The Fabulous Clipjoint - Fredric Brown (book recommendations website .txt) 📗

she ate breakfast.

“Eddie,” she said. “I’ve got an idea.”

“Yeah?”

“Mom drinks too much. If she keeps it up, well—”

There wasn’t anything to say to that. I waited to see if there was any more coming. If not, it wasn’t a particularly practical idea. I mean, there was nothing we could do about Mom’s drinking.

Gardie looked at me with her eyes wide. “Eddie, there was a pint in her dresser drawer a couple of days ago. I took it and hid it and she never missed it. She must’ve forgot about it.”

“Pour it out,” I said.

“She’ll buy more, Eddie. It costs a dollar forty-nine. And she’ll just buy more.”

“Then she’ll buy more,” I said. “So what?”

“Eddie, I’m going to drink it.”

“You’re crazy. My God, you’re fourteen, and you—”

“I’m fifteen, Eddie. Next month. That’s fifteen. And I have had drinks, on dates. I never got drunk, but— Listen, Eddie, don’t you see?”

“Not with a telescope,” I said. “You’re crazy.”

“Eddie, Pop drank too much, too.”

“Leave Pop out of it,” I told her. “That’s over with. Anyway, what the hell’s that got to do with your drinking? You mean you think you’ve got to carry on the family tradition, or something?”

“Don’t be dumb, Eddie. What do you think would have stopped Pop drinking?”

I was getting a little mad at her for harping on that. Pop was out of this. Pop was six feet underground.

She said, “I’ll tell you what might have stopped Pop, Eddie. If he’d seen you starting the same way. You were always goody-goody. He knew you’d never go haywire, the way he did. I mean, suppose you’d started coming home drunk, too, running with a wild gang— He might have stopped drinking, so you would. He loved you, Eddie. If he thought what he was doing was making you into a—”

“Can it,” I said. “Damn it, Pop’s dead and why bring up screwy ideas now?”

“Mom isn’t dead. Maybe you don’t think much of her, but she’s my mother, Eddie.”

I’d been dumb, sure. It actually took me that long to see what she was driving at.

I just sat there looking at her. There was a chance, maybe an off chance, that it would work. That if Gardie started going haywire that way, it would sort of wake Mom up. She’d lost Pop, but she still had Gardie and she sure as hell wouldn’t want to see Gardie getting stinking drunk at fifteen.

Then I thought, the hell with it. That’s no way of doing it.

But I had to give Gardie credit for thinking of it. She’s been thinking about it, I could see.

“Nuts,” I said. “You can’t do it.”

“The hell I can’t, Eddie. I’m going to.”

“You’re not.” But I thought, I can’t stop her. She’s thought this over and she’s going to do it. I could maybe stop her now, but I can’t stay around and watch her all the time.

“Now’s a good time, Eddie,” she said. “When she wakes up at noon with a hangover, she’ll find me tight. You think she’s going to like that?”

“She’ll beat the hell out of you.”

“How can she, when she does it herself? She wouldn’t beat me anyway. She never did.”

Maybe, I thought, it would be better if she had.

I said, “I don’t want any part of it.” I thought maybe I could get her mad. I said, “It’s a gag anyway. You just want to get drunk to see what it’s like.”

She pushed her chair back. “I’m going to get the bottle. You can make like a goody-goody and take it away and break it. If you do, I’ll go down on Clark Street and get drunk. I look older’n I am, and there are plenty of places where they’ll buy a girl all the drinks she wants. And they won’t be B-drinks.”

Her heels clicked toward her room.

Get the hell out of this, Eddie, I told myself. You don’t want any part of it. And she can and will get drunk on Clark Street if you stick your oar in. And probably end up at a whorehouse in Cicero. And like it.

I got up but I didn’t go out.

I was on the spot. I couldn’t stop her drinking, but I’d have to stick around to keep her out of trouble. When she hit a certain stage, she’d sure as hell want to go out. I couldn’t let her do that.

I was stuck with it.

She came back with the bottle. It had already been opened. She poured herself a drink.

She asked, “Have one, Eddie?”

I said, “I thought this was business.”

“You could be sociable.”

“I’m not,” I told her.

She laughed and drank it down. She grabbed for a glass of water for a chaser, but she didn’t choke or anything.

She poured another and then sat down.

