CHAPTER 122: THE MAN I LOVE

Hotel Bartholomew
The Bates Suite

A moment later

Bates felt as though he had walked through the looking glass. Thomas stood in his stocking feet, dripping on a patch of newspaper. Fat tears rolled down the man's cheeks, one cheek reddening from Anna's slap.

"Are you going to give me your trousers, or shall I take them?" demanded Anna, using her most daunting mother tone.

"Anna!"

Anna's head snapped to Bates, and Thomas's head followed.

"She hit me!" cried Thomas.

"What in god's name ... ?!"

Anna took Thomas's hand. "Sweetheart, you wouldn't stop singing, and you were very loud. You don't want us to lose our home here, do you?"

"But ... you hit me!"

Bates ventured closer and detected an unmistakable scent. "He's tanked!"

"I'm not!"

"Quiet!" spat Bates. "You'll wake the children. Do you want them to see you like this?"

Thomas fell silent, but Bates could see the panic in his eyes.

"Don't worry, Pooh," Anna soothed. "The children are with the Hanson's tonight, remember?" Anna took Bates by the arm and pulled him aside. "He's soaked to the bone and doesn't feel it. Thank god you're home. You've got to get him out of those wet things and into a hot shower." She spied Thomas's topcoat. "I wondered where this had gone."

"Harv gave it to me in the hall. Anna, I'd like to help, but ... "

"I'll be having a word with Mr Harvey Walker tomorrow. You can depend on it." Anna relieved Bates of the topcoat. "Give me your coat, too. I'll hang them in the bathroom to dry."

Bates could not fathom what was happening. It was not like his little brother to break a pact, let alone overindulge. Had Harv and Thomas marched themselves into the nearest speakeasy and plunked down their money while he spent the day agonizing over the choice of establishment and the price of a drink?

"Your coat's not very wet," Anna called from the bathroom. "Has it stopped raining?"

"What? Yes. Almost. I was in the subway for the worst of it." Bates set down the sketchpad he had carried under his coat. "Anna, please listen. I have plans tonight."

Thomas stood shivering on his patch of paper. "Anna hit me!" he reminded everyone.

Anna emerged from the bathroom. "Pooh, don't be a child. I'm half your size."

"You're not! You're up to my chin!"

Anna began laying a newspaper path to Thomas's door. With each page she lay down, Thomas advanced a step.

"Mr Bates, please take charge of your brother. He'll catch his death."

"I won't!" protested Thomas, his teeth chattering.

"Anna, I'm trying to tell you, I have plans tonight."

"I heard you, darling. I'm afraid you'll have to be late." Anna set down another sheet of newspaper. "Flannel pyjamas and a hot cup of coffee. How does that sound, Pooh?"

"Thomas is a grown man."

"I'm a grown man!" echoed Thomas. "I don't want pyjamas. I want my coat. I'm going out!"

"Thomas Barrow, don't you move one toe off that paper!" commanded Anna.

Thomas crossed his arms defiantly and nearly toppled. "You're a wicked woman!" he declared, but he glanced down and carefully returned an errant foot to the paper.

"Mr Bates, are you going to stand there gaping or make yourself useful?"

"Anna, I'm expected!"

Anna gave Bates a quizzical look. "I see. Then by all means, you go on your merry way, and I'll undress Thomas and put him in a hot shower."

"No!" Thomas leapt off the paper and dashed into his room, slamming the door.

Bates could see that his options were narrowing. "You're right, my darling, I'll be late, but …"

"Please hurry. Who knows what he's up to in there."

"Anna, don't forget it's cash night. I'd like to have my bonus from Mr Gillespie."

"Certainly, John. It's your money."

"Thank you, macushla."

Bates opened the door to Thomas's room and found his little brother sitting on the bed, trying to pull a dry sock over a wet one.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm leaving. Nobody here loves me."

"We all love you, damn it. Put down the sock."

Thomas threw the sock at Bates and flopped onto his belly.

Bates knew that gaining his freedom that night would require a more sympathetic approach. "I'm sorry, Pooh. I'm upset because we're shouting at each other. That's not our way."

Thomas grunted.

"You're dripping on the bed. That won't make for a pleasant night's sleep."

Thomas rolled onto his side and looked up suspiciously. He allowed Bates to pull him to his feet. "Your wife wants to see me naked," he complained loudly.

