The Accused Part 9

She shook her head. "Let's sit here and talk, Eddie. I don't feel like playing right now." She was feeling the warmth of the whisky already. Today the whisky didn't seem to make her gay as it usually did. Encouraged by the sympathy of Jimmy and Eddie, her real friends, she began to feel more and more sorry for herself and more and more bitter toward Morlock. She hadn't really meant it when she called him a fairy. He was not a fairy, she explained carefully to Eddie, but he acted like one with that f.a.g, Paul Martin.

When she got down from the stool to look at the selections on the juke box, she stumbled and nearly fell. Impossible that she was half drunk this soon, she reasoned. She was thinking as clearly as if she had had nothing at all to drink.

There was a section on the juke box that listed old time tunes being revived. She read them carefully. How could she be drunk when she could read so easily? "Sunny Side of the Street."

"Blueberry Hill." That's when they had the good songs. "Dance with me, Eddie," she commanded.

Eddie got down from his stool. He was really a good-looking kid. He put his arms around her and she leaned against him. They began to sway back and forth. Eddie was pressing too hard, thrusting his lean belly against her. She knew what he was after all right. Trying to get her worked up. She giggled. What if he did? Who cared? She pushed him away suddenly. "I want another drink," she said.

Eddie said fuzzily, "Sure, Louise," and they walked arm in arm to the bar. Jimmy brought the drinks and she reached for money to pay him with. Funny where it went. Seven dollars left. She gave Jimmy a single and asked him to change the remaining dollar bill. The five she tucked in her compact, remembering vaguely that for some reason she had to be careful of her money. Oh, yes, that was it. Shylock Alvin was going to handle the money from now on--him. She had spent more in a single day out at the track than he made in six months. When Jimmy brought her change she bought two packages of cigarettes, Lucky Strikes for herself and a package of Pall Malls for Eddie. He was a good kid. When she gave him the cigarettes, he said, "Let's dance again, Louise."

It felt good to be wanted. She said, "Sure," and they moved away from the bar again and into each other's arms. "Chapel in the Moonlight." That was nice. When had she danced to that song before? Oh, yes--it had been Tommy Dorsey's band, that first night--how long ago?--that she went out with the jockey, Eddie Mason. The other Eddie. But this Eddie--come to think of it, she couldn't even remember if he had ever told her his last name--pretty young to be playing an old timer like that except that it was slow and he could do--what he was doing now. Pus.h.i.+ng hard against her. She giggled again and moved her own body against him. Fresh kid. If that's what he wanted she could give him lessons.

They broke apart reluctantly when the music ended and walked slowly back to the bar. While she ordered another round of drinks, she was aware of an animal desire to have Eddie possess her. After a moment she giggled again. It would be a good joke on Morlock. She had been unfaithful to him several times since their marriage--twice in Anna Carofano's bedroom and once in a parked car. s.e.xual fidelity meant so little to her that she hardly considered herself as having cheated Morlock. But to bring this kid to their home and in Morlock's own bed--this would pay him back for taking the money from her and for bringing Paul Martin to their home to insult her and call her a Dago from Federal Hill. She didn't remember that the words had been her own and not Martin's.

When she had finished her drink, she said, "This d.a.m.n dress is too hot. I'm going over and change into something else." She looked sidelong at Eddie as she spoke.

He said huskily, "I'll go along and help you change," trying to keep his tone light so that he could pretend that he was joking if she acted offended. When she merely shrugged, he called to Jimmy the bartender. "Let me have a pint, will you, Jimmy?" he asked. "Make it Carstairs. You'll have to put it on my tab until Friday, all right?"

Jimmy said, "I guess," and got a bottle from beneath the bar. He put it in a paper bag and handed it to Eddie.

They left the bar and started toward the tenement. It was really funny, she thought, the way Eddie tried to look as if he weren't in a hurry. He sprang ahead to hold the door open for her. Ah, wasn't he being polite though! He wouldn't be so polite when he got in the bedroom. She still had it, for Eddie or any real man. Al? He could drop dead.

She held the door to the living room aside while Eddie stepped in and then closed it behind her, smiling at him. As the door closed, he reached for her with both arms, the bottle still held in one hand. With the free hand he pulled her closer. She pushed him back, laughing.

"Let's have a drink first," she said. "We've got lots of time."

He asked huskily, "What about your old man, your husband?"

She said, "I thought we already said to h.e.l.l with him."

Eddie, said nervously, "Sure. But just the same we don't want him to come in and find us." He put the bottle down and moved toward her again, reaching for the front of her dress, trying to get his hand on her breast.

