Sheba, page 12
She was tired and she wanted to get out of the showroom.
“Okay,” she said. “We can be more careful.”
“Like that fellow who worked for the city,” he insisted. “How much can he make? Not enough to pay Loven and pay on the car.”
“His wife works.”
“Supposing she gets pregnant or sick and has to quit? What happens then?”
Gregg was right. She had taken a chance on that one — and on quite a few of the other sales, as well. Some of the cars were bound to come back but she would rather not think about that. Mr. Wise had said he wanted sales and that’s what he was getting. What more could he want?
“Let’s get out of here,” she said.
Gregg glanced at his watch.
“Nine-thirty,” he said. “It’s a long day.”
“They all are.”
“But your idea of our working together is a pretty good one. I handle the women and you handle the men. I smile at the old dames and you smile at the guys and we’ve got it made.”
Gregg was clever with the women; he flattered them and made them feel important. She did the same with the men. At the start she had tried wearing severe-looking business suits but it hadn’t worked. Now she wore dresses that were tight and revealing and showed off her figure. If she got a man by himself he was a dead fish. And if they went for a demonstration ride he was deader yet. She let the skirt of the dress crawl up over her knees and she showed off as much of her legs as she dared. Sometimes a man wanted to park with her but she always put him off until after the sale was made and then she wouldn’t have anything to do with him.
“Buy you a drink,” Gregg said.
She hadn’t had a drink in quite a while but she didn’t want to return to the room so early. Nights when she got in early the redhead bothered her and the experience always left her shaken and confused. One night, when she had drunk some rye, she had almost given her body to the girl. It had been over the past weekend, Saturday night, and Monica had cried when at last she had refused. Later, Sheba had cried, ashamed of her naked desires, thoroughly disgusted with herself because she had felt the way she had.
“Just one,” she said.
“I’ve heard that before.”
“Very funny.”
“Okay, I’ll behave.”
“You better.”
“Shall we go now?”
“Sure.”
“Where?”
“I don’t care. There’s a place down the street.”
They locked the front door of the showroom, left their cars at the curb and walked to the bar. It was a warm night, almost hot, and it was even hotter inside the bar.
“A dump,” Gregg said.
“It is,” Sheba agreed.
“What will you have?”
“Rye and ginger.”
“Try a double.”
“Are you kidding? Not this girl.”
“Okay.”
She sat at a table and Gregg went up to the bar to get the drinks. There was a woman at the bar, a long-legged blonde, and she sat with her legs crossed. The man beside her put one of his hands on her leg; she made no effort to stop him. Once the girl smiled and leaned over and kissed the man. It was disgusting to Sheba, but of course, this wasn’t the only bar where a person might see such things. It happened all the time, all over. Man sought the beauty of a girl’s body and if the girl did not object he could not be blamed.
“Hiya, thoughtful,” Gregg said, coming up to the table.
“Hi.”
“Penny for your thoughts.”
“They aren’t worth a penny.”
“Aren’t they?”
“No.”
The drink was strong and she knew it was a double. She also knew she shouldn’t drink it. If she drank too much the same thing might happen to her that had happened that first night with Gregg. She wondered, suddenly, if that wasn’t what she needed. This sex thing had become a monster to her, slipping in and out of her mind at all hours of the day and night. Even with her eyes wide open she could see Monica’s smiling face, smiling and twisted, and she could hear Monica begging. It wasn’t right. It was wrong, terribly wrong. And yet she wanted to venture into the unknown, to find out for herself if such a thing was really love. Some girls said it was. Monica apparently thought it was. Monica hated men and she could find with a girl everything for which she yearned. There had been a girl like that in school, too, only the girl in school hadn’t been pretty. One day the girl had approached Sheba in the wash room and Sheba had fled, terrified. She had never gone into the wash room again when that girl was there.
“The way you look,” Gregg said, “your thoughts are worth a dime. Or a quarter.”
“I was thinking about the contest.”
He lit a cigarette and took a long drink.
“Forget about it,” he said. “You’re away from the job. Relax and have a little fun.”
“I wish I could.”
“Why can’t you?”
“I keep thinking about those new cars coming in tomorrow. Two truck loads.”
“That’s only eight.”
“Only eight — and they have to be sold.”
“Stop worrying. We’ll sell them.”
“And after that there will be more.”
“We’ll sell those, too.”
“But the contest ends next week,” she said. “The car will be given away or the money awarded, and that pitch will be gone. We’ll have to find another gimmick.”
Gregg frowned. “So we will.”
“Mr. Wise was talking with me this afternoon about it. What could I tell him? I didn’t know.”
“Stop fussing. You’ll come up with something. You did it before and it was a dandy.”
“I’ve thought of a couple,” she admitted, finishing her drink.
“Such as?”
“Another contest. We could have everybody register again and pay the winner’s car payments for one full year.”
He shook his head. “That isn’t so hot,” he said, getting up. “You need another drink to think better.”
“Why isn’t it so hot?”
“I’ll tell you when I get back.”
He walked over to the bar and her glance followed him. He was a big man, and he was attractive. Why didn’t she like him? Was it because of that one night? She supposed that it was.
