He had awoken only to find a little boy standing over him rubbing his hands gently and bitterly weeping as he cried out, “Papa, you are going to be alright, I promise you, you are going to be okay, Papa!”
At first, he thought, he was still asleep and dreaming!
It then occurred to him that he was actually awake when he brushed the child’s hands away from his, and began rubbing the surface of his skin and felt the friction from his hair resisting his tender touch that he was actually awake.
“Who are you, and what are you doing here, inside this house?”
Mr. Whitman asked furiously.
While staring at the child leaning against his bed with raised eye brows and bulging eyes.
“Papa, you don’t remember me?”
The little lad asked, searching his father eyes for answers.
“Remember you… remember you from where?”
Mr. Whitman asked confusingly.
“From inside this house! You always play with me and my toys, and sometimes we go fishing together!”
Marx answered, with his childish demeanor and playful nature as he hopped onto the bed and snuggled up beside the only father he had ever known.
Walt Whitman, being afraid and nervous, pulled away from the child, almost with scorn as he shouted at him.
“Why are you on my bed, and why the hell are you calling me, Papa? I can never be your father, because you and I look nothing alike!”
Marx had never heard Mr. Whitman spoken to him harshly like that before and wondered what he had done wrong to deserve this rough treatment.
They were buddies! They were always like pea in a pot! And now, this sudden treatment had Marx wondering what was causing this impulsive and angry changes in his father’s reaction towards him.
But, Marx in his own childish wisdom replied.
“I’m in your bed because you told me whatever is in this house his mine, and I’m free to us it as I please, except for your car in the garage! And I’m calling you Papa, because you are my Papa and I don’t have any other people to call Papa! So therefore, I call you Papa!”
Getting off his bed, totally confused, Mr. Whitman went to the windows of the house looking for something or someone who could explain to him; what the dickens was going on, and why there was this kid who looked nothing like him inside his house, calling him Papa.
He looked through the windows at the left and saw no neighbors, only beautiful trees. And then he went to right side of the house and all he saw was a beautiful garden that almost took his breath away; causing him to believe that he was probably dead and had gone to heaven.
Now he was trying to get a hold of himself and began taking deep breaths as he made his way towards the front door of the house. Soon, he had his hands on the door-knob, finally he opened it, and saw that there was another house on the opposite side of the street.
But, who were the people living there, he was clueless about. He had no idea of their names, if they looked like him, or looked like the little boy inside his bedroom calling him Papa.
Standing there, staring at the house across the street for a while he wondered if it was safe for him to suddenly barge over there and start demanding answers to his many questions. Reluctantly, he slammed the door shut, as a different thought rushed through his brain which he wasn’t quite sure of what to make of it.
Mr. Whitman began wondering through his own house like a lost soul, and finally made his way to the kitchen. He didn’t recognized the massive stainless steel refrigerator standing in the kitchen, but he opened it anyway and saw that it contained food; and plenty of it.
First, he grabbed an apple and began chewing on it! Then it was the cold-cuts on the refrigerator door which he just lifted from the bag and began putting inside his mouth one at a time like a naughty kid.
Looking at the granite counter-top, he saw jars filled with pickles and all sorts of preserved foods, blender, a large toaster and a knife-holder filled with knives containing black handles. Which were as black as the little boy inside his bedroom minutes ago rubbing on his hands and calling him Papa.
Staring at the knife handles, he thought.
“He must be the handle to something special, or else, he probably wouldn’t be here!”
Minutes later, Marx bolted into the kitchen and ask.
“Papa, what are you doing? Are you going to start cooking now?”
The question had taken Mr. Whitman aback and he wondered to himself why would he be doing any cooking, and if so, for who?
Staring down at the little boy whose skin was black as mid-night, and eyes were blue as the deepest parts of the ocean, he wondered where he had appeared from, or was he an actual ghost living inside his house with him. But he held his tongue and asked.
“Would you like me to cook you something?”
“Papa you want to cook me something? I thought you told me, I should only have cereal in the mornings to strengthen my bones!”
Little, Marx stated, with a look of concern in his eyes.
He knew that his father had fallen, but he didn’t know that he had hit his head so hard on the rock, causing him to be now losing his memory. Walt Whitman said he was fine when the neighbors and Marx had helped him to his feet and onto his bed. But now, he was acting strange, especially, to his own son Marx who was only five-years-old at the time, and who was supposed to be the apple of his father’s eyes.