Bates was caught off-guard by the claim, and a small laugh escaped him. "Your clothes are wet, Pooh. She's only afraid you'll catch cold."

"That's all?"

"Yes, that's all. Now, let's get you warmed up, and everyone will be happy."

"Okay."

"Okay."

Thomas laughed. "You said, okay."

"So did you."

"But it's funny when you say it."

"I don't see the difference."

"That's what makes it funny!"

Bates shook his head. "All right, Pooh. Slip off those wet socks." Thomas grabbed hold of Bates for balance and pulled off a garter and sock. Bates spotted something odd on the side of his little brother's head. "Pooh, what on earth is that brown stuff in your hair?"

Thomas touched his hand to his hair, and Bates guided it to the sticky spot. Thomas stuck a finger in the muck, examined it, and licked his finger.

"Thomas!"

"It's peanut butter. Haven't you ever seen peanut butter?"

"That's not the question."

Thomas tightened his grip and stripped his other foot. "What is the question?"

"Why do you have peanut butter in your hair?"

"Oh, Harv wanted me to eat something before I came home, so we stopped at his place."

"And?"

"And he made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with Tip-Top sliced bread. Did you know Americans eat Tip-Top sliced bread?"

"I've seen the ads. But how did the peanut butter get in your hair?"

Thomas shrugged. "I don't know. Let's go to Harv's place and ask him."

"Harv has work in the morning. He's in bed by now, and that's where you should be."

"In Harv's bed?" Thomas grinned. "Are you coming too?"

"You know very well that's not what I meant."

"Okay."

"Okay."

Thomas giggled.

Bates thought a bit of harmless conversation might coax his little brother along. "When I came off the elevator, you were singing Puttin' on the Ritz," he began as he eased Thomas out of sodden trousers and evening jacket.

"I like that song."

"Do you remember when we saw the movie at Loew's State?"

"What movie?"

"Puttin on the Ritz."

"I remember." Thomas warmed to the subject. "One of the numbers was in color."

"That's right." Bates took Thomas by the shoulders and steered him into the bathroom. "Let's get your shower started."

"The live acts were better than the movie. 'Specially Sophie Tucker."

Bates turned on the water. "She was my favorite, too."

"She sang, The Man I Love."

Bates unbuttoned Thomas's waistcoat. "Good song."

Thomas stepped closer. "Someday he'll come along ... " he crooned and rested his head on Bates's shoulder. "The man I love …"

"You're not helping, Pooh." Bates slid the opened waistcoat down Thomas's arms.

Thomas reciprocated by sliding his hands down Bates's biceps. "And he'll be big and strong, the man I love …"

Bates turned his attention to Thomas's shirt. "Please cooperate."

"And when he comes my way, I'll do my best to make him stay …"

At that moment, Bates felt a hand where no other man's hand should be. "Enough!" he bellowed. He grabbed Thomas by a fistful of shirt and pulled him to the shower where he braced his leg against the wall.

Unperturbed, Thomas continued, "He'll look at me and smile; I'll understand …"

Bates reached in the shower and turned off the hot faucet.

"And in a little while, he'll take my hand ... "

Bates pulled his little brother under the cold spray.

Thomas let out a yelp and tried to free himself. "Let go! Help! Anna! Anna!"

At the intonation of his wife's name, Bates released his victim.

"Anna! Anna!" Before Bates could stop him, Thomas was out the door. "John pushed me in the cold shower! Anna, look what he did!"

Bates ventured to the bedroom door in time to catch Anna's reply.

"Thomas Barrow, what are you doing out here half naked? You march yourself right back to your room."

"But, Anna … !"

"Skedaddle!"

Bates felt cold droplets on his face as Thomas hurried by him. "Thomas Barrow, did you tattle on me?"

"Nobody loves me!"

Anna followed Thomas only as far as the bedroom door. "Mr Bates, you were supposed to warm him up, not turn him into an icicle!"

"Believe me, macushla, it couldn't be helped."

Anna looked doubtful. "Is it safe for me to leave this madhouse and get his coffee?"

"It won't happen again." Anna nodded, and Bates proceeded to the bathroom, where he found Thomas turning on the hot water in the shower. "Better let me do it."

Thomas silently stood aside. His teeth were chattering more violently than before, and his lips were beginning to turn blue.

An inconvenient memory forced itself to the front of Bates's mind – Thomas standing over him in a similar state after saving him from a freezing river. Bates pushed Thomas's wet hair away from his eyes. "I'm sorry, Pooh. That was a cruel thing for me to do."

