“Just careful, that’s all.”
They walked in silence then. She was very conscious of his being beside
her, of her arm being in his. This troubled Caroline, this awareness.
She looked at Holton’s face as they walked down the crowded street.
There was nothing in his face that she would like to have seen. This
made her feel better because he was not the right person.
Over the high gray buildings was a narrow section of bright blue sky.
It was almost too bright and contrasted strangely with the dingy
buildings and the dark streets. Caroline watched the blue sky suspended
upon the buildings. No clouds were in the sky but from time to time
a bird would circle in it. And, as she watched the sky, a large air
liner, like a rigid bird, moved straightly eastward.
Caroline breathed deeply again, careful this time not to get the
exhaust fumes too far down in her lungs. She coughed anyway.
* * * * *
Marjorie Ventusa looked through the plate-glass window at the street.
She had been watching off and on for half an hour, waiting for Robert
Holton to come.
Some days he would come in at twelve and other days at twelve-thirty,
and then there had been certain days when he’d not come in at all and
those were bad days for Marjorie Ventusa.
It was a few minutes after twelve when she saw him walking down the
street, pushing through the crowd, a man different from all the others
walking in the street. She frowned when she saw the pretty secretary
with him. Marjorie hated this girl but she was helpless and could only
hate all the others who seemed close to Robert Holton.
She pretended to be busy cleaning a table when they came in.
“Hello, Marjorie,” said Holton and he and Caroline came over to her
table.
“Oh, hello, it’s you again.” She made herself sound matter-of-fact and
bored, but her throat was suddenly full and she had to clear it before
she could speak again. “What you going to eat today?”
“I don’t know,” said Holton and he and Caroline sat down at the table,
across from each other. “What do you want, Caroline?”
“I’d like to see a menu, I think,” said Caroline in a voice that
Marjorie Ventusa would like to have choked out of her.
“Here,” said Marjorie and she handed them two white menus.
They studied the menus.
Many people were coming in and going out of the restaurant. All the
tables were full now and there were people standing and waiting for
tables. Some of her customers were beginning to look at her, waiting
for her to take their order. She hoped Mrs Merrin would not notice how
long she was taking with Robert Holton.
“I think,” said Caroline, frowning a thin hair-wide frown, “I think I
will have some tomato juice, and a lamb chop....”
“No more lamb chops,” said Marjorie, trying to keep the triumph from
her voice.
The hair-wide frown became a scowl. “Then I’ll have the veal.”
“Any vegetables?”
“Yes, the spinach.”
“You can have one other.”
“That’s all.”
And Marjorie thought, “the” spinach indeed. Why was it that when these
people wanted to sound elegant they would talk about everything as
“the”?
“What do you want, Mr Holton?” She wished that she had the nerve to
call him Bob, the right to call him that.
“Oh, I think I’ll take the same.”
“Coffee, tea, or milk?” She said the words as though they were one word.
They both asked for coffee and Marjorie went quickly out of the dining
room and into the kitchen.
There was much more steam in the kitchen now than there had been at
breakfast; as the day passed the kitchen got hotter, and steamier, and
the cooks got more irritable and Mrs Merrin more nervous and Marjorie
Ventusa would become tired and sad.
She called the new orders to the cook. Then she picked up two small
glasses of tomato juice and put them on her tray. She fingered one of
them a moment, thinking that soon he would be drinking from it. She
enjoyed thinking of this, though it only made her desire stronger and
her sadness greater.
She didn’t want to go back yet. She hoped Mrs Merrin would not come
into the kitchen for a while.
But one of the swinging doors opened and Mrs Merrin walked into the
kitchen. Quickly Marjorie picked up her tray and went back to the
dining room.
Caroline and Robert Holton were talking seriously and Marjorie, because
of the noise of voices in the dining room, couldn’t hear what they were
saying.
They stopped talking as she came up to them.
“Here you are,” said Marjorie Ventusa brightly, putting the glasses of
tomato juice on the table.
Robert Holton smiled at her, showing his white even teeth.
“Have you got a date for tonight?” asked Robert Holton.
“You know I always do.”
“A sailor maybe?”
“I’m not saying.”
“Get one who’ll take you to Italy.”
This was cruel but Marjorie smiled and forgave him. She had not been
joking when they spoke of Italy. She did not think it fair of him to
say this in front of the pretty girl, but Marjorie forgave him because
he was young and because she felt about him in a certain way.
