nightmare; she was a porcelaine figure under a bellglass. A current of
fresh snowrinsed air from somewhere eddied all of a sudden through the
blurred packed jangling glare of the restaurant, cut the reek of food
and drink and tobacco. For an instant he caught the smell of her hair.
The cocktails burned in him. God I dont want to pass out.
Sitting in the restaurant of the Gare de Lyon, side by side on the
black leather bench. His cheek brushes hers when he reaches to put
herring, butter, sardines, anchovies, sausage on her plate. They eat in
a hurry, gobbling, giggling, gulp wine, start at every screech of an
engine....
The train pulls out of Avignon, they two awake, looking in each other’s
eyes in the compartment full of sleep-sodden snoring people. He lurches
clambering over tangled legs, to smoke a cigarette at the end of the
dim oscillating corridor. Diddledeump, going south, Diddledeump, going
south, sing the wheels over the rails down the valley of the Rhone.
Leaning in the window, smoking a broken cigarette, trying to smoke a
crumbling cigarette, holding a finger over the torn place. Glubglub
glubglub from the bushes, from the silverdripping poplars along the
track.
“Ellie, Ellie there are nightingales singing along the track.”
“Oh I was asleep darling.” She gropes to him stumbling across the
legs of sleepers. Side by side in the window in the lurching jiggling
corridor.
Deedledeump, going south. Gasp of nightingales along the track among
the silverdripping poplars. The insane cloudy night of moonlight smells
of gardens garlic rivers freshdunged field roses. Gasp of nightingales.
Opposite him the Elliedoll was speaking. “He says the lobstersalad’s
all out.... Isnt that discouraging?”
Suddenly he had his tongue. “Gosh if that were the only thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why did we come back to this rotten town anyway?”
“You’ve been burbling about how wonderful it was ever since we came
back.”
“I know. I guess it’s sour grapes.... I’m going to have another
cocktail.... Ellie for heaven’s sake what’s the matter with us?”
“We’re going to be sick if we keep this up I tell you.”
“Well let’s be sick.... Let’s be good and sick.”
When they sit up in the great bed they can see across the harbor, can
see the yards of a windjammer and a white sloop and a red and green toy
tug and plainfaced houses opposite beyond a peacock stripe of water;
when they lie down they can see gulls in the sky. At dusk dressing
rockily, shakily stumbling through the mildewed corridors of the hotel
out into streets noisy as a brass band, full of tambourine rattle,
brassy shine, crystal glitter, honk and whir of motors.... Alone
together in the dusk drinking sherry under a broad-leaved plane, alone
together in the juggled particolored crowds like people invisible.
And the spring night comes up over the sea terrible out of Africa and
settles about them.
They had finished their coffee. Jimmy had drunk his very slowly as if
some agony waited for him when he finished it.
“Well I was afraid we’d find the Barneys here,” said Ellen.
“Do they know about this place?”
“You brought them here yourself Jimps.... And that dreadful woman
insisted on talking babies with me all the evening. I hate talking
babies.”
“Gosh I wish we could go to a show.”
“It would be too late anyway.”
“And just spending money I havent got.... Lets have a cognac to top off
with. I don’t care if it ruins us.”
“It probably will in more ways than one.”
“Well Ellie, here’s to the breadwinner who’s taken up the white man’s
burden.”
“Why Jimmy I think it’ll be rather fun to have an editorial job for a
while.”
“I’d find it fun to have any kind of job.... Well I can always stay
home and mind the baby.”
“Dont be so bitter Jimmy, it’s just temporary.”
“Life’s just temporary for that matter.”
The taxi drew up. Jimmy paid him with his last dollar. Ellie had
her key in the outside door. The street was a confusion of driving
absintheblurred snow. The door of their apartment closed behind them.
