# Bad Girl (Delmar)/Chapter 11

Dot lay on the sofa with a blanket drawn up to her ears. Funny how chilly and sick a woman could feel, once she knew she had a good excuse. Eddie sat over near the window turning the pages of a radio magazine with no great eagerness. There was an air of determined depression about the apartment and its two occupants.
Once Eddie spoke. "Want me to get you something?"
Dot shook her head. What could he get her? She didn't want anything. She was too miserable. Downstairs a Victrola began to play "Burning Sands" by the Whiteman Orchestra. People were probably feeling in good spirits down there. The woman who kept the apartment probably hadn't been to see Dr. Griegman. Dot cast a glance at Eddie. Suppose she told him. She smiled a little. What good would it do her to have Dr. Griegman's nose broken? Eddie hadn't cared about her having to undress. He seemed to know that she would have to, but if she had told him the rest— Well, she couldn't, because he certainly would make an attempt to clean up the dirty office, using the doctor for a mop. Then he would be arrested. Men made things so difficult. Because he would do this and be arrested, Dot couldn't tell him of the doctor's unpleasant habits; consequently she couldn't give him a good reason for not wanting to go to Griegman again.
At first she had hoped to gain time by mentioning the price of the operation. Eddie had looked worried but not baffled. He said he felt sure his boss would advance him fifty dollars and that he could repay him five dollars a week.
Dot closed her eyes wearily. One had one's choice be​tween going to that dirty office and being mercilessly pawed or submitting to the unbearable pain of childbirth. The second way seemed by far the more desirable, perhaps because it was a delayed punishment while the other was directly upon her. Whether that was the reason or not, Dot preferred the natural course; but then there would be Eddie looking gloomy and blue. This time next week it would be over, and they would be abie to talk to each other again and go to the movies and laugh. There is no law that can stop a woman from having a baby once Nature has given her the opportunity, but Dot doubted that any woman had ever had one without her husband's sanction. It would indeed be over in a week from now, for Eddie would continue to look dismal until the possibility of his being a father had passed. She would go as soon as Eddie got the fifty dollars. Too bad he didn't want a baby. She would be able to face the unbelievable agony of which Maude had spoken if he were only with her. But he wasn't. They weren't allies in the crisis. He was far off somewhere thinking his own thoughts, probably calling her a fool for having got into this mess. She would go back to Dr. Griegman, and he, for the small sum of fifty dollars, would put Eddie back in a good humor again. She turned wearily on the couch, and Eddie looked up at her.
Poor kid! Trying to make up her mind. Well, she'd have to come to a decision by herself. A man would have a hell of a nerve to tell her to go ahead and have the baby. It was her job to bear the pain, her job to tend the little thing for years to come. What right had a man to say what she should do?
Advice in the opposite direction was an impossibility. It was murder as Eddie saw it, murder to snuff out the little germ of life that flickered so uncertainly, that little germ that grew to be a kid in overalls with a dirty face ​who asked for pennies and was proud of his Daddy. Still, some women died bringing the little fellows here. Oh, God, why was it so hard? Why did a guy have to see the picture of Dottie cold and white beside a vision of a kid who'd be called Junior? Oh, it was her battle. He couldn't help, and she was so little and scared-looking. She seemed to think that he was sore about something. He wished that he could explain what he felt. If he could only tell her just why he kept quiet. Words. He needed words again. And well-chosen, capable words are scarce, north of Central Park.
The bell rang. Eddie got up and went to the door. Dot raised herself to a sitting position and endeavored to look less sick-hearted.
Eddie opened the door. Edna Driggs stood outside.
"Oh," said Eddie, and leaving the door open, walked back to his chair.
Edna closed the door behind her and came into the living-room.
"Hello," she said, and seeing Dot swathed in a blanket, added quickly: "What's the matter?"
"Nothing. Just lying down."
Edna sat down on the couch beside Dot. "I was worried about you," she said. "It's nearly two weeks since I heard from you."
Dot smiled a smile, sadly lacking in gayety. "Oh, you'd have heard from me," she said, "only I didn't think you'd be much help."
"What's the matter?"
"I'm pregnant."
"Well, what do you want help for?"
Eddie had recovered his magazine and had apparently discovered an intensely interesting article. His head was bent low over the book, and he seemed utterly oblivious of the conversation between the two women.
​"I don't want to have a baby," said Dot. "What do you do in a case like that?"
"You have it anyway," said Edna. "And when you see it you're ready to kill the person who says you didn't want it."
Edna got up and removed her hat and coat. There was in her air the manner of one who sees that she is needed.
"Lots of women don't have them," said Dot.
"Slackers," Edna returned. "Dames who'd shoot their fingers off to evade going to war if they were men." Edna reseated herself on the couch and waited for Dot to speak.