Walt Whitman then began taking out all the food inside the refrigerator and placing them on the island in the kitchen, stating that he was going to be cooking all the meat that he had in the refrigerator today. And if Marx didn’t eat it all up when he was done cooking it, he was then going to beat the black off his skin.
“You want to beat me for not eating cooked meat, Papa?”
Marx asked while streams of tears made its way gentle down his cheeks.
The poor boy was getting afraid and more confused, and every time, Marx tried saying something to his father, to indicating to him that he wasn’t acting right, Mr. Whitman would shout at him; telling him not to call him Papa, because he was no damn Papa of his.
Hurting and jumbled in his mind, Marx dashed to his bedroom, jumped onto his bed and began weeping while his lips trembling and the white of his eyes became soring red like they were inflamed by hot pepper.
Marx had never seen his father like this before! Never heard him use such harsh tone to speak to him, or ever made threats to him. Or anyone else, for that matter. He has always been a very loving man and father to him and many others who came around him.
Little, Marx, was now lying there terrified while his imagination flowed away, disappearing and then returning to him again and again; provoking his thoughts on what to do about his father’s condition. Or, how he could help him understand that he wasn’t a bad boy, or he wasn’t the one responsible for allowing him to fall off the ladder, and hitting his head on the rock.
Having a mind of an elephant, Marx remembered the words of Eleanor, who was living across the street from him and his father.
“If your dad seems to get any sicker, please come across the street and call me, okay, Marx!”
But to him, it didn’t look like his father was getting any sicker, but woken up a strange man and were displaying thoughts that seemed quite unreasonable and cruel to him.
Returning to the kitchen, Marx looked into his father’s eyes and said, “Papa, I love you, and I think you need…!” while clutching to the gray stuff elephant he had in his hands.
Before Marx could utter the word help, Walt grab the cover of the pressure-cooker pot and threw it at Marx as he screamed.
“Don’t you dear make fun of me, and stop calling me Papa; because you know damn well, I’m not your damn daddy!”
While, still hastily making his way after Marx with the pressure-cooker cover he picked up from the floor and had raised in his hand, as if, he wanted to use it and smashed his little head in with it.
Quite frightened and nervous, Marx head for the massive front door of his father’s house, swung it open and dash across the street screaming loudly; “Ms. Eleanor!!!! Ms. Eleanor!!! Open your door please, and save me from Papa, he is trying to kill me!” while still gripping onto the stuff animal in his hand.
A car was coming; driving down the street in high speed almost hitting Marx. Running across the street away from his father, he neither looked to his left or to the right of him like he was thought to do on many occasion by his father. But with him swiftly bolting across the street with the speeding car coming towards him, barely missing him from having a full-head on collision in the middle of the road. It was only the skillfulness of the driver that had saved him from being hurt as he quickly jammed his foot on the breaks of the car and swayed the car on the banking of the street towards Ms. Eleanor’s property.
It was the long screeching sound of the car breaks that had alerted Ms. Eleanor, indicating to her that something dreadful was happening right in front of her house. Causing her to drop whatever she was doing, rush to the front of the house and investigate the matter.
There she saw Marx nervously shaking, and hardly talking, except for the words that Papa is trying to kill me coming from his mouth. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing and so she asked Marx to repeat himself to her once again; which he did.
Lifting her head, peering across the street to see if she had seen Mr. Whitman coming across street after Marx, Ms. Eleanor saw him standing on the front porch of his house with the pat cover in his hand, waving it in the air and saying something that she couldn’t clearly understand because of the distance between them.
“This is not normal!”
Eleanor told herself.
Marx was one of the most well behaved boys she knew of, if anyone should ever ask her. And his father knew him to be just that as well. So what could be causing this disturbances and rift between them was beyond her comprehension. But before going across the street to enquire from Walt Whitman about what little Marx had done wrong, she first wanted to hear Marx side of the story. So she had Marx seated on one of the miniature patio chairs and she then seated herself beside him on one of the larger ones and asked.
“Marx, what have you done wrong why your father wants to give you a spanking; and with such a very heavy object as a pressure cooker cover?”
Face drenched with tears, Marx looked up at her and said.