"Nobody loves me."

"You know that's not true." Bates peeled off Thomas's shirt and union suit and delivered him to the shower. "Can you manage?"

"Leave me alone!"

"Wash that peanut butter out of your hair."

"You're a horrible brother!"

"I know, Pooh. I'll do better."

"John ... ?"

"Yes?"

"Don't leave."

"I need to get your flannel pyjamas."

"Okay."

"Okay."

Bates returned to the bedroom but could hear Thomas repeating, "Okay," over and over, first as himself and then as Bates, and sending himself into fits of giggles.

Bates opened Thomas's pyjama drawer, only there were no pyjamas. "Not again." Thomas was forever arranging and rearranging his drawers, striving for some notion he called optimal efficiency. Bates began at one end of the room and opened and closed every drawer until he found pyjamas in a bottom drawer. How is that more efficient? He carefully lifted each pair, so as not to muss the tidy stacks, but he could find no flannel. He poked his head into the bathroom. "Where are your flannel pyjamas?"

"I don't know."

"Are they in the laundry?"

"I don't know."

"You'll have to wear your summer pyjamas."

"But Anna said ... "

Bates sighed. It was accepted as fact that Anna was the voice of reason in the family. Her demands were few, but they held the weight of law. "I have a clean pair of flannel. Do you want to wear my pyjamas?"

"'Cause Anna said flannel."

"I'll get them."

"'Cause Anna said."

"I know. Anna said."


Anna maneuvered the cart out of the elevator and kept a close watch on the plate of sweet biscuits bouncing alongside the pot of coffee. Cookies, Anna reminded herself. Snickerdoodle cookies. The scent of cinnamon teased her as the cart jiggled merrily down the hall. The cart was becoming wobblier by the day, but no-one bothered to fix it. It was the family's designated cart, and the family could tell it from other hotel carts by its imperfection. Anna rolled the cart into the living room and pushed it through Thomas's open door. "I'm leaving the coffee by the door," she called.

Thomas stepped out of the bathroom. "I need flannel pyjamas."

Anna stared. Thomas, who had always been exceedingly modest in her presence, was standing before her without a stitch of clothing or so much as a small towel to cover himself. Anna knew she should look away, but she was transfixed by the perfect triangle running from the man's shoulders to the tip of his penis. The lines etched by her imagination accentuated his trim waist.

"'Cause you said flannel."

Anna found her voice. "Thomas! What are you doing?"

Thomas fell back a step. "I don't know."

Anna lifted her gaze and saw the poor man's bewilderment. "This is your room, Pooh. I shouldn't have barged in." She tapped the cart before turning to the door. "Let John do the pouring." She departed quickly and barreled straight into her husband. "The coffee's in his room. Don't let him pour."

"Right."

A small smile took command of Anna's lips. "Your brother's very fit, isn't he?" she noted as she departed for the safety of her bedroom.


Bates held out the pyjamas. "One pair of flannel pyjamas. Put them on, and I'll pour the coffee." While Thomas tackled the bottoms, Bates considered Anna's last comment. "Thomas, where were you when Anna brought in the cart?"

Thomas pouted. "She shouldn't have barged in."

"No, she shouldn't have." So, Anna got an eyeful, surmised Bates as he poured the coffee. He disapproved, of course, yet he could not help but chuckle at the scene playing out in his mind.

"John! Help!"

Bates turned to see Thomas flailing about. He was wearing the bottoms, but his head and arms were tangled in the top.

Thomas fell onto the bed. "I'm trapped!"

"Calm yourself, Pooh."

"Help!"

"I'm right here," assured Bates. He quickly freed one arm and then the other.

"Get it off! I can't stand it!"

Bates lifted the top easily from Thomas's head.

"I thought I was a dead man."

Bates did not permit himself a smile. That would only upset his little brother. He sat at the writing desk and began to unfasten the buttons. "I should have unbuttoned it before I gave it to you."

"Do you think I'm stupid?"

"No, I think you're drunk."

"I'm not!" Thomas climbed into the bed and pulled the covers over his head.

Bates checked the time. If he could wrap things up, Pollock might still be waiting for him. "Don't you want your coffee?"

Thomas muttered something.

Bates lifted the covers. "What did you say?"

"I said I have a pain!"

