"Maybe I'm pointing it at you under the table. Well, it's possible,
isn't it?"
"It's possible."
"How'm I doing?"
"Pretty good--if I thought you had a gun. Anyway, I like it much better
than the line."
"Good. If you don't get up and walk with me, quietly, walk right out of
here with me--I'll use the gun. I'm desperate. Do you believe me?"
* * * * *
"No," Jeanne-Marie said promptly. For all his hard, capable good looks,
Lucky seemed crestfallen. "But," Jeanne-Marie added slowly, "I'll go
with you. As far as the street and no further."
Lucky squeezed her hand and signaled for the waiter. "I'll pay the
check," he said.
"You're darned right you will," she said, and they both laughed.
Two hours in my new body, Jeanne-Marie thought, and I'm helping a
murderer to elude the police. A murderer? Well, he says he's not. His
word is the only word I have so I guess I can go through with it with
something like a clean conscience. Clean conscience or not, she knew
she'd act as Lucky's passport out to the street. Because Lucky, she
could somehow sense, was the adventure that the new Jeanne-Marie, the
peddler's Jeanne-Marie, had summoned.
The bill paid, they got up from the table. Lucky slipped his arm
through hers and, their flanks together, they walked toward the exit.
The pianist was playing a rhythmic rendition of the September Song. The
pre-theater crowds were out now, Jeanne-Marie knew, filling the _Black
Flamingo_ and the other cocktail places, and the street as well. Once
on the street, Lucky could probably make good his escape.
They went by the hat-check booth now, and out across a carpeted
hallway, to a French door which led, up a little flight of stairs, to
the street. A doorman swung the French doors out.
"Stop!" someone cried behind them.
Acting on instinct, the doorman slammed the French doors. Lucky
whirled and swung his right fist brutally at a man running up behind
them. Jeanne-Marie screamed as the man fell heavily. Then, incredibly,
Lucky did have a gun in his hand. He pointed it at the doorman and
said something and magically the doors swung open. Still holding
Jeanne-Marie's arm and all but dragging her, Lucky sprinted up the
short flight of stairs to the street. Footsteps pounded up after them
as Lucky waved down a cab.
* * * * *
Jeanne-Marie tried to pull herself away from him, but his fingers dug
into her upper arm painfully. "I'm not playing now," he said, his voice
brutal. "Maybe it was a more subtle line than you thought, baby, but
I'm not playing now. You're still my passport and you're going on being
my passport till I tell you different."
He threw open the rear door of the cab and heaved Jeanne-Marie inside.
She fell against the leather upholstery and heard the driver say:
"Hey, what the hell is this?"
Voices shouted outside the cab. Feet pounded across the sidewalk. "I
don't want no part of this!" the driver shouted. It was almost a wail.
Lucky waved the gun and said in a quiet voice which still must have
thundered in the driver's ear. "Start driving and start driving fast."
A moment later the cab leaped away from the curb.
As they joined the heavy stream of pleasure-bound traffic, Jeanne-Marie
felt an instant of intense panic. Lucky had admitted it: Lucky's smooth
line inside the _Black Flamingo_, his suave man-of-the-world attitude
had been the real decoy. And Jeanne-Marie had fallen for it. But smooth
line and man-of-the-world attitude, she knew now, hid a desperate
fugitive who would stop at nothing.
Lucky wasn't watching her now. His eyes were glued to the rear window
of the cab, watching the traffic behind them; looking for signs of
pursuit.
"How about a break, Mac?" the driver asked. "I could let you off at a
bus stop or a subway or something. I could--"
"You could keep on driving out to the expressway and keep going north
on the expressway until I tell you different."
But at that moment the cab braked slowly to a stop for a red light.
On the far side of the street, on the curb, Jeanne-Marie spied a
policeman. Watching the cab-driver's face, she knew he had seen the
uniformed patrolman too. A muscle throbbed in his jaw and Jeanne-Marie
knew suddenly he was going to try something.
