The Crossroads Read online

  “I’ll do that. But if I go on a night shift, what’s going to happen to us? That’ll spoil the fun.”

  “Won’t it be worth waiting for, darling?” she said, sliding over against him, her breath hot on his throat, her hands on his body.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “That’s all you have to do, darling. So far.”

  And he stopped thinking of anything but Pete Drovek’s wife. But her mind was free to wander. Her responses were mechanical. She was only partially aware of Glenn. Up until this moment she had not believed that she could force Glenn or any man to do something he did not want to do. It gave her a curious and not distasteful sense of power. She wondered how Mark had known that Glenn was the one who would agree. Because she knew he would agree. And he would do it. Mark had been right. She felt terrible about Papa Drovek. But he would be all right. As Mark explained, he was a tough old man. This was just a little bump on the head. And it wasn’t as if you were taking his last dollar. What did such an old man need with so much cash?

  She was a small lonely boat, adrift amid Glenn’s turbulence, shaping itself, without thought or interest, to the dimensions of the sea. She wished everything was the way it used to be back in another life. So vivid was the yearning for the damp dirty studios, the hot glare of floods and spots, the soiled chromium sky over Manhattan, that when Glenn collapsed gasping against her, his heart galloping, this time and place were less real than her memories. She could not understand how she had arrived at this untenable place, victimized by Mark, used by Glenn, tolerated by Pete. She was badly frightened of what was ahead. But fright was spiced by excitement. She knew she was being Bad. But she did not know how to find her way back to being Good, was not certain, in fact, that she would wholeheartedly take that path back if she could find it.

  On Monday, a day of intermittent misty rain with a low gray silent sky, Chip drove into Walterburg with Papa Drovek, in one of the two Ford station wagons that belonged to the corporation. He parked in the bank lot beyond the drive-in windows and they walked quickly through the rain and into the bank through the side door. Papa wore his shiny dark-blue suit, his sturdy black thick-soled shoes, a white shirt, a bright blue tie pulled into a tiny knot, and an old-fashioned gray felt hat with a wide brim and a rather high crown set squarely on his head. As soon as he was inside the bank, as always, he took his hat off as though entering a church.

  Chip looked at his watch. “Papa, I’ve got this meeting about the car agency. I don’t think it will last too long. Just signing papers and so on. When you get your business done, you can sit and wait over there if I’m not ready.”

  “Hokay,” Papa said cheerfully. He took his check to Mr. Julius’ window. There was a short line.

  “Good morning, Mr. Drovek. Gloomy day, isn’t it?”

  “Is nice a little rain sometime.”

  “How would you like this, sir?”

  “I tink five tens and all the rest fifty this time.”

  Mr. Julius had to go to another teller to get more fifties. He slapped the slim banded pack down, then counted out nine more fifties and five tens with deft briskness. Papa loved to watch Mr. Julius count out money.

  “Tank you so much,” he said, smiling broadly.

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Drovek.”

  Papa carefully put the money, all but the tens, in the inside pocket of his blue jacket as he walked toward the safety deposit vault. He stopped at the counter, put the five tens in a bulky old wallet, and took his box key out of his pocket. The pleasant-faced, white-haired woman greeted him with a smile. “Good morning, Mr. Drovek.”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Packer. Is nice a little rain like this.”

  “Yes, it is.” He followed her into the vault. She took his key and her key and unlocked the box door, Papa pulled the long box out and walked out of the vault and turned left, into a room with a narrow aisle, a soft rug, pleasant lighting, booths on either side. He went into one of the smaller booths, put his hat and his safety deposit box down on the counter, turned and closed the door, sat in one of the two straight chairs and sighed with pleasure. It was very nice here. Very comfortable.

  He took the money out of his pocket, ripped the band off the fifties, put them all together and counted them slowly and carefully three times, licking his thumb from time to time. Then he opened the box.

  “Hooo!” he said softly. He took all the packages of bills out and stacked them on the counter. They were fat packages, bound tightly with thick red rubber bands. Inside the center band of each package was a piece of the scratch paper supplied in each booth with the amount printed on it in Papa’s strong angular hand. He counted the completed packages carefully, muttering the total to himself. He said the grand total more loudly, “Two hundert seventy-two tousand.”

