"Swell."
"I'm glad to hear it! What can we do for you?"
"It's a long, fascinating story that I'd like to run up and tell you."
"Be a pleasure. I'm losing at bridge. Looking for an out." She
chuckled. "Stingers? Side cars? What shall I get ready?"
"Coffee."
"Better still! Viola keeps a percolator on--but I'll have her make it
fresh. Usually--it's like French pot-au-feu--goes on forever."
"You've doubtless--moved--?"
"Moved! We're Manhattan's most displaced persons!" She gave me a high
number on the West Side.
There was never a rush hour at Hattie's. But two a.m. was what might
be called the peak. It embarrassed no one: she had plenty of sitting
rooms. In any case, most of the customers knew one another--and knew
one another as clients.
A white marble lobby. An elevator with much gilded fretwork. It was
operated by a Negro with an exceedingly noncommittal face. Only one
door in the hall on the top floor. A good-sized apartment building, I
thought, as I pushed the bell and heard the chimes; hence a good-sized
bordello. The colored girl who had answered the phone answered the
door, keeping the chain attached. I told her my name.
The foyer was dim and modernistic. Two halls branched from it. I could
see doors along both--and hear music.
"Jes' follow me, please."
She said it all night.
The perfumes mingled, the way they do. It is a woman's
medley--expensive or cheap--with no other detectable difference. One
door was open. Two girls sat there--pale, straight hair that fell to
a sharp