A word, she thought. One word between them could mean so much. Because
if she could help him, if she could occupy Lucky's attention at the
precise moment the cab driver tried to signal the policeman....
* * * * *
But Lucky must have seen it too. He leaned forward and slashed the
automatic across the driver's neck, barrel-first, the sights raking
the flesh and leaving a twin track of blood. The driver shook his head
from side to side, like a fighter who has taken too much punishment. He
opened his mouth to yell but Lucky's arm went around his throat.
"Don't," Lucky said. "I've killed a man already tonight. I can kill you
too and it wouldn't make any difference. Just drive."
There, thought Jeanne-Marie, it was out now. He had killed a man. He
admitted it. All sham, all pretense was gone. The charming man of the
world was now completely gone, replaced by the ruthless killer.
The light changed to green--had been green for some time now. Horns
blared behind them. The driver shifted gears and they began to drive
again.
Still standing on the corner, the policeman had seen nothing.
* * * * *
Three hours later, they were still driving. The city was behind them
now. They had sped through the darkness and obscurity of the northern
suburbs as night fell and now were in a rural area. The expressway
rimming the city had become the state parkway going north, and some
twenty minutes ago they had left the parkway behind them, traveling a
two-lane black-top road.
"Next left," Lucky told the frightened driver, and moments later the
cab braked and turned up a dirt road hardly more than a trail.
"Friend of mine used to own this place," Lucky explained as they
stopped before a small log cabin. Actually log, Jeanne-Marie thought,
only ninety-some miles from the city. It was totally unexpected. "Used
to use it for a hunting lodge."
He opened the door and held it that way for Jeanne-Marie, who climbed
out of the cab. Then Lucky leaned in across the driver and removed the
ignition key from the dash, pocketing it. "You get out of there, too,"
he said.
"I thought I'd just be going now, mister."
"That's very funny."
"I thought--"
"I said, get out."
"Look mister, the wife will start to worry. If the wife worries, she
calls the company. The company makes a check and realizes I haven't
called in. We got a two-way radio hook-up and you're supposed to call
in on all fares. If the company sees I haven't called in, they start
looking. Then where would you be?"
"Right here," Lucky said. "With you. And they'll never find you here.
Any other questions? No? Then get out. That's right. Go inside the
cabin. You ought to find some canned goods in there, and some sterno.
Whip up supper for us, will you?"
Grumbling, the driver went up the split-log railed porch and into the
cabin.
"It isn't locked?" Jeanne-Marie said.
"No lock on it. Nice here, isn't it?"
"Who cares if it's nice or not? You're a fugitive, you're running
away, I'm a hostage. That's all that matters."
"Is it? You know, baby, there's something nice about being desperate.
Something real fine. I don't even know your name. You don't know mine.
Except Lucky. And you know something? I'm not even going to ask you
your name. I can suddenly start admiring things, too. Like the scenery."
"You're talking in circles."
"No, I'm not. When you're a fugitive, with utterly nothing to lose, and
when you happen to have as a hostage the most beautiful girl you've
ever seen, and if your capture puts a permanent end to seeing any kind
of girl--let alone such a beautiful one--now do you see?"
Instead of answering him, Jeanne-Marie walked quickly up the hill from
where the cab was parked to the cabin. The driver wouldn't be much
help--but his presence alone might stop Lucky....
But Lucky caught her before she had covered half the distance to the
cabin. "Figure I'm a dying man and well, like it's the wish of a dying
man to--to--listen, baby. You're very beautiful."
He held both her arms now, pinning them to her side. She struggled
fiercely against him, but he was very strong. She managed to tilt her
head back--and screamed.
Lucky let her go at once, and slapped her face very hard with his open
hand. She staggered back and tripped over something and fell heavily.
The cab driver appeared on the porch, but Lucky motioned him back
inside.
