Eve

CHAPTER TWENTY

IT was Eve. From the very beginning it had been Eve. If it had not been for her none of this would ever have happened.

I walked down Laurel Canyon Drive and passed her house. There were no lights showing. I paused, then retraced my steps. A distant clock struck midnight. Perhaps she was asleep; perhaps she was still out; perhaps she was at the back of the house. I would have to find out.

I looked up and down the street, but there was no one in sight except John Coulson. He stood in the shadows across the road, his hands in his pockets and his head a little on one side, watching me.

I stood outside Eve’s house and again looked up and down the street. It was quiet, even the distant traffic sounded muffled. I pushed open the gate and groped my way down the path. I fumbled my way around to the back of the house and kicked against a number of bottles that were stacked against the wall. One of them rolled and smashed against something in the dark. I stood still and listened. The back of the house was in darkness. No one called out so I edged forward cautiously until I reached a window. It was half open. I pushed it right up and listened. No sound came from inside the house.

I leaned inside the window and struck a match. I was looking in at the small kitchen and it was as well that I had a light because the sink, full of dirty crockery, was immediately under the window.

I threw the match away and stepped onto the window sill. Then I struck another match. I climbed over the sink and lowered myself to the floor.

There was a faint smell of stale cooking and a fainter smell of Eve’s perfume in the room. The smell of that perfume gave me a cold feeling of hate deep in my guts. I went to the door, opened it and stood in the passage. I listened, but I could hear nothing.

I was sure now that the house was empty, but I was still cautious. I edged my way to her bedroom. The door was open and I stood outside, holding my breath and listening. I stood like that for a long time until I was sure there was no one in the room. Then I went in and turned on the light.

By her bed was a large photograph. It was turned face down on the little table. I picked it up. Jack Hurst looked at me. It was a good portrait and I studied it for some minutes, then in a sudden spasm of rage, I nearly smashed it against the wall. I stopped myself in time. That would be the first thing she would miss when she entered the room. I put the photograph back as I had found it and as I did so I wondered whether Hurst would care when he heard that Eve was dead. I wondered too with a sense of malice whether the police would suspect that it might have been Hurst who had killed her.

The clock on the mantelpiece ticked softly. It was twenty minutes past twelve. Any moment now, I could expect her to return. In this quiet little room, I had no feeling of time and I sat down on the bed and picked up her dressing gown. I buried my face in it, smelling her scent and the faint odour of her body.

I remembered the first time I had seen her in it. She had been squatting before the fire at Three Point. That picture conjured up a flood of bitter memories. So much had happened since then.

It did not seem that five nights ago I had watched Carol die. It had taken me more than two hours to scramble down the mountain side to reach her. I knew when I looked at the smashed car that she would not be alive. It had been very quick; her lovely little body had been jammed between a great boulder and the side of the car. I could not move her and I sat by her side with her head in my arms, feeling her grow cold until they came and took me away.

Nothing seemed to matter after that. Even Gold did not matter. He took his revenge, but I was past caring. It did not matter that he stripped me of everything. He knew, as I suspected, that Rain Check wasn’t my play. Somehow he found out about Coulson and reported what I had done to the Writers’ Guild. They sent a stiff necked little man to see me. He said they would not prosecute if I repaid all my royalties. I scarcely listened to him and when he gave me a paper authorizing my bank to pay 75,000 dollars to Coulson’s agent to dispose of as he thought fit, I signed it.

I had not the money of course, so they took everything I had. My Chrysler, books, furniture, clothes — everything I had, and even then they wanted more, but there was nothing more to give them.

I did not even care when they took Carol’s clothes. I did not need to have anything of hers to remember her by. She was in my mind as I had last seen her jammed between the boulder and the car with a scarlet thread of blood from her lips to her chin. That memory of her will always be with me.

I think I could have borne her loss if I had been able to tell her before she died that the red head had meant nothing to me. But I reached her too late and she died thinking that big soft bodied slut of a woman had taken her place while she was away. That knowledge unhinged my mind. If I could have told her that she was the only person who had ever given me any real happiness and if she had believed me, I might not now be in this sordid little house waiting to commit murder.

Everything had happened because of Eve. I had nothing to live for, why then should she? During the past five days I had thought a great deal about her and I had decided that it would be very satisfying and final to kill her.

I went to the door, turned off the light and fumbled my way upstairs. As I reached the head of the stairs, the telephone began to ring.

I was a little unnerved now and I walked unsteadily across the landing. I went into the front room, next to the bathroom. My feet scraped on the bare boards and the moon breaking through the clouds suddenly sent a shaft of light through the uncurtained window. The room was unfurnished. From the window I could see the street, the garden and the little path that led to the house.

I leaned against the window and stared down into the street. John Coulson was still there. He had moved closer to the house and was looking up at me.