Chairs, tables, books, windowcurtains crowded about them bitter with
the dust of yesterday, the day before, the day before that. Smells of
diapers and coffeepots and typewriter oil and Dutch Cleanser oppressed
them. Ellen put out the empty milkbottle and went to bed. Jimmy
kept walking nervously about the front room. His drunkenness ebbed
away leaving him icily sober. In the empty chamber of his brain a
doublefaced word clinked like a coin: Success Failure, Success Failure.
* * * * *
I’m just wild about Harree
And Harry’s just wild about me
she hums under her breath as she dances. It’s a long hall with a band
at one end, lit greenishly by two clusters of electric lights hanging
among paper festoons in the center. At the end where the door is, a
varnished rail holds back the line of men. This one Anna’s dancing
with is a tall square built Swede, his big feet trail clumsily after
her tiny lightly tripping feet. The music stops. Now it’s a little
blackhaired slender Jew. He tries to snuggle close.
“Quit that.” She holds him away from her.
“Aw have a heart.”
She doesn’t answer, dances with cold precision; she’s sickeningly tired.
Me and my boyfriend
My boyfriend and I
An Italian breathes garlic in her face, a marine sergeant, a Greek,
a blond young kid with pink cheeks, she gives him a smile; a drunken
elderly man who tries to kiss her ... _Charley my boy O Charley my
boy_ ... slickhaired, freckled rumplehaired, pimplefaced, snubnosed,
straightnosed, quick dancers, heavy dancers.... _Goin souf_.... _Wid de
taste o de sugarcane right in my mouf_ ... against her back big hands,
hot hands, sweaty hands, cold hands, while her dancechecks mount up,
get to be a wad in her fist. This one’s a good waltzer, genteel-like in
a black suit.
“Gee I’m tired,” she whispers.
“Dancing never tires me.”
“Oh it’s dancin with everybody like this.”
“Dont you want to come an dance with me all alone somewhere?”
“Boyfrien’s waitin for me after.”
With nothing but a photograph
To tell my troubles to ...
What’ll I do...?
“What time’s it?” she asks a broadchested wise guy. “Time you an me was
akwainted, sister....” She shakes her head. Suddenly the music bursts
into Auld Lang Syne. She breaks away from him and runs to the desk in a
crowd of girls elbowing to turn in their dancechecks. “Say Anna,” says
a broadhipped blond girl ... “did ye see that sap was dancin wid me?...
He says to me the sap he says See you later an I says to him the sap I
says see yez in hell foist ... an then he says, Goily he says ...”
III. Revolving Doors
_Glowworm trains shuttle in the gloaming through the foggy
looms of spiderweb bridges, elevators soar and drop in
their shafts, harbor lights wink._
_Like sap at the first frost at five o’clock men and
women begin to drain gradually out of the tall buildings
downtown, grayfaced throngs flood subways and tubes, vanish
underground._
_All night the great buildings stand quiet and empty,
their million windows dark. Drooling light the ferries
chew tracks across the lacquered harbor. At midnight the
fourfunneled express steamers slide into the dark out
of their glary berths. Bankers blearyeyed from secret
conferences hear the hooting of the tugs as they are let
out of side doors by lightningbug watchmen; they settle
grunting into the back seats of limousines, and are whisked
uptown into the Forties, clinking streets of ginwhite
whiskey-yellow ciderfizzling lights._
She sat at the dressingtable coiling her hair. He stood over her with
the lavender suspenders hanging from his dress trousers prodding the
diamond studs into his shirt with stumpy fingers.
“Jake I wish we were out of it,” she whined through the hairpins in her
mouth.
“Out of what Rosie?”
“The Prudence Promotion Company.... Honest I’m worried.”
“Why everything’s goin swell. We’ve got to bluff out Nichols that’s
all.”
“Suppose he prosecutes?”
“Oh he wont. He’d lose a lot of money by it. He’d much better come in
with us.... I can pay him in cash in a week anyways. If we can keep him
thinkin we got money we’ll have him eatin out of our hands. Didn’t he
say he’d be at the El Fey tonight?”
Rosie had just put a rhinestone comb into the coil of her black hair.