“Maybe we’ll go to Capri together,” she said. “Is it nice there?”
Holton nodded. “Beautiful.”
Caroline said, “I’m sure you don’t want to take up any more of her
time, Bob. She’s got a lot of things to do.” Caroline gave Marjorie a
brilliant smile. A man from the table next to theirs said loudly, “When
are you bringing me my soup?”
“In just a minute, sir.” Marjorie looked at Robert Holton once again,
tried to catch his eye but he was talking now to Caroline and Marjorie
Ventusa had been put quietly from his mind. She went back to the
kitchen.
* * * * *
Outside the restaurant Richard Kuppelton and the receptionist Ruth
were wondering whether anybody they knew would be in the restaurant;
otherwise they would have to wait for a table.
Kuppelton looked through the window. He blinked nearsightedly. Then he
saw Robert Holton and Caroline.
“Caroline’s in there,” he said.
“With Bob?”
“Yes.”
“Well, let’s go on in.” Ruth liked Robert Holton.
“Hello, hello,” said Kuppelton heartily when they were inside.
Caroline and Robert Holton appeared glad to see them.
“My gracious, it certainly is crowded,” said Ruth, pointing to the
people standing.
“Lucky you people were here,” said Kuppelton.
“I don’t,” said Ruth, “see how the town stays so crowded all the time.
I could understand it during the war but now ... well, it’s just
impossible to go anywhere or do anything.”
“I know,” said Holton. “Took me months to get a room.”
“Is it nice?” asked Caroline.
He shook his head. “It’s very depressing.”
“I guess I’m lucky to be living with my family,” said Kuppelton. “It’s
real nice out where we are and there aren’t so many people. I’d hate to
have to live in the city.”
They talked of the places where they lived and then they started to
talk of the places where they would like to live.
Kuppelton watched Holton as he talked and he tried to learn, by
concentrating intensely, what he was thinking; to learn if Mr Murphy
had said he would promote him. Holton’s smooth forehead, however, was a
wall and Kuppelton could not pierce it, could not discover the dreams
behind it.
Marjorie came over to their table and put two plates of veal in front
of Caroline and Robert. The veal was a uniform tan color, floating in a
sea of red sauce. Two saucers of dark-green spinach floating in water
were put beside the plates of veal.
“Looks good, doesn’t it?” commented Marjorie.
“Sure, sure,” said Holton, looking at his plate with distaste.
Kuppelton ordered veal and Marjorie left.
Kuppelton looked at Ruth. She was dark, with a big nose and with
self-pitying eyes. Her complexion was oily and she wore too much
make-up. Ruth liked all men; she was sitting very close to Robert
Holton now.
“Any interesting people come into the office?” asked Holton, turning
to Ruth: as receptionist she was always able to tell them about
celebrities.
Ruth nodded. “Laura Whitner was in to see Mr Heywood.”
Caroline was interested. “She’s the movie star, isn’t she?”
Ruth nodded again, a birdlike motion. “Why, she used to be one of the
biggest stars. I used to go see all her pictures. My gracious, they
were wonderful.”
Marjorie Ventusa returned with veal for Kuppelton and the ham and eggs
for Ruth.
“Oh, thank you,” said Ruth. “I love ham,” she added.
Richard Kuppelton looked at Ruth with disapproval. She was an
aggressive woman and he was tired of aggressive women. His mother was
that way. Caroline was more what he wanted. She had spirit but was not
aggressive. There was a difference between spirit and aggressiveness.
He could not quite define it but still there was a difference. Caroline
could act irritated with him and he would not mind. And she always
smiled, even when she was angry; he could not feel that a woman who
always smiled was aggressive. She had a mind of her own but then he
could handle that. Eating veal, Richard Kuppelton felt he could handle
anything.
Robert Holton finished eating. He sat back in his chair and yawned.
“Bored?” asked Caroline.
He shook his head. “No, not very. Just sleepy.”
“Well, I like that!” exclaimed Ruth. “You’d think we weren’t good
enough for him.” She said this in a way to let him know she was being
humorous.
Kuppelton decided, however, to develop what she’d said. “Sure, he’s a
good friend of Mr Heywood.”
Ruth was impressed. “I certainly wish I had your contacts then. I sure
wouldn’t be working in this lousy job.”
Robert Holton wanted to know what was wrong with her job.
“Oh, you know how it is. Doing the same thing day after day. It makes
me sick. I’d like to do something exciting.”
