# Kept Woman/Chapter 18

Sometimes Hubert worried about the situation a little. Once he even went so far as to ask himself what the outcome could be. He had borrowed now from Carl Feldman, Arch McKay, two of the boys at the club; and once on the street, encountering Bert McKay, he had borrowed five dollars from him. It seemed so wasteful not to make use of that accidental meeting. Bert had looked at him strangely and Hubert knew that Arch had told him of the fifteen which he had borrowed in June. It was July now and Hubert had not seen Arch since the day they had lunched together. He had fixed it all right, though. He had said, "Tell Arch I'll be up to see him tomorrow and I'll give you this five then, too."
There were other men with whom he had been friendly. Some of them would probably let him have fifty or even a hundred, but they were men who had a speaking acquaintance with Helen. Gee, if they ever told her it would be awful. Helen would sure have plenty to say.
Gosh, it was July now and not a job in sight. Maybe when the weather got cooler and the important business men were coming back from the shore and the mountains, maybe then prospects would be brighter. But now there was rent, gas, electricity, two mouths to feed, and a Packard to support.
​Hubert sat in the car and ran over in his mind the names of everybody he knew. Some had already been borrowed from. Some had no money. Some weren't extra friendly toward him, and some knew Helen too well. The car was parked on Two Hundred and Seventh Street right beside Isham Park. He was supposed to be out interviewing various business magnates, but there was nobody to interview, and there was no use worrying Lillian by telling her so. He had driven his car to its present whereabouts an hour before, and there he sat with three dollars and a half in his pocket, wondering to whom he could turn for help. He knew there was no use in asking Cliff or Billy for the money he had once given them. They would only assure him that they, too, were broke. Cliff probably was now, with the baby coming and all. But Billy—he ought to have money. Hubert felt sure, however, that Billy would never return a nickel he had borrowed, and it would be humiliating to ask for it. Now whom could he borrow from?
A girl with a floppy red hat passed close to the Packard. Hubert looked at the hat and got an inspiration. Maybe there was nothing in the idea; still, it wouldn't hurt to try.
She would be awake. She wasn't the sort who slept late. Anyhow it was after eleven. He lost no time in testing the merits of his inspiration. He went at once to the apartment on Broadway where lived his friends the Mosses. During the five-minute ride Theresa had become very dear to him. The more he thought of her, the more kind-hearted and understanding she seemed. She wouldn't even be surprised to see him alone and ​at this hour. She had become, in that short ride, the sort of friend who anticipates one's every need.
Theresa, however, disappointed him on one score. When she opened the door she said, "Well, for Heaven's sake!" Then she laughed and said, "Come on in. I guess I didn't sound very hospitable, but I wasn't expecting you, you know. Come in."
He followed her to the living-room and through to the kitchen. She had been ironing but pulled the plug out of the wall socket in preparation for a lengthy visit. He stood in the kitchen door as she spread the dampened garments over a small line and put her iron on the marble window ledge to cool.
They went back to the living-room to sit down. Theresa lit a cigarette and asked how Hubert and Lillian were. She was plainly curious as to what had prompted the call, and Hubert was loath to come to the reason for his visit.
For more than a half-hour Theresa manufactured conversation, now and then permitting a minute's silence to fall encouragingly.
At last Hubert said, "Theresa, I hate to ask you what I've come to ask you today. I really do. It goes against my grain and if it wasn't for Lillian I'd take a licking before I'd ask you this. But you see—I guess it's pretty plain to you—things have been going pretty bad with us."
Theresa nodded.
"Well, fact is, I'm in an awful bad way. Lillian doesn't realize how bad and I don't want to tell her. No use in worrying her, I figure. I'd like to know— ​Fact is, I want to ask you to lend me a hundred dollars."
Theresa swallowed and looked hard at Hubert for a minute. "What can you do with a hundred dollars?" she asked.
"What can I do with a hundred dollars! My God, Theresa, feed myself and Lil and attend to a lot of things."
"Yes, but don't you see what I mean—a hundred dollars won't last long—and then where are you again? Right back where you started from."
"But I hope to have a job by then."
"Look, Hubert, a hundred dollars can't last two weeks with all the things you seem to have to do with it, and in two weeks you won't have a job if you haven't gotten one in all the months you've been looking."
"Well, see, I've got a good one in view."
"I'd sell the Packard if I were you, Hubert." Her tone was a trifle cold.
"But I can't, Theresa. See, I need it for a front. You know how the world feels toward a guy who can't put up a decent front."
