and this new manager. Like if he drops me. May, I haven't had the chance to tell you. I have a great manager, a real live one. I'm in good shape, staying at a fine hotel and eating three times a day, and this manager foots the bill. Isn't that something?”
She pulled away, looked him over. “You do look sharp. Tommy, do you think—now—you can get up the money for the apartment?”
“Well, I don't get much actual green. Arno—my manager —he pays the tabs and all I get is a few bills for spending. Listen, forget the apartment, the first thing we have...”
“I can't forget the apartment!”
He pulled her to him, gently ran his fingers over the purplish skin under her eyes. “May, what's the use of having an apartment if we can't live in it? We have to get square with the numbers punks before thinking of anything else. For true, how much did the guy hit for with you?”
“A dollar.”
Tommy whistled into her graying hair. “Could be worse— like a five dollar hit. A buck—means we have to raise six hundred fish. Know what. I'll go see the guy tonight, explain that we'll pay off, fast as we can. That way, he won't be sore and the numbers mob won't have anything against you any more. Yeah, at least let him know we're paying off. What's the player's name and where can I find him?”
“They call him Shorty. Shorty James. He works in the icebox at the big meat house down the block and across from the diner. Oh Tom, how can we raise so much money?”
“Right this minute I don't know, but I'll ante it up—in time. Ill get these numbers jerks off your back, then we'll see about the apartment. Say, if I can get up six hundred, no reason why I can't pony up another hundred and fifty.”
“Oh, Tom, do you think you can?” May said, kissing him wildly.
Now, as Tommy left the hotel, buttoning his coat against the night cold, he made sure Walt and Ruth had driven off the block, then headed for the market. Tommy wasn't thinking of the six hundred dollars, but only of May's kiss. He had never been a passionate man, hunger and the constant training grind had drained his excess energy, and desire needs fuel. The truth was, he rarely thought of sex. But May's kisses had aroused in him memories of their early marriage nights—his delight at the way her delicate little body would come alive, roaring and demanding, sending fire racing through his own blood.
Walking with his head bent against the wind he thought, Maybe after Arno gets me a couple of fights, at least one or two big ones, I'll throw my ring shoes away. Take about a year but May and me will still have plenty of time ahead of us. I should have about ten grand socked away after two main events, say on a nation-wide TV show. At least, five thousand. I'll buy a business, a gas station. But what do I know about cars? If the fight game wasn't so dead, I'd hire out as a trainer, perhaps manage a few guys or... Hey! I know a natural for May and me. We'll buy a small house, going into the rooming business! Yes, sir, we sure know enough about rooms! Yeah, we won't be pigs, charge a reasonable rent and keep a clean place. Only steady roomers, no drunks. Not much work, some cleaning every day and changing sheets once a week, that's about all. Man, will May go for this idea, she'll love it! When I see her tomorrow night, I'll spill it to her. Be better than an apartment—be our home and a business beside. Keep it small, no more than ten rooms. Guess you can buy one of these old brownstones for five grand down, all right.