  And now he had enough fifties to make up a new package and have a few left over. He counted out one hundred fifties carefully, checked it twice, took three heavy red rubber bands from his side pocket and snapped them firmly and tightly around the stack. He wrote $5000 on a piece of scratch paper, wedged it under the center band.

  “Two hundert seventy-seven tousand,” he mumbled. “Hoooo!”

  There were twelve fifties left over. He repacked the box tightly and carefully and put the twelve fifties in loose. “Two hundert seventy-seven tousand six hundert.” He shut the box and patted it.

  He sat for a little while and estimated when he would arrive at tree hundert tousand. Maybe one year from September. If he could live so long. He wanted to live that long. He wished he could listen when they read the will. After the tax money was taken out, the rest would go into a trust fund. The income from that would go to each grandchild, divided equally among them as they reached twenty-one. They would have that income for all their lives. And when the last grandchild died, so long a time from now, maybe seventy or eighty years, the income would go to college scholarships for smart poor kids born in Walterburg County. Ah, the hand of Anton Drovek would reach far into the future.

  “Hooo!” he said again. He got up and picked up his box and hat, aligned the two chairs neatly and left the booth.

  Chip’s meeting ended at noon. Everything was signed and in order. Once the building was completed, the Crossroads Corporation would enter into an agreement with the Paris Realty Corporation for them to manage the property and collect the rental.

  Papa was sitting on a bench over by the front windows, his hat on his knees, looking placid, patient and amiable.

  He got up as Chip approached and said, “Is everything work out good?”

  “Just fine, Papa. How about you and me having a good lunch here in town?”

  “But home it cost us nearly nutting, Charlie,” he said, looking alarmed.

  “Come on, you old miser. What are you going to do with all your money?”

  As they walked toward the car Papa said, “Maybe sometime I spend it all on young girl. Nice fat one, hey, Charlie?”

  On that same Monday, the twenty-fifth day of June, Glenn Lawrenz was having a strange day. Ever since he had awakened, he had been marveling at what had happened. That crazy Sylvia! Dreaming the whole thing up. Wanting him to actually go ahead with it and run away with her. She’s nuts about you, ole Glenn. A lot of others have been, too, but nothing quite as tasty as that little chunk. The more she takes off, the better she looks.

  You got to play this cool, boy. Kid her along. Let her really believe you’re going to go ahead with that damn fool operation. Otherwise she cuts off the candy supply.

  She’s lost her damn mind.

  Funny how little you ever know about what the other guy is thinking.

  He went through the motions of his job, moving with the deceptive bustle that kept Marty fooled. That right front tire looks soft, sir. Brush it out for you, ma’am? You’ll want to go east on 82, sir. Go straight through the underpass and take a right. The Pantry, one half mile south on this side, is a good place for lunch, ladies. It could use a quart, sir. Coke machine is right over th
ere, honey. That’ll be five fifty even, sir. Men’s room around on the left, sonny. She’s lost her damn mind. Let me mark the map here for you, ma’am. Your left tail pipe is loose, mister. Lost her mind. You can get a good balance and alignment job down at Truck Haven, sir, beyond the underpass on your left. Yes, sir, you can cut through the middle strip there. Gone crazy. It’s because you threw your fan belt, lady. Lucky you didn’t burn the engine up.

  He wished he could stop thinking about it. Every time he thought about it he got the same feeling in his gut that he used to have before the football game started way back in Oklahoma, before he got thrown out of school for slugging that sarcastic little chemistry teacher.