Bates sighed. "Pooh, it's been a long evening. I know I've behaved badly, but you shouldn't tease me about a thing like that."

"I'm not."

"Where's the pain?"

"Under my pillow."

"That's it!" Bates threw the unbuttoned top to Thomas. "You've had your shower, and I've poured the coffee. Let Anna check on you. I'm leaving."

Thomas produced an envelope from under his pillow. "See!"

Curiosity pulled Bates from the door. He came closer and saw that the envelope had been sent by Minnie. "This is your pain?"

Thomas shrugged.

"Shall I read it?"

Again, Thomas shrugged.

Bates slipped on his reading glasses and drew a folded letter from the envelope.


My dearest Thomas,

We have the most glorious news, and Max and I want you to be the first to know.

I'm pregnant!

It's a shock, isn't it? I thought I had waited too long.

Am I being disloyal to you, my darling Thomas? I remind myself that it was you who told me to open my heart to Max. I beg you to write and tell me that my misgivings are nonsense.

Your soon-to-be-plump friend,

Minnie


The old alarm bells sounded in Bates's head, and all thoughts of Pollock were forced aside.

Thomas struggled to sit up. "It should have been my baby!"

"So you got soused and ... " Bates stopped himself. "May I show this to Anna?"

Thomas shrugged.

As eager as Bates had been to slip away, he was, at that moment, afraid to leave his little brother alone. He called for Anna from across the living room until her head peeked out from their bedroom door. He motioned her over.

"Is he still threatening to leave?"

Bates stepped outside the door and handed the letter to Anna. "Read this."

Anna studied Bates's face. She read the letter, folded it thoughtfully, and returned it to its envelope. "I know what you're thinking, John, but he's drunk, not deranged. He understands where he is and what's happening."

"So far ... "

"Remember what the doctor said. It's not likely to happen again."

"Not likely isn't the same as not possible."

"John, none of us expected a baby. We should have, but we didn't. Give him a chance to adjust. Think how far he's come."

"I suppose."

Anna took Bates by the arm. "It might be better if he weren't left alone tonight. Do you mind?"

Bates smiled ruefully. "I wanted a brother who looks up to me. It's all part and parcel, isn't it?

"I'm afraid so. I'm sorry about your plans." Anna pressed herself against her husband, and he gave her a squeeze. "I'll bring your pyjamas."

Bates returned to Thomas's bedroom, but it was empty. He could hear his little brother retching in the bathroom. "Do you need me, Pooh?"

"No ... John ... don't come in!"

Bates grimaced. I'll have a nice mess to clean up. He recalled the countless times his mother or Vera had to clean up after him. It's my due, I suppose. He busied himself with the wet clothes that were strewn about until he heard Thomas brushing his teeth. Heaven forbid he should forego brushing his teeth.

Thomas appeared at the bathroom door and staggered to the bed. He sat heavily and bowed his head. Expecting the worst, Bates inspected the bathroom. To his surprise, he found that his little brother had reached the toilet in time. Leave it to Thomas to vomit tidily. Bates returned to the bedroom with a cold compress and placed it on the back of Thomas's neck.

"John, I've done something terrible, haven't I?"

"What?" Bates teased gently. "Sobered up?"

"You know what I mean."

"No, you haven't done something terrible. Something terribly foolish, perhaps, but not something terrible."

"You don't think so? I've risked our positions here."

Bates checked Thomas's hair for any sign of that horrid brown stuff. "Harold Levinson is a pragmatic man. He won't sack you over one indiscretion. He sees your potential, and that means money in his pocket."

Thomas pressed his hands to his head. "I can't think."

"I know."

"I have your pyjamas, Mr Bates," called Anna from the door. "You don't mind if John keeps you company tonight, do you Pooh?"

Thomas lifted his head. He was pale, and his eyes were puffy. "I've been a lot of trouble."

"A lot, but not too much."

Thomas dropped his head.

"I read Minnie's letter. We can talk about it tomorrow if you like."

Thomas nodded.

Anna kissed her husband. "Goodnight, Mr Bates. Good night, Pooh."

"Anna ... ?" called Thomas without raising his head.

"Yes?"

"I hope the baby has Minnie's dimples."

"That would be lovely. Will you write and tell her?"

Thomas nodded.

"Strawberries, Pooh."

"Strawberries, Anna."

Anna left, and Bates changed into his pyjamas.

