Free Live Free

Candy & Sweet

Candy did not leave the hotel at once. It was cold outside and warm inside, and she was conscious that her white raincoat was unlined, and that her feet, in the black rubber boots the police had given her, were without stockings. She had been arrested many times and did not greatly object to jail; she toyed with the notion of soliciting here, in a part of the city where soliciting was permitted only after midnight and with the greatest discretion. Without money to pay her fine, she might easily be held until the worst of winter was past. In the end she decided against it out of loyalty to Stubb; but when she had decided, she found herself thinking seriously of Free’s treasure and “High Country.”

A lobby shop selling costly women’s wear had already opened its doors. Candy browsed for three-quarters of an hour, though the woman who ran the shop was nervous about her; because she had no rings, Candy decided. She explained, when she was able to begin a conversation, that her engagement-and-wedding set was too tight since she had put on so much weight, and she had left them upstairs in her room.

The woman was nervous anyway. Candy tried on several dresses and a pants suit she liked very much. She would have suggested that she wear the pants suit while she went up for her credit cards, but she did not think it would work.

The lobby was crowded when she stepped into it again, and there was a long line of businessmen at the cashier’s counter. A few were traveling together and talked about restaurants and flights; most did not talk at all. Candy found a comfortable chair and sat down to watch.

A hotel dick crossed the lobby. He was dressed like a businessman, but she knew who he was by his expression and the way he walked. He did not seem to notice her. Hookers, she thought, aren’t supposed to be up this early, and besides, there’s no business now. She was not sure if she had met this particular dick or not. She was usually pretty tippy when she met hotel dicks.

A bellman came out of one of the elevators towing a baggage cart loaded with suitcases, some dark brown, some baby blue. A businessman and his fat wife followed the cart. The businessman got into the line at the cashier’s counter, and his wife wandered off toward the hotel shops. The bellman pushed his cart through the entrance doors. When they opened, they showed cabs pulling away for the airport.

Candy went out, standing aside to let the bellman’s cart back through the door. It was cold and sunny. Eight or ten businessmen stood near the curb, their collars turned up against the wind. A doorman, resplendent in scarlet and gold braid, shrilled his whistle. Cabs arrived by twos and threes, always empty. The part of the sidewalk farthest from the curb, beside the Consort’s stone flower box and plastic plants, was lined with luggage—tan, brown, blue, red, yellow, and black.

Candy turned her coat collar up in imitation of the men. “Whoever said fat people don’t get cold?”

Several of the businessmen grinned at her.

Almost in the street, a businessman in a homburg was helping the doorman wave forward a cab. The next in line looked about fifty, sleekly shaven and prosperous. The three men behind him were obviously together.

Candy smiled at him. “I’ve got this early, early flight. Would you mind splitting a cab?”

“I’d be happy to.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful! Thank you so much!”

“My pleasure.”

“Look, here it comes.”

The bellman had not grouped the bags by color; the second largest of the blue ones had a brown one on either side of it. Candy picked it up and gave it to the cabbie to put in the trunk.

“I’m going to Salt Lake City to visit my sister,” she told the businessman when they were both in the cab.

“Do you live here? I thought you were staying at the hotel.”

“I was. I stopped here to see a friend, but she didn’t have any place to put me up. She rooms with another girl. Now I’m going to Salt Lake and spend a week with Clara and her husband. Were you here for the hardware convention?” Candy had a vague idea there was always a hardware convention in progress somewhere.

The businessman laughed. “Hard candy, you mean. Yes, I’m in hard candy and soft candy too. Mickey’s Jawbreakers; we’re a division of the Continental Wax Corporation.”

“I must have misread the sign.”

The cab spun up the entrance ramp to the tollway, throwing them together. He said, “Wow! Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. You know, I’m kind of into hard candy myself. I guess it shows.”

“You have the nicest smile, Miss. Did anybody ever tell you?” With some difficulty he thrust a hand under his overcoat and into his suitcoat pocket.

“Do you really mean it? No, nobody ever did.”

“Of course I mean it—it’s true. Here. Here’s what we make.”

“Oh, aren’t they pretty!”

“Want one? Go ahead—they’re samples I brought to the show with me.”

“Hey, isn’t this nice! I slept late, and I thought I wouldn’t get breakfast.”

“That’s what we call a Pink Princess—one of our biggest sellers now. It looks like a jewel, see? But it tastes better.” His hand touched hers.

