High Priest of California & Wild Wives: Two Novels, page 17
“I wanted you to know.” She wasn’t crying anymore. Now that her conscience was relieved she was happy.
“Don’t even think about it. From now on it’s us two and that’s all. As soon as we reach Vegas, before we do anything else, we’ll get married. Now I’m going to take a little nap. When you get tired of driving, wake me, and I’ll take over.”
“Put your head on my shoulder and go to sleep, Jake. Driving never makes me tired. I love it.”
I put my head on her shoulder, stretched my legs out as far as I could, and I was asleep before I knew it.
I awoke at dawn and looked out the window. We were in the desert. The landscape looked like a crumpled winding sheet dotted with dead flies. The flies were the dark, scattered growths of cacti that were barely visible in the first light of morning. My mouth tasted like sour wine and my temples painfully throbbed. My neck was stiff and my legs were cramped. Both feet were asleep. I stamped them up and down on the floorboards to relieve the stinging sensation.
“Where are we?” I asked Florence.
“About fifty miles from Vegas.” She smiled. Her eyes were red rimmed and sore looking.
“Why didn’t you wake me so you could take a nap yourself?”
“I can’t sleep in a moving car, so I just let you sleep. Believe me, you did all right!”
“How far are we from Vegas?” I asked again.
“About fifty miles.”
I whistled. “You must have driven like mad!”
“It’s easy to make good time on the desert.”
“What’s on the radio?” I switched it on and while it warmed up I lit a cigarette. The radio hummed into life and an announcer recommended a brand of dog food, finished his pitch and let a platter go for some music. I pushed a button for another station.
“What are you doing with the radio on?” Florence exclaimed.
“I want to hear the news, see if they discovered the body—”
“Turn it off!”
“Why? There might be some news—”
“I said turn it off!” Florence screamed at me. She leaned forward and turned the radio off herself. It made me sore.
“What’s the matter with you?” I reached for the knob.
Florence bent down, keeping her left hand on the wheel, and removed her right slipper with her free hand. She banged the heel of her slipper against the face of the radio until the glass broke. She dropped her slipper, jerked the two knobs off the radio (the knobs for tune and volume) and tossed them out of the window. Her face was angry.
“When I tell you I don’t want the radio on, Jake, I mean it!”
“I guess you do at that. But why?”
“I don’t need a reason.”
“And you don’t have any either.” She was a screwball in a lot of ways, no doubt about it. I sulked for awhile, then thought better of it. No use antagonizing the woman.
“I’m sorry, kid,” I said. “There probably isn’t any news anyway.”
“I’m the one who’s sorry, Jake. I’m tired, that’s all, and I didn’t feel like listening to any yapping.”
“Sure. I know how you feel. Forget it.”
Once the sun comes up in the desert it rises fast. It hung on the horizon like a solid neon pumpkin, beaming through our windshield. It grew warmer all the time. The closer we got to Vegas, the more numerous the billboards. Every club, every gambling hall claimed to be better than the last one advertised. Each claimed to have better entertainment than the last. As I remember Vegas, it was a good town. I hadn’t been there for several years, but I’d had a good time, even though I ended up by hitchhiking to Los Angeles to get away.
When we reached the outskirts, Florence slowed to forty miles an hour. I looked for a motel without a NO VACANCY sign.
“If we can find a vacancy we’d better grab it,” I said. “We can get married afterwards.”
“Do you think a motel is better than one of the hotels?”
“Certainly. You don’t meet people in a lobby when there isn’t any lobby. It’s our best bet.”
A car pulled out of a motel called the “Home Rest Motel” and headed east.
“Pull in there,” I told Florence.
“There’s a NO VACANCY sign—”
“I can see it. But that car’s pulling out and we can get the cabin they vacated.”