"Yes, but I think you're carrying an unnecessary burden."
"Besides," he went on swiftly, "Lillian is crazy about the car. I hate to take it away from her. Not only that, if I sold it she would know we were busted and probably worry herself to death."
"Say, don't you think she ought to know how things stand? How about giving her a chance of getting out from under?"
"What?" Hubert stared dumbly at Theresa, and then ​when she did not answer he went on. "Oh, you mean give Lil a chance to get away. She don't want to go away."
"How do you know she don't? Maybe if she knew things were so bad, she'd want to clear out."
"Oh, no. Besides, things ain't so terrible when I got the offer of a good job and I still got the Packard."
"Don't you own any property up your way?"
"Sure. Lots of it. But, see, Helen would find out about it and know that I was keeping somebody when she saw how much money I've been through."
"Well, suppose Helen did find out? She couldn't do more than divorce you."
"Oh, Helen's a kind of sad case, Theresa. You know, old and settled and still crazy about me. I couldn't hurt her that much."
"No, I suppose not." Theresa said nothing more for a time. Hubert talked on about Helen's pitiable condition. Presently Theresa interrupted him to ask, "Is Lillian feeling low-spirited?"
"Very."
"What's she low-spirited about if she don't know how badly off you are?"
"Well, of course, she knows that we haven't money for clothes and parties and things like that. The only thing is that she thinks this is all going to be over right away."
"Isn't it?"
Hubert cast his eyes upward. "God knows," he said.
"But I thought you had a good job right around the corner."
​"I have, but whether I'll take it or not is another matter."
"What would make you refuse it?"
"Too small a salary."
"But you're getting nothing now and you're managing somehow," Theresa pointed out.
Hubert reached for one of Theresa's cigarettes. He was glad that he wasn't married to Theresa. Helen had been a much better choice. This damn woman should have been a district attorney.
Theresa sat tapping her left foot thoughtfully on the floor. Many thoughts went through her head. Hymie worked so hard for his money, poor soul. It wasn't fair to give it away to a guy who sat on his can and hoped for the best. Still, what would become of Lillian if Hubert decided that he couldn't possibly be annoyed with the affair any longer? What was to prevent him from suddenly departing, to return no more? And maybe Lillian cared about this jackass. There was no accounting for tastes. Perhaps a hundred dollars would last him till he got a job. But maybe he had no intentions of getting one. Maybe he'd just break away from Lillian one of these days and go back to wherever the devil he came from. Well, if he was that kind, a hundred dollars wasn't going to keep him from leaving Lillian flat. But maybe it would keep him with her a little longer, and if she loved Hubert— Oh, there was no figuring the thing, but anyhow—
"Wait a minute," she said. "I'll get dressed and you can drive me to the bank."
"I can get a check cashed," he said.
​"We have no checks," she answered. "We're poor people."
Hubert held his tongue after that. He said not another word until Theresa had drawn a hundred dollars from her account and handed it to him. He said "thank you" then. They were on Dyckman Street outside the Bank of Washington Heights. Hubert was uncomfortable. Suppose Lillian should walk by?
"Get in, I'll drive you home."
"No, I think I'll walk over and see Lillian. Cheer her up a little."
"You won't tell her about this, will you, Theresa? I don't want to worry her, you know, about debts we owe, and especially to you."
"Why especially to me?"
"Oh, she'd think I was awful, picking on her friends to borrow from."
Theresa laughed and walked away. Hubert decided that he didn't like her; still, he had a hundred dollars now and it felt darn nice to have it, too. Maybe before the hundred dollars dwindled he'd have a job. He'd written to Box 247X in answer to an advertisement that called for an intelligent man over thirty to fill an executive position. Everything looked quite rosy. There only remained the thinking up of a story to tell Lillian concerning the hundred dollars. Well, he'd say that the week his son had started work he had given a hundred dollars to him with which to buy a suit and a coat. Given it to him, of course, not loaned it. But the darn kid was so perky now and so tickled to death with being a business man that he had insisted upon returning it. ​That was a good story. Now what would he do with the rest of the day? Let's see, where was that Vilma Banky picture playing?
Box 247X never answered Hubert's letter. Well, it probably wouldn't have been much of a job anyhow. He felt that he ought to get up to the club again and tell a few more fellows that he was open for offers, but he remembered that he owed a little money up there and sort of hated to go back till he could pay it. He looked through the ads in the paper every morning after he had left Lillian. He would buy the papers on Dyckman Street and park on the Drive, looking them over. There were, however, very few ads that would appeal to a man of intelligence and executive ability. And fewer still that wanted answers by mail. Hubert was not interested in the ones that wanted a personal interview at once. He couldn't see himself in line with a lot of down-and-outers asking a perfect stranger to give him a job. The ads that spoke of glittering opportunities for the right man always had box numbers; so Hubert wrote to three or four, but received no answer. His wonderment knew no bounds.