  Okay, so it wasn’t because it was against the law. It was because it was too damn dangerous. Like in Mobile, when he and Ritz and Dud had knocked off that all-night drugstore. Sixty-eight bucks. Twenty-two sixty-six apiece in exchange for risking a five-year rap for armed robbery. A sucker’s racket. This was the best deal. Play the angles. Pump a buck’s worth into an out-of-state drunk, pocket two and ring up one and send him on his way thinking he’s got his three dollars’ worth of high test. Dig for the loose tip every chance you get. One little angle was always good for a quick buck. Say they give you a ten for a two-buck purchase. Run out with eight ones in a big hurry, shove seven at them and drop one beside the car door. If they yelp you say woops, I dropped one. Here you are, ma’am. If they don’t, you’ve got your shoe over it when they drive away. So tie a shoelace. Works best on the island furthest from the station. On the other side of the car. Work that twice a shift and it’s twelve bucks a week free and safe.

  That’s one thing the cops did. Scared you into the safe, permanent small-time. But what does a guy need? A car, a pad, some good threads, food and women. Women who can pay the freight.

  A deal like that just isn’t worth the risk.

  But there is a lot of difference between twenty-two sixty-six and what must be in that old duck’s box in the bank. Two five zero zero zero zero dot zero zero. That is large money. They move that kind around in armor plate and keep it behind bars. You hardly ever find a situation where you run into one old man, all alone, carrying that kind of money. It’s a rare thing.

  But not for me, baby.

  You wouldn’t want to risk killing him. Lift a few rolls of tar tape and a six-inch length of three-quarter-inch pipe. Load the pipe with sand and plug it. Pad it real thick with the tape. One flick of the wrist. Catch him as he sags and yank him into one of those booths she was talking about.

  Hold it! Just because she’s gone nuts, I don’t have to too. It’s not for me, baby.

  It wouldn’t hurt to buy a hat and try that cotton in the chops deal and see if I look different enough. Just idle curiosity. I wouldn’t be doing a damn thing. Just buying a hat. Anybody can buy a hat. Christ, I don’t even know what my size is. Couldn’t use sunglasses. Too sneaky-looking. Wonder where you go to buy ordinary glasses. Hat, glasses, cotton in the chops. Use the charcoal brown suit. Never have liked it. Too damn dull and plain.

  Get off it, boy!

  The girl and all the money.

  Best place to cross over is Brownsville, or maybe McAllen, over to Reynosa.

  How many times in your life do you get this kind of a setup?

  Slow down, ole Glenn!

  One thing has always helped, though. You look so honest, boy. Nobody around here has dug you. Nobody except that bartender, and he got fired for tapping the till. Takes one to know one? Maybe that’s how Sylvia knew I might go for it. Larceny in her heart. Nuts about me.

  Just kid her along That’s all. And buy a hat.

  During a lull, Pete Drovek came into the station with Marty Simmons. Glenn was sitting on the corner of the desk having a Coke and a package of peanut crackers. He got up as they came in.

  “Did you meet Glenn, Pete? Glenn Lawrenz.”

  “I’ve seen you around, of course,” Pete said. Glenn put the Coke down to shake hands.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Drovek.”

  “Make it Pete, Glenn. I’m just another hired hand around here.”

  “Glenn’s been with us six months,” Marty said. “He’s got a lot of hustle.”

  “Thanks, Marty,” Glenn said. He felt uncomfortable so close to Pete Drovek. It disturbed him that Pete looked and acted like a nice guy. Funny he wasn’t able to keep his wife home. He looked as if he could. But you couldn’t tell, really. Some guys just didn’t have it for a dolly like Sylvia.

  “Pete is working into the gas and service end,” Marty said.

  “I’ll spend some time at each station every day,” Pete said casually. “Learn the ropes.”

  “That’s fine!” Glenn said too heartily. He saw a car slowing to turn in. “Excuse me,” he said. He hustled out and was ready, waiting, smiling, when the car stopped beside the gas island. “Fill it up with the extra, sir?”

  As he pumped the gas, cleaned the windshield, fan windows and headlight lenses, checked the oil, water, battery level and power steering fluid level, he kept thinking about Pete. The guy had a sharp look. Suppose he happened to be around when Sylvia came in? Suppose he caught on about the notes, got hold of one? He decided he’d ask Marty if he could switch to the four-to-midnight. Think up some reasonable excuse for wanting a less desirable shift. He told himself it didn’t have anything to do with Sylvia’s crazy idea. Nothing at all. And it wouldn’t be like giving her up. With Pete hanging around the stations they’d find some way to shack up during the day, before he had to come to work. Or maybe after midnight when he was off on those trips he was always taking. Just changing shifts and buying a hat didn’t mean anything. Anybody could do that. It didn’t mean anything at all. It would just make it easier to kid her along, make her think he might really do it, keep her from cutting off the supply.

