While Mortals Sleep Part 21

"Peanuts," said Gino.

The din of Nicky's singing filled the apartment courtyard. He was alone now, having said farewell to his guests.

"Exit George B. Jeffrey, enter Nicky Marino," whispered Gino.

Nicky thrust his head through the doorway. "Spring, men! Earth is being reborn!"

"How's business, Nicky?" said Gino.

"Business! Who cares about business? Six more months, Maestro, and the h.e.l.l with it." He winked and left.

"Ten thousand dollars is peanuts, Gino?" I said.

"Peanuts," said Gino grandly. "Peanuts for the half owner of the world's fastest-growing doughnut chain. Six more months, did he say? In six more months he and doughnuts will probably do as much for opera as his father ever did. Someday, maybe I'll tell him about it." He shook his head. "No, no-that would spoil everything, wouldn't it? No-I guess the whole rest of his life had better be an interlude between the promises his mother made him about himself and the moment when he'll make them all come true."

MONEY TALKS.

Cape Cod was in a coc.o.o.n of cooling water and autumn mists. It was seven in the evening. The only lights that shone on Harbor Road came from the dancing flashlight of a watchman in the boatyard, from Ben Nickelson's grocery store, and from the headlights of a big, black, Cadillac sedan.

The Cadillac stopped in front of Ben's store. The well-bred thunder of its engine died. A young woman in a cheap cloth coat got out and went into the store. She was blooming with health and youth and the nip in the air, but very shy. Every step seemed to be an apology.

Ben's s.h.a.ggy head was on his folded arms by the cash register. His ambition had run down. At twenty-seven, Ben was through. He'd lost his store to his creditors.

Ben raised his head and smiled without hope. "Can I help you, ma'am?"

Her reply was a whisper.

"How's that?" said Ben. "I didn't hear."

"Could you kindly tell me how to get to the Kilraine cottage?" she said.

"Cottage?" said Ben.

"That is is what they call it, isn't it?" she said. "That's what it says on the key tags." what they call it, isn't it?" she said. "That's what it says on the key tags."

"That's what they call it, all right," said Ben. "I just never got used to it. Maybe that was a cottage to Joel Kilraine. I never saw what else he had to live in." got used to it. Maybe that was a cottage to Joel Kilraine. I never saw what else he had to live in."

"Oh dear," she said. "Is it great big?"

"Nineteen rooms, a half mile of private beach, tennis courts, a swimming pool," said Ben. "No stables, though. Maybe that's why they call it a cottage."

She sighed. "I'd hoped it would be a sweet, cozy little thing."

"Sorry to disappoint you," said Ben. "What you do to get there is turn around, and go back the way you came, until you come to a-" He paused. "You don't know the village at all?"

"No."

"Well, it's awful hard to describe," said Ben. "It's kind of hidden away. I'd better lead you there with my truck."

"I don't want to be any trouble," she said.

"I'm closing up in a minute anyway," said Ben. "Haven't anything else to do."

"I'll need some groceries first," she said.

"My creditors will be very happy," said Ben. Loneliness and futility swept over him, and he looked the girl up and down. From her hands he learned she was a nail-biter. From her low-heeled, blocky white shoes, he gathered that she was some kind of servant, usually in uniform. He thought she was pretty, but he didn't like her for being so cowed.

"What are you-her housekeeper or something?" said Ben. "She send you up to find out what she's got here?"

"Who?" she said.

"The nurse-the Cinderella girl-the one who got the whole shebang," said Ben. "The girl with the million-dollar alcohol rubs. What's her name? Rose? Rose something?"

"Oh," she said. She nodded. "That's what I'm doing." She looked away from Ben to the shelves behind him. "Let's see-I'd like a can of beef-noodle soup, a can of tomato...a box of cornflakes...a loaf of bread, a pound of oleo-" looked away from Ben to the shelves behind him. "Let's see-I'd like a can of beef-noodle soup, a can of tomato...a box of cornflakes...a loaf of bread, a pound of oleo-"

Ben gathered her groceries on the counter. He put the oleo down hard, slapping the waxed cardboard against the wood.