“Like what?” asked Richard Kuppelton. These were his secret wishes,
too, but he would never have put them into words. He was delighted to
hear someone else say them.
Ruth was not sure just what she wanted. She decided she would like to
travel. Richard Kuppelton admitted, then, that he would like to travel.
Caroline thought a moment and agreed with them that to travel would be
the best thing anyone could do, the thing she wanted to do.
Robert Holton, who had traveled, said that he didn’t care to leave New
York again: not for many years at least.
“You’re not adventurous,” said Caroline sadly.
Ruth protected him. “After all, he’s had some adventures. He was in the
war.”
Richard Kuppelton was glad that Holton did not talk about the war.
It made too great a difference between them and the women might have
called attention to this difference.
He disliked Robert Holton because he was afraid of him. It was more
than the threat to his job, much more than that. Caroline, whom
Kuppelton wanted, seemed interested in him. He flattered himself that
she was no more interested in Holton than she was in himself; still he
was a threat.
Ruth was moving closer to Robert Holton now. Her thick curved lips,
heavily painted a dark red, looked unpleasantly moist. Kuppelton had
a desire to dry her mouth. He was amused, though, at the way she was
playing up to Holton. She liked him now because of his influence, not
because he was good-looking. Although Kuppelton, for one, couldn’t see
his handsomeness. Holton was well-built but not much better than he
was; of course, Kuppelton had a slight stomach and Holton didn’t, but a
few days of exercise and he could be as slim. He made a mental note to
do some exercise.
* * * * *
Marjorie Ventusa arranged her hair in front of the steamy mirror. It
didn’t look too bad when she wore it over her ears. She pinned it back
carefully. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to get a snood after all.
She put some other people’s orders on her tray and left the kitchen.
The crowd waiting to be seated was beginning to thin and soon the lunch
rush would be over.
She waited on the customers whose orders she had and then she moved
over to the table where Robert Holton was sitting. He was very
handsome, she thought. She looked at the others with him and she envied
them all. They didn’t understand what he was, how important he was.
The girl with the blue eyes and slim legs she could not like. This
was her rival--one of her rivals, anyway. She was glad that he never
seemed particularly interested in this girl and, for that matter, the
girl didn’t seem interested in him. Still she was near, worked with him
probably: she was a danger.
Then Marjorie Ventusa did not like the dark-haired girl with the big
nose who sat so close to him, but at least she was not a danger. She
almost pitied this girl who had moved her chair so close to his that
their legs were touching.
The other man was dull-looking and obviously interested in the girl
with the blue eyes. Marjorie Ventusa wished him luck. Then, having
thought these things about her customers, she walked over to their
table.
“Ready for dessert?” asked Marjorie Ventusa cheerfully, trying not to
look at Robert Holton.
They were ready.
Everyone decided to have vanilla ice cream. Slowly she cleared the
table. This was a hard thing to do, because she had to act as if she
were in a hurry.
They talked at the table as though she weren’t there. She was,
naturally, used to that: she had been a waitress a long time, but today
she was almost angry at being treated like a piece of furniture. She
could do nothing about it, though. She picked up her tray and went into
the kitchen.
Marjorie ordered the ice cream. As she waited she wondered if there
was any way she could ever see Robert Holton in his other life: the
mysterious important life he had in the brokerage firm. She tried to
think of some way she could get to know him in this other life. She
could think of nothing.
The ice cream was ready and she took it back to the dining room.
She gave them their dessert and only Holton said thank you. She tried
to expand this one phrase into a conversation but it was too difficult.
So she walked over to the next table which was now empty. Slowly she
placed dishes on her tray. She was near enough to them to hear what
they were saying.
Robert Holton was talking about his job: “I don’t mind being in an
office all day. I can’t see why people mind that so much.”
The dark girl with the big nose disagreed: “It’s much more natural to
be able to wander around like you want to do. It’s natural to travel, I
think.”
He laughed. Marjorie liked his laugh. He said, “You should get married,
that’s what you should do.”
The dark girl became coquettish. “But I haven’t had any offers yet. Of
course, I’m open to any.”
The bitch, thought Marjorie Ventusa, disliking her now.
“You shouldn’t have any trouble,” said Holton gallantly and Marjorie
liked him for saying this.
“You’re just saying that.”
Then the girl with the blue eyes and the dull man began to talk
together and their voices blended into the ocean-like sound of many
voices in the restaurant.
