Authors: Gilbert Morris
“My brother’s been after me to stop drinking,” Tyler said as he picked up his glass. “You met him once, but you may have been a bit too drunk to remember him.”
“Of course I remember him. His name was Chance. A very proper, upright man. Not like you at all.”
The remark struck something in Tyler, and he drank half of his glass in one gulp. “You’re right. He’s not like me. He’s the good one. I’m the bad apple.”
“Don’t put yourself down.”
“I don’t need to put myself down. I’ve got plenty of other people doing that.”
“You mean your brother?”
“For one. He’s trying to convert me.”
“Your family are missionaries, all of them? Your parents and your brother too?”
“Pretty much. I’ll be glad when Chance goes back to Africa. I’m nothing but a disappointment to him.” He drank more of the wine and shook his head. “Our folks won’t be happy when he tells them what I’ve been up to, although he’ll think of something good to say about me to make the folks feel better.”
“Come on. Let’s dance while we’re waiting for our food.”
As they walked to the dance floor, Tyler said, “It’s hard for two drunks to dance well together.”
“We’re not drunks!”
“We get drunk all the time. What do you think makes a drunk?”
“That’s your family talking. There’s nothing wrong with drinking and having a good time.”
“Sometimes they’re not the same thing.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Most of the time when you drink you don’t have a good time. You just think you are. And then you wake up the next day with your mouth tasting like a birdcage and someone trying to drive an ice pick through your skull. You call that having a good time?”
Caroline laughed at him. “Talk all you want to, but we
are
having a good time. I am, anyway.”
As they moved around the floor, she seemed to be studying him in a strange way. Finally she said, “You know, we could get married.”
Tyler’s mind was not clear, and he blinked his eyes with surprise. “We can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“In the first place, I couldn’t support a wife.”
“But I can support a husband.”
Tyler flashed a sour grin. “That’s all I need, Caroline, to be a kept man.”
“You’re too old-fashioned. This is 1939, not the Middle Ages.”
“I know what year it is. I know what month is it too.”
“Why, it’s October.”
“Does that mean anything to you—October 1939?”
“No.”
“Ten years of the Depression. It was ten years ago in 1929 that the Depression hit. The whole country’s gone downhill. I wasn’t here for most of it, but there are still hard times in this country.”
The music ended and they went back to their table just as the food arrived. Tyler only picked at his food. He was troubled, and finally Caroline shoved her own food away. “You’re not much fun tonight.”
“I know it. I’m feeling guilty.”
“What are you feeling guilty about?”
Tyler looked up, a disturbed look on his face. “My folks sacrificed a lot to send me over here to college to learn how to paint. They had to do without. Chance had to make some sacrifices too.” He suddenly shoved the plate back, poured another glass of wine, and gulped it down. When he put the glass down, he said with determination, “But when I make it big as a painter, I’ll make it up to them.”
“You’re funny about some things,” Caroline said. “Maybe that’s why I like you.”
“Funny about what?”
“Well, most struggling young artists wouldn’t mind marrying a rich woman. You wouldn’t have to worry about money. Daddy’s got oodles of it.”
“It’s not the same thing. I wouldn’t want to have to depend on your dad.”
“You’ve got some archaic ideas.” She stood up. “I’m going to the ladies’ room.”
Tyler watched as she got up and made her way through the crowd. He sat there and stared at the wine bottle. He started to pour himself another drink but stopped. “What’s the matter with you, Tyler Winslow?” he muttered. “You didn’t used to be a drunk.” Indeed, he didn’t especially like to drink. When he had first come to America, he had drunk very little, but in Caroline Autry’s circles, alcohol was just part of the atmosphere. The years of prohibition had somehow changed America, and now it seemed that people were trying to make up for the lost years by drinking more.
He pulled his billfold out of his pocket and opened it. A grimace touched his wide mouth and he shoved it back.
I’ll have to ask the folks for more money.
The very thought of it was abominable, and with grim determination, he thought,
I won’t be any more of a burden on them. I can’t.
He sat there unhappy and heavy in thought until finally he looked up to see Caroline coming across the floor. As she moved through the crowd, a big man suddenly stepped in front of her. She tried to get by, but the man laughed and took her by the arm.