A little irritated, she pushed his hand away. "Don't tear my dress," she said sharply.

He moved away and she picked up the bottle. "You stay here," she said. "I'll make us a drink." She smiled, her anger forgotten, at his crestfallen expression.

When she returned, carrying the drink, she moved past him and toward the bedroom. When he followed her into the room, she pointed toward the bed and handed him his drink. "I'm going to take it off," she said. "I don't want you ripping it." She reached down and pulled her dress over her head. Standing in her slip she still teased him, lingering over her drink. She moved a step toward him, lurched and caught herself barely in time. "Go out in the kitchen and get the bottle," she said.

He left, hurrying. When he returned she was lying on the bed. He fell on top of her...

He was just a kid, she thought. No lover at all, all impatience and fumbling ineptness. Al, for all he was a Shylock and thought he was too good for her, was a better and more considerate lover. She pushed Eddie, half asleep now, aside and drank from the bottle he had placed beside the bed.

She had really had too much this time. The room was spinning, spinning. She relaxed, drowsing. Anyway, she was even now. Better wake up and get Eddie out before Al came home. He didn't have to know about this. She was satisfied, knowing what she had done herself, keeping the secret to laugh about. She would tell Anna Carofano, of course.

She awoke from a doze to see Eddie, his back to her, standing beside the dresser. She blinked, trying to get her eyes into focus, before she realized what she was seeing. The little sneak was going through her purse. She sprang naked from the bed and s.n.a.t.c.hed at it. He dropped it and it fell to the floor in a clatter of metal. Her compact, her cigarette lighter. A few coins.

"You son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h," she screamed, "what do you think you're doing!"

He said, "Ah, don't get sore, Louise. I just wanted to borrow a couple of bucks."

She was almost insane with anger. Unable to find words she slapped him across the face with all her strength. He fell back against the dresser, hand against his cheek. He looked as if he couldn't believe what was happening. She took her eyes from him to reach for her purse. In that moment, he lashed back at her with his closed fist. She had stooped and the blow missed her face, catching her on the shoulder and knocking her to the floor. He stood over her, his eyes narrowed.

"You've got a h.e.l.l of a nerve, you b.i.t.c.h," he said. "Give me the dough. You got what you wanted, didn't you? You think I cared anything about coming over here with an old bag like you?"

She got to her feet as he s.n.a.t.c.hed up the compact and opened it, taking the money from it, holding her off with one hand as she clawed at him, unable to speak, unable even to scream. He pushed her away and ran from the room. She started after him, half crazed, and only remembered when she was halfway into the hall that she was naked. With silent, desperate fury she raced back to the bedroom and threw her robe over her naked body. She raced down the stairs, wanting only to catch Eddie and hit him and hit him; when she reached the front door he was not in sight. Reaction hit her then, swift and furious. Even a hot pants kid. She began to cry in racking sobs that shook her whole body. Morlock, coming home at that moment, found her sitting on the top step. He ran up the steps and bent to look at her. "Lolly," he said, "what is it? What happened?"

She continued to cry in shaking spasms that would not let her catch her breath. Recognizing hysteria, Morlock slapped her across the face, trying to hit her hard and unable to make himself do it. When the sobbing continued, he hit her again. It was at that moment that the policeman grabbed his arm. "Cut that out," he said. "I'm a police officer." The slaps or the words reached Louise. She scrambled to heir feet and rushed up the stairs. Morlock turned to explain, but the policeman was saying, "I don't want any woman beaters on my beat, Mister." There were people gathered around, staring, giggling. Morlock, humiliated, tried to explain but the policeman beat at him with questions. He answered them in monosyllables, wanting only to hide his head, to be away from the staring faces and to get to Louise. When at last he was permitted to go to her, she was in the bedroom, lying on her stomach with her face buried in her arms. She would not answer any of his questions.

Chapter 10.

Gurney: Mr. Murphy, when you were sworn you gave your name as James Murphy. What do they call you--Jimmy?

Murphy: Most people.

Gurney: And you work as a bartender in f.a.gin's Cafe, is that correct?

Murphy: Yes.

Gurney: Did you know the deceased, Louise Morlock?

Murphy: Well, I didn't know her last name. I'd heard it but it didn't mean anything to me until this thing happened. I called her Louise and let it go at that.

Gurney: Do you know the accused?

Murphy: I know him now.

Gurney: Did you ever meet him before this trial?

Murphy: I did. Somebody pointed him out to me some time ago as Louise's husband.

Gurney: He wasn't a customer of f.a.gin's, then?

Murphy: Him? No.