They finished the ice cream.
Marjorie walked over to the table. “Will there be anything else?” she
asked officially.
There was nothing else.
“We’ll have our check, please, Marjorie,” said Robert Holton and she
liked the way he said her name.
“Certainly.” She went to the cashier and had the four checks totalled.
Then she came back.
They paid her.
“Back to work,” said the blue-eyed girl with a sigh.
_Chapter Seven_
“Here we are,” said Caroline.
Ruth went to her desk in the reception room. “I’ll see you all later,”
she said and she sat down and took out a large gold compact. Caroline
watched her a moment as she powdered her nose, watched her with a
certain pity because she was ugly.
“Come on,” said Kuppelton and he and Robert Holton walked on either
side of her through the office. She was conscious of the envious stares
of the other girls and she smiled at them as nicely as she could,
knowing that they hated her for her smile.
Mr Murphy was not in the Statistical office. Everyone else was back,
though. As she entered the room Caroline was conscious of a difference
in the atmosphere. The women were quieter than usual and the men were
watching. She looked and saw, sitting at Holton’s desk, an army officer.
“Jim!” said Holton when he saw him; the other looked up.
“Hi,” he said and he got to his feet. They shook hands with Anglo-Saxon
restraint, muttering monosyllables of greeting, each asking about the
other’s health.
Kuppelton went to his own desk without speaking to the army officer.
Caroline stood expectantly beside Robert Holton, waiting to be
introduced.
“This,” said Holton finally, “is Caroline. Caroline, meet Jim Trebling.”
“How do you do,” said Trebling.
“How do you do,” said Caroline and they shook hands. His hand, she
noticed, was rough and hard.
“You live in New York?” asked Caroline. This was always a good
beginning because it could lead to all sorts of confessions.
He shook his head. “No, I’m from California. I’m from Los Angeles.”
She was impressed. “That’s where Hollywood is, isn’t it? You from
Hollywood?”
No, he was not from Hollywood. He lived near by.
“I’d certainly like to visit out there.”
“It’s not as interesting as New York.”
She gave a little laugh to show her scorn for New York, her laugh
leveling the buildings and cracking Grant’s Tomb. “It’s awful here,”
she said. “We have an awful climate.”
He raised the buildings again. “Oh, I think it’s pretty exciting.
You’ve got so many things. This is really the first time I’ve seen New
York. Bob and I went overseas from here and we came back here but I
never really saw the town.”
“Are you regular army?” she asked. Men in uniform were becoming rare.
“No, I’m getting out soon. I signed up for a little while longer.”
“Oh.”
He and Robert Holton began to talk then about the army and she felt
shut out. She stood there wondering whether she should go or not. She
rather liked this young man. He was a lieutenant, at least he had one
bar on his shoulder and she thought that lieutenants wore a single bar:
the war had been such a long time ago and she had forgotten so many
things.
He had dark eyes and bleached-looking hair which Caroline had always
found attractive in men. His skin was rather pale for a Californian;
all Californians had brown skin in her imagination. He was not
particularly handsome, though he looked rather distinguished, with
sharp features and circles under his eyes.
“Are you in the East long?” she asked.
He looked at her as if he had forgotten she was there; still, he was
very polite. “No, I’m only here for a week.”
“Looking around?”
“Yes, looking around.”
“Caroline,” said Robert Holton, as though explaining an important
thing, “Caroline is the belle of the office.”
“I can see that,” said Trebling without too much effort, saying it
almost naturally, a hard thing to do.
“Oh, thank you,” said Caroline. Now she didn’t know what to say. She
looked at his ribbons. She counted them mechanically, the way she did
before the war ended: five ribbons. “You must’ve been around quite a
bit,” she said finally, speaking before the silence her last words had
made became another conversation.
Trebling nodded seriously. “Yes, I saw quite a bit. No more than Bob
did, though.”
“That must’ve been nice,” said Caroline, “your being able to serve
together everywhere.”
“Yes, it was.”
She knew that they were waiting for her to go but she wasn’t ready yet.
“Do you like being in the army in peacetime?”
“No, not particularly.”
“Well, you’ll be out soon, I suppose.”
“Quite soon.”
She had to go now. She couldn’t understand what kept her standing there
foolishly trying to make a conversation by herself. It was not as if
Lieutenant Trebling were handsome or unusual.