Despite his alcoholic haze, Tyler hastened toward the two, anger running through him like a jolt of electricity. Even above the loud music he heard Caroline crying, “Let go of me!”
“Ah, come on, pretty lady—don’t be so stuck up.”
Tyler clamped his hand on the man’s wrist and squeezed hard. The man winced and turned around.
“What are you doing?” the man growled.
“Let the lady alone or I’ll send you to the dentist.”
The big man released his grip, and his face was flushed. “Get out of here, sonny. I’m talkin’ to the lady.”
“Come on, Caroline.” Tyler reached for her hand, but the big man knocked his arm away. Without thought, Tyler swung and caught the man right on the mouth with a devastating blow. He watched with satisfaction as the man went reeling backward, the back of his legs striking a table.
The blow would have put most men down, but Tyler saw that despite the blood on the man’s lips there was a light in his eyes. He came forward with a shuffle, and his stance warned Tyler that this man had done his share of fighting.
Tyler managed to get his arms up and turned, but the fist caught him on the shoulder with frightening power, driving him backward into another table, which collapsed beneath him. The two women at the table screamed as they tried to get out of the way. Tyler scrambled to his feet and threw himself at the big man in a frightening fury. Only vaguely aware of what was happening, he threw blow after blow and received many in return. Both men were bleeding now, but Tyler was getting the worst of it. He saw the big man pick up a chair and he tried to dodge it, but the edge of it caught him on the head. He sank down, his surroundings growing darker. He could hear Caroline’s voice but could not make out her words.
Finally he felt hands pulling him to his feet. He winced and reached up to touch his head, discovering that it was damp. He looked at the blood on his hands and then at Caroline, who was being held back by a burly policeman. Another officer was holding him by the arm. “You’ll have to come along with me.”
“He started it,” Caroline cried.
“The judge will decide who started what. Let’s go.” Tyler was pulled along, and he glanced back to see the big man glaring at him. “What about him?”
“You don’t know him?”
“No.”
“That’s Oliver Blalock. He’s a district attorney. He’s got lots of pull with the judges. You picked the wrong man to hit, young fella.”
“But he started it!”
The policeman had a red face and a battered countenance. He grinned as he pulled Tyler out of the crowded room. “Don’t matter who started it. He’s the man with the weight. Next time be more careful who you bust.”
“It’s not fair!”
“ ’Course it ain’t fair,” the officer answered. “Most things in this here world ain’t fair. If things were fair, we’d all be born to rich people. But I didn’t make the rules and looks like neither did you. That’s why you’re going to the slammer and Oliver Blalock ain’t.”
Tyler glared at the policeman but knew it was hopeless. His head was splitting, and all he could think of was what his parents would say when they heard about this little escapade.
CHAPTER TWO
Flunking Out
By the time the squad car had reached the hospital and Tyler had been led to the emergency room by the policeman, Tyler had sobered up considerably. He had a splitting headache, and the blood that trickled from the cut in his scalp had stained his white shirt. He had put a handkerchief on it to staunch the flow, but it had become sodden.
“Go ahead and find some lunch or something, Dan,” the officer told his partner. “This could take a while.”
“All right. I’ll be back in an hour.”
The officer got out of the squad car and helped Tyler get out of the back seat. “That’s a bad cut you got there, Winslow,” he said as he led Tyler into the emergency room. “I reckon you’ll have to have some stitchin’ done.”
Tyler’s head hurt too much for him to reply, and, in truth, he was ashamed of himself for the whole incident. His temper was a fearful thing, and he had struggled most of his life to control it. Now he knew there would be no way to keep this from Chance, and inevitably his parents would hear of it.
The officer went to the desk and said, “We need to get this guy fixed up right away. He’s bleedin’ to death.”
The woman behind the desk gave him a wry smile. “This is an emergency room, Officer Murphy. Everybody’s bleeding to death in one form or another.”
“Ah, come on, sweetheart,” Murphy said. “Give us a break. We ain’t got time to wait.”
“All right. Sign him in, and I’ll see what I can do.”
The paper work took little time, and before long an attractive woman was leading Tyler and Murphy through a door that led down a corridor and then through a door in which there were six beds, two of them occupied.
“Now, what can I do for you?” the woman asked Tyler.
