Cats Prowl at Night

13 Simple, But Very Important

The woman who rose as Bertha Cool opened the door of her office seemed, at first glance, an attractive woman in the very early thirties, with a figure that could still have fitted into her wedding dress, and perhaps her graduation dress as well. It was only when Bertha Cool’s sharp eyes peered through the protection of the veil, past the mask of rouge and mascara, and detected the fine wrinkles about the eyes and the lines of tension about the mouth, that she placed her visitor as being somewhere around forty.

“You’re Mrs. Cool, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so. The way you opened the door. You fit in with what I’ve heard about you.”

Bertha nodded, glanced inquiringly at Elsie Brand. Elsie nodded her head almost imperceptibly.

“Come in,” Bertha invited, and ushered her visitor into her private office.

“Did you,” Bertha asked casually, “give your name and address to my secretary?”

“No.”

“That’s required. It’s a custom of the office.”

“I understand.”

“Well?” Bertha asked.

“My name and address will come later. The first question is whether you are free to accept certain employment.”

“What sort of employment?”

“You’re working for Mr. Belder?”

“I have done work for him.”

“There’s an unfinished matter on which you are working?”

Bertha frowned. “I don’t think I care to answer that question — not in so many words. Do you want me to do something against Mr. Belder’s interests?”

“No. Something that would probably be very much to his best interest.”

“Why the questions, then?”

“Mrs. Belder might not like it.”

Bertha said, “Mrs. Belder is nothing in my young life.”

“I think, Mrs. Cool, you’re the logical person to do what I want.”

Bertha simply sat there waiting.

“Mr. Belder has, of course, told you about the family — Mrs. Goldring and Carlotta.”

Bertha jerked her head in a quick affirmation which wasted no time.

“Have you met them?”

“Just met them, that’s all.”

The woman’s black eyes were boring into Bertha Cool’s now. Even through the fringe of veil, Bertha could see light from the window reflecting from them as though they had been polished black granite.

“Go on,” Bertha said.

“I am Carlotta’s mother.”

“Oh, oh!”

“Now you see why it is necessary for me to keep myself in the background until I am very, very certain that you can do what I want.”

“What do you want?”

“Before I tell you what I want, I want you to understand my position.”

“Before you take up any of my time,” Bertha stated firmly, “I want you to understand mine.”

“What is it?”

“I work for money. Money talks in this business. Sympathy I give outside office hours. I can’t take a hard-luck story down to the bank, write my name across the back of it, shove it through the window and get a deposit entered to my account.”

“I understand that perfectly.”

“If this is a hard-luck story, I’m not interested. I just didn’t want to have any misapprehension on your part.”

“There is none, Mrs. Cool.”

“All right, go ahead.”

“It is absolutely imperative that you understand my position and the reasons behind it.”

“You said that before.”

“I can’t overemphasize it.”

“I’m listening.”

“You’re a rather competent, capable woman, Mrs. Cool. One feels a little embarrassed in discussing— Well, the businesslike atmosphere of your office is hardly conducive to a discussion of romantic details.”

Bertha said, “By the time romance gets to this shop it’s sordid as hell. Wives want evidence, women want damages, men want out.”

“I can understand.”

“I suppose,” Bertha went on, “you want to tell me something about the dashing personality of the gay seducer who was Carlotta’s father.”

A faint half-smile touched the lips of her visitor, a sardonic travesty on mirth. “I was the seducer.”

“You interest me.”

“I didn’t come here to hide behind any falsehoods.”

“That’s just as well.”

“In my youth I was wild. Ever since I can remember I’ve been an untamed, rebellious soul. I rebelled against schoolrooms. I rebelled against convention. I called my mother a liar when she tried to tell me things about Santa Claus. She never explained the facts of life to me. By the time she thought I was ready, I could have told her things she never knew. Gradually, she came to a realization of that. I guess it broke her heart.”

Bertha made no comment.

“It’s important,” the woman went on, “that you get just that picture in its proper perspective.”

“Okay, I’ve got it.”