Florence turned sharply and skidded to a stop in the thick, white gravel that covered the patio of the motel. I got out of the car and pushed the night-bell by the side of the door at the cabin marked OFFICE. I waited. After awhile, a man so small he narrowly missed being a dwarf, opened the door and smiled up at me.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he said pleasantly, “we don’t have a vacancy.” He turned away, scratching himself under his pajama top.
“A car just left. We’ll take that cabin.” I pointed to the empty garage at the end of the row next to Cabin Six.
“It isn’t fixed up yet. Won’t be ready till ten, anyway.”
“We’ll take it. We’ve got to get married first, so by the time we get back from the ceremony you can have it ready.”
“That’s different!” His wrinkled little face took on new interest. He opened the screen door for me and I signed the register Mr. John Smith and Wife. He smiled and nodded his head up and down. He gave me four one dollar bills in exchange for a ten.
“Now, Mr. Smith,” he said, “have you made your arrangements for getting married?” He had a nice voice, very pleasant.
“No, but I understand it isn’t much of a problem.”
“Not if you know how to go about it. Suppose you and—?”
“Mary Brown.”
“All right. Suppose you and Miss Brown come on into my little kitchen here and drink some coffee? I’ll call up Luke’s and take care of you, get things arranged.”
“Who is Luke?”
“One of the best. He gives the nicest ceremony in Vegas.”
“Friend of yours?”
“We throw a little business to each other now and then. His ceremony is very nice, though, and I know you and Miss Brown will like it. And as long as you’re getting married anyway, might as well let Luke do it. He don’t charge no more than anybody else, and his connections cut corners on the license. By the time you get there everything’ll be set.”
“Go ahead, Mr.—”
“Anderson. Shorty Anderson.”
“Call Luke, then.” I returned to the car and Florence raised her eyebrows.
“We’re all set, Florence. Shorty’s calling Luke to arrange the wedding for us, and we’ve got the cabin.”
“Who is Luke?”
“I don’t know, but as long as he’s authorized to give weddings, I don’t see what difference it makes.”
We entered the office cabin and hesitated inside the door. Shorty was talking on the telephone. He covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “Go right into the kitchen. I made that coffee on the stove fresh last night, so all you gotta do is light a match under it.”
I heated the coffee and Florence and I had a cup apiece before the little man joined us in the kitchen. He smiled admiringly at Florence, solemnly shook hands with both of us.
“It’s all arranged. And when you get back your cabin’ll be ready. It isn’t every day I get newlyweds, but when I do I’m just as pleased as punch. Planning to stay long?”
“Maybe a week,” I said, pouring more coffee into my cup.
“Well, that’s just fine.” He gave us directions to Luke’s and we left the motel.
On the drive through town to Luke’s, Florence grew suspicious of the little man. “Do you think he suspects anything?”
“How could he? He’s been asleep all night.”
“It didn’t help any for you to sign the register as John Smith.”
“You’re wrong. Nobody uses John Smith anymore because it’s so common. The same with Mary Brown. You pick a fancy name to use and they know right away it’s a phony.”
“You’re probably right. But John Smith, Mary Brown— Jesus!”
Luke was a middle-aged man with a pale complexion, a dark mustache and long, thin fingers. He was dressed for the ceremony in a dark blue silk suit with a red carnation in the buttonhole of the jacket. The papers were ready and we signed them, John Smith and Mary Brown, in the places he indicated. Luke led the way into the tiny chapel adjoining his living room and took his place behind a waist-high rostrum in front of a life-sized painting of Jesus Christ. The picture was amateurish, and the artist had painted the eyes so that they seemed to follow you no matter where you happened to be in the tiny chapel. Luke’s wife, a heavy, buxom blonde, was seated at a Hammond electric organ, and as we entered the chapel she started to play ‘Rock of Ages.’
“Never mind the music,” I told her. “Let’s get on with it.”
A man I hadn’t noticed before was sleeping on the long bench that ran the width of the rear of the room. Luke apologized.
“I woke him up as soon as Shorty called, but he must have gone back to sleep again. I know he don’t look so good, but lots of times I have to marry people in the middle of the night and a witness is a witness. You can give him a little gambling money after the ceremony if you want. That’s the reason he sleeps here, just to get a little gambling money.”