She nodded and got to her feet. She was a plump broadhipped woman with
big black eyes and higharched eyebrows. She wore a corset trimmed with
yellow lace and a pink silk chemise.
“Put on everythin you’ve got Rosie. I want yez all dressed up like a
Christmas tree. We’re goin to the El Fey an stare Nichols down tonight.
Then tomorrer I’ll go round and put the proposition up to him.... Lets
have a little snifter anyways ...” He went to the phone. “Send up some
cracked ice and a couple of bottles of White Rock to four o four.
Silverman’s the name. Make it snappy.”
“Jake let’s make a getaway,” Rosie cried suddenly. She stood in
the closet door with a dress over her arm. “I cant stand all this
worry.... It’s killin me. Let’s you an me beat it to Paris or Havana or
somewheres and start out fresh.”
“Then we would be up the creek. You can be extradited for grand
larceny. Jez you wouldnt have me goin round with dark glasses and false
whiskers all my life.”
Rosie laughed. “No I guess you wouldnt look so good in a fake zit....
Oh I wish we were really married at least.”
“Dont make no difference between us Rosie. Then they’d be after me for
bigamy too. That’d be pretty.”
Rosie shuddered at the bellboy’s knock. Jake Silverman put the tray
with its clinking bowl of ice on the bureau and fetched a square
whiskeybottle out of the wardrobe.
“Dont pour out any for me. I havent got the heart for it.”
“Kid you’ve got to pull yourself together. Put on the glad rags an
we’ll go to a show. Hell I been in lots o tighter holes than this.”
With his highball in his hand he went to the phone. “I want the
newsstand.... Hello cutie.... Sure I’m an old friend of yours.... Sure
you know me.... Look could you get me two seats for the Follies....
That’s the idear.... No I cant sit back of the eighth row.... That’s a
good little girl.... An you’ll call me in ten minutes will you dearie?”
“Say Jake is there really any borax in that lake?”
“Sure there is. Aint we got the affidavit of four experts?”
“Sure. I was just kinder wonderin.... Say Jake if this ever gets wound
up will you promise me not to go in for any more wildcat schemes?”
“Sure; I wont need to.... My you’re a redhot mommer in that dress.”
“Do you like it?”
“You look like Brazil ... I dunno ... kinder tropical.”
“That’s the secret of my dangerous charm.”
The phone rang jingling sharp. They jumped to their feet. She pressed
the side of her hand against her lips.
“Two in the fourth row. That’s fine.... We’ll be right down an get
em ... Jez Rosie you cant go on being jumpy like; you’re gettin me all
shot too. Pull yerself together why cant you?”
“Let’s go out an eat Jake. I havent had anything but buttermilk all
day. I guess I’ll stop tryin to reduce. This worryin’ll make me thin
enough.”
“You got to quit it Rosie.... It’s gettin my nerve.”
They stopped at the flowerstall in the lobby. “I want a gardenia” he
said. He puffed his chest out and smiled his curlylipped smile as the
girl fixed it in the buttonhole of his dinnercoat. “What’ll you have
dear?” he turned grandiloquently to Rosie. She puckered her mouth. “I
dont just know what’ll go with my dress.”
“While you’re deciding I’ll go get the theater tickets.” With his
overcoat open and turned back to show the white puffedout shirtfront
and his cuffs shot out over his thick hands he strutted over to the
newsstand. Out of the corner of her eye while the ends of the red
roses were being wrapped in silver paper Rosie could see him leaning
across the magazines talking babytalk to the blond girl. He came back
brighteyed with a roll of bills in his hand. She pinned the roses on
her fur coat, put her arm in his and together they went through the
revolving doors into the cold glistening electric night. “Taxi,” he
yapped.
* * * * *
The diningroom smelled of toast and coffee and the New York _Times_.
The Merivales were breakfasting to electric light. Sleet beat against
the windows. “Well Paramount’s fallen off five points more,” said James
from behind the paper.
“Oh James I think its horrid to be such a tease,” whined Maisie who was
drinking her coffee in little henlike sips.
