Woman Aroused | Page 8

to take the money, I knew myself too well, yet I had that old guilty feeling when I looked at Hank's uniform. I still had a slacker-complex even though the war had become almost a joke by this time, and being a vet was a handicap. I said, "Okay. I'll give you a receipt and..."
"No receipt. She'd find that."
"Look Hank, please don't give me seven grand and not even take a receipt. You know the old gag--a man isn't made of stone."
"Stop talking like a kid."
I took paper and a pen from my desk, wrote:
I owe Hank Conroy seven thousand dollars ($7,000), payable on demand, in payment for moneys loaned me, this date.
I signed my name and the date, held it out to him. "Hank, you have to take this. Suppose I get killed falling off a bar stool? You don't have a thing to go on, and I'd hate to see this end up going to my distant cousins in L.A."
"Forget the receipt, be serious. I'll probably be divorced, straightened out in a very few months and..."
"But I'm being serious, Hank. Seven grand is quite a bundle, what if something did happen to me?"
"Nothing will. I'll take that chance.
I looked at the envelope full of folding money and felt mixed up. "Hank, you're crazy."
He stopped pacing the room. "That's no lie, sometimes I'm damn sure I am off my rocker. Come on, I'll take that cup of Java."
"I don't hold the money unless you take this receipt," I said. "The strain might easily overpower me."
He suddenly grabbed the receipt out of my hand, walked over and pressed the panel. He put the piece of paper inside, closed the panel, and turned to me with a smile. "Feel better? No one knows about the panel but the two of us, maybe Flo, and..."
"I forgot to ever tell Flo about it."
"Good. If anything happens to you, I'm protected."
"But suppose the house burns down? Or...?"
"For God's sake!" Hank pushed me toward the kitchen. I went back and got the envelope. The way he left money around made me jittery.
Over coffee he told me he was going to live with his sister for a few weeks. "Just till I get an apartment or a room. Lee and my sister, they'll kill each other, if they haven't already. She wrote me she thinks Lee has already swiped some of the silver, and you know my sister Marion."
"You don't mean she's actually stolen the silverware?"
"Probably has--I had to send Lee over a week or so ahead of my plane and... George, try to understand this, I've married a devil. A backward girl who's gone through... Hell, don't get me started on Lee. She isn't guilty. I am. We all are."
"What?"
"I don't want to talk about it, Georgie. Look, it's as bad as this: all the way over I was hoping my plane would have an accident and I'd be killed."
"You're the cautious type Hank, how...?"
"Forget it, it's my party," Hank said. He began asking about fellows we'd known in the old days--and whom I hadn't seen in years. When we first moved downtown, Hank had lived in the brownstone across the street; the only kid on the block I had as a friend. He was real social register stuff, not that he ever let that get him down, or hinder our friendship.
We talked for a while longer, then he said, "Have to go and see my ever-loving wife, wired her I was coming in this morning. Thanks for holding the money."
"I'll call you at your sister's. I might be able to line up a job or..."
"No. Don't ever call me," he said curtly. "I don't want Lee to even know about you. I'll get in touch with you at your office from time to time."
"If that's the way you want," I said, thinking it strange Hank didn't want me to see his wife, at least take them out.
"Has to be that way. Know this sounds odd as the devil, but I know what I'm doing. Soon as I get out of this mess, I'll explain things--or as much as I can. Bye George, you've been a bracer, a tonic."
When he left I took out the money, thinking he had never even counted it. Counting seven grand made me so nervous I went to the portable bar, found only a heel of bourbon, and finished that.
I dressed to go out and buy a Sunday paper. Every now and then I touched the envelope in my inside pocket to be sure it was there. I heard a noise in the kitchen and nearly hit the ceiling. I ran into the kitchen to see Slob coming through the open window, his fine tiger's skin mussed and dirty. He brushed against my leg and purred, his big tomcat's head