Luke woke the man by pulling his legs off the bench and standing him on his feet with one swift motion. He blinked his eyes and stumbled into his place at my right. Mrs. Luke left the organ and stood at Florence’s left. The witness reeked of gin and had a three-day stubble of beard on his face. I pushed him away from me.
“Don’t stand so close,” I told him.
Luke opened a small, white book and read the ceremony. It was very short, but as Shorty had said, it was nice. Luke read it rapidly in a deep, falsely emotional tone of voice, and parts of it were hard to follow.
He paused. “Do you have a ring?”
“I’m wearing it already,” Florence said for me.
“Fine. I pronounce you man and wife.” We shook hands all around and Mrs. Luke kissed Florence on the cheek. I gave the gin-soaked witness a dollar bill and he left the chapel muttering under his breath.
The ceremony, including the license fee, cost me ten dollars, and I tipped Luke another five. Luke waved to us from the doorway as we climbed into the Buick. On the way back to the motel we stopped at a drive-in and ate breakfast at the inside counter. Florence complained about the wedding all during breakfast.
“It was the lousiest wedding I’ve ever seen,” she grumbled.
“Don’t let it bother you, Mrs. Smith,” I said, grinning. “You’re lucky to get rid of a name like Brown in exchange for a nice one like Smith.” I left the counter and lost four quarters in the slot machine by the cash register while Florence finished her coffee.
We returned to the motel.
Shorty was coming out of our cabin as Florence pulled into the garage. I got her bag out of the backseat and Shorty took it out of my hand and led us into the cabin. He put the bag at the foot of the bed on the little stand, spread his arms wide. “There you are, folks. I told you it wouldn’t take long. Now, if you need anything, just holler. Your bed’s been changed and there’s plenty of extra towels in the bathroom. Congratulations, Mr. Smith, and you too, Miss.” We shook hands and he backed out of the door and closed it.
“What is he, a dwarf or what?” Florence asked.
“I don’t know and I care less. All I want is sleep.” I undressed and climbed into the big, soft double bed. Florence went into the bathroom for a shower and I was asleep before she came out. She woke me by nibbling on my ear with her sharp teeth.
“Cut it out,” I said sleepily. “I’m too tired.”
“Is that any way to treat your wife on your wedding day, Mr. Smith?” She was naked and not quite dry from her shower. She pressed her damp body as close to me as she could get it.
“Now, look. I told you I’m tired and I mean it. Let’s forget about it for now and take a little nap. After we’re rested there will be plenty of time. Then we can pick up the five thousand at the Desert Sands; and tonight I’ll see about getting us a plane out of here.”
“What five thousand?” The surprise in her voice was genuine.
I was very tired. There was fatigue in every bone and muscle of my body, and I was in a deep, soft bed. But when I heard that tone of surprise I was suddenly wide-awake. Any and all thoughts of sleep were gone. I sat up in bed.
“The five thousand dollars you’ve got in the safe at the Desert Sands.” I said it slowly so there wouldn’t be any misunderstanding.
“I don’t have any money in Vegas. What are you talking about?”
“Easy now, baby. You told me definitely that you had five thousand at the Desert Sands Hotel, another ten in Mexico City, and five in a safe deposit box in New York. Now what about it?” I didn’t raise my voice but there was a slight quaver in it.
“I didn’t tell you that,” she said indignantly.
“Yes, you did.”
“No, I didn’t either.”
I didn’t go on with it. I lit a cigarette and started dressing. All right. So she was crazy.
“Where are you going?” Florence asked worriedly.
“Out.”
“Listen to me, Jake. I don’t remember telling you anything like that. I’ve never even been here before, so why would I tell you a lie like that?”
“I don’t know, but that’s what you said.”
“I have got ten thousand dollars in Mexico City!”
“You’ve never been to Mexico City.”