"There's no one else around," he said, "as far as I know. But don't
you ever try that again. Don't you see I have nothing to lose? Aren't
you convinced by now. I could try to make love to you because I have
nothing to lose--but I could also kill you for the same reason. Be
sensible, will you? Which would you rather I did?"
Jeanne-Marie stood up. For a moment her feet felt as if they might
buckle under her, but presently her strength returned. "Neither," she
said, walking toward the cabin again. "And if you try that any more,
I'm going to start hollering again. If you want to kill me, go ahead
and kill me."
In spite of her best efforts to control it, her voice caught on the
last words. Lucky laughed softly but harshly, and followed her into
the cabin.
She ate without knowing what the food was. Her mind was a blank slate
now. Impressions came and made tracks on it like chalk on a blackboard,
but they were immediately erased. She couldn't concentrate at all. It
was a state not far from hysteria, she knew. Lucky meant everything he
said.... Lucky, yes--Lucky.... It was so hard to concentrate. Lucky
might try to kill her or might try to make love to her or might try....
"... clean up and make it snappy," Lucky told the driver.
"What's your hurry? Going someplace?"
"When I'm in the mood for wisecracks, I'll crack them. Just clean up in
a hurry, that's all."
The driver did so, while Lucky sat smoking a cigarette. The cabin's
single all-purpose room was lit by a kerosene lamp hanging from the
ceiling on a big hook and casting uneven shadows as the wind came
through the open windows and stirred it. Jeanne-Marie felt herself
dropping off to sleep and had time to register amazement. She should
have been horrified, afraid for her life, beyond the point where sleep
was possible. Mary-Jean surely would have been.
Yes, she thought dreamily, Mary-Jean would have been. Which was one
lesson she learned from Jeanne-Marie at least. Useless fretting had
always been part of Mary-Jean's make-up. But then, it was not owned
exclusively by Mary-Jean: useless fretting probably took more energy
from more housewives....
She awoke with a start. She felt instantly refreshed. Somehow, she had
known she would. In that way, the beautiful Jeanne-Marie had a certain
animal-like quality about her. Sleep--and a quickening of the self. She
felt alert and capable, almost as if she had been dosed with benzedrine.
She heard a noise outside and went silently to the window. Lucky was
on the porch. He had found some rope and was tying the cab driver
there. Lucky--with a psychopath's mind. Not insane, of course. An
insane person was badly oriented. Lucky knew what he was doing--but he
didn't care about the consequences, as they affected other people. A
psychopath. A fugitive murderer psychopath with absolutely nothing to
lose whether he tried to make love to her or decided to kill her....
Adventure, Jeanne-Marie thought. This was adventure, all right. This
was what she had overlooked.
In adventure--always--was the element of danger. It was part
of the definition of adventure. And a housewife--a mother with
responsibility--had no business craving adventure.
No business?
Well, maybe once. Once only--to cure her. Or once, to keep with her
all her life through the dull times and the humdrum days. Provided,
Jeanne-Marie thought with a strange little smile, she lived through it.
"I see you're awake," Lucky said, coming inside the cabin. "What's so
funny?"
"Nothing you would understand. Why did you tie him out there, Lucky?"
"Why do you think? Do we have to talk about it?"
"Not if you don't want to, I guess."
"I found something to drink," Lucky told her. "Want some?"
She shook her head and Lucky poured just one drink. He downed it in a
gulp and Jeanne-Marie told him, "Keep drinking like that and you're
going to get drunk."
He poured and drank another. "Don't I know it, baby. But they won't
have any liquor where they want to send me, either. A man gets to
appreciate--sure you don't want some?"
"I'm positive, thank you." He's very matter-of-fact about it,
Jeanne-Marie thought. He's as matter-of-fact about enjoying his liquor
now as he is about killing me if I try to get away or about making love
to me if I stay here.