“And anyway,” said Mrs. Merivale, “Jack’s not with Paramount any more.
He’s doing publicity for the Famous Players.”
“He’s coming east in two weeks. He says he hopes to be here for the
first of the year.”
“Did you get another wire Maisie?”
Maisie nodded. “Do you know James, Jack never will write a letter. He
always telegraphs,” said Mrs. Merivale through the paper at her son.
“He certainly keeps the house choked up with flowers,” growled James
from behind the paper.
“All by telegraph,” said Mrs. Merivale triumphantly.
James put down his paper. “Well I hope he’s as good a fellow as he
seems to be.”
“Oh James you’re horrid about Jack.... I think it’s mean.” She got to
her feet and went through the curtains into the parlor.
“Well if he’s going to be my brother-in-law, I think I ought to have a
say in picking him,” he grumbled.
Mrs. Merivale went after her. “Come back and finish your breakfast
Maisie, he’s just a terrible tease.”
“I wont have him talk that way about Jack.”
“But Maisie I think Jack’s a dear boy.” She put her arm round her
daughter and led her back to the table. “He’s so simple and I know he
has good impulses.... I’m sure he’s going to make you very happy.”
Maisie sat down again pouting under the pink bow of her boudoir cap.
“Mother may I have another cup of coffee?”
“Deary you know you oughtnt to drink two cups. Dr. Fernald said that
was what was making you so nervous.”
“Just a little bit mother very weak. I want to finish this muffin and I
simply cant eat it without something to wash it down, and you know you
dont want me to lose any more weight.” James pushed back his chair and
went out with the _Times_ under his arm. “It’s half past eight James,”
said Mrs. Merivale. “He’s likely to take an hour when he gets in there
with that paper.”
“Well,” said Maisie peevishly. “I think I’ll go back to bed. I think
it’s silly the way we all get up to breakfast. There’s something so
vulgar about it mother. Nobody does it any more. At the Perkinses’ it
comes up to you in bed on a tray.”
“But James has to be at the bank at nine.”
“That’s no reason why we should drag ourselves out of bed. That’s how
people get their faces all full of wrinkles.”
“But we wouldn’t see James until dinnertime, and I like to get up
early. The morning’s the loveliest part of the day.” Maisie yawned
desperately.
James appeared in the doorway to the hall running a brush round his hat.
“What did you do with the paper James?”
“Oh I left it in there.”
“I’ll get it, never mind.... My dear you’ve got your stickpin in
crooked. I’ll fix it.... There.” Mrs. Merivale put her hands on his
shoulders and looked in her son’s face. He wore a dark gray suit with a
faint green stripe in it, an olive green knitted necktie with a small
gold nugget stickpin, olive green woolen socks with black clockmarks
and dark red Oxford shoes, their laces neatly tied with doubleknots
that never came undone. “James arent you carrying your cane?” He had
an olive green woolen muffler round his neck and was slipping into his
dark brown winter overcoat. “I notice the younger men down there dont
carry them, mother ... People might think it was a little ... I dont
know ...”
“But Mr. Perkins carries a cane with a gold parrothead.”
“Yes but he’s one of the vicepresidents, he can do what he likes....
But I’ve got to run.” James Merivale hastily kissed his mother and
sister. He put on his gloves going down in the elevator. Ducking his
head into the sleety wind he walked quickly east along Seventysecond.
At the subway entrance he bought a _Tribune_ and hustled down the steps
to the jammed soursmelling platform.
* * * * *
_Chicago! Chicago!_ came in bursts out of the shut phonograph. Tony
Hunter, slim in a black closecut suit, was dancing with a girl who kept
putting her mass of curly ashblond hair on his shoulder. They were
alone in the hotel sitting room.
“Sweetness you’re a lovely dancer,” she cooed snuggling closer.
“Think so Nevada?”
“Um-hum ... Sweetness have you noticed something about me?”
“What’s that Nevada?”
“Havent you noticed something about my eyes?”