The girl jumped.

"Saaaaay-you're nervous as a cat," said Ben. "Rose make you that way? She that kind? Rose wants what she wants when she wants it?"

"Rose is just a plain, dumpy little nurse, who still doesn't know what hit her," she said stiffly. "She's scared to death."

"She'll get over that quick enough," said Ben. "They all all do. Come next summer, Rose'll be strutting around here like she'd just invented gunpowder." do. Come next summer, Rose'll be strutting around here like she'd just invented gunpowder."

"I don't think she's that kind," she said. "I certainly hope not."

Ben smiled askance. "Just an angel of mercy," he said. He winked. "By G.o.d, for twelve million bucks, I'd I'd have nursed him, wouldn't have nursed him, wouldn't you you?"

"Rose had no idea he was going to leave her everything," she said.

Ben leaned back against the shelves, pretending to be crucified. "Oh, come now-come, come," he said.

"A lonely old man on his deathbed in a big apartment on Park Avenue-hanging on to life, begging for life, begging for somebody to care." He saw the scene vividly. "Kilraine calls out in the night, and who comes?" Ben smiled demurely. "Rose-the angel of mercy. She fluffs his pillow, rubs his back, tells him everything's going to be fine, and gives him his sleeping pills. She's the whole world to him."

Ben waggled his finger at the girl. "And you mean to tell me it didn't pop into Rose's little head that maybe he might leave her just a little something to remember him by?"

She dropped her gaze to the floor. "It might have crossed her mind," she murmured.

"Might?" said Ben triumphantly. "It did did-and I don't mean once; I mean hundreds hundreds of times." He added up her bill. "I've never laid eyes on her," he said, "but, if there's one thing I learned about in this business, it's how the human mind works." He looked up. "Two ninety-five." of times." He added up her bill. "I've never laid eyes on her," he said, "but, if there's one thing I learned about in this business, it's how the human mind works." He looked up. "Two ninety-five."

He was amazed to see tears on the rims of her eyes.

"Oh, hey-say, now," said Ben remorsefully. He touched her. "Gosh-hey, listen-don't mind me."

"I don't think it's very nice nice for you to talk that way about people you don't even know," she said tautly. for you to talk that way about people you don't even know," she said tautly.

Ben nodded. "You're right, you're right. Don't mind me. You picked a lousy time to come in. I was looking around for something to hit. Why, h.e.l.l-Rose is probably the salt of the earth."

"I didn't say that," she said. "I never claimed that."

"Well, whatever it was you did did claim," said Ben. "Don't pay any attention to me." He shook his head, and he wondered at the two dead years in the grocery store. Anxiety and a million nagging details had held him prisoner all that time, numbed him, dried him out. There'd been no time for love or play-no time, even, for thoughts of them. claim," said Ben. "Don't pay any attention to me." He shook his head, and he wondered at the two dead years in the grocery store. Anxiety and a million nagging details had held him prisoner all that time, numbed him, dried him out. There'd been no time for love or play-no time, even, for thoughts of them.

He worked his fingers, unsure that love and playfulness would ever come back into them.

"I shouldn't be ragging a nice girl like you," he said. "I should give you a smile and a gardenia."

"Gardenia?" she said.

"Sure," said Ben. "When I opened up two years ago, I gave every lady customer a smile and a gardenia. Since you're my last customer, seems like you ought to get a little something, too." He gave her the opening-day smile.

The smile and the offer of a gardenia pleased and confused the poor, pretty mouse of a girl, and made her blush.

Ben was fascinated. "Gee," he said, "now you make me really really sorry the florist shop is closed." sorry the florist shop is closed."

Her pleasure went on and on, and so did Ben's. Ben could almost smell the gardenia, could almost see her pinning it on, her hands all thumbs.

"You're selling your store?" she said.

There was radiance between them now. There were overtones and undertones to everything they said. The talk itself was formal, lifeless.