She looked at him. Lucky's altered behavior had not changed the fact
that Lucky was an attractive hunk of man. And that's what she was here
for, wasn't it? Romantic adventure. If in choosing the easy way out,
she also satisfied a lifelong whim too.... What am I thinking about?
she asked herself. It would satisfy him now and maybe afterwards,
with the drink and everything, he'd even go to sleep and I'll be
able to run somewhere for help. And anyway, it isn't me. It isn't
my body. It isn't Mary-Jean. It's Jeanne-Marie. But there's no such
person as Jeanne-Marie. Tomorrow, when I see the peddler at precisely
four-fifteen back home....
If I see him, she thought wildly. Because I'm a prisoner now.
She looked again at Lucky, who was drinking steadily now. Drinking
hard. Drinking so he could forget the fact that it would be all but a
physical assault if he got what he wanted.
It's not Mary-Jean, it's Jeanne-Marie, she told herself again. But that
didn't matter. All at once she knew it didn't matter at all. She would
feel unclean all the rest of her life and she could never say an honest
word of endearment again as long as she lived to her Tom, even if it
did help her to escape. She shuddered at the thought.
* * * * *
"Come here," Lucky said. "Getting late now, so come here." His voice
was thick and he took great care to enunciate each word distinctly.
Jeanne-Marie got up slowly and went across the room to him. He got
to his feet unsteadily, preparing to meet her halfway. He walked an
exaggerated straight line, as if to prove how sober he was. "Come
here," he said again, more thickly this time.
She let him take her in his arms. She let him kiss her lips and her
throat. That much, to allay his suspicions--and more. That much so she
could apparently return his caresses while he surrendered drunkenly to
the heat of the moment, while she....
Clutched at him wildly with her hands until he was used to the rather
unexpected sensation of her clutching hands--then, still clutching but
quite coldly and efficiently, searched his pocket for the cab-driver's
ignition key.
She found it and she said, breathlessly, "Lucky. I think I'll take that
drink now, Lucky."
He nodded, poured it and poured one for himself. "A toast," he said,
"to--"
He didn't finish. For Jeanne-Marie, smiling sweetly up at him, flung
the contents of the glass in his face.
He shouted hoarsely, rubbing at his alcohol-burned eyes. He lunched
around the room after her, but blinded like that it was a comparative
easy manner for her to stick out her leg and trip him near the door.
As he went sprawling, she got out of there.
"I'll send help back for you!" she called to the bound taxi-driver, and
sprinted across the porch and down the hill toward the cab. She got in
and slammed the door and with trembling fingers tried to insert the
ignition key. She finally shoved it home and heard footsteps pounding
across the wood of the porch. That would be Lucky. That meant only
seconds remained to her....
The starter ground and ground. The car wouldn't kick over.
She was still trying when Lucky reached her. At the last moment she
realized that the car was on a hill. If she released the handbrake she
would at least coast downhill away from him.
The car began to move as she tried the starter button again. Then the
door across from her was pulled open and Lucky threw himself into the
car, sprawling across the front seat toward her. At that moment, the
engine kicked over and Jeanne-Marie put the car in gear.
* * * * *
It started with a clashing of gears, leaping forward with a surge of
power. The door on Lucky's side was still open and swung back and
forth. Lucky was sitting up now, reaching for her, trying to pull her
away from the wheel.
They struggled while the car skidded from side to side of the road.
Jeanne-Marie kept her foot on the accelerator, though, and their speed
increased. The car swerved wildly and, she knew, might even overturn
on one of the steeper turns in the country road.
It swerved again, rocking. It went up on two wheels, the tires
screaming. Now the open door banged and grated against asphalt. Lucky
had a strong grip on her shoulder and his face was very close to her
own and she told him, "You'll kill us, you fool!"
"You think I care? You care, baby. I don't--"
She felt her fingers being pulled inexorably from the steering wheel.
If she lost her hold, the car, doing fifty now, would be entirely out
of control.
The car swerved again, went up on two wheels, lurching. Her right elbow
was suddenly free and she jabbed with it, hitting something. The car
lurched again, as if deciding whether to right itself or go over on its
side.
And Lucky, arms and legs flailing, went out the open door.