“It’s simple,” Gregg said, sitting down at the table and pushing a drink in front of her. “If you run a contest like that you’ll get only those who are buying cars on time. They aren’t the best prospects. The best leads are those who already have their cars paid for, or nearly paid for.”
“What about those who have their cars paid for and who haven’t got enough trade-in for a down payment?”
“You’ve figured that one out by using Old Reliable.”
“Yes, I guess I have.”
“I never thought much of selling a car without anything down but I’ve thought it over and there’s something to be said for it. Wise has plenty of cabbage down there at the bank and the note, with him signing it, could be for the full amount as well as part. It would be the same as you’ve been doing with Old Reliable except that it would all be in one package.”
She had thought of this before and it sounded reasonable. Mr. Wise was the co-signer on all of the notes and the bank wouldn’t care if they were for twenty-four hundred or thirty-six hundred.
“No down payment,” she breathed.
“No down payment. Not a cent.”
“If they already own a car we could give them cash fork.”
“Now you’re clicking.”
She tasted her drink and it was just as strong as the other. What they were talking about was something big and powerful. No down payment. No down payment. They could scream it from the radio station and they could advertise it in the papers. It wasn’t much different from what she had been doing with Mr. Loven; it was smarter, that’s all. And it was fantastic, gigantic. They would get everybody. The prospects would come from the hills and the valleys and up out of the sidewalks.
“I’ll talk to Mr. Wise about it,” she said.
“How does it sound?”
“Tremendous!”
“I tried to talk to Wise about that once before,” Gregg said. “He wouldn’t listen to me. He’ll listen to you.”
“Maybe not.”
“Don’t kid me.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You know what makes me say that. You’re female and I’m male.”
“What’s the difference?”
He was slow in replying. “I said not to kid me and don’t try it. There has never been a girl working for him whom he didn’t try to make — and damned few he hasn’t made.”
“Are you — ”
“Take it from there for what it’s worth. Plenty of times you’re in his office and that door is closed.”
“Gregg,” she said weakly.
“I mean it. How else could it have happened? — You started out in the office, lucky to knock down fifty a week, and you wind up as sales manager, earning a thousand.”
“I did it on my own,” she insisted.
“Of course, you did it on your own. It’s how you did it that I’m talking about. You may be able to fool the girls in the office but you can’t fool me. I’ve known old man Wise too long. If he gives something he gets something in return. He’s like every other man.”
She was hurt by what he was saying. She had done her job well, done a job that Gregg hadn’t been able to do. She was lucky to have a job that paid so much money but she wouldn’t earn it with her body. She would earn it with her brains. If that wasn’t enough then it wasn’t enough. For a man, a girl was a toy to be pushed around, to be used, to be cast aside.
“I hate you for saying that,” she said, taking a swallow of her drink. The liquid burned her throat but it was smooth and went down easily. She finished the liquor and slammed the glass down on the top of the table. “Hate you,” she added. “Do you know that?”
He laughed at her. “No reason to get upset.”
“But I am.”
“You wouldn’t be the first girl who traded her talents for a chance at the moon.”
“Oh, you’re disgusting!”
“Or the last.”
“It’s a lie,” she said. “It hasn’t been like that. I worked and you didn’t. That’s the answer.”
“Have it your way.”
She wanted to slap him, to bring him pain, but there was only one way she knew how to do it.
“You should talk,” she said bitingly. “You and Mrs. Wise.”
He wasn’t annoyed.
“You listen to gossip too much,” he said.
“Well, don’t you?”
He stood up.
“Time for another drink,” he said.
“I don’t want any.”
He picked up her glass.
“There are some things you should know,” he said. “And you won’t know them unless I tell you — or show you.”
He carried the glasses over to the bar and again her eyes followed him. Little wonder that he charmed the women who came into the showroom. He had a way about him, there was no denying that.
She reached for a cigarette in her pocketbook, found one and lit it. The liquor was singing through her blood and none of this seemed very real. She should be at her rooming house, in bed and asleep now, not here with him. But the thought of what might be awaiting her at the rooming house made her shudder. She ought to move; she should get as far away from Monica as she could and then, if Monica wouldn’t leave her alone, she could get Mr. Wise to fire the girl. There were plenty of excuses for Monica to be fired. She drank a lot every night, still went out with men for money, and she got things mixed up at the office. One night she had to stay late with Mr. Wise because of some errors she had made. She hadn’t come back to the rooming house until late that night and her lipstick had been smeared. She was drunk and she came to Sheba’s room and she asked Sheba to drink but Sheba had refused. She had wanted to undress and Sheba had argued with her. She had left, crying and angry with Sheba. But the next morning she had been the same.
“I love you, doll.”
It was fantastic, unreal. One woman couldn’t love another. It was impossible. Love, if there was such a thing, was for the opposite sex.
“Drink up,” Gregg said, sitting down. “Drink up and I’ll tell you a story.”
She drank up, feeling the glow growing inside her body. There was nothing to be afraid of, nothing. Life was what you made it. No matter who you were, you ran into these things. The problem was in understanding them — and avoiding them.