Dot said nothing. She was not anxious to debate the pro and con of birth control. She perceived instantly that the kind of help that she wanted would not be forthcoming from this quarter, and she was ready to let the matter drop.
"How do you feel?" Edna asked after a time.
"Fair. I'm worried, of course."
"What are you worried about? Why don't you want to have a baby?"
Eddie looked up from his intensely interesting article. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but the impression passed, and he returned to his reading.
"Well," said Dot, "for one thing—"
For one thing what? She looked pleadingly up into Edna's waiting eyes. What were some of the reasons for abortion? You simply couldn't say, "Eddie doesn't want a baby." Edna would probably hate him if she knew that. To say that she herself didn't want one was absurd. Edna would make short work of that objection.
"We'd like a little more money before we have one," said Dot timidly.
She cast a frightened glance at Eddie. Would he be angry at this attack on his earning capacity? If so, Edna's reply must surely have restored his good humor.
​"Crazy Kid," Edna laughed, easily. "You have plenty. You go to shows and dances and you dress yourself up snappy for your evenings out, don't you? Well, there'll be no shows and dances with a wee one to mind, and the money'll go on him. So there you are. What are you going to name it?"
Dot shook her head slowly. Wee one. What a cute expression. How descriptive of a gurgling elfin little thing that clings warmly to you and searches for bright objects to fix a wavering, unsure glance upon. Wee one. Dot continued to shake her head. It was not so much a gesture of negation now as it was the action of a person whose mind is occupied with melancholy thoughts.
"It will never be born," she said.
A smile had appeared on Edna's face, such as a salesman wears when he has at length overridden a customer's prejudice against his article. Now at Dot's words the smile vanished. It was as though Edna realized for the first time, that Dot was deadly serious.
"But, Honey, what are you going to do?" she asked.
"I guess I'll have to have an operation."
Edna looked at Eddie. She was trying to figure how the land lay. Who was the birth-control advocate, Eddie or Dot? If it were Dot, all was well, but in the event of its being Eddie . . .
"Operations of that kind cost a lot of money," said Edna.
"Eddie can raise it," Dot replied. She was beginning to see that she alsowas having a tussle. There was not one good argument that she could find against having a baby. Edna would fight her into a corner. Her sole reason was Eddie's doleful air. And that reason she could not give. What would Edna think of a man who didn't want a child?
"Look, Dot, I'm not a gushy sort of person, but you ​haven't any women in your life that think as much of you as I do. Sue and Maude and those girls are just companions. I'm a friend. Do you see the difference? Can't you tell me the real reason why you don't want a baby?"
Obviously, Edna had no self-consciousness about the silent blue-suited figure in the corner. She was talking to Dot, and she was desperately in earnest. Dot saw the earnestness shining through her eyes. It made Edna suddenly beautiful. Dot had a feeling that perhaps her mother would have talked so. She knew that Sue Cudahy in this position would have asked Edna just what business it was of hers. But curiously, at that moment, it seemed Edna's business. But for that silent blue-suited figure whom Dot had not forgotten, she might have told Edna that Eddie— But it was not to be thought of, and Edna had to have an answer.
"I don't—I don't want the pain of it," she said. Her eyes turned away from Edna and fixed themselves on space.
"Oh, Dot, you little fool."
Eddie laid his magazine down with surprising quietness. "Why is she a little fool?" he asked.
Edna was momentarily taken aback, so completely had she forgotten his existence.
"Oh, Eddie, she didn't mean anything by that." Dot was large-eyed and worried. An argument? Now? Just when she felt that she couldn't bear one more vexation.
"I meant that Dot was a little fool to consider the pain so seriously," Edna explained. "But every girl does that at first."
"Well, then, don't blame Dot for it," said Eddie.
"No, but you see," Edna went on, "that one night when the baby comes might be pretty bad, but it is gone in a few hours and you have your baby."
Nobody said anything for a minute. Dot was consider​ing Edna's "pretty bad" against Maude's "unbearable agony."
"Let her do what she wants about it," said Eddies "It's her business."
Edna got up and walked toward him. "Look here, Eddie, she said, "you're a married man and you have a job and you can vote, but I'll be damned if I think you're responsible. Do you mean to say that you'd have her considering an illegal operation and not try to talk her out of it or at least let somebody who cares about her try?"
"It's her business," said Eddie.
"It's the business of somebody who's had a baby to tell her what it's really like. Nine-tenths of the girls and the young married women in America haven't the faintest notion what it's like. How can they have? If they'd let somebody tell them they wouldn't be so scared."
Dot's interest in the whole affair made her forget her worry regarding Eddie and Edna.
"I saw Maude McLaughlin today," she said. "I—I think she's had a baby. She said it was unbelievable agony."