Jeanne-Marie braked the car quickly. She could see him in the rear-view
mirror, a dark shadow on the surface of the road, not moving. She
stopped the car and used its two-way radio to call the cab company.
Then, making sure that the still form of the man on the road was not
moving now, she allowed herself an unexpected feminine reaction.
She fainted.
* * * * *
It was two o'clock the next afternoon. Rural sheriff's station, full of
city police now.
And Lucky: real name George Carmine, a prisoner.
And confused police.
"But, miss. You caught him for us. The reward is yours. Don't you want
the reward?"
"No, please. Not if I'll have to identify myself."
"Afraid you will. There's no identification on her, Captain. Can you tie
it?"
"I can't tie it," said the captain. "No one could tie it."
"We have the whole story, miss. All but you. Who you are, how you
happened to find him. Fingerprints don't match any in Washington, miss.
We've already checked. You won't tell us your name. Description doesn't
match any missing persons. Have a heart, miss."
"I haven't done anything, have I?"
No, she hadn't done anything.
"Then just let me go. Please?" She had to hurry. Driving fast, she
could just make it back home in time for the peddler. She had to
make it. If she did not, the peddler would assume she wanted the
adventure-procuring face and body of Jeanne-Marie all her life....
"We'll have to insist on your name and address. We'll have to insist on
a routine investigation of you, to close out the case, you understand."
"Really, I'll have to be going."
"We'll have to insist.... Just go with the matron. Wait back there with
the matron. Perhaps (hopefully) you'll talk to the matron?"
She would not talk to the matron. But she would go with the matron if
they wanted her to.
The cabbie was just going outside. She said good-bye. He said good-bye.
He said he was very grateful. He had said almost nothing but that for
hours. Lucky, who had a broken collar bone, said nothing.
They passed a street door. After Lucky, it would be easy. Anything
would be easy. She shoved the matron. She opened the door and went
outside and slammed the door and ran.
"Holy Mac," the cabbie said, getting into his car.
"Show me how grateful you are?"
"I can't--"
"Just to the city line and a subway station. Please? But you've got to
hurry...."
He uttered an understandable curse and let her in and they sped away
before the matron could come outside and see in which direction her
charge had disappeared....
At precisely four-fifteen, the cab turned into her block. The driver
had changed his mind, had taken her all the way there. She was about
to point out her house--knowing she could never be checked there
because instead of Jeanne-Marie the police would find, praise be, plain
Mary-Jean--when suddenly she spotted him on the street.
Rotund little man, long nose, enormous bag. The peddler. "Stop here,"
she said. The driver needed no coaxing.
"I was grateful," he said. "But we're even now, lady. There won't be
any charge." And away he went.
* * * * *
"Hello, there," she said.
"Hello," said the peddler.
"I made up my mind."
"Naturally."
"What did you say?"
"Naturally, my dear lady. They always do. You've decided you'd had
enough of adventure, right?"
"Well--y-yes."
"Always do. All right."
"Don't you have to do anything to change me back?"
"Nope. They always do. It wears off, you see. Besides, the memory of
it keeps them happy, sort of. Or content. I don't know. Never was a
housewife. Well, good-bye, dear lady. Got a job down the block."
"Right down _this_ block?"
"Someone you know? Of course, it's someone you know. You'd be surprised
how many housewives we Happiness Salesmen do visit. They keep it
secret, of course, like you'll keep it secret."
And the peddler walked off with his enormous bag.
Jeanne-Marie watched him for a while. While she was watching him, she
became Mary-Jean. She could feel it. The electric tingling was gone
from her skin. The ravishingly beautiful face and the million-dollar
figure were gone.
She went toward the front door of her house. She was just plain
Mary-Jean now. She liked it suddenly. She never thought she would like
it.
Mary-Jean suddenly knew, without knowing how she knew, that sooner or
later the Happiness Salesman visited almost every housewife there ever
was.
Somehow, the thought of it made her feel very good.