I watched him for a few minutes, then I turned away from the window. I wanted a drink. I wanted to smoke too, but I was afraid Eve would smell the burning tobacco as she came in. She must have no warning that I was in the house, waiting to kill her.

The minutes dragged slowly by and I grew impatient. I wondered where she was. Would she bring a man back with her? I had not thought of that. It was more than likely that she would do so and it would, of course, ruin all my plans.

Suddenly, without warning, something soft and yielding moved against my leg. My nerves bunched together like a coiled spring and my mouth went dry. I blundered away from the window with a faint cry.

Beside me was a large black and white cat. It looked up at me and its eyes sparkled in the moonlight.

The shock had driven the blood from my face and my heart thumped against my ribs. When, at last, I had controlled my fluttering nerves, I bent down to touch the cat, but it slid away from me and disappeared through the half open door.

Still quivering from the shock, I closed the door and as I came back to the window I heard a car coming down the road. I flattened myself against the wood and peered through the window. John Coulson had gone and the road seemed desolate without him.

A taxi-cab pulled up and the driver leaned out and opened the door. The moonlight lit the darkness inside the cab and I caught a glimpse of Eve’s immaculate legs. There was a long pause before die got out. She was alone and she stood for several seconds searching in her bag before she paid the driver. He did not touch his cap, but slammed the door and then drove off without looking at her.

I watched her as she moved down the path. She walked wearily, her shoulders sagging her bag clutched firmly under her arm.

In a few seconds, she and I would be alone together.

I was no longer afraid and my hands were dry and steady. I crept across the room and opened the door. I heard her snap back the lock and enter the lobby.

I crossed the landing and looked cautiously over the banisters and caught a glimpse of her as she disappeared into her bedroom. A light sprang up and flooded the lobby.

I heard her strike a match and I guessed she was lighting a cigarette. Then I heard her yawn. The sound ended in a groan of exhaustion, but I had no pity for her, only a cold, sullen anger and that overpowering desire to get my hands around her throat.

She moved about the room while she undressed. The house was so silent that I could hear her take off her coat, skirt and blouse. She unlocked her cupboard and I guessed she was putting her clothes away. Then she came out of the bedroom and walked into the kitchen. I saw her distinctly as she passed from room to room. She looked very slight and forlorn down there by herself. Her hair looked neat and her blue dressing gown was wrapped tightly around her.

I heard a rattle of crockery from the kitchen and, later, she returned carrying a tray for her morning coffee. She took it into her bedroom and I guessed that before long she would be coming upstairs. I stepped into the front room and closed the door.

I had not been in the room more than a few seconds before I heard her come up the stairs. She moved slowly and at the head of the stairs, she stumbled. She said “Oh, hell!” loudly and I knew then that she was drunk.

I heard her stumbling around in the bathroom and then I heard water running. She was in there for some time, but eventually I heard her come out and go downstairs.

I edged once more onto the landing. Below me, she was bending over the cat. As I watched her, she sat on her heels and stroked the cat with quick, light movements. “Poor old Sammy,” she said softly. “Did I leave you all alone?”

The cat twined itself around her and I could hear its deep throated purr. I watched Eve’s slim hands as she fondled the animal and I listened as she talked to it. She talked as only a lonely woman will talk to an animal, speaking to it as if it were a child.

The cat suddenly stopped purring and looked up at me. It’s tail became bushy and it spat. For a moment I stared down into its yellow eyes, then I drew back out of sight.

“What’s the matter, you silly old thing?” Eve asked. “Are there mice up there?”

My hands became clammy.

“Come on, my beauty, I’m not going to play any more with you. No, you’re not going up there. I’m tired, Sammy, oh I’m so very, very tired.”

I glanced over the banisters again. Eve had picked up the cat and was disappearing into the bedroom.

I took out my handkerchief and wiped my face and hands, then went to the head of the stairs and listened.

Eve was talking to the cat. I could not hear what she said. It seemed strange to hear her voice in the silent house and not to hear anyone answer her. Then the bed creaked and I knew that she was settling down for the night.

I sat on the top stair and lit a cigarette.

As I sat there, I remembered our first week-end together. It had been exciting and intriguing because I did not then know how false and what a liar she was. I had thought that I had won her confidence and I had enjoyed her company. It was a memory that would remain with me for a long time.

I clenched my fists. If she had given just a little instead of taking all the time, this would never have happened. I wanted to be her friend but she had frustrated me at every point.

Then the light snapped off and I started to my feet; but I controlled my eagerness with an effort and sat down again. I would have to wait just a little longer. One false move now, after waiting so long, would spoil everything.

I sat there and waited for her to fall asleep.