The hundred dollars which Theresa gave him did not last long, as there were many claims upon it. Hubert thought of selling the Packard and then beating it out of town with Lillian and beginning everything over. He thought of it as one thinks of a play one has seen. Very entertaining, indeed, and very competently handled, too, but of course, no one ever behaved like the hero. Still, a very nice story to recall now and again.
Only ten dollars was left of Theresa's hundred when ​the gas company threatened to discontinue service in the little kitchenette. Lillian had always been careless about paying bills, and when there had been plenty of money at hand no inconvenience had arisen from her neglect. It had been easy to pay the fellow when he showed up with the final notice. But now it was different. Very different. Five dollars and twenty-one cents takes an awful fall out of one's last ten-dollar bill.
Hubert considered the matter. Certainly he wasn't going to pay out of that solitary bill, and the gas was needed very badly. He got his hat and went out.
At the Dyckman Street corner he paused and considered the matter. The sun was hot. He took off his hat and fanned himself idly. The sun sparkled on the plate-glass windows of the stores across the way. Hm, there was the butcher shop they used to deal in. Nice fellow, that butcher. Very obliging. Briskly Hubert crossed the street.
It was a long, narrow store with plump chickens and tender-looking roasts displayed on white enamel trays under glass. Hubert saw that the owner of the shop who had always given him his personal attention was at the moment engaged. A somewhat fussy young woman was picking out a few lamb chops and Hubert waited patiently for the butcher to notice him.
The fussy young woman was at last satisfied and took her bundle and departed.
"Howdy," said Hubert.
"Why, hello, Mr. Cory," said the butcher. "You're quite a stranger. Been away?"
"Yes, we were away for a while. My wife was ​awfully sick, you know. I had to take her to the mountains."
"Is that so?"
"Yeh, I thought there for a while that I was going to lose her."
"You don't say."
"It was pretty bad, all right, but we've got her around pretty well now."
"I often wondered about her. Never saw her around or anything. I figured you moved out of the neighborhood."
"Oh, no. You can't lose us. We're like the bad pennies that always turn up."
"I asked Marty here a couple of times if he thought we'd done anything you folks didn't like. You know, some folks are strange. I thought maybe you got a tough piece of meat once or something. You know accidents can happen, and some folks don't know they're accidents."
"Oh, no. Nothing like that. Say, I always said you carried the best line of meat I ever ate and that the service here was good, too."
"Well, I'm glad to hear you say that, Mr. Cory. I don't like to lose a good customer."
"Don't worry. You haven't lost us. It's only that we were away and when we got back I wouldn't let my wife do any cooking or housework. You know how those things are. But I'm pretty tired of restaurants now, and so is she. I guess you'll be getting a ring from us some day next week asking you to send over a good thick steak."
​"Ha, ha. Well, glad to hear that."
"Say, could you cash a check for me?"
"Sure. Wouldn't be the first one I cashed for you."
"It sure would not. This is a little large though. Three hundred and fifteen dollars."
"Oh, say, I'm sorry, Mr. Cory, I really am. I haven't got that much."
"Gee, and it's too late for the bank and here I am flat broke. I wanted to take Mrs. Cory to a show tonight, too. The poor girl just wanted to see one tonight. It's so long since she's been able to go."
"Well, now, that's too bad. Say, I could let you have some money, Mr. Cory. How much would do you?"
"Twenty or twenty-five would be great."
"All right. Here's twenty-five. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, yes, twenty-five. I hope that'll help you."
"Oh, that'll be fine. I'll be in tomorrow to see you about it."
"No hurry, Mr. Cory, no hurry. I won't lose any sleep worrying about it. Ha, ha."
"Ha, ha," echoed Hubert.
He went across the street. He looked back at the butcher shop and saw the obliging little butcher standing in his doorway. He looked clean and cheerful there. Nice fellow. Probably rolling in money. Sure, all those guys were rolling in money. Well, maybe not rolling, but they got along all right. Hubert decided that when things were breaking right again he'd bring the butcher a couple of good cigars and the twenty-five bucks and tell how broke he'd been and how the big check had just been a stall. They'd have a good laugh together ​over it. Hubert remembered Carl Feldman just then and frowned. No use in worrying about Carl. That guy was making plenty of jack. Besides, Carl knew that a fellow like Hubert Scott wasn't going to rook him for a lousy hundred bucks.