“I’ve done nothing wrong, Ms. Eleanor! He just woke up cranky and began telling me not to call him Papa anymore because I didn’t look anything like him. And when I went inside the kitchen to ask him what he was cooking, he began taking out all the food out of the fridge, and kept on saying, he was going to cook all the food from the fridge, and if I didn’t eat everything that he cooked today, he was going to beat the black off my skin! And when I told him, he needed some help, that’s when he came dashing after me with the pot cover in his hands like he wanted to hit me with it! So I came running over here for you to get him some help!”
Little Marx try explaining, through short hiccups while using the tail of his shirt to dry away his tears.
“Marx, I really don’t understand what is wrong with your father, but something certainly must have gotten into him for him to be behaving this way, especially, with you! But, I’ll try going over there and try talk some sense into him while you sit here and wait for me to return, okay!”
Ms. Eleanor instructed.
Grabbing her sneakers from behind the front door and hastily putting them on her feet; Eleanor, cautiously cross over to the other side of the street and entered up the walkway of Mr. Whitman’s property, and then began knocking on his door.
Opening the front door of his house, Mr. Whitman asked; “What a wonderful honor to have this beautiful woman at my door steps this hour of the morning! The god’s must believe, I’m doing something right and sent you here to keep my companion!” while smilingly, he held onto the door handle and indicted for her to come on inside the house and be seated.
Eleanor was smitten by his charmed as always but felt threatened that he might attack her when she brought the subject matter of him attacking his own son with the pressure cooker cover. But, it was a matter that needed to be addressed right away; so his son could feel safe around him once again, and for him to get the help that he needed to function well, as he use to do before his fall.
Playing along with his charming manner and flirtatious gestures for a while, Eleanor cut to the chase and got to the point. She began questioning Walt Whitman about his reasons for chasing Marx with the presser cooker cover and wanting to spank him with it. So that he became so very terrified and had to come running across the street in oncoming traffic and to her house for her rescue.
“Walt, what exactly is happening between you and Marx why he his crying his little heart out and so fearful of you? He told me that you wanted to spank him with the pressure cooker cover! Is that really true? Because you and I both know that using such an object to hit a child could be very dangerous, and even land you in jail. Or worst, having Marx being taken away from you and place with the State or in a foster home!”
“He is your son, and you love him dearly, as far as I know, so why this now?”
Eleanor asked with questioning eyes and confusion in her voice.
“What are you talking about Miss…, Miss…?”
Walt Whitman spoke, trying hard to remember Eleanor’s name but couldn’t.
“This little black kid running around here; dark as midnight, mocking me, calling me Papa! Why is he mocking me and calling me Papa, when he knows that I’m not his daddy?”
Walt Whitman spoke with tangled tongue and terror in his eyes.
Eleanor reached out her hands to Walt Whitman and gentle broke the news to him that Marx was indeed his son, and his biological son at that, whose mother had died giving birth to him.
Looking around the house for pictures of earlier years when Marx was just born, so as to show them to him, that Marx was in his life from he was an infant and he has been the only father in his life who had nurse him and nurtured him to be the sweet little boy he is today.
Finally, Eleanor found a picture of the two of them together, resting on the photo table as Walt Whitman showed off his bundle of joy to his friends, family and to the community of his beautiful new born son with black skin and blue eyes. Raising the infant in the air like he was honoring him to the gods as he exclaimed.
“This is my pride and joy, and everything that I have belongs only to him!”
Sitting close beside him, Eleanor showed Walt Whitman the photo of him and little baby boy, Marx; wrapped up in a beautiful blue baby blanket with all smiles on his face as he declared to the entire world that this was his son. Looking down at the picture with keen eyes, as his shaking fingers gently passed over the picture frame, Walt Whitman said.
“Whatever your name is; can’t you see that this is a different baby in the picture from that little boy running around here and calling me, Papa?”
“He looks different here in the picture because he is growing and getting bigger each day! And the next two or three years, he is going to look even more differently than he is now!”
But her explanation wasn’t quite satisfying to Walt Whitman, so he grabbed the picture frame from her hand and began smashing her over the head with it while he shouted stutteringly.
“The both of you are conspiring against me, to mock me and call me names! Well, I’m no damn jackass! If he was my son I would have damn well known it! Wouldn’t I?”
Leaping from the sofa chair, Eleanor ran to the front door to let herself out while Walt Whitman was still chasing after her with the photo frame, positioned in his hands to continue hitting her with it.
Screaming and frightened, she made her way through the front door and down Mr. Whitman’s walk way while momentarily gazing behind her, to see if he was still coming after her with the frame in his hands.
