The Alcoholics by Jim Thompson Page A

pretended, rather, to look through them. He already knew their context by heart. He knew that Miss Baker's letter-perfect typing would need no checking. What he did not know was how to begin with her.
    He looked up at last, nervously, trying to sound informal and jovial and succeeding largely in sounding brusque. "Well," he said, "no use in sitting there in the corner by yourself."
    Miss Baker was on her feet instantly. Then she stood looking at him politely, waiting for further directions.
    "Over here," said Doctor Murphy, "I want to talk to you, Miss Baker."
    "Yeth, thir," said Miss Baker. "Oh, I'm sorry, si r-"
    "Now, let's not make a project out of it," said Doc, gruffly. "Just sit down and-uh-relax."
    Miss Baker sat down in the chair at the side of his desk, but she did not appear to relax. She sat as she had at the typewriter, starch stiff, hands folded in her lap, her neat sweet features fixed in a small smile of polite wariness.
    "Now, Nurse," he said. "I think we're considerably overdue for a talk. The situation here has been, uh, rather unsettled-and it still is. Very unsettled. So I felt that if we were going to get certain matters cleared up… make any attempt to clear them up… we'd better be getting started."
    "Yeth-I mean-"
    "Say it," said Doctor Murphy. "I don't expect you to overcome a lifelong trait in a few hours. Just spit it out any way it comes to your mouth and then leave it lay. Don't keep correcting yourself."
    Miss Baker murmured, "Yeth, thir."
    Doc said, "I don't mean to be-uh-" And Miss Baker said, "Yeth, thir?" And he scowled and fumbled for a cigarette. He lighted it, half-way down its length, and cursed under his breath. He took one puff, and ground it out in the ash tray, grinding it into the metal until it was almost pulverized.
    His eyes strayed from the tray, and, as though moved by an unseen magnet, came to rest on Miss Baker's knees, at the exact spot where her knees were exposed by the split of her uniform. Absently, they moved up the uniform, exploring small pink-revealing gaps along the way. They moved on and up, then paused again: pitched temporary camp in the half-hidden environs of two cream-and-peaches, gently undulant mounds. They moved up-they were jerked up, suddenly, by another pair of eyes.
    The owner of the eyes raised her hands from her lap, and re-secured the neckline of her uniform. There was prim reproof in the gesture, fear and reproof, yet with it… something else. A kind of unconscious invitation, a sort of mocking self-assurance. That's settled-it said-and so are you. That takes care of everything.
    "Now, Miss Baker," said Doctor Murphy. "As I was about to say…"
    "Yeth, thir?" Miss Baker slowly crossed her legs.
    Oh, she knew, all right. She was scared out of her pants, but she knew what she had, and she was throwing it out at him, knowing damned well that he couldn't do anything any more than… than he'd ever done anything. Any more than he could have given that dog-beater what he needed, or that waiter or that other nurse. Well, she had his number, all right. She knew she could slap him silly with it, and there wasn't a goddam thing he could do about it. You could lose your license for a hell of a lot less than that.
    "Yeth, Doctor?"
    "Yes," said Doctor Murphy. "As I was saying. I'm rather short on time, and there's every likelihood that I'm going to have even less so I'd like to get right to the point. I want to know something about you. Your background. Your associates. Your-uh-"
    "I thee. Well, I believe there ithn't much to add to the information I've already given you. I-"
    "That's not what I mean. I'm talking about your personal life… You were an only child? Kept pretty close to home, were you?"
    "Yeth," Miss Baker nodded. "You might thay I was…"
    "How did you get along with such childhood contacts as you had? Were you reasonably well-liked? Did you feel at ease, accepted?"
    Miss Baker hesitated. She moved her head in a motion that indicated both yes