Caroline made her great effort. “Well,” she said, “I guess I’ll see
you later, Mr Trebling.” Was that the right name? She wasn’t sure. She
hoped she hadn’t said it wrong.
“Nice to have met you, Caroline.” She smiled at him, her face at a
three-quarter angle: her most flattering angle. Then, with great
nonchalance, she walked slowly back to her desk.
* * * * *
Trebling was surprised at the way Holton looked out of uniform.
To have lived several years with a person who looked always one way
and then to see him later another way is startling. Jim Trebling had
always thought of Holton as a soldier: he could not get used to him as
a civilian in an office.
“Sit down, Jim.” Holton pointed to a chair beside his desk. They both
sat down. Trebling felt a little awkward. The office was too formal for
him and he was not at ease.
Jim looked at Holton, trying to get accustomed to him. “You’ve
certainly changed. I don’t know if I’d have recognized you.”
Robert Holton laughed a little self-consciously. “These civilian
clothes _are_ different. They make you feel different.”
“You’re really settling down, I guess.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I wish I could. Maybe I will when I get out ... I don’t know.”
“What do you think you’re going to do?”
Jim shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking of starting some kind
of a business. You know, what we used to talk about before you got out.”
Holton nodded. “That’s a good idea, I guess. I thought of it, too, but
of course the odds are against you.”
Trebling was surprised to hear Holton say this. “I know it,” he said.
Holton saw then that he hadn’t said the right thing. He tried to
explain. “I don’t mean you shouldn’t start a business. I just mean
something might go wrong.” He was saying worse things now; he stopped.
Jim changed the subject. “How do you like being out?”
“Oh, it’s pretty wonderful. Just to be able to stay in one place....”
“I guess it’s nice for a while.”
Holton sighed. “I don’t think I’ll ever travel again.”
Jim was surprised. “I thought you were going to go around the world.
Don’t you remember when we used to talk about seeing more of Italy?”
“Well, maybe sometime. I hadn’t stopped moving for very long then.”
“No, that’s right, you hadn’t.” As they talked Jim Trebling became more
uneasy. This was a person he had not met before and he was surprised
and sorry. Robert Holton had been different as a soldier.
As they talked, the words forming conventional patterns and hiding
their real thoughts, Jim thought of the war.
“You remember the time we were in Florence?”
Holton said that he remembered it very well.
They spoke then of Florence and as they talked Jim Trebling began to
remember many things.
* * * * *
The city had been liberated for several months. The war was almost over
and Holton and Trebling were able to take a week’s leave: they went to
Florence.
Parts of the city had been badly damaged. The old buildings on the Arno
had been leveled in many places but the Ponte Vecchio was still there.
These things had not been very important, however, because they had not
gone to see antiques. They had gone to rest, to meet women, and to try
to find enough liquor to get drunk on.
They stayed with a family outside of the town; they stayed in a place
called Fiesole.
Trebling remembered the house clearly: long and rambling, dirty-white
stucco with small iron balconies beneath the larger windows. A rock
garden, dusty gray-green olive trees and an unearthly view of the
valley in which was Florence.
The house belonged to a family named Bruno, friends of Robert Holton’s
mother. They had invited the two of them to stay as long as they liked:
in those days it was a good policy to have American soldiers in one’s
home.
Robert Holton had liked a girl named Carla. Trebling had liked her too,
but not as much as Holton did. He remembered one night when the three
had sat on the terrace, watching the city.
It was summer and the night was warm and vibrant. The city lights
glittered in the valley-cup; the lights were golden and flickering and
the river shone darkly.
They sat on a stone ledge, their feet dangling above the rock garden.
Carla was between them; her hair was dark and her face pale. They sat
like this, watching the lights of the city and listening to the sound
of insects whirring in the night.
And Jim had said, embarrassed by the long silence, “It’s so peaceful
here.”
The other two acted as if they had not heard him. Holton, sitting close
beside Carla, touched her.
And then she had said, “It seems like such a long time ago.” They
thought of this as they sat in the blue darkness.
Holton finally spoke, saying, “Isn’t it a shame that this has to change
again?”
They had been surprised to hear him say this; Trebling was more
surprised than Carla because, though he had known Holton longer, she
knew him better. Trebling was surprised to hear Holton speak seriously:
he was never serious at other times. He always tried to be funny.
“Why _should_ this change again?” asked Carla, looking at him,
trying to tell his expression in the dark.
Holton only sighed and said, “Because everything changes when you go
away.”