“I did take Mrs. Wise out a few times,” Gregg said.
“So I know.”
“It was more her fault than mine.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” Sheba said. “I’m not even sure that I want to know — or that I care.”
“She’s a lot younger than her husband,” he said, ignoring her remark. “He met her in New York and married her because she was beautiful. But that isn’t enough for a girl, you know. A girl has to have more than that. She can have a big car and flashy clothes and all of the money she can spend. But even that isn’t enough. It’s just the start of what they should have together.”
“You haven’t helped things by running around with her.”
Gregg lifted his glass and took a long drink.
“I’ve tried to understand her,” he said. “I’ve tried to help her. The marriage isn’t what she thought it would be.”
“What more can she want?”
His gaze was level.
“What every woman wants. Kids.”
“And I suppose you’ve been trying to help her out on that?”
“Who’s saying the nasty things now?”
“Is it a lie?”
“I wouldn’t tell you if it was or not. A man doesn’t talk about those things. You started this by suggesting that I went out with Mrs. Wise.”
“No, you started it,” she corrected him firmly. “You started it by suggesting that I had been — well, too nice to Mr. Wise.”
He spread his hands wide.
“Why do we fight?” he wanted to know.
“I guess it comes naturally.”
“No, it doesn’t. You’re sweet and warm. You aren’t that kind. I think you dislike me.”
“Maybe I do.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
He locked away from her, staring at nothing.
“I feel badly about that,” he said. “It’s bothered me as much as it has bothered you.” His eyes found her again. “But it was your fault as much as it was mine. Don’t deny that.”
“I don’t deny anything.”
He emptied his glass and reached for his wallet.
“Want another?”
“No.”
“One more wouldn’t hurt.”
“I said no.”
“I’m not trying to get you the same way again,” he said. “The only thing is we work together and we ought to get along. Half the time we’re in the showroom you don’t even look at me. Why?”
“Because I’m busy.”
“Not always.”
“What do you want from me?” she demanded hotly.
His grin was honest.
“One guess,” he said.
She stood up, pushing the chair away as she did so.
“We’re back at that again, are we, Gregg?”
“You asked me a question and I gave you an answer. What did you expect me to say?”
“I’m leaving,” she announced. “Everything told me I shouldn’t come with you but I did, anyway. And I’m sorry I did.” The liquor made her smile, made her want to drive it into him deep and hard. “We should see each other only when we’re working and not on the outside. You haven’t got anything I want and I haven’t got anything which you should want.”
“I’m human,” Gregg said.
“I’m glad you think so.”
“And you’re a desirable girl. You can’t exactly blame a man for trying.”
She left him sitting there. But long after she was outside and walking down the street, his look still lingered with her. He had known her once, known her wildly, and he wanted to know her again. She supposed she should be pleased that a man wanted her. But she wasn’t pleased. They were all the same, all the same. Gregg was no different than the man who had gone out with her in the demonstrator that afternoon.
“You’ve got it,” the man had said.
“The car has plenty of power. Try the passing gear. You’ll see what I mean.”
“The hell with the car. I’m not talking about the car. I’m talking about you.”
“Try the passing gear.”
“Say, will you come off it? What do you take me for? I wasn’t born yesterday. You say the passing gear is all right, the passing gear is all right. I don’t want to pass anybody. All I want to do is park this buggy and see if you’re as real as you look.”
“Your wife is back in the showroom.”
“So she is.”
“And I’m not that kind of a girl.”
“With what you’re wearing, you’re not that kind of girl? Don’t give me that, baby. The last time I bought a magazine subscription I got a complete course in sex for nothing. It ought to be the same with a car. That was only magazines and a car is something expensive, mighty expensive.”
“Forget the car.”
“I don’t buy on looks alone.”
“Then don’t.”
She did not sell the car and she hadn’t cared. He was one of the very few who were brazen. Some asked for dates; she put them off. Others, most of them, were just interested in the car and what it would do.
She reached the demonstrator, unlocked it and got in. She could sell more cars if she were like Monica, but Monica, regardless of how you put it, was trash. She went with men because she hated them; charging them money was the only way she knew how to get even. She had a grudge against the world, a bitter, terrible grudge, and someday it would destroy her.
It was late and the streets were deserted, but Sheba drove slowly. She was thinking about Gregg’s suggestion of no down payment, and it had a lot of merit. She had seen similar ads in the New York papers and there was no reason why the same thing wouldn’t work in Mayville. If she pushed the note through the bank the bank would take a chattle on everything the buyer owned; if she used Mr. Loven it would amount to practically the same thing except, with Mr. Loven, the interest rate would be higher. Another angle she could use was to approach some insurance man and get a cut from the insurance. She had read that was done in many places and, again, Mayville should be no different. People had to have insurance if they bought cars on time and if the insurance agent wanted to split his commissions there was no harm in that. She didn’t know how much she could make that way but it would mean more money. And she wanted more money, lots more. Money would buy a big car and fine clothes and an apartment in a nice section of town. She didn’t know exactly what she would do with an apartment, but one of these nights, she would have to let herself go. She would seek out a man or a woman and find out once and for all just what this love thing was was all about.