“I was too! I was there all last summer with Milton. We stayed at the Casa del Oro Hotel. My money’s in the safe there. If you don’t believe me I’ll send a wire and prove it to you!”
“Sure. And let the police know that the widow Weintraub is staying at the Home Rest Motel in Vegas under the name of Mrs. John Smith.”
“How else can I prove it to you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think you can.” I tied my necktie and slipped into my jacket.
“Where’re you going? You’re not going to leave me here?”
“No. I wouldn’t do that. We’re in this together, baby. But I’m going to get a drink and do a little thinking. Things are different now.”
“I’ll go with you.” She threw the covers back and got out of bed.
“No. I don’t want you with me. Get some sleep. You need it and I had some in the car. I want to do my thinking by myself.”
I sat down in a chair and bent down and tied my shoes. When I looked up, Florence had her little pistol in her hand and she was pointing it in my face. Standing naked before me, she resembled a teenaged girl except for the black, coarse mat of hair between her legs that curled into a lopsided triangle halfway up her stomach. The ends of the long, white scars on her belly extended well down into the pubic hair. I raised my eyes to hers and stared at her for a full minute before I said anything.
“If you’re going to shoot, go ahead.”
The pistol wavered and she lowered her arm, dropped the pistol onto the carpet.
“You aren’t going to leave me, are you, Jake?”
“I said I wasn’t.” I got up from the chair, put my arms around her and kissed her hard on the mouth. “Don’t get excited, baby. I’ll be back after awhile. I’ve got to think things out, that’s all. Now get back into bed and go to sleep. Okay?”
“I wouldn’t know what to do if you left me.”
“I’m not going to leave you.” I picked her up, dumped her on the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. I kissed her again. “I’ll be back in about an hour.” She rolled over and put her face into the pillow. I left the cabin, closing the door soundlessly behind me.
As I walked through the white gravel to the highway the full impact of my stupidity sank in. How dumb could a man get and still go on living?
Chapter Twelve
BY THE TIME I HAD CRUNCHED DOWN the line of cabins and reached the highway I was almost sick to my stomach. I stopped for a moment and looked up and down the highway. A drink was what I needed. The Dry Bones Cabaret was the first joint down The Strip; two hundred yards away. I made for it, wiping the perspiration from my forehead with my handkerchief.
I had been played for a sucker and I didn’t like it. Florence had what she wanted, although why she wanted to marry me was more than I could figure out. Of course, we were in it together, both equally guilty under the law, but just the same . . . then it hit me, and I laughed. Now that we were married neither one of us could testify against the other. That must have been the reason. I felt a little better. After all a rule like that worked both ways. Maybe she did have ten thousand dollars stashed away in Mexico City.
Well, I’ll never know now.
I entered the Dry Bones Cabaret. It was plush. It had a wine-colored wall-to-wall carpet underfoot, a gold leaf bas-relief chase of cowboys and Indians circling the wall, and every form of gambling going on that you could think of except horse racing. The gambling room was jammed. There were women in shorts, slacks and evening dress, and there were men in shorts, slacks and evening dress. A few conservatives like myself were wearing ordinary business suits. But everyone was gambling.
I headed straight for the bar and ordered a double Tom Collins. The air-conditioning helped some, but I was still hot from my short walk in the desert sun. I cooled off ten degrees merely by shaking the ice cubes in my tall drink. I downed it, ordered another. The tariff for the two drinks was cheap, much cheaper than I had thought it would be, and for a moment I was surprised. Then I remembered that the top entertainment and the reasonable drinks were all a part of shilling a gambler inside so he could be separated from his money. It was time for me to take a look inside my wallet. Why not? I had forty-seven dollars left. Not too bad, but not enough for a plane to Mexico. Florence may have had some money, but if she did, I didn’t know how much. I decided to gamble with what I had anyway.
There were only six players at the nearest crap table. Not many for the size of the table. I got behind the dice and watched the play until it was my turn.
