Charles Willeford - Pick-Up

PICK-UP

by Charles Willeford

Copyright 1967

Pick-up

1 enter madame

It must have been around a quarter to eleven. A sailor came in and ordered a chile dog and coffee. I sliced a bun, jerked a frank out of the boiling water, nested it, poured a half-dipper of chile over the frank and sprinkled it liberally with chopped onions. I scribbled a check and put it by his plate. I wouldn't have recommended the unpalatable mess to a starving animal. The sailor was the only customer, and after he ate his dog he left.

That was the exact moment she entered.

A small woman, hardly more than five feet.

She had the figure of a teen-age girl. Her suit was a blue tweed, smartly cut, and over her thin shoulders she wore a fur jacket, bolero length. Tiny gold circular earrings clung to her small pierced ears. Her hands and feet were small, and when she seated herself at the counter I noticed she wasn't wearing any rings. She was pretty drunk.

"What'll it be?" I asked her.

"I believe I need coffee ' She steadied herself on the stool by bracing her hands against the edge of the counter.

"Yes, you do," I agreed, "and you need it black."

I drew a cupful and set it before her. The coffee was too hot for her to drink and she bent her head down and blew on it with comical little puffs. I stood behind the counter watching her. I couldn't help it; she was beautiful. Even Benny, from his seat behind the cash register, was staring at her, and his only real interest is money. She wasn't nearly as young as I had first thought her to be. She was about twenty-six or -seven. Her fine blonde hair was combed straight back. Slightly to the right of a well-defined widow's-peak, an inch-wide strip of silver hair glistened, like a moonlit river flowing through night fields. Her oval face was unlined and very white. The only make-up she had on was lipstick; a dark shade of red, so dark it was almost black. She looked up from her coffee and noticed that I was staring at her. Her eyes were a charred siennabrown, flecked with dancing particles of shining gold.

"This coffee is too hot." She smiled good-humoredly.

"Sure it is," I replied, "but if you want to sober up you should drink it hot as you can."

"My goodness! Who wants to sober up?"

Benny was signaling me from the cash register. I dropped my conversation with the girl to see what he wanted. Benny was a flat bald, hook-nosed little man with a shaggy horseshoe of gray hair circling his head. I didn't particularly like him, but he never pushed or tried to boss me and I'd stuck it out as his counterman for more than two months. For me, this was a record. His dirty eyes were gleaming behind his gold-rimmed glasses.

"There's your chance, Harry!" He laughed a throaty, phlegmy laugh.

I knew exactly what he meant. About two weeks before a girl had entered the cafe at closing time and she had been pretty well down on her luck. She'd been actually hungry and Benny had had me fix her up with a steak and french fries. Afterwards, he had made her pay him for the meal by letting him take it out in trade in the kitchen.

"I don't need any advice from you," I said angrily.

He laughed again, deep in his chest. "It's quitting time. Better take advantage." He climbed down from his stool and walked stiffly to the door. He shot the bolt and hung the CLOSED sign from the hook. I started toward the kitchen and as I passed the woman she shook her empty cup at me.

"See? All finished. May I have another?"

I filled her cup, set it in front of her and went into the back room and slipped into my tweed jacket. The jacket was getting ratty. It was my only outer garment with the exception of my trenchcoat and I'd worn it for more than two years. The elbows were thin and the buttons, except one, were missing. The gold button was the top one and a coat looks funny buttoned at the top. I resolved to move it to the middle in the morning. My blue gabardine trousers hadn't been cleaned for three weeks and they were spotted here and there with grease. I had another pair of trousers in my room, but they were tuxedo trousers, and I used them on waiter and busboy jobs. Sober, I was always embarrassed about my appearance, but I didn't intend to stay sober very long. I combed my hair and I was ready for the street, a bar and a drink.

She was still sitting at the counter and her cup was empty again.

"Just one more and I'll go," she said with a drunken little laugh. "I promise."

For the third time I gave her a cup of coffee. Benny was counting on his fingers and busily going over his receipts for the day. I tapped him on the shoulder.

"Benny, I need a ten until payday," I told him.

"Not again? I let you have ten last night and today's only Tuesday. By Saturday you won't have nothing coming."

"You don't have to worry about it."

He took his copy-book from under the counter and turned to my page. After he entered the advance in the book he reluctantly gave me a ten dollar bill. I folded the bill and put it in my watch pocket. I felt a hand timidly tugging at my sleeve and I turned around. The little woman was looking up at me with her big brown innocent eyes.

"I haven't any money," she said bitterly.

"Is that right?"

"Not a penny. Are you going to call a policeman?"

"Ask Mr. Freeman. He's the owner; I just work here."

"What's that?" Benny asked, at the mention of his name. He was in the middle of his count and didn't like being disturbed.

"This young lady is unable to pay for her coffee."

"Coffee is ten cents," he said firmly.

"I'll tell you what, Benny. Just take it out of my pay."

"Don't think I won't!" He returned to his counting.

I unlocked the door, and the woman and I went outside.

"You're a free woman," I said to the girl. "You're lucky that Benny didn't notice you were without a purse when you came in. Where is your purse, by the way?"

"I think it's in my suitcase."

"All right. Where's your suitcase?"

"It's in a locker. I've got the key." She took a numbered key out of the pocket of her fur jacket. "The main trouble is that I can't seem to remember whether the locker's in the railroad station or the bus station." She was genuinely puzzled.

"If I were you I'd look in the bus station first. You're quite a ways from the railroad station. Do you know where it is?"

"The bus station?"

"Yes. It's seven blocks that way and one block that way." I pointed down Market Street. "You can't miss it. I'm going to have a drink."

"Would you mind buying me one too?"

"Sure. Come on."

She took my arm and we walked down Market. It was rather pleasant having a beautiful woman in tow and I was glad she had asked me to buy her drink. I would never have asked her, but as long as she didn't mind, I certainly didn't mind. I shortened my stride so she could keep up with me and from time to time I looked down at her. Gin was my weakness, not women, but with a creature like her... well, it was enough to make a man think. We were nearing the bar where I always had my first drink after work and my mind returned to more practical things. We entered, found seats at the end of the bar.

"Say," she said brightly. "I remember being in here tonight!"

"That's fine. It's a cinch you were in some bar." The barr tender knew me well, but his eyebrows lifted when he saw the girl with me.

"What'll you have, Harry?" he asked.

"Double gin and tonic." I turned to the girl.

"I'd better not have a double. Give me a little shot of bourbon and a beer chaser." She smiled at me. "I'm being smart, aren't I?"

"You bet." I lit two cigarettes. and passed her one. She sucked it deeply.

"My name is Harry Jordan," I said solemnly. "I'm thirtytwo years of age and when I'm not working, I drink."

Her laugh closely resembled a tinkling bell. "My name is Helen Meredith. I'm thirty-three years old and! don't work at all. I drink all of the time."