Suddenly, she heard his front door slammed shut and when she turned around again to see if he was still coming behind her, he was nowhere in sight.
Hurrying back to her house, Eleanor ran past Marx on the front porch, the same place where she had left him, and went inside her house to call the police and the paramedics. Begging them to come quickly, get her irate neighbor and then bring him to the hospital because he was acting quite a bit wacky; scaring her and his own son.
Upon the quick arrival of the paramedics and the police, Eleanor anxiously dashed across the street, waving her hands in the air at them; indicating to them that she was the person who had called about her neighbor and aggressive behavior. Because her neighbor, Mr. Walt Whitman wasn’t acting himself lately; resulting from the fall he had gotten two days ago hitting his head on a rock at the side of the house.
Eagerly, knocking on Mr. Whitman’s front door, the police and the paramedic patiently waited for him to open the door and let them inside the house. And when he had finally done so, he still had the pressure cooker cover in his hand and his eyes opened wide and staring at those who had come to help him like he was a crazed dog who hadn’t eaten for days and was ready for the kill.
Wanting to interrogate him a little and get some information about what his mental status was presently like, the paramedics began asking pertinent questions which only aggravated Walt Whitman even more.
Now he began accusing the paramedics and the police of willfully stealing his only son away from him and destroying his life. And proclaiming them to be, nothing but dirty, evil and cruel men from another planet trying to take his wealth and destroy his life.
Thankfully, two of the police officers and paramedics who had arrived on the scene had known Walt for years, and knew of him to be nothing but, a sweet gently soul who had given a lot to help many of the less fortunate in and around their community; and so they took keen interest in getting him the helped that he needed now.
One to the left, another to the right, then one was standing behind him and another facing him: all four paramedics surrounding Walt Whitman, and then they held his hands forcefully, restraining him from hurting them or hurting himself in the process. Soon one of the paramedics cleanse Walt arm with a white cotton ball and then quickly, jabbing a needle in his arm as he screamed mercilessly for them not to take him to another planet; because he was a human being just like them and could pay them money for him to stay here on earth.
While Eleanor stood close by observing the entire operation of her neighbor and dear friend being taken away to the hospital.
The drug was working fast, and seconds later, Walt Whitman was dosing off into a deep sleep while the paramedics strapped him to their gurney, placing him inside the ambulance and then took him away to the hospital, after collecting Eleanor’s contact information as his next of kin.
After the police and the paramedic had left the scene of the Hillcrest Drive resident, Eleanor gathered up Marx and brought him back over to his father’s house. And there, she cleaned up the kitchen and replace all the food back inside the refrigerator before feeding him and then getting him ready for bed which was around eight o’clock at night. And there, she too had spent the night, enjoying some of the finer luxuries of her neighbor and good friend’s house.
She was eating up his cheese, drinking his wine, watching television while soaking into his jetted bath tub. And when she was done washing away the suds under the shower, she went sprawling out onto his massive king-size bed until she had fallen asleep there.
However, as soon as the sun had hit the roof, she went calling the hospital to find out how Walt Whitman was recovering from his mental collapse. But she was told by one of the hospital staff, she would have to come by the hospital to learn further details about his condition. Since such wasn’t allowed to be discussed over the phone, however, at this point, she was told, he was in a stable condition and was resting well in his hospital bed.
Hearing this news about her neighbor recovering, Eleanor started getting breakfast ready for Marx, after helping him get his morning bath. But as soon as he was done eating, she return to her house with him, picked one of her most expensive attire, and less than an hour later, she and Marx was on their way to the hospital to visit his father.
Knowing all the snacks he liked, she stopped by the supermarket and picked up some of his favorite finger foods before finishing their journey to the hospital.
Entering the hospital, little Marx was excited to see his father once more, but at the same time, he was so extremely terrified; so very afraid. Anticipating that his father was going to attack him again right there in the hospital building. So he stayed close behind Ms. Eleanor, gripping onto her dress, just in case his father had another violent outburst and came dashing after him once more from his hospital bed.
Holding tightly to her garment, Marx and Eleanor stood in front of Walt Whitman’s bedroom door, holding their breaths, after obtaining directions from the receptionist on where to find his bedroom on the hospital psychiatric ward.
Knocking on the room door, Eleanor asked.
“Walt, may I come in!”
“Who is it out there?”
Came the soft familiar voice.
