The Fast Loose Money

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As soon as I came in the house, Marie knew something was wrong. I guess it showed. I had a far-away feeling, where you have to stop dead and remember where it is you usually hang your hat, as if you’ve never been in the house before. And when you go to change your shoes, you sit on the edge of the bed and look down at them and you can’t make up your mind which one to untie first.

She followed me into the bedroom and said, “What’s wrong, Jerry? What is it?”

“Go away,” I told her. “Don’t talk to me. Don’t bother me.”

She put on her hurt face and sniffed at me and went away. I could tell her any time. It was going to be a ball. After I changed I went out the back door and Marie said, “Where are you going now?”

“Over to see Arnie.”

“You know he isn’t home yet. He won’t be home for a long time. You know that.”

“So I’ll wait.”

“When do you want to eat?”

“I don’t want to eat.” She sniffed again, and I let the screen door bang. It was a warm night. About nine o’clock. I generally get into the city about noon, and I check the three lots and work them, and then I make the night deposit and then I come home. Arnie can quit when he feels like it, too, and he’s usually home about eleven.

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