  On that same Monday Jack Paris spent a couple of bored, restless hours in the office, looking over maintenance and repair reports, asking Joan pointless questions. Before noon he drove north to the big new Crossroads Shopping Center and made himself agreeable to the manager of the supermarket, and the managers of a few of the other stores. He introduced himself to clerks who didn’t know him. He spent a long time in the sporting goods department of the big hardware store, looking at putters. At last he bought a new one. He had lunch down at Truck Haven and enjoyed kidding his pretty dark-haired niece about her new job. After lunch he spent another half-hour in the office, then walked up to the Crossroads Bowladrome, got his ball and shoes out of the locker, joined two men who were practicing on their day off, and spent a completely happy rainy afternoon, competing for beers. He had one very hot game when he threw four strikes, a spare, three strikes and a spare, and struck out for a two fifty-seven. He liked the rumble of the ball, the blast of the pins, and the feel of using the long tough muscles of his back.

  And on that same Monday Jeana Portoni spent a slow day working as hard as she could, scrubbing, rearranging and dusting the stock, taking an inventory of all the glassware, making careful selections from a new wholesale catalogue, repricing merchandise that had not moved as fast as she had hoped, writing business letters on her portable, leaping up to greet the random customer with a somewhat nervous smile.

  She tried not to think about Chip. About the night before last. He had arrived at ten. And it had been exceedingly wonderful with him, better than ever before. And then had come the stupid, tiresome quarrel, and it had been all her fault. There, in the cozy darkness in his arms, when she should have been content to be with him, she had said in a flat voice, too loud for the darkness and his closeness, “I would estimate that eleven seconds after I let you in, we were in bed.”

  “Were we?” he said sleepily.

  She had felt the rigidity of an inexplicable anger in her body. “Any little ceremonial approach, any restraint at all would be such a terrible waste of time, darling. We have to get down to essentials. Because that’s all we have. A nice tumble in the hay. There isn’t anything else.”


  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Oh, I’m all right. I’m just learning to face facts, darling. Available Jeana. Knock twice and I open the door. I could have a sign painted.”

  “What the hell are you getting at?”

  “A person likes to know where she stands. I’m just a handy romp for Chip Drovek, and if we try to pretend it’s anything more than that, we’re kidding the troops, dearest.”

  “Listen …”

  “Oh, I don’t mind at all. So glad to be of service and all that. Happy to do my part, darling. But after all, let’s not try to call it some immortal romance. The white knight and the princess. This is no mighty conflagration. It’s a grass fire. We just soothe each other’s nerves a little. And we won’t make trouble for each other. It’s an arrangement, darling. Completely physical. Just a little free-hand …”

  It was the first time in her life she had ever said that horrid word. It had, of course, made him terribly angry. He had shaken her roughly. She had wept. And finally, unable to do anything with her, he had walked out in anger.

  Now she knew that she had begun the quarrel because she loved him so much, and their future was so hopeless. And guilt had been involved too. There was a woman less than a mile away from them who was his wife. She might be hopelessly alcoholic, but she was his wife. And Jeana sensed that no good could come from this clandestine relationship, no matter how delicious it had become, and how necessary it seemed to them.

  Chip was a good man. The best of men. Strong and sane and generous. She felt that even without all the rest of it she could love him. It was not the idealization of the love object. She could see his flaws. But the rest of it with them was such a previously inexperienced perfection, that it had made her too greedy to be entirely his, so the world could know. Anxious to carry his strong sons. Precious time was going by.

  So she had been a bitch, and if he never came to her again, it would be a cruel but just punishment. With a man like that you had no right to be bitchy. Instead you should be grateful for scraps. You could live forty lifetimes without ever having even this much of love.