She grinned at me. “Sure you don’t want to come along?”

I said, “Nuts.”

She laughed and drank the other one. She went into the living room and turned on the radio, monkeying with the dials until she got some music. It was good music for that time in the morning.

She said, “Come on, Eddie. Dance with me. It works faster if you dance.”

“I don’t want to dance.”

“Goody-goody.”

“Nuts,” I said.

I saw it coming.

She took a few fancy pirouettes by herself, to the music, and then came back and sat down. She poured the third one.

“Not so fast,” I said. “You can kill yourself guzzling that stuff fast when you’re not used to it.”

“I’ve drunk before. Not much, but some.” She got another glass and poured some whiskey in it. “Come on, Eddie, have just one. Please. It ain’t nice to have to drink alone.”

“All right,” I said. “Just one. I mean it.”

She’d picked up her glass and said, “Happy days,” and I had to pick up mine and touch the rims. I took just a sip, but she downed hers.

She went back to the radio. She called, “Come on in here, Eddie. Bring the glasses and the bottle.”

I went in and sat down. She sat down on the arm of my chair.

“Pour me another, Eddie. This is fun.”

“Yeah,” I said. I took a sip of my drink while she downed her fourth. She choked a little on that one.

“Eddie,” she said, “please dance with me.”

The music was good.

I said, “Cut it out, Gardie. Cut it out.”

She got up and started to dance by herself to the music, swinging and dipping and swaying around the room.

She said, “Some day I’m going on the stage, Eddie. What do you think? How’m I doin’?”

“You dance swell,” I told her.

“Bet I could strip-tease. Like Gypsy Rose. Watch.” She reached behind her, as she danced, for the fastenings of her dress.

I said, “Don’t be a dope, Gardie. I’m your brother, remember?”

“You’re not my brother. Anyway, what’s that got to do with how I dance? How—”

She was having trouble with the catch. She danced near me. I reached out and grabbed her hand. I said, “Goddam it, Gar-die, cut that out.”

She laughed and leaned back against me. The pull on her wrist had brought her into my lap.

She said, “Kiss me, Eddie.” Her lips were bright red, her body hot against mine. And then her lips were pressing against mine, without my doing anything about it.

I managed to stand up. I said, “Gardie, goddam it, stop. You’re only a kid. We can’t.”

She pulled away and laughed a little. “All right, Eddie. All right. Let’s have another drink, huh?”

I poured us two drinks. I handed her one. I said, “Here’s to Mom, Gardie.”

She said, “Okay, Eddie. Anything you say.”

This time it was I that choked on it, and she laughed at me.

She took a few more dance steps. She said, “Pour me another, Eddie. Be back in a minute.”

She weaved a little on the way through the door.

I poured two drinks, and then went over to the radio and fiddled with it. I switched programs and then switched back again. There wasn’t anything else on but plays.

I didn’t hear her come back till she said, “Eddie,” and then I looked around.

The reason I hadn’t heard her come back was that she was barefoot. She was stark naked.

She said, “Am I only a kid, Eddie?” She laughed a little. “Am I only a kid, huh?”

I quit fiddling with the radio. I shut it off.

I said, “You ain’t a kid, Gardie. So let’s kill the bottle first. Okay? Here’s your drink.”

I handed it to her and then I went out in the kitchen for water for chasers, and pretended I drank mine while I was out there, and came back with two more.

She said, “I feel—woozy.”

“Here,” I said. “This is good for it. Bottoms up, Gardie.”

I drank that one with her. There was only about one shot left in the bottle; we must have been pouring really stiff ones.

She started to take a dance step toward me, and stumbled. I had to catch her, my arms around her and my hands on her.

I helped her to the sofa. I started back for the bottle. She said, “S’down, Eddie. S’dow. Cm—”

“Sure,” I said, “sure. One more drink apiece left. Let’s kill it, huh?”

Most of it went on the outside of her, but some got down. She giggled when I wiped off the whiskey with my handkerchief.

“Feel woozy, E’ie. Woozy—”

“Close your eyes a minute,” I said. “You’ll be all right.”

A minute was enough. She was all right.

I picked her up and carried her into her room. I found the bottoms of her pajamas and got them on her, and then I closed the door.

I rinsed out the glasses and put the bottle out of sight in the step-on garbage can.

Then I got the hell out.