Edna smiled coldly. "I've heard people say that about tonsil operations," she said. "I had a baby and I am ready to go through it again if I remarry."
"Dot's not built like a war-horse," remarked Eddie.
"Disregarding the personal side of your remark," said Edna, "I would advise you to learn something before trying to discuss obstetrics. You don't know anything about Dot bearing a child."
"And I don't want to know," Eddie growled.
"Oh, you don't want a baby?"
Dot jumped ahead of the retort she saw Eddie framing. "He's worried for me," she said.
"He is like hell," Edna cried. "If he was, he wouldn't let you have that operation. There are only five or six ​doctors in New York who do it without ever having a comeback from the patient, and those men charge from a hundred and fifty up."
"What do you mean, comeback?" asked Dot.
"Blood poison for one thing, and there's a lot of other things that happen, too."
Eddie struck a match and lit his cigarette.
Great tears streamed down Dot's face. "Oh, God," she said. "What can I do?"
Edna turned to Eddie. "See here, Kid, don't be too smart. Just because you don't like me isn't a reason for not using my knowledge. If you're worried about Dot, remember this: there's pain and danger in either direction. One way you're dealing with a good doctor, and nature is on your side. The other way you've got a guy that couldn't make a living the way other doctors do, and you've got nature fighting you. Besides, the last way you have no baby, you're out fifty or seventy-five dollars, and in case you have a religion, you've sinned against it."
"Aw, tell it to Dot," said Eddie.
"Aren't you interested?" asked Edna.
Then Eddie called Edna a name which makes up in venomous intent what it lacks in accuracy. It is guaranteed to leave a wife and her well-meaning friend in consternation. Eddie picked up his hat and walked out of the apartment.
Dot's tears fell faster. "What else can happen?" sho sobbed. "I'll bet he doesn't come back all night."
"Don't cry. I'll stay till he comes back."
"Oh, Edna, you mean well, but it's all wrong. I can't have a baby, and please leave me alone about it."
"No, Dot, I can't. I must convince you that an illegal operation isn't as easy as it sounds. Maude's a coward, Dot. Honest to God she is. It's not a pleasure, but it isn't so bad as some women make out. Listen, Dot, I went with ​a girl to have one of those operations, and I'm sure I didn't have as much pain with Floyd as she had with—"
"Oh, she didn't have ether?"
"No."
"Well, it's easy with ether."
"Yes, very easy. You're deathly sick at your stomach, and sometimes the retching strains you, and you have a nice time with your insides."
Dot dried her eyes. She knew it was a futile gesture.
A half hour passed without a word being said. Occasionally Dot patted her eyes with her handkerchief. As nearly as she could make out, she was much worse off than she had been earlier that day. Then she had not considered Dr. Griegman's talent dangerous. She had merely been revolted by the man. Now she had discovered that blood poison, death, and a score of unknown dangers awaited her in that grimy office. Still, she had to go. Eddie did not want a baby. Surely that much could be seen by anybody. If he only wanted one! How gamely she could face the months of waiting and the terrible climax if he were beside her choosing bootees, picking out a name, counting days.
Before conversation was resumed between Dot and Edna, Eddie returned. He walked into the room with a sullen air of defiance.
"Well?" he asked, turning to Edna, "have you decided on the baby's godfather?"
"Please don't be sore, Eddie," Edna begged. "Between us we have Dot a nervous wreck."
"Between us," Eddie barked. "For the love of God, you fixed things so she hasn't any chance. It's enough to get anybody nervous. You got her dying no matter what she does."
"No, Eddie," Edna said, "I haven't. I merely want to take some of the bloom off your idea that operations like ​that are a cinch. Do you still want her to be operated on after what I told you about burn doctors and all?"
"It's up to her."
Suddenly a climax had been reached in the scene. Two pairs of eyes turned upon Dot. The two people in the world who cared for her were awaiting her answer. She was startled by the abruptness of the move. The decision which she had reached again and again now seemed foolish. After all, it was her body that was to be the battle-field. She had been wrong. It was her place to do what she pleased, not to stand by and wait for Eddie to pass judgment. Deciding in favor of Griegman when every impulse cried against it had been absurd. She felt terribly happy and peaceful as she said, "I'll have the baby."
And then she looked at Eddie's face. It was a mask of gloom and despair. She had chosen wrong, perhaps, but she would stand or fall by that decision.
She had no way of knowing that Eddie had just seen himself arguing with a conductor that Junior was only three years old, and that then Junior, conductor, and car had faded into space as a vision of Dot, cold and stiff on a hospital bed, had come into his mind.
He smiled sourly. "Satisfied, Edna?" he asked. "These women who want to be Jesus Christ sure do beat me."