“They’re the loveliest little eyes in the world.”
“Yes but there’s something about them.”
“You mean that one of them’s green and the other one brown.”
“Oh it noticed the tweet lil ting.” She tilted her mouth up at him. He
kissed it. The record came to an end. They both ran over to stop it.
“That wasnt much of a kiss, Tony,” said Nevada Jones tossing her curls
out of her eyes. They put on _Shuffle Along_.
“Say Tony,” she said when they had started dancing again. “What did the
psychoanalyst say when you went to see him yesterday?”
“Oh nothing much, we just talked,” said Tony with a sigh. “He said it
was all imaginary. He suggested I get to know some girls better. He’s
all right. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about though. He cant do
anything.”
“I bet you I could.”
They stopped dancing and looked at each other with the blood burning in
their faces.
“Knowing you Nevada,” he said in a doleful tone “has meant more to
me ... You’re so decent to me. Everybody’s always been so nasty.”
“Aint he solemn though?” She walked over thoughtfully and stopped the
phonograph.
“Some joke on George I’ll say.”
“I feel horribly about it. He’s been so decent.... And after all I
could never have afforded to go to Dr. Baumgardt at all.”
“It’s his own fault. He’s a damn fool.... If he thinks he can buy me
with a little hotel accommodation and theater tickets he’s got another
think coming. But honestly Tony you must keep on with that doctor. He
did wonders with Glenn Gaston.... He thought he was that way until he
was thirtyfive years old and the latest thing I hear he’s married an
had a pair of twins.... Now give me a real kiss sweetest. Thataboy.
Let’s dance some more. Gee you’re a beautiful dancer. Kids like you
always are. I dont know why it is....”
The phone cut into the room suddenly with a glittering sawtooth ring.
“Hello.... Yes this is Miss Jones.... Why of course George I’m waiting
for you....” She put up the receiver. “Great snakes, Tony beat it.
I’ll call you later. Dont go down in the elevator you’ll meet him
coming up.” Tony Hunter melted out the door. Nevada put _Baby ...
Babee Deewine_ on the phonograph and strode nervously about the room,
straightening chairs, patting her tight short curls into place.
“Oh George I thought you werent comin.... How do you do Mr. McNiel? I
dunno why I’m all jumpy today. I thought you were never comin. Let’s
get some lunch up. I’m that hungry.”
George Baldwin put his derby hat and stick on a table in the corner.
“What’ll you have Gus?” he said. “Sure I always take a lamb chop an a
baked potato.”
“I’m just taking crackers and milk, my stomach’s a little out of
order.... Nevada see if you cant frisk up a highball for Mr. McNiel.”
“Well I could do with a highball George.”
“George order me half a broiled chicken lobster and some alligator pear
salad,” screeched Nevada from the bathroom where she was cracking ice.
“She’s the greatest girl for lobster,” said Baldwin laughing as he went
to the phone.
She came back from the bathroom with two highballs on a tray; she had
put a scarlet and parrotgreen batik scarf round her neck. “Just you
an me’s drinkin Mr. McNiel.... George is on the water wagon. Doctor’s
orders.”
“Nevada what do you say we go to a musical show this afternoon? There’s
a lot of business I want to get off my mind.”
“I just love matinees. Do you mind if we take Tony Hunter. He called
up he was lonesome and wanted to come round this afternoon. He’s not
workin this week.”
“All right.... Nevada will you excuse us if we talk business for just
a second over here by the window. We’ll forget it by the time lunch
comes.”
“All righty I’ll change my dress.”
“Sit down here Gus.”
They sat silent a moment looking out of the window at the red girder
cage of the building under construction next door. “Well Gus,” said
Baldwin suddenly harshly, “I’m in the race.”
“Good for you George, we need men like you.”
“I’m going to run on a Reform ticket.”
“The hell you are?”
“I wanted to tell you Gus rather than have you hear it by a roundabout
way.”
“Who’s goin to elect you?”