Thomas turned this way and that until he settled on his back with his hands pressed against his eyes.

"Pounding?"

"Mm."

"I can remember nights when I was too drunk to hold my own with Vera, and she'd throw me out. I'd drag myself to my parents' flat and end up just as you are now."

Thomas uncovered one eye. "What's the cure?"

Bates chuckled. "There's no cure, Pooh. You won't be fond of yourself in the morning no matter what we try. But I can give you a little relief now."

Thomas uncovered his other eye. "How?"

"I'm going to do for you what my mother did for me. We used Mam's sofa, but the bed will do." Bates arranged the pillows, sat upright in the bed, and tapped his shoulder. "Scoot over and lean on me."

"Anna won't like it."

"Don't be silly, Pooh. I told you, my mother used to do this for me."

Thomas sat up gingerly, slid closer to Bates, and reclined against him.

"You're stiff as a board, Pooh. Don't you trust me?"

"My head."

"I know." Bates placed his fingertips at the sides of his little brother's neck and began tapping, barely making contact. He felt Thomas shiver slightly, and that pleased him. He tapped ever-so-lightly over neck and ears and up the back of his little brother's head, delicately lifting strands of hair. "I'm collecting the pain," he explained softly. "It's rising, rising ... " His fingers lifted the hair at the top of Thomas's head. "There it goes, into the air."

Thomas breathed deeply. "Again?"

"Again." Bates repeated the rite a few times until Thomas faded into sleep against his shoulder. He was not ready to relinquish his little brother to a pillow. Thomas's slow breaths and weight against his chest consoled him. Unlike other drunks who became desperate in the late hours, Bates found peace as he nestled into the bosom of his family. For him, it was daylight, and the duties and codes of conduct that came with it, that pushed him closer to drink.

Bates closed his eyes and imagined his mother lifting pain from his head. In the light of day, Mam never reminded him of the vile things that had spilled from his mouth the night before. She asked only that he go one day without drink, and he always promised. I always intended to keep my promise, he told himself, but in his heart, he knew it was a lie.

Bates recalled the last time he awoke on Mam's sofa. Mam was stationed, as always, at the hob. His father, who should have been at work, brought him his shoes and coat. The kindest, gentlest man he knew, told him to take his things and not return unless he was stone cold sober. His father was determined that Bates would never again torture his mother with foul talk and broken promises. Bates was shocked and insisted on seeing Mam before departing. His father, however, was the brawnier of the two, and Bates was forced down the stairs and out the door.

Bates was furious and complained to his drinking buddies of the great injustice done him. That night when Vera tossed him out, he found his father waiting at the door to his parents' flat. He anticipated an effusive apology. In its place was a threat to call a cop. Bates stumbled to a nearby alley where he curled up and cursed his fate. He awoke feeling the sting of shame that the man who had been his ideal of compassion and decency had felt compelled to turn him away. Still, he was not prepared to drop the habit that sustained him.

Bates was drinking in a pub across from Victoria Station when he saw a commotion on one of the platforms. A man was being carried off the train. Bates left the pub and looked about for his father, who usually took charge of such cases. No doubt his father was seeking medical attention for the unfortunate man. It was then that the train driver, Old Jory, who was kneeling by the man, caught sight of Bates.

"I'm sorry, John. This is a terrible day."

That was the day Bates stopped drinking, but his father never knew. The memory was too painful to bear, and Bates's tears spilled onto Thomas and rolled down his little brother's cheeks. "Forgive me, Daddy," Bates murmured. "Please forgive me."

Thomas stirred and peered at Bates through half-opened eyes. "Are you crying?"

"Don't be silly, Pooh. You must be dreaming."

Thomas thought a moment. "Must be," he agreed. "John Bates doesn't cry." He took hold of Bates's hand and pulled it across his chest and nuzzled closer. "Stop crying. You're ruining my lovely dream."

Bates waited for sleep to return to his little brother before surrendering him to a pillow. He slipped out of bed, ate two snickerdoodles with cold coffee, and padded to his own bathroom to brush his teeth. He felt grateful that he had made the choice to stay and help Thomas that night, but he knew that morning would likely sharpen his desire for drink and dull his love for family.

Bates paused at the living room window before returning to Thomas's bed and watched the hypnotic flash of neon signs. A flutter caught his eye. "Are you a bird or an angel?" queried Bates. "I'm in need of an angel. I promise to put you to good use."