Bare feet tucked under her, Ruth Fleck sat on the sofa in the living
room. After her leisurely bath she'd put on pyjamas and a quilted
housecoat, but no slippers; she liked to go barefoot around the house.
The reading lamp was on and she had a magazine in her lap, opened to
the beginning of a story. But she hadn't started it yet; she was still
thinking about her coming conversation with Ray.
Not about what she was going to say; she'd already decided that,
but about how she was going to say it. She was going to give him an
ultimatum, but to spare his pride as well as to avoid another argument,
she wanted to figure how to word it so it wouldn't sound like an
ultimatum.
She'd thought about it all evening at work and had finally, if a bit
reluctantly, decided to give him the five hundred he needed to pay off
his bookie. George was probably right in saying that Joe Amico wouldn't
have him beaten up, let alone taken for a ride. But still, Ray _was_
in trouble, with that big a debt hanging over him and she should help
him out, this once. She'd agree to go downtown with him tomorrow and
arrange the loan against the policy.
But she was going to attach a condition to it, and she thought she had
every right to do so. He'd have to promise, and mean the promise and
stick to it, to quit gambling on credit--or for heavy stakes, whether
on credit or not. Gambling was in his blood, and she knew it would
be meaningless for her to demand his promise never to gamble again.
He might make such a promise--for the sake of getting the money from
her--but he wouldn't mean it in the slightest and wouldn't keep it for
a single day. She might as well make a clean break with him right now
as to demand a promise like that.
Would she be better off in any case to make a clean break? She pushed
that thought away. She should give him one more chance before she
decided anything like that. And maybe the sweating he was doing right
now about that five-hundred-dollar debt had taught him the lesson he
needed. She'd see.
She'd give him the money--and the ultimatum. Henceforth his gambling
had to be moderate and for cash only, when he could afford it. If
he wanted to make two-dollar bets, or even an occasional five- or
ten-dollar bet, for cash, that was all right. But no more going in over
his head, on credit. Certainly that was a reasonable thing for a wife
to expect.
But if he ever got into trouble like this again--well, again she'd
borrow five hundred against the policy (that would still leave nine
thousand coming, a nice nest egg, when the policy matured in another
five years or so) but she wouldn't give it to Ray to pay off gambling
debts. She'd use it herself for a trip to Reno. That was just about
what such a trip, and a divorce, would cost her. Less than that, of
course, if she could find work there during her waiting period, but
she wouldn't count on that. A lot of women who go there for divorces
must look for work to help out and to occupy their time during the
six weeks--she thought it was six weeks--they had to wait for their
divorces. The labor market might be glutted.
She hoped he wouldn't be late tonight--but no matter how late he might
be, she was going to wait up for him. Morning was a bad time to talk
with him, especially about anything serious. He was always irritable
and grumpy in the morning, likely to fly off the handle over even the
most innocent remark she might make.
She heard footsteps coming up the stairs and thought _Good, he's even
a little earlier than usual_. It was only a few minutes after one; he
couldn't have waited even till the bars closed to start home. Maybe
that was a good sign.
She got off the sofa and went to the door. But, remembering the phone
call and George's warning, she didn't reach for the bolt or the knob
until he knocked.
He knocked. Three knocks, a short pause; one knock, a short pause, then
two knocks.
She threw back the bolt and opened the door.