“I guess I’ve got a pretty good cut on my head,” he said as he pulled the handkerchief away from his forehead.
“All right. Take this bed here.”
“How long is this gonna take?” Murphy asked.
“It shouldn’t take too long, Officer.”
“Okay, I’m going to go get something to eat, but I’ll have to lock him to the bed. Come on, Winslow, put yourself down here.”
Tyler gloomily lay down on the bed and watched as Murphy took out a pair of handcuffs, clamping one side to his wrist and the other to the bed rail. “You stay here and let the doc patch you up, then we’ll be goin’ downtown.”
“What did he do, Officer, rob a store?”
“No, he just got into a fight and busted the wrong guy.”
Officer Murphy left as the woman bent over Tyler. Her brown hair was pulled back off her forehead and gathered in a bun. “Does it look bad, Nurse?”
“It’s going to have to be stitched, and incidentally, I’m not a nurse.”
“So you’re a doctor?”
“Not yet.” She stood up. “I’ll need to shave part of your scalp before I can put the stitches in.”
Tyler lay on the bed feeling worse by the moment. He shut his eyes and wished fervently he had not gotten himself into such a situation. He was certain he would not go to jail, at least not for any significant time. Caroline would see to that. One word from her father would be all it would take. Tyler was disgusted as he realized he was depending on a man who despised him. Denton Autry, Caroline’s father, had little use for artists of any kind—especially for those who ran around getting drunk with his only daughter.
“Well, what happened to you?”
Tyler opened his eyes and saw a man standing in front of him wearing a white coat with a stethoscope over his shoulder. “I got hit in the head with a chair by another drunk.”
“I’m Dr. Lawrence. Let me see that head.” Lawrence looked more like a defensive tackle than a physician. He wasn’t as gentle as the medical student was as he inspected Tyler’s cut. “That’s a pretty good cut you’ve got there, but you’ll live,” he said cheerfully. He turned and said, “I think I’ll let you do this one while I go check on another patient, Jolie. Can you take care of it?”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“I’ll be back to check after the stitches are in.” He grinned down cheerfully at Tyler. “I hope you had a good time. How much have you had to drink?”
“Too much.”
“Good thing you came here. Dr. Vernay’s got great hands. She’ll take good care of you.”
Tyler glared at the doctor, and as he left, he turned his head to the young woman, wincing with pain. “He’s pretty cheerful about how much I hurt, isn’t he?”
“Oh, that’s just his way. He’s really a fine doctor.”
“What kind of an accent do you have?” he asked, more to take his mind off his problems than anything.
“French. Now, this will be a little painful while I numb your scalp.”
Tyler tried to lie motionless as he watched the young woman work quietly and efficiently. “I thought you weren’t a doctor yet.”
“I’m in my last year of medical school.”
“Then you’ll be a doctor.”
“Then I’ll be a doctor, but I’ll still have to do my internship.” She stood up straight for a moment to stretch her back. “How did this happen?”
Tyler caught his breath as she hit a spot that wasn’t
completely numb, but he was determined to show that he had a little manhood left.
“My girlfriend and I were in a nightclub. A fellow there got fresh with her, and we got into it.”
“Was he arrested too?”
“I don’t think so. He’s a big shot here in New York.”
“You shouldn’t hit big shots.”
Tyler glanced up and saw that she was frowning at him. “Or anybody else, I imagine,” he said.
When the woman was nearly finished, Officer Murphy returned, a cup of coffee in his hand. He watched with interest and said, “Say, Doc, you’re real good at that.”
“Thank you, Officer.”
“The next time I get shot I’ll be sure to come by and have you take care of me.” He flirted with the young woman as she tied the final knot and bandaged the wound. “There, Officer, all done.” Turning to Tyler, she said calmly, “You need to get those stitches out on Thursday. Come by and I’ll take care of it.”
Murphy shook his head. “You make house calls?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Well, you won’t be takin’ these stitches out. Winslow here is headed for the slammer.” He grinned and said, “I called the station. Lawyer Blalock is mad as hops. He’s pullin’ strings to get you at least six months in jail. Come on.” Unlocking the handcuffs, he said, “Thanks a lot, Doc. Send the bill to the City of New York.”