David Goodis - The Blonde on the Street Corner

Ralph stood on the corner, leaning against the brick wall of Silvers candy store, telling himself to go home and get some sleep. It was half-past two in the morning and he should have been in bed long ago. The December wind hacked at his face and seemed to slice through his flesh, like saw-toothed blades biting away at his bones. He kept telling himself to go home and slide under a warm quilt. But somehow he couldnt move away from the corner. He was staring at the blonde woman on the other side of the street.

She was wearing a coat of muskrat fur that fitted tight in the waist and emphasized the outward sweep of her wide hips. The coat was somewhat short and it showed her legs with the full calves tapering smoothly to small ankles. She wore high-heeled shoes that propped her up to show the flaunting bulge of her big bosom. Shed been standing there for several minutes, smiling at him and waiting for him to come over and say hello.

He told himself to quit looking at her. She was a married woman who lived here in the neighborhood. That was one thing. Another thing, she was the sister-in-law of one of his close friends. From that point of view, he had no business getting friendly with her. From a deeper point of view, he was afraid of her. There was something about her that caused his brain to sizzle and he was really afraid of her.

He couldnt understand it. She was strictly bargain-counter merchandise. Her type was a dime a dozen. A ripe blonde who used peroxide on her hair and too much lipstick and mascara and walked along the street like she was doing a shake-dance. The sight of her gave him an unclean feeling and he begged himself to quit looking at her. But his eyes remained focused on the big bosom and the narrow waist and the wide hips. On the screen of his mind the fur coat disappeared and he saw her standing there naked.

Just then she raised her arm and beckoned to him. Her thick voice seemed to drift like syrup across the street as she called, Hey, you.

He didnt reply.

She was putting a cigarette in her mouth. Hey, she called. You got a match?

Mechanically he reached into the pocket of his tattered overcoat. His fingers touched the edge of a match-book. He kept his hand in his pocket as he watched her placing her hands on her hips and shifting her weight onto one leg.

Well? she called. It was a dare. It was as though she knew he was afraid.

He took the match-book out of his pocket, pulled himself away from the wall of the candy store, and crossed the pavement to the curb. As he walked slowly across the street, he told himself it didnt mean anything, he was offering her a light for her cigarette, that was all. He promised himself it wouldnt go any further than that.

He came up to her, struck a match, cupped his hand over it, and applied the flame to her cigarette. He was trying not to look at her as she inhaled the smoke. But her greenish eyes were like suction cups that fastened his eyes to her face.

She puffed slowly at the cigarette, took a backward step and looked him up and down. She said, You need a new overcoat.

I know.

Why dont you get one?

Cant afford it, he said.

You that poor?

Yeah, he said. Im that poor.

Again she looked him up and down. She said, Youd make a nice appearance if you had some decent clothes.

He didnt say anything.

What kind of work you do? she asked.

Im unemployed.

She was quiet for some moments, taking long drags at the cigarette. The smoke seeped out of her nostrils and she watched it curling and climbing in a thin column. Her eyes were focused on the column of smoke as she murmured, Got a girl friend?

No.

How come?

He shrugged. It takes cash.

Not all the time, she said. She leaned her head to the side, giving him the up-and-down look that caused him to squirm. She let the smile build slowly and said, No reason why you cant have a girl friend. In your case, it wouldnt cost a penny.

He frowned slightly. How do you figure?

You got something, she said. Its on the special side. I always know when its on the special side.

The frown deepened. He stood there telling himself to walk away. He couldnt move.

He heard her saying, Youre not like the other bums on the corner. Theres something about you thats different. I cant put my finger on it, but Id sure like to find out.

He tried to switch the frown to a grin. It became a scowl and his voice was tighter than he wanted it to be. You looking for trouble?

Im looking for something special.

In what line?

A good time.

He didnt know what to say to that. He stood there scowling and blinking and wondering what to say.

She took another long drag at the cigarette. She said, Im hungry as hell for a good time. Ive been without the real thing for so long, I can hardly remember what its like. I mean the kind of action that knocks me out, puts me on a roller-coaster going haywire. Im dying for something like that.

He looked down at the torn leather of his battered shoes. The scowl faded and his face was expressionless as he mumbled, Thats no way to talk.

Why not?

Youre a married woman.

For Christs sake, she cut in, lets grow up.

He shook his head. I dont mess around with married women.

Oh, for Christs sake.

I mean it. He looked at her. His face was expressionless. I dont play women cheap and I dont let them play me cheap. What I think you better do is go home to your husband.

That clown? She snorted. He cant even give me laughs any more. Only thing he gives me is a stiff pain you know where.

He smiled thinly. Thats your problem.

Sure it is. But I cant handle it alone. Her tone was matter-of-fact as she added, Want to help me handle it?

No.

Afraid?

For some moments he didnt reply. Then he nodded.

Why? she murmured. She took a step toward him.

He could feel her breath on his face. It came against him like hot vapor that pushed aside the winter wind. He stared past her and saw the endless line of row-houses that rented for forty-a-month and were assessed at under three thousand. He wasnt sure what his thoughts were, and he scarcely heard himself saying, Im fed up with this neighborhood. Damn sick and tired of hanging around on the corner and waiting for something to happen. Gotta get away, thats all. Gotta do something. Find something. Something better than this.

Better than me?

He went on staring past her. His eyes remained focused on the sameness of the row-houses that went on and on and finally vanished in the darkness. Theres gotta be something better than this. It cant stay this way all the time, day after day the same loused-up routine, nowhere to go, nothing to do, just standing on the corner and waiting, waiting

For what?

Damned if I know.

She took a final drag at the cigarette, flipped it away, and said, I dont get this line of talk. Its way over my head. I think you been reading fairy-tales, or something. Maybe youre waiting for some dream girl to come along in a coach drawn by six white horses, and shell pick you up and haul you away to the clouds, where its all milk and honey and springtime all year around. Maybe thats what youre waiting for. That dream girl.

Maybe, he murmured. And then he looked at the blonde. His smile was soft and friendly and he said, I guess thats why I cant start with you. Im waiting for the dream girl.

She didnt return the smile. She spoke slowly and very quietly. Youll get started with me. If it aint tonight, itll be another night. Sooner or later youll be tired of waiting, and then its gonna be you and me.

He winced. He opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out. And then it was too late to say anything, because she was walking away. He heard the sound of her high heels clicking on the sidewalk, but somehow it wasnt the sound of departure. It was more on the order of weird cackling laughter coming at him from all sides, telling him he was trapped. He shut his eyes tightly and again the blonde appeared on the screen of his mind and she was naked and she smiled at him and beckoned to him. He told himself he mustnt move toward her. If he did, it would be the loss of his dreams, the end of all hoping for a cleaner better life.