Then out of the darkness came a new sound. Eve was crying. It was not a pleasant sound. It was so unexpected that it set my teeth on edge and gave me a cold feeling under my heart. It was the sound a woman makes who has lost everything and who is desperately lonely and miserable. Eve lay in the darkness and sobbed without any effort to control herself. She sounded tragically unhappy. At last I was face to face with the real Eve without the make-believe, without the wooden expression or the professional mannerisms. This was the Eve I had wanted to know, the real Eve who lurked behind the stone fortress, its door now open for me to see inside. This was a prostitute taking a vacation.

I sat for a long time in the darkness and listened to her. I heard her toss about in the bed and once she said, “Oh damn and damn and damn!” and I heard her beat her fists together as her unhappiness tormented her.

At last she quieted down and there was silence. Very faintly, she began to snore. It was a strangled, gasping sound that was almost as bad as her sobbing.

My cold, vicious calm returned. I stood up and flexed my fingers. Now, I thought, I will put you out of your misery. This is the moment for which I have been waiting.

I paused outside the bedroom. I could hear Eve jerking about in bed, moaning and muttering to herself. I edged into the room and moved quietly around the bed until I was sure I was near her. I put my hand out cautiously and felt the top of the quilt and then, very slowly, I sat down on the bed. It creaked under my weight, but the movement did not wake her.

I felt her body twitch and jerk under the bedcloths. I could smell the whisky on her breath. My heart began to pound. I reached out and found the lamp switch. Holding it in my shaking fingers, I groped for her throat.

My hand hovered in the dark, then I touched her hair. She was under my hand. I drew a deep breath, clenched my teeth and snapped on the light.

She was there, close to me, my hand a few inches from her throat, but I could only sit and stare at her. I could not move. She looked so utterly helpless. She lay on her back, her lips parted and her face twitching as she slept. She looked very young and unhappy and there were dark shadows under her eyes. My hand dropped limply and I felt all the viciousness drain out of me. I knew then, as I looked down at her, that I had been out of my mind and at the sight of her I was suddenly sane again.

I could not kill her. My mouth went dry when I realized how close I had come to doing so. I wanted to take her in my arms and feel her respond to me. I wanted to tell her that I would look after her and she need never be unhappy again.

I looked down at her, seeing her elfish, heart-shaped face with its determined chin and the two deep furrows above her nose. I thought if only she always looked like this — helpless and needing protection, the hard lines smoothed from her face and her eyelids hiding the windows of her dreadful, callous, selfish little soul. If I could only trust her not to lie or cheat or drink or to be cruel to me. But I knew that was impossible. She would never change.

The cat came and rubbed itself against my arm. I stroked it and for the first time since Carol had died, I felt relaxed and content. As I sat close to Eve, with the cat pushing its head into my hand, I realized a fulfilment of a desire that I wanted to go on and on.

Then suddenly Eve opened her eyes. She stared at me with bewildered, terrified hatred. She did not move and she seemed to have stopped breathing. We looked at each other for a full minute.

“It’s all right, Eve . . .” I began, reaching for her hand.

I did not think it was possible for anyone to move so quickly. She whipped out of bed, snatched up her dressing gown and way by the door before I could touch her. There was a scraped, bony look on her face and her eyes glinted strangely in the shaded light of the lamp.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” I said, cold with panic. “Eve I’m sorry I did this . . .”

She mouthed at me, but no sound came. I could see she was heavy with sleep and the whisky was still stupefying her. It was only an instinct for self-preservation that had made her leave the bed so quickly. And yet, as I watched her, she frightened me more than I was frightening her.

“It’s all right, Eve,” I went on, soothingly. “It’s Clive. I’m not going to hurt you.”

She said in a croaking whisper, “What do you want?”

“I was passing and I had to see you,” I said. “Come and sit down. It’s all right, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Her eyes were becoming alive. She licked her dry lips and when she spoke again, her voice was clearer. “How did you get in?”

“You left a window open,” I said, trying to make a joke of it. “I couldn’t resist surprising you, but I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

She still stood by the door. Her eyes began to glitter and her nostrils became pinched and white. “You mean you broke in here?”

“I know I shouldn’t have done it, but . . . well, I did want to see you.”

She drew in a deep breath and her face went livid. “Get out!” she screamed, throwing open the door. “Get out, you snivelling cur!”

I flinched away from her. “Please, Eve,” I implored. “Don’t be angry with me. I can’t go on like this any more. I want you to come away with me. I’ll do anything for you. Only don’t be angry.”

She took a step forward, her face twisted with insane rage. “You crazy, sloppy fool,” she said in a low, vicious voice and then filth spewed out of her mouth.