“I doubt if you have, Mrs. Cool. I wasn’t the boy-struck young adolescent, nor was I an over-sexed, under-disciplined personality. I was simply a young body with the inquiring mind of an adult. I was impatient of hypocrisy and the false modesty which seemed to shroud the actions of older people. I loved to take chances. That made for excitement, and I thrived on excitement. In fact, Mrs. Cool, it was excitement and change that I craved. I was impatient to plunge into all the life there was to live, and to see what it was like. And then there was Carlotta.”

“I wasn’t frightened when I realized. I wasn’t particularly ashamed. I was curious, and a little startled that such things could happen to me. I left home and went to work in another state. Before Carlotta’s birth I put myself in touch with an institution. I refused to sign certain waivers and legal papers so that my child could be properly adopted. My baby was mine. I knew that I couldn’t keep her, but I had a fierce sense of possession. She was mine. She would always be mine, no matter where we were. Remember, Mrs. Cool, this was after the First World War when conditions were in a chaotic state of upheaval. Soldiers were pouring back from abroad and waiting, many times in vain, to be absorbed into the economic life of the nation. Jobs weren’t easy. There were times when I went hungry.”

“I’ve been hungry,” Bertha said simply.

“And now, Mrs. Cool, I’m going to say something on behalf of the conventions. I still think they’re founded on hypocrisy and self-deceit, but they are the conventional pattern of life. They represent the rules under which the game is played. Once you violate those rules, you are cheating on civilization, and when you begin to cheat you soon lose your attitude of proud defiance and begin cutting corners here and there. You cheat on one thing, pretty soon you cheat on another. You start covering up. Slowly, imperceptibly, you lose your proud independence. You become an opportunist, you get on the defensive, and, after that, you develop a furtive side to your nature.”

Bertha said impatiently, “Listen, if you’re trying to justify yourself to me, don’t do it. You don’t need to. If you’ve got the money and I’ve got the time, I’ll do anything you want. If you haven’t got money, I haven’t got the time. You apparently overlooked the fact that I’ve had my own ups and downs, and I’ve lived something of a life myself.”

“It isn’t that, Mrs. Cool. It’s the fact that you must realize the situation.”

“I understand that all right, but how did Mrs. Goldring adopt your daughter if you didn’t sign the proper releases?”

“That is the thing I am trying to explain to you.”

“Well, for God’s sake go ahead and explain it then.”

“Mrs. Goldring, even twenty years ago, was a very scheming, persistent person.”

“I can understand that.”

“She went to the institution where babies were left for adoption. There was more demand than there were babies to fill that demand. Mrs. Goldring had had one child — the woman who is now Mrs. Belder. She couldn’t have any more. Later on she wanted a younger sister for that child. She found she would have to wait for some time. Then she saw Carlotta. She became attracted to her. The persons in charge of the institution told her that I had been paying for Carlotta’s board, that recently payments had stopped, but that I still wouldn’t sign a release. They were very much concerned about the whole situation.”

“Go on,” Bertha said, “what did Mrs. Goldring do?”

“Mrs. Goldring either got them to violate one of the rules of the institution, or what is more likely, won their confidence and took advantage of it to steal their records concerning Carlotta.”

“She would do that,” Bertha said.

“And so she came to me and forced me to sign a release!”

“Forced!”

“Yes.”

“How did she do that?”

The black eyes stared defiantly at Bertha. “I told you that once a person started defying conventions, there was no telling just where he’d stop you—”

“Don’t bother with all that stuff. Just tell me why you signed.”

“And,” the woman went on, heedless of Bertha’s interruption, “one person can’t fight the world. It makes no difference whether public opinion is right or wrong. No character is big enough or strong enough to stand out against public opinion without getting bruised, without— Have you ever struggled with a great big fat man, Mrs. Cool?”

Bertha Cool frowned as she probed her recollection. “No-o-o,” she said at length, “Well, if I have, I can’t remember it right now.”

“I have,” her visitor said. “And fighting against public opinion is like fighting with a big fat man who simply puts his weight on you and smothers you. He doesn’t need to do anything, you simply can’t fight against that oppressing weight.”

“All right,” Bertha said impatiently, “you couldn’t fight against public opinion. You’ve told me that four or five times.”