"The business failed," said Ben. It didn't matter much anymore.

"What are you going to do now?" she said.

"Dig clams," said Ben, "unless you've got a better idea." He c.o.c.ked his head, and, with the control of an actor, he showed in his face how keenly hungry for a girl he was.

Her fingers tightened on her purse, but she didn't look away. "Is that hard work?" she said.

"Cold work," said Ben. "Lonely work, out there with a fork."

"Is there a living in it?" she said.

"The way I I live," said Ben. "No wife, no kids-no bad habits. Won't make as much as old man Kilraine spent on cigars." live," said Ben. "No wife, no kids-no bad habits. Won't make as much as old man Kilraine spent on cigars."

"Toward the end, all he had was his cigars," she said.

"And his nurse," said Ben.

"He's dead, and you're young and alive," she said.

"Eeeeeeeeeeyup," said Ben. "Guess I'm the big winner after all."

He picked up her small bag of groceries, went outside, and saw the big car she'd come in.

"Rose let you take this this big boat?" he said. "What does that leave her?" big boat?" he said. "What does that leave her?"

"It's embarra.s.sing," she said. "It's too big. It makes me want to hide under the dashboard when I go through towns."

Ben opened the front door for her, and she slid into the leather chauffeur's seat. She seemed no bigger than a ten-year-old, dwarfed by the great steering wheel and instrument panel.

Ben set the groceries on the floor beside her, and he sniffed. "If ghosts had smells," he said, "that's what the ghost of Joel Kilraine would smell like-cigars." He wasn't about to say goodbye to her. He sat down beside her, as though resting and gathering his thoughts. "You ever hear how he made his money? Clear back in 1922, he figured out that-" His words trailed off as he saw that the spell was broken, that she was about to cry again.

"Miss," said Ben helplessly, "you sure cry easy. easy."

"I cry all the time," she said pipingly. "Everything makes me cry. I can't help it."

"About what?" said Ben. "What's there to cry about?"

"About everything, everything," she said wretchedly. "I'm Rose," she said, "and everything makes me want to cry."

Ben's world yawed, s.h.i.+mmered, and righted itself. "You?" he said softly. "Rose? Twelve million dollars? Cloth coat? Cornflakes? Oleo margarine? Look at your purse! The patent leather's all chipping off." coat? Cornflakes? Oleo margarine? Look at your purse! The patent leather's all chipping off."

"That's how I've always lived," she said.

"You haven't lived very long," said Ben.

"I feel like Alice in Wonderland," said Rose, "where she shrank and shrank and shrank until everything everything was too big for her." was too big for her."

Ben chuckled emptily. "You'll grow back," he said.

She rubbed her eyes. "I think Mr. Kilraine must have done it as some kind of joke on the world-making somebody like me so rich." She was trembling, white.

Ben took her arm firmly, to calm her.

She went limp gratefully. Her eyes glazed over. "n.o.body to turn to, n.o.body to trust, n.o.body who understands," she said in a singsong. "I've never been so lonely and tired and scared in all my life. Everybody yammering, yammering, yammering." She closed her eyes and lay back like a rag doll.

"Would a drink help?" said Ben.

"I-I don't know," she said dully.

"Do you drink?" said Ben. you drink?" said Ben.

"Once," she said.

"Do you want to try again, Rose?" said Ben.

"Maybe-maybe that would help," she said. "Maybe. I dunno. I'm so sick of thinking, I'll just do anything anybody tells me to do."

Ben licked his lips. "I'll go get my truck and a bottle my creditors don't know about," he said. "Then you follow me."

Ben put away Rose's groceries in the vast kitchen of the Kilraine cottage. The tidbits were lost in canyons of porcelain and steel.

He mixed two drinks from his bottle, and carried them into the entrance hall. Rose, her coat still on, lay on the spiral staircase, looking at her wedding-cake ceiling far above.

"I got the oil burner going," said Ben. "It'll be a while before we feel it."