“It’s your neighbor, Eleanor! I’ve come to pay you a visit and find out how you’re doing, since you weren’t doing that well yesterday!”
“Oh Eleanor, please, come on in! I was just wondering about Marx and had asked one of the nurses to call the house for me, to find out if he was doing okay but she said no one had picked up the phone!”
Walt Whitman stated.
“You don’t have to wonder anymore, because Marx is doing just fine, and is right her behind me! But because you were pretty hard on him yesterday, he is a little timid right now of seeing you!”
“Timid! Timid of what?”
“How could son be timid of his own father?”
Walt Whitman shouted.
“Come here my darling boy, and give your Papa a sweet hug!”
Walt Whitman exclaimed.
Soon Marx released his hands for the hemming of Eleanor’s dress and then ran towards his father with open arms while his father’s outstretch hands pulled him upon the hospital bed and warmly embraced him, lovingly.
For minutes, Walt couldn’t stop from kissing on his son face and telling him how sorry he was for his reaction towards him and for scaring him half to death. And how very proud he was of him to run across the street at seek help for him from Ms. Eleanor, or else, the situation could had gotten much worse.
“Son, that was very brave of you, and I’ll never forget it as long as I live!”
Walt Whitman expressed as he pulled Marx a little body closer to his chest and placed a passionate kiss on his beautiful charcoal cheeks.
“Papa, I thought you were going to beat my brains out with the pot cover yesterday; so I ran very fast to Ms. Eleanor’s house for her to save me! I know once I started running, you could never catch me again!”
Marx spoke in his own childish tone.
Looking into his son, ocean blue eyes, Walt sadly stated.
“Son, to tell you the truth, I’m so very embarrass to find out that I had behaved that way, and especially with you, my son! And if I should ever have any more of these collapses, please, go and get help from Ms. Eleanor, the police or the call the fire department. Because that would be a sign that daddy is getting very sick again and might burn down the house; okay!”
Walt Whitman explain to his darling son while he held him on his lap while seated on his hospital bed.
“Okay, daddy! I will do just that whenever I see you acting crazy; again!”
Marx expressed, causing Eleanor and Walt to burst out laughing.
Realizing that he was ignoring, Eleanor, Walt Whitman turned his attention to her and began thanking her for taking good care of his son and for coming by the hospital to visit him.
And also, for bringing Marx along with her to see him. Because seeing him was just a breath of fresh air to him.
But, Eleanor laughingly told him to count it as nothing; because whether he believed it or not, he was already paying her for babysitting Marx for him and for chasing her out of his house with the pressure cooker cover.
“I was chasing you too?”
Walt Whitman exclaimed with chuckles as he shook his head in great disbelief.
“So where in the house did you find some money for me to pay you with or for you to take for babysitting Marx?”
Walt questioned with a puzzling look; not having any recollection of where in the house he had left his wallet or had spear change hanging around that would be available to her.
“I didn’t see your wallet or any money lying loosely around the house. Because if I did, then I probably would have gone shopping instead of coming here at the hospital to see you!”
Eleanor spoke jokingly.
“But, whatever I had seen, I made the best of it! I was devouring those expensive cheese you have hanging around in the refrigerator and drinking up some of those fine expensive wine you have saving up for special occasion in the wine cellar.”
“You should have seen me in your jetted tub sipping on wine and nibbling on this brand of cheese and that brand of cheese while watching my favorite television show “Love and marriage” and soaking up the warm water to revive my old tired bones!”
“God, I felt so good last night like I had died and gone to heaven!”
Eleanor went on divulging happily.
Trying to block the picture from his imagination of seeing her naked in his jetted tub, Walt tried changing the subject and went on to asked Marx if he was hungry and wanted anything to eat? But Marx shook his head, indicating that he wasn’t hungry, because Ms. Eleanor had fix him a big breakfast this morning before they left the house to come and see him.
Hearing that his son stomach was already full, Walt Whitman thought about giving Eleanor some money so she and Marx could go shopping and have some fun times together. But his money was tucked away safely inside his safe in his bedroom, behind one of his large picture frames and he wasn’t sure if giving her the code to his safe was a very good idea right now.
That would be too much pertinent information to be giving out to her, his neighbor, even though, she wasn’t a complete stranger to him.
Plus, there were other important documents inside his safe that only the eyes of him and his attorney had seen already, and Marx would eventually see later on whenever he had gotten older. And giving her the code to enter his safe, she might just get nosy and started digging into more than just the money she was sent to take out from there, and started reading what wasn’t really meant for her eyes.