Her visitor said, “It explains why Mrs. Goldring got me to sign that release. I was in the penitentiary when she found me.”

“Oh, oh!”

“You can understand the position in which she put me. She did it very nicely. It was a beautiful form of blackmail. In prison I was without funds. I couldn’t support my daughter. Mrs. Goldring was in a position to give her a good home. Whatever dreams I might have had of waiting until my child had grown to a point where she could understand her mother, and then having a reunion with her, or of being able to provide a home for her while she was still so young that she wouldn’t remember about the institution — all those dreams had evaporated. I was in for a five-year stretch. I didn’t serve it all, but at that time I didn’t know I wouldn’t have to.”

“What,” Bertha asked, “were you in for?”

The mouth tightened. “That, Mrs. Cool, to put it bluntly, is none of your business.”

“Go ahead and put it bluntly, dearie,” Bertha said. “I’m a blunt woman myself.”

“That’s going to help things.”

“Okay,” Bertha announced. “What do you want?”

The woman smiled. “Remember that my hands are tied. Mrs. Goldring has a hold over me.”

“I don’t get it.”

“She holds my past as a threat over me to keep me from playing my hand. Carlotta would be terribly shocked if she knew her mother had been in the penitentiary. Otherwise, I might appear on the scene and make a bid for Carlotta’s affections. I’m in a position now to do much more for her than Mrs. Goldring is. Mrs. Goldring has spent the insurance money she received at the time of her husband’s death. I am relatively wealthy.”

Bertha asked curiously, “How could you have emerged from the penitentiary and made enough money to—”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to be blunt again, Mrs. Cool.”

“Oh, hell,” Bertha said, “I know it’s none of my business, but you interest me — now.”

“Yes,” her visitor said dryly, “I can see that the financial details interest you more than the romantic.”

Bertha thought that over for a few moments and said, “I guess you’re right.”

“The only way,” the woman went on, “that Mrs. Goldring could compete with me financially would be in the event she inherited money. The only chance she stands of inheriting money is if Mrs. Belder should die leaving a will, leaving all of her property to her mother. I understand such a will has been made, and I further understand that Mrs. Belder has disappeared.”

Bertha tugged at the lobe of her left ear, an infallible sign of intense concentration. “What do you mean when you say ‘disappeared’?”

“Committed a murder and skipped out. Eventually she’s going to be caught. The excitement incident to all of that is apt to make her heart pop — just like that,” and the woman snapped her fingers to illustrate the celerity of Mrs. Belder’s departure.

Bertha said nothing, kept her thumb and forefinger pulling at her ear.

“You can see the position in which that leaves me,” the woman went on. “Mrs. Goldring would inherit Mrs. Belder’s money. She would use that to hold Carlotta.”

“You mean Carlotta’s affections are something that can be bought?” Bertha asked sceptically.

“Don’t be silly, Mrs. Cool. Carlotta isn’t like that; and on the other hand, she isn’t a fool. Let’s look at the situation this way. I am her mother. There are certain black marks — very definite black marks in my record. Those constitute reasons why she is very apt to repudiate any claim I might have to her affections because of the natural relationship. I think you understand my position there, don’t you?”

Bertha nodded.

“Very well. Mrs. Goldring has spent all the money she has received. She has made no provision whatever for carrying on unless she can marry some wealthy man. Carlotta is just at the age when she is beginning to realize how important it is to attract the right sort of man as a husband. In order to do that, a woman must circulate in the environment in which the right sort of men are to be found. Mrs. Goldring is due to have a complete financial smash-up within thirty days. She’ll be stripped clean. She won’t have a penny.”

“The sudden realization of that disaster is going to be a great emotional shock to Carlotta. The necessity of changing her entire mode of life, of going from comparative affluence to complete, utter poverty is going to give Carlotta a terrific jolt. Carlotta knows nothing of the value of money.”

“You feel certain Mrs. Goldring’s financial position is as bad as that?”

“I know it. I have made it my business to know it, Mrs. Cool. Mrs. Goldring made this trip from San Francisco to see Mabel Belder and to see if it wasn’t possible to get her daughter to make a final split with Everett Belder, and have mother, daughter, and Carlotta all live together — Mabel Belder, of course, footing the bills.”