Candy’s plump fingers fluttered around the cellophane. “It smells better too.”

“Christmas is the best time for hard candy. We developed that one to go after the Valentine trade.”

“I always think of chocolates at Valentine’s. Big heartshaped boxes with two layers.”

“I bet you get plenty of them, a pretty girl like you.”

She shook her head. “I hardly ever do unless I buy them myself.”

“Valentine’s Day will be coming up pretty quick now.”

“I suppose.”

“Tell you what. Give me your address, and I’ll see you get our Valentine’s Day assortment.”

Candy looked stricken. “I can’t.”

“I understand.” He folded his hands in his lap.

“I don’t mean that. I’m moving, and I don’t know yet where to. Most of my stuff’s in storage.”

He brightened. “I suppose you’ll have to find a new apartment after this trip? Do you live by yourself ?”

“I did, yeah … . I’ve been thinking of moving here, to tell the truth. You come here often?”

“Pretty often. On business.”

“Maybe, you know, you could bring it. Meet me somewhere. It wouldn’t have to be Valentine’s Day.”

“I’d like that. I’d like for you to try all our candies, Miss …”

“Garth. Catharine Garth.”

“Do they call you Cathy?”

She smiled shyly. “Sometimes.”

“Here’s my card. I’m John B. Sweet.”

Candy giggled. “Is your name really Mr. Sweet? And you make candy? Gosh, you’re an executive vice president.”

“You can call me John.”

“I’m going to call you John B. I know too many Johns already.” Holding the card, Candy glanced around. “My God! My purse! Where’s my purse?”

“You lost it?”

Her eyes were round as saucers. “I must have left it back at the hotel. All my money—my ticket—”

“Where were you?”

“In the coffee shop. I know I had it there—you know, I paid the waitress. I must have left it on my seat in the booth.”

He took her hand. “Don’t worry, Cathy, she’ll find it and turn it in.”

The driver, a melancholy Pakistani, glanced over his shoulder at them. “Wha’ airline?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Wha’ airline, sirs? Where you want stop?”

“Oh. United.”

“John B., what will I do?”

“Well, to start with, you ought to call the hotel and see if anybody’s found it. Then you should check with your airline—which one was it?”

“En double-you. Is that Northwestern?”

“Right. Check with them. Tell them you’ll have to make a later flight.”

“I don’t even have money to pay for this cab,” Candy moaned.

“Don’t worry—I’ll take care of it. I’ll lend you twenty too, so you can get back to the Consort.”

The cab rushed past a sign: RENTAL CAR RETURN.

As she had feared, the blue suitcase was locked. It was a combination lock with four wheels, the kind the user can set for himself in any of a thousand different ways. “Something easy to remember,” Candy whispered to herself. The only other woman in the ladies’ room glanced at her, then back at her mirror.

She tried the quadruple numbers first—oooo, 1111, 2222, 3333 … . None of them worked. Then 1234, 0123, and on a wild impulse, 8910. None of them worked either. Neither did the year. There was a cutlery shop in the airport, she knew, where you could buy Swiss Army knives. She could get one and a couple of little plastic overnight bags to carry what she wanted to keep. Let’s see, World War II? She spun the little dials to 1940, 1941, then rapidly through the war years to 1946, all without effect. Anniversary? When would that woman have gotten married? Nineteen sixty, 1961, 1962. The catch slid smoothly back.

There were two pairs of shoes inside, and both fit her beautifully. She selected the lizard-skin ones because they had closed toes, and hid her rubber boots in a corner beside the vinyl-covered couch. In a moment more, she had put on panty hose and a clean wool dress. There was even a purse in the bag and some makeup in the purse, with fifty-seven cents in change and an opened package of gum. Candy put two sticks of gum in her mouth and went out into the airport lobby again, still carrying the blue bag. A line of cabs waited where she and John B. Sweet, Executive Vice President of Mickey’s Jawbreakers, had arrived a few minutes before. A driver stowed her blue suitcase in the trunk while she settled herself in the back seat.

“Where to, lady?”

“The Greyhound station. The big one downtown.”

“You gotta ride those things? I hear it can be pretty tough.”

“No,” Candy said, “I just want to check my bag there. I’ve got errands to do around town today, and that’s the only place where I can leave it.”

“Suit yourself, lady,” the cabbie said. “Have a good flight in?”

“Yeah,” Candy told him. “Great.”