Because he was a wise man and knew that opportunity might only knock once on the door, but temptation lingers on the doorbell constantly, if not forever!
And he thought, before he knew it, all of Hillcrest Drive would have the four one-one, on his legal and personal business up in the air for everyone to see, criticized and start taking his house for the Whitman’s Savings and Loan bank.
Therefore, Walt Whitman had to revamp that idea and come up with something else, some other plan. So he mentioned to Eleanor, that if she had any money at home that she wasn’t seriously in need of right now, she could use it on herself and Marx, and when he was out of the hospital and returned home, he would gladly reimburse her for whatever funds she had spent on herself and on his son.
Without hesitation, Eleanor was happy and ready to go shopping! And before leaving the hospital room, she began asking Marx what he wanted for her to buy him at the mall. But he didn’t want much, because he was loaded with toys, coloring books and clothing already. What he really wanted now was the companionship of his father and the fun times they both use to have together before he fell from the ladder and hit his head.
Soon one of Walt Whitman doctors entered his room and began explaining to Eleanor and Mr. Whitman about what had happened to his head when he fell from the ladder and knocked it on the rock. According to the doctor, he had damaged his cerebellum which is responsible for his declarative memory… the part of the brain known for facts and events; and that was why he was unable to remember that Marx was his actual son or remember raising him. But the good news was, that he was only going to stay in the hospital for a week, after that, Walt would be discharged from the hospital and be on his way home to share his life with his wonderful and remarkable son, Marx.
Just after the doctor had exited the room, Eleanor expressed to her neighbor that she was quite happy that he was recovering well. But most importantly, she believed and was very thankful that he was in very good hands at the hospital, and that he would be coming home soon.
And after sincerely expressing her words of gratitude, she went over and hugged Walt Whitman; squeezing him passionately while rocking him sides to side repeatedly, displaying more than just neighborly affections towards him but also her tits.
Minutes later, she was ordering Marx to tell his father good-bye, and when she was done doing so, she held onto his hand tightly and said; “Come on, we are going to the shopping mall right now!” as she blew Walt Whitman a kiss and wheel her rump through his hospital room door.
Her gesticulation and tone had made him chuckled inwardly, and in his heart, he thanked the heavens for her being so gracious and helpful towards him and his son. Soon, he then began digging into the bag Eleanor had brought for him filled with snacks. And shortly afterwards, he began chewing on his favorites; onion-rings and potato chips until he had fallen asleep and one of the nurses entered the room, removed from his hands the bags of snacks and placed them on his nightstand while he laid their sleeping.
After spending one week in the hospital for hitting his head, after a fall from his ladder, Walt Whitman had finally returned home to a house that was spic-and spank, as if, he had hired, Maid per Day, to come in and cleaned the entire house for him. Maid per day was a cleaning company that he sometimes used when the work seemed overwhelming for him and he wanted to spend more time with his son Marx than cleaning the entire house by himself.
However, Walt was happy to be home, and was quite pleased how Eleanor had taken the time to make his trip home from the hospital very pleasant and welcoming. She had gone overboard with her decorations, organizing and preparing all kinds of foods and drink, as if, she was welcoming home, King Jesus from the hospital after he had been wounded in battle.
Nevertheless, Walt Whitman thanked Eleanor and told her how much he appreciated having her as his neighbor and for taking excellent care of his son while being hospitalized. And after they were all done eating and drinking, and the other neighbors from further down the street had stopped by Walt’s house to pay their visit and then left. Walt then then turn to Eleanor and ask her, what was the damage – “How much money do I owe you?”
Trying to get pay for both labor and interest from the money she had removed from her account, Eleanor told Walt Whitman that he now owed her a nice sum of three thousand dollars; causing his eyes to pop wide open, as he asked forcefully. “For what?”
Eleanor tried explaining to him that she had spent money on this and that, but before she could continue listing her items and activities, Walt interjected and said, “Never mind, I’ll let you have your payment tomorrow afternoon!” as he fluffed the pillow, put it to his head, and stretched out on his massive living room sofa chair.
He had enough money inside his safe he could have easily given to her, but, he didn’t want to give her any inclination that he had that vast amount of cash sitting around somewhere in his house. Just in case her fingers would start hitching her later on, and she came searching his house to find out where he had hidden all his money.