“Wouldn’t Carlotta go to work?”

“Eventually, Carlotta would go to work. She has been raised in an entirely different atmosphere. She has cultivated people who are more interested in golf, tennis, and horseback riding than work and achievement. She’s tried a job now and then, just to go through the motions. She didn’t last long.”

“If you ask me,” Bertha said, “it will be a damned good thing for her to have this jolt.”

“Certainly it will be a good thing for her,” Bertha’s visitor snapped. “That’s what I’m hoping for. Do you think it’s been any pleasure for me to see my daughter raised in this particular manner? Good God, woman, do you know what it means to a mother who has certain plans, certain ideals, certain aspirations for her daughter, to see another woman ruin that child’s entire life? I’ve been watching it for the last five years, absolutely, utterly helpless. But remember this: once that crash occurs, once Carlotta is jarred into a realization of what has been done to her, what a vain scatter-brained nincompoop Mrs. Goldring is, then Carlotta’s natural mother can appear on the scene offering a home, the advantages of ample money, security, an opportunity to meet the right people—”

“You can give your daughter those advantages?”

“Yes.”

“Meeting the right people?”

“Yes.”

“These people know of your record?”

“Don’t be silly. Of course not.”

“Mrs. Goldring does.”

“Yes.”

“Wouldn’t she tell them if you took Carlotta from her?”

“She might.”

“But you don’t think she would?”

“I think I could take steps to prevent that.”

“What steps?”

The visitor smiled. “After all, Mrs. Cool, I came here to employ you, not to submit to a cross-examination concerning my personal affairs.”

“Go ahead,” Bertha said dryly. “I guess I ask too damned many questions. You’re going to pay for the time, so do it your own way — the telling of what you have to tell.”

“In many ways,” Bertha’s visitor continued, “Mrs. Goldring has made Carlotta a good mother. In other ways she has been very, very foolish. She is a vain woman, one who is angling for a husband and trying to use the same bait with which she caught her first husband.”

“I’ve seen a lot of life, Mrs. Cool. Probably you have, too. The women in the forties and fifties, even in the sixties, who get the desirable matrimonial catches — the widowers who have been trained to double-harness and have money — are the ones who are plump, comfortable, contented, and not too anxious to get married. The ones who starve themselves with diet, try to assume the vivacity of a young woman in the twenties, who appear coy and kittenish, never get to first base. Make no mistake, Mrs. Cool, a mature woman has something that appeals to an older man, something that the young filly can never have. On the other hand, the youngster has the freshness of youth, the rounded firmness of body that an older woman doesn’t have. In order to get anywhere, the older woman needs to use her own weapons and not try to steal the weapons of the younger woman. Once she does that she’s licked.”

Bertha said, “Nice philosophy. What does it add up to in this case?”

“It adds up to the fact that Mrs. Goldring is a fool — a frivolous fool. She’s deliberately squandered her insurance money, acting on the assumption that she could invest that money in getting another husband. She’s had clothes, beauty treatments, expensive apartments and contacts. In case you’re interested I can even give you the sordid details.”

“Sordid details always interest me,” Bertha said.

“Very well. Her insurance was twenty thousand dollars. In place of investing that wisely, Mrs. Goldring decided she would spend four thousand dollars a year for five years, thinking that would be plenty; that sometime during the five years she would land a desirable husband. Having once reached that decision, it was difficult for her to remain within the price limits she set for herself. And I will say one thing, she was generous to Carlotta. Partially for Carlotta’s sake, and partially, perhaps, because she had to provide generously for Carlotta in order to keep up her own background.”

“She made a mental limit of four thousand dollars a year. She spent over seven thousand dollars the first year. For the most part she travelled extensively, hoping to meet the type of person she wanted in the intimacy of a long voyage. She might have made a go of it if she hadn’t made the mistake so many women make.”

“What?”

“She fell in love with a man who had no intention of marrying her. He wasted a year of her time and finally got the bulk of her money.

