The Color of Money by Walter Tevis

Author:Walter Tevis
Language: eng
Format: mobi, azw3, epub
ISBN: 9780795342943
Publisher: RosettaBooks
Published: 2014-09-28T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

When he came home late one Friday in March, Arabella was gone and the place felt empty. Annoyed, he made a Manhattan in the kitchen and then walked into the living room. Something was wrong there too; it took him a minute to realize that the metal sculpture of the woman and dog, bought on that goddamned trip to Connors, was gone. It had sat beside Arabella’s green Korean chest since November. He had become fond of it, had bought a bottle of chrome bumper cleaner and shined it up. Originally, even five hundred seemed too much for the thing, but he had come to be proud of owning it. He looked now in the other rooms of the apartment, but it wasn’t there.

He was making his second drink when he heard Arabella come in and hang her coat in the hall closet. “Where in hell’s my statue?” he shouted.

“Take it easy.” She came into the kitchen. “Fix me one of those and I’ll tell you.” Her face was flushed and her eyes bright.

He added more whiskey and vermouth to the pitcher and poured two drinks. “Let’s hear it.”

“I sold her.”

“What the hell? That was my statue.”

“It was a gift for me.”

“Maybe. How much did you get?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute. Do you remember Quincy Foreman?”

Eddie thought he remembered. An English professor, built like a linebacker. “How much did he give you?”

“Eddie, there’s a lot of money in things like that.”

She was wearing a corduroy skirt with pockets. She reached into one of these and pulled out a folded-over check. She unfolded it, glanced at it to make sure and then looked at Eddie.

“Damn it,” Eddie said, “let me see the check.”

She held it out. He took it and looked. It was made out on the Central Bank for twelve hundred and fifty dollars.

“I tried for fourteen,” she said.

“My my,” Eddie said. He was holding his drink in one hand and the check in the other. He set the drink down. “If we leave early in the morning we can get there by lunchtime.”

“Get where?”

“Deeley Marcum’s junkyard.”

She was looking at him in frank surprise. “To buy another piece?”

“To buy three pieces,” Eddie said. “Four, if we can get them for twelve fifty.”

***

After stopping at the bank for Arabella to cash the check, Eddie drove out the Nicholasville Pike. “I’ll carry the money,” he said, and she handed the bills to him. Twelve hundreds and a fifty. He folded them over and stuffed them into his pocket, not taking his eyes from the road.

In Delfield he stopped at the A&P for a six-pack of Molson’s, then headed straight for the junkyard. It was a quarter to twelve when they pulled up.

He had decided what pieces he wanted before going to bed the night before. There were two short women that would fit in the trunk of the car and two that could go in back—one on the seat and one on the floor. Size wasn’t his only consideration; there was also weight.

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