“Oh I’ve got my backing.... I’ll have a good press.”
“Press hell.... We’ve got the voters.... But Goddam it if it hadn’t
been for me your name never would have come up for district attorney at
all.”
“I know you’ve always been a good friend of mine and I hope you’ll
continue to be.”
“I never went back on a guy yet, but Jez, George, it’s give and take in
this world.”
“Well,” broke in Nevada advancing towards them with little dancesteps,
wearing a flamingo pink silk dress, “havent you boys argued enough yet?”
“We’re through,” growled Gus. “... Say Miss Nevada, how did you get
that name?”
“I was born in Reno.... My mother’d gone there to get a divorce....
Gosh she was sore.... Certainly put my foot in it that time.”
* * * * *
Anna Cohen stands behind the counter under the sign THE BEST SANDWICH
IN NEW YORK. Her feet ache in her pointed shoes with runover heels.
“Well I guess they’ll begin soon or else we’re in for a slack day,”
says the sodashaker beside her. He’s a raw-faced man with a sharp
adamsapple. “It allus comes all of a rush like.”
“Yeh, looks like they all got the same idear at the same time.” They
stand looking out through the glass partition at the endless files of
people jostling in and out of the subway. All at once she slips away
from the counter and back into the stuffy kitchenette where a stout
elderly woman is tidying up the stove. There is a mirror hanging on a
nail in the corner. Anna fetches a powderbox from the pocket of her
coat on the rack and starts powdering her nose. She stands a second
with the tiny puff poised looking at her broad face with the bangs
across the forehead and the straight black bobbed hair. A homely lookin
kike, she says to herself bitterly. She is slipping back to her place
at the counter when she runs into the manager, a little fat Italian
with a greasy bald head. “Cant you do nutten but primp an look in de
glass all day?... Veree good you’re fired.”
She stares at his face sleek like an olive. “Kin I stay out my day?”
she stammers. He nods. “Getta move on; this aint no beauty parlor.”
She hustles back to her place at the counter. The stools are all full.
Girls, officeboys, grayfaced bookkeepers. “Chicken sandwich and a cup o
caufee.” “Cream cheese and olive sandwich and a glass of buttermilk.”
“Chocolate sundae.”
“Egg sandwich, coffee and doughnuts.” “Cup of boullion.” “Chicken
broth.” “Chocolate icecream soda.” People eat hurriedly without looking
at each other, with their eyes on their plates, in their cups. Behind
the people sitting on stools those waiting nudge nearer. Some eat
standing up. Some turn their backs on the counter and eat looking
out through the glass partition and the sign HCNUL ENIL NEERG at the
jostling crowds filing in and out the subway through the drabgreen
gloom.
* * * * *
“Well Joey tell me all about it,” said Gus McNiel puffing a great cloud
of smoke out of his cigar and leaning back in his swivel chair. “What
are you guys up to over there in Flatbush?”
O’Keefe cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. “Well sir we got an
agitation committee.”
“I should say you had.... That aint no reason for raidin the Garment
Workers’ ball is it?”
“I didn’t have nothin to do with that.... The bunch got sore at all
these pacifists and reds.”
“That stuff was all right a year ago, but public sentiment’s changin. I
tell you Joe the people of this country are pretty well fed up with war
heroes.”
“We got a livewire organization over there.”
“I know you have Joe. I know you have. Trust you for that.... I’d put
the soft pedal on the bonus stuff though.... The State of New York’s
done its duty by the ex-service man.”
“That’s true enough.”
“A national bonus means taxes to the average business man and nothing
else.... Nobody wants no more taxes.”
“Still I think the boys have got it comin to em.”
“We’ve all of us got a whole lot comin to us we dont never get.... For
crissake dont quote me on this.... Joey fetch yourself a cigar from
that box over there. Frien o mine sent em up from Havana by a naval
officer.”
“Thankye sir.”
“Go ahead take four or five.”
“Jez thank you.”
“Say Joey how’ll you boys line up on the mayoralty election?”