He was two doors away from his apartment before he remembered that he had no plausible story to tell Lillian that would explain the presence of this twenty-five dollars. She'd never believe that he had just walked out and found it lying on the street. Not even if he went over to Woolworth's and bought a little purse to put it in. No, that story would seem a little far-fetched, he was afraid. Gee, he hated to be lying to Lillian all the time, but there was no use of her worrying about debts. He'd tell her everything when he got a job. He'd even tell her about Theresa then. But now let's see—he had only been gone about fifteen minutes; so she'd know that the money had come from somewhere in the neighborhood. That made it bad. Maybe he ought to get the car and ride around for an hour. But she saw him now. Damn it. There she was up at the window. He smiled at her and entered the house. Now who in the devil could he have met? Billy? What was the use of giving Billy credit for having returned a loan? Cliff? The same went for Cliff.
He walked upstairs. Lillian had opened the door and was standing there waiting for him.
"Gee," she said, "it's roasting in here tonight."
"Yeh, it's pretty hot. Anyhow you can put one worry off your mind. We'll have twenty-five dollars this evening and we can pay the gas bill."
​"How's that?"
"Well, I called up a fellow. Jack Roberts, his name is. He belongs to the club. A nice fellow. Long about a year ago—yes, I guess it was just about a year ago he borrowed twenty-five bucks from me. I hate to ask a fellow about any money I've loaned him, but, gee, when you need it you need it. I called him up and he says he's going downtown tonight and will stop and give me the money."
"Here?"
"Gosh, no. He knows Helen. I'm to meet him at Broadway and Dyckman Street. I told him I was down here attending to some business and that I ran a little short."
"Won't he tell Helen?"
"Well, that don't matter. See, if she says anything I can say I was doing some business for Steve Flynn."
"You know," Lillian said, "sometimes I think Helen must be awfully thick."
"Why?"
"Because. For instance, now, where does she think you sleep every night?"
"Sometimes in a hotel and sometimes at Steve's house. I tell her I'm too tired to make that leap home every evening. She never asks what hotel. She trusts me."
"I wonder if you couldn't really get a good job with Steve Flynn?"
"No. I saw him about it. Close? Why, that guy's closer than all the Scotchmen they tell jokes about. He wanted me to start at thirty-five hundred a year."
"Heavens!"
​Hubert took a little walk at a quarter of eight, and when he came back he gave Lillian the twenty-five dollars.
"You know," she said, "I didn't believe that fellow would show up. I'm pleasantly surprised to see the money. You know what I figured? I thought he'd figure that you didn't really need the money bad and he'd just let it ride."
"Oh, no. I've never known Jack Roberts to say that he'd be at a certain place and then not show up. He's a nice chap. I'd have had you meet him only on account of him knowing Helen I couldn't."
"Of course not."
The gas bill was paid and Hubert and Lillian got their trip to the shore. They breathed the ocean air, got sand in their shoes, and ate a huge shore dinner. It seemed queer to them to be here alone. Last year the Fishers had sat with them at this same table and there had been much conversation and laughter. Lillian and Hubert talked hardly at all, and neither said anything which caused the other to even smile. Lillian thought that the beaches were falling off dreadfully. One used to actually enjoy them. She thought perhaps they were cutting prices and letting the common element in. That always ruined a place.
Hubert paid the check and they started for home. It was a long ride and the traffic was heavy. Lillian wanted to drive. She felt sure that she could make the trip more swiftly than Hubert. He always permitted every car on the road to get in front of him and he shunned every short cut. When she ventured that per​haps he was tired and would like her to drive, he answered sharply. He had grown very funny about the Packard, she thought. He never let her touch it any more although it was older now and certainly not as well cared for.
He sat at the wheel of his wife's car and thought his thoughts. Certainly he was going to have to repeat on somebody. Somebody who had already loaned him money was going to have to do it again.
By morning he had decided to whom he would turn a second time. He had a faint suspicion that Carl Feldman would turn him down. The McKay Brothers probably would, too. Besides, they wanted to know too much. He didn't want to go to the club. There were a couple of fellows there who would probably ask him point-blank to return what he had borrowed. There was only Theresa. She might turn him down, too. But you couldn't have a fellow arrested for asking. He kind of hated to ask Theresa again. She might think he had an awful nerve. But, hell, who was he going to ask? And if she turned him down what in the name of God was he going to do?