I put my hands over my ears sickened and terrified by her obscenities. She crouched before me, her eyes blazing in a chalk white face. She looked hideous in her crazed fury. Her tongue lashed, soiled and burned me. “Do you think I’d waste my time with a little two-bit jerk like you?” she finally screamed at me. “Get out! You’re never to come here again. Get out! You’ve hung around me until I’m sick of the sight of you. You’re so thick skinned you don’t know when you’re not wanted. Do you think I want your lousy twenty dollar presents? Get out and stay out and never show your ugly face here again!”

My fear of her suddenly left me. Suffocating rage and a vicious desire to hit back brought me to my feet. “You slut! I’ll teach you to talk to me like that,” I shouted at her.

She screamed me down. “I know what your game is. You’re worse than any of them. You’re trying to get me for nothing. So you want me to go away with you? Why, you cheap heel, I’ve men with more dollars than you’ve got nickels who want to marry me. But I don’t want them and I don’t want you! I’m sick of men! I know all their filthy little tricks and their rotten little minds. I wouldn’t be found dead in a ditch with a man. I know what you want, but you’re not going to get it from me!”

We stood and glared at each other. The only sound in the room was the cat’s deep throated purr. I wanted to smash her now. A cold, murderous rage seized me and I wanted to hit, rend and mangle her with my hands.

“I’m going to kill you,” I said softly. “I’m going to hammer your rotten little head against the wall until your skull cracks. You’ll never torment any more men after I’ve finished with you.”

She drew her white lips off her teeth and spat at me.

I came slowly round the bed and moved towards her. She stood her ground, her eyes blazing and her small hands like fleshless claws. Then as I reached for her, her hooked fingers slashed at my face, like a cat striking.

Her nails missed my eyes only because I jerked my head back in time, but they clawed down my nose and cheek. I was blinded with pain and fury. I struck at her, but she was too quick for me. My fist missed her head and slammed against the wall. I reeled back, crying out with pain.

She slipped out of the room and ran into the kitchen. The telephone was in there, but I gave her no time to call for help. There was no exit in that little room except through the door by which she had entered and already I was standing in the doorway.

I looked at her, feeling warm blood running from the furrows she had clawed in my face. She had pressed herself against the far wall, her hands behind her and her eyes glittering. She showed no sign of fear as I rushed at her.

As I crossed the room, she raised her arm. In her hand was a knotted dog whip. She lashed me across the face. The suddenness of the attack and the blinding pain sent me staggering back. I threw up my arms as she slashed at me again. The whip came down across my shoulders like the torch of a red hot iron. I cried out and swearing at her, I tried to seize the thong as it whistled once more down on my head. But she moved like a lizard and she had crossed the room, turned and cut at me again as I was trying to recover my balance.

She drove me before her, her lips drawn back and her eyes like glowing embers, systematically slashing at me, hitting me round the head, back and neck.

I was stunned by the pain and I tried to get out of the room into the passage, but she headed me off.

There was no escape from that whistling thong that cut at me with white-hot streaks of pain. I stumbled over a chair as the whip curled across my eyes. The pain was excruciating and I screamed out and fell on my knees.

As she continued to slash at my unprotected head, I dimly heard someone pound on the front door. Then she stopped her insane, vicious attack and I lay on the floor, blood pounding in my ears and my body hot in agony. Way back in my head somewhere, way back in the dark, I heard voices and I felt a hand seize my arm. I was dragged to my feet.

I lurched forward, half crying with pain. Harvey Barrow stood before me. His whisky ladened breath fanned my face.

“Suffering snakes!” he exclaimed. “You’ve half killed him,” and he burst out laughing.

“Throw him out,” Eve said viciously.

“I’ll throw him out,” Barrow grinned, folding his fist in my shirt front. He jerked me towards him. “Remember me?” he demanded, his coarse face close to mine. “I haven’t forgotten you. Come on, you’re going for a little walk.”

He shoved me into the passage. At the front door, I tried to break away, but he was too strong. We struggled for a moment, then as he forced me out of the house, I glanced back at Eve. She stood in the lighted doorway and stared fixedly at me. I can see her now. She had pulled her blue dressing gown tightly round her and her arms were folded across her flat breasts. Her face was wooden. Her eyes were wide and glittering and her mouth was set in a hard thin line. As our eyes met she tossed up her head in an arrogant gesture of triumph. Then Barrow shoved me into the street and that was the last I ever saw of her.

“Now, you masher,” Barrow said, showing his short yellow teeth. “Maybe you’ll leave her alone.” He drew back his fist and hit me in the face.

I sprawled in the gutter and lay there.

He bent over me. “I owe you that,” he said, “and I owe you something else.” He dropped a hundred dollar bill and a ten dollar bill in the gutter beside me.

I watched him walk down the path and into the house. Then the front door slammed behind him.

As I reached for the notes, John Coulson burst out laughing.