“When Mrs. Goldring awakened to the truth, she redoubled her efforts to capture her lost youth. Ever play golf, Mrs. Cool?”

“Some.”

“You’ll realize what I mean, then, by trying too hard. When you click out your easy shots down the centre of the fairway, you’re simply swinging in a perfect rhythm of coordination. When you get too eager, get in too much of a hurry, get too anxious to get distance with your drives, you foozle your shots. Well, Mrs. Goldring got too eager. She foozled her matrimonial shots.”

“She is within thirty days of the end of her rope. In fact, she’d gone through everything she had more than a month ago. She’s been getting by ever since on desperate expedients, and on the strength of the fact that her credit has always been good. She came to Los Angeles in order to persuade her daughter, Mabel, to throw Everett Belder over, get a divorce, and live with Mrs. Goldring and Carlotta — furnishing the entire finances, of course.”

“You seem to know a lot about it.”

“I’ve made it my business to know everything that concerns Carlotta’s welfare.”

“All right, where do I come in? Exactly what do you want me to do?”

Her visitor smiled. “It seems such a simple thing,” she said, “simple — and yet so terribly, so vitally important.”

“Well, come on. What is it?”

“I want some information.”

Bertha said with a touch of sarcasm, “You’d be surprised how many of my clients do.”

The woman smiled, opened her purse, took out a flat wallet. She flipped this open and took out a fifty-dollar bill. She tossed it casually on Bertha’s desk. “I’m paying you in advance, you see.”

Bertha’s eyes caressed the money, then shifted to her visitor. “What’s it for?”

“Information.”

“What’s the information?”

“You’ll be surprised when—”

Bertha interrupted impatiently. “Listen, I’ve got work to do. If I’m to get the information you want, I’ll have more to do. Now, let’s get it over with. What do you want?”

“I want the name of Everett Belder’s barber.”

Despite herself, expression showed on Bertha Cool’s face. “His barber!”

“That’s right.”

“Good heavens, why?”

The woman extended a long, pointed, coral-tipped finger toward the fifty dollars on the desk. “Isn’t that reason enough?”

Bertha’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not certain that I’m free to get that information for you. I’m doing some work for Mr. Belder. Let me go out and look at the carbon copy of the receipt I gave Belder, and see just what it covers. I—”

The woman laughed. “Come, come, Mrs. Cool. I thought you were smarter than that. You want to arrange for someone to shadow me when I leave the office. I think we understand each other perfectly. There’s the money, and I want the name of Everett Belder’s barber.”

“But why on earth do you want that?”

“Because I’d like to have him cut my hair. And of course, Mrs. Cool, you will treat this visit as absolutely confidential. The minute you touch that fifty dollars I become your client so far as this matter is concerned. You will not say anything to Mr. Belder or anyone else about my visit. You will get only that one bit of information for me, and if you betray my confidence you will be guilty of unprofessional conduct. Do I make myself clear?”

“How will I get in touch with you to let you know?”

“Call me at this number. I’ll be there to take the call. Good afternoon.”

The telephone rang as the woman got to her feet.

Bertha picked up the receiver, but didn’t touch the fifty-dollar bill which lay on the desk.

Elsie Brand’s voice said cautiously, “Everett Belder’s out here.”

Bertha cupped her hand over the mouthpiece, said, “Everett Belder’s out there.”

The frown of annoyance which flickered across the woman’s face was visible even under the black veil. “Mrs. Cool, you really should have an office that has a private exit.”

Bertha said angrily, “Well, if you feel that way about it, just rent me the office — even find it for me, and I’ll move in. If you don’t want him to see you, I can tell the girl to tell him I can’t see him for ten minutes, and ask him to come back—”

The woman marched across to the door. “On second thought, Mrs. Cool, I think I prefer it this way. Do you take the money, or do I?”

Bertha hesitated for an instant, then reached across the desk and picked up the fifty-dollar bill.

“Thank you,” the woman said, and opened the door.

Bertha Cool managed to get around the desk in time to watch Everett Belder’s reactions as the woman walked past him.

He gave her a briefly casual glance, then scrambled hastily to his feet, started at once toward Bertha’s private office.