He appeared at Theresa's apartment promptly at noon. He rang her bell and got a warm smile ready for her. Nothing happened. She was out. Hubert's smile disappeared. Women nowadays thought of nothing but gadding about. He decided to wait awhile. He had nothing to do anyhow. He took his newspaper out of his pocket and carefully separated the help-wanted sheet from the news section and laid it on the fourth ​step. He sat down and at once became engrossed in the baseball news.
At a quarter of one Theresa came up the steps with her arms full of bundles. She looked at him without surprise this time.
"Hold this, will you, till I get my key out?" She handed him a large moist bundle on the top of which peaches and oranges fought for space. There were string-beans and lettuce in the bag, too. Hubert saw them when the bag broke. The accident occurred in Theresa's kitchen; so it was not as annoying as it would have been on the steps. Hubert called her attention to the fact that the bag could have broken out there, but she continued to swear violently at the fruit and vegetables and he decided that she was just hot and tired.
She put meat in the ice-box but left the other things on the table. They went to the living-room then. Theresa threw her hat on the gate-leg table and lit a cigarette. She was frowning deeply and made no effort to open the conversation.
Hubert said, "Awfully hot today, isn't it?"
"Yes," Theresa agreed.
"Thought it was cool in the hall there. I'd only been waiting about five minutes when you came along."
"Is that all?"
"That's all."
Hymie was soft. Too soft. He had said, "Gee, Theresa, I don't think he's a bad fellow. Dumb, but not mean or anything. I'm glad you gave him the hundred bucks. If he comes back don't turn him down. Of ​course if he keeps coming, we'll have to. But we could stand one more touch." Theresa tightened her lips. Hymie was too soft.
"Theresa," Hubert said, "I wish I had come here today to pay you the money I owe you. But don't worry, I will pay it. Soon now. Fact is I came to ask you today if I could borrow a little more. I'm flat as hell, Theresa. I need another hundred."
"Honest, Hubert, I'll be frank with you. I don't see how you have the crust to drive that Packard up here and ask me to lend you money. Hymie and I have a little money. We're not starving, but I'll be damned if we consider ourselves in a position to support that kind of a car. You have a nerve, Hubert."
He ran his hand nervously over his face. "Yes, I know I have, Theresa. You're right in bawling me out. I'm not the kind of a guy that has nerve as a rule either. I wouldn't dream of coming to you this time or the other time and asking you for money if I hadn't promised to support Lil."
"But I didn't promise to support her."
"No, I know you didn't. But I know you like her. Nobody could help but like her. She's so good-hearted and even-tempered. I figured you for her friend and you'd be the last one—next to me—who'd want to see her in trouble."
"How about that job you nearly had?"
"They took another fellow for it."
"Why?"
"He—he could speak Italian."
"What kind of a job was it?"
​"Why—it had a lot to do with interviewing Italians."
Theresa stared at him, and he grew uncomfortable and fidgeted in the chair.
"I think you should sell that Packard today," she said.
"Then where would I be?" he wailed.
"Probably eight or nine hundred dollars ahead. Do you like being flat broke?"
"No, but I'd never get a job if I didn't look prosperous."
"You haven't gotten one looking prosperous," she said, cruelly. "On the other hand a great many fellows without Packards have been known to connect with jobs."
"Yes, but, Theresa, I'd have to explain to Helen."
"Tell her you got tired of the car. After all, it isn't her business."
"Oh," Hubert groaned. "You don't understand."
"No, I'm pretty thick."
"I didn't mean that. Theresa, for the love of God, if you can spare a hundred dollars let me have it. I'll pay you back. Honestly I will. I'll give you a hundred percent interest on the two hundred before the winter months. You'll see, I'll connect with something."
"Don't talk like that, Hubert. I'm not lending you money as a business venture, you know. Come on, drive me down to the bank and I'll let you have it. But I don't give a God-damn what happens to you after this. Don't you dare ask me for any more money while you have that car."
"All right, Theresa. Thank you." There was defeat ​in his tone. She had the feeling that he would have cried had she kept him in suspense a minute longer. Did Lillian believe that he was going to have money to scatter again—or did she love the poor sap? The question occupied Theresa all the way to the bank and back. She gave Hubert the money outside her own door.
"Thanks, Theresa. Thanks a lot. Say, you won't—you won't mention this to Lillian either, will you?"
"No," she said shortly.
"Thanks, Theresa."
He drove away then. That was the day Huberrt first saw Emil Jannings. He liked him a lot, too.