Gurney: What about Louise Morlock--was she a good customer?

Murphy: She was a regular.

Gurney: And what, precisely, does being a regular involve?

Murphy: Every bar, unless it's in a downtown location, has regulars. People that come in every day and spend some time. If you don't have maybe twenty regulars to count on, you might as well close up. Louise came in every day. There were other people that came in because they expected to find her there. Your regulars make the place like a club. She spent a little money and she was an attraction to the place.

Gurney: How long was she a regular?

Murphy: Almost from the time she moved into the neighborhood. That was a while after New Year's.

Gurney: Was she a heavy drinker?

Murphy: Not at first. Then, sometimes she'd get started early and have a little more than her share. I've seen lots worse. I never had to shut her off.

Gurney: You say that Morlock--the accused--was not a customer.

Murphy: That's right.

Gurney: Then how did you happen to meet him?

Murphy: I went looking for him. Louise owed me some money.

Gurney: A personal loan?

Murphy: No. A bar tab.

Gurney: Isn't it against the law for bars to give credit?

Murphy: Sure. But it wasn't f.a.gin's bar that gave her the credit. Take a bartender; if he wants to let a regular run up a little tab on his own responsibility--it's not his license. f.a.gin isn't involved. But if the tab isn't cleared up, the bartender that served the drinks is stuck for the money. Louise had me stuck. That's why I looked up her husband.

Gurney: How much did she have you stuck for?

Murphy: Forty-two dollars.

Gurney: Forty-two dollars! That seems like a lot of money for a bar bill.

Murphy: Well, that's how much it was.

Gurney: How long did it take her to run up this bill?

Murphy: A couple of weeks. I can tell you when I went looking for Morlock. It was Sat.u.r.day, the 28th of April. The reason I know is that tabs are supposed to be cleared up Friday. I had so much money out that I wasn't going to get any of my own pay. So I gave her one day and then went looking for him.

Gurney: And you found him?

Murphy: Sure. I kept watching out the window for him to come down the street. I already told you I had somebody point him out to me. I walked out to him and I said, "Mr. Morlock?" He said, "Yes," like it was a question. So I told him about the money Louise owed me.

Gurney: What was his reaction?

Murphy: Well, he already looked worried, nervous. When I told him about the forty-two dollars, he flinched as if I'd hit him. Then he apologized for his wife and said he didn't have any money right then but that he'd take care of it just as soon as he could. Then he said, "She won't be around any more."

Gurney: What did you think he meant by that?

Liebman: Objection-- * * *

The Commonwealth of Ma.s.sachusetts vs. Alvin Morlock. Direct testimony of James Murphy.

Louise awoke on the morning following the incident with Eddie and heard Morlock moving about the kitchen. She lay still, looking around the room and planning the words of explanation she would use. Her purse had been picked up, together with its contents and placed on the dresser. She looked hastily around for the whisky bottle, hoping that it had been kicked under the bed and but of Morlock's sight. It wasn't which meant that he had found it so that she would have to incorporate it in whatever lie she told.

She still had her robe on. Getting up, she went to the bathroom to rinse her face and walked out to the kitchen, a little frightened at the prospect of facing her husband. If she were married to someone like her brother Dominick, she would know what to expect. A smash in the face, a beating that would bruise her body--but a beating that was also a form of penance, a beating that was punishment but opened the way to forgiveness. But if she were married to an Old Country man like Dom it never would have happened. By reasoning thus, she transferred some of the blame to Morlock.

He turned as she came into the kitchen. "I've got coffee made," he said. "Sit down and I'll pour some for you."

Morlock, looking at her white face, felt an impersonal compa.s.sion for her. He had seen the whisky bottle on the bedroom floor. He had seen her underclothing scattered around the room and her body, naked under the robe, and he had drawn his own conclusions about what had happened. He had been able to perceive dimly that she had, in her way, been exacting a form of vengeance for Paul Martin and for his own detachment from her. Also, she was in her middle thirties. Becoming aware that her youth and good looks were disintegrating swiftly, and frightened because she had nothing to fall back on. He had failed her as a prop. Now she was trying alcohol and other men, and she would have to find out for herself what a miserable support they were.

He sat across from her at the kitchen table. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asked her.

"I laid down for a nap," she said. "I didn't feel very good after Monday night. I woke up when I heard a noise and I saw a man standing over the bed. He had a whisky bottle in one hand. I started to scream and he hit me and told me to be quiet or he'd kill me. Then he took my purse and started looking through it. I was afraid to yell out."

Morlock asked, "Do you remember what he looked like? Do you want me to report it to the police?" Her story was a lie; he knew it and she knew that he knew it. His question was no more than a tacit acceptance of her transparent little story.

She shook her head. "It would only make trouble and they'd never get him." Then, wanting to hurt him, she said, "Al, you didn't ask me what happened then. He raped me."

Morlock knew she was taunting him with her guilty admission. He turned toward her with the rage of the cuckold rising swiftly in him, caught himself and only said woodenly, "You'd better see a doctor right away." Then he left the room.

She heard the hall door close behind him, not gently but not slammed either. She stared in the direction of the hall and then cried out to the closed door, "Go on, then! Get out! What do you care what happens to me?" She reasoned with childish logic that if he pretended to accept her story, he should then show the proper reaction. If he didn't accept it he should have hit her, kicked her. For a moment, when she said that she had been raped she had thought that he was going to smash her. Now, out of frustration and shame she called after him, "You queer, you. You don't even care about that."

Her rage quieted and she felt the need for a cigarette. She went into the bedroom for her purse; when she opened it she saw three dollar bills. There had been no money in the purse. Eddie had taken the last five-dollar bill. Al must have put it in there. It did not occur to her in her anger that he might have put the money in her purse out of consideration. She began craftily to guess what his motive had been. The amount was significant. Three dollars. Three bucks. Enough for cigarettes and a movie and two or three drinks. Or, if you skipped the movie, quite a few drinks.

She bathed and dressed and turned on the television set to kill time until after lunch. f.a.gin's was open in the morning hours but the chairs were still stacked on the tables and Jimmy would be busy cleaning up for the day's trade. Unable to accept her rejection by Morlock or the humiliation by Eddie, she waited until one o'clock to go out. When she did go she approached f.a.gin's with some hesitance. Eddie, she was nearly certain, would hardly dare to come back to the place after what he had done. She might have called the cops for all he knew--and she had had a perfect right to. Still, wondering what she was going to do about it, he might be hanging around or he might have talked to Jimmy on the telephone. She decided to be bold about it; she had either to be bold or not go in at all. She straightened her shoulders and walked in, smiling. "Hi, Jimmy," she greeted the bartender. It was hard not to look around to see if that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Eddie was in the place.

Everything was all right; she sensed immediately that Eddie had not come back. Jimmy said, "h.e.l.lo, Louise. Drink?"

"Just beer," she said lightly.

The three or four men in the place looked up and nodded or spoke. Frank, the bookie, held out his Armstrong, not speaking. It was all right. And if Eddie did come around later, she would have her own version of what had happened--one that would make him look stupid.

She left f.a.gin's place in the afternoon in time to make Morlock's supper. There was food in the refrigerator; not much, but enough to make a pa.s.sable meal. When he came in he was burdened with two paper sacks of groceries. Trying to show me up, she thought, showing me that he doesn't trust me even to go to the supermarket, letting everybody know what a lousy wife I am.

Morlock greeted Louise quietly. He did not kiss her--never again was to kiss her--and after silently eating his meal, he sat down in the living room and read the paper while she washed the dishes. They spent the evening in perfect decorum, speaking little. After she went bed, he walked into the bedroom. She had turned out the light but she could see his silhouette against the living room door and she felt a happy, eager antic.i.p.ation. Maybe she was a drunk and a cheat but if he came to bed with her, it was forgiving her in a way and she would show him how nice she could be; make it up to him in the only way that she was any good.

Morlock bent over the bed and took the pillow from his side. He said, "Good night, Louise," and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. She felt shame for just a moment. Then the shame turned inward, feeding on her, poisoning her. It was in that moment that she made her decision. Whatever happened to her, Morlock was going to be a part of it. She would drag him after her.

He slept on the couch in the living room. She made a point of getting up when she heard him stir and hurrying to the kitchen to start breakfast so that he would not have the satisfaction of acting the martyr. He ate the breakfast she put before him as he had eaten the supper, silently. When he started out for work she called after him--she would almost have preferred biting her own tongue but there was no alternative--"Al, I haven't got any money."

He turned to face her; "I left you some yesterday," he said. "Did you use it all?"

"I went to a movie."

He reached into his pocket and took out a handful of change. "I've only got about a dollar and a half," he said. "I'll give you half of it. There won't be any more until Friday." He put the money on the table and went out.

At f.a.gin's that afternoon, Louise played shuffleboard with much determination but with unbelievably bad luck. Needing to win, she could not.

"Jimmy," she said finally, "my old man doesn't get paid until a week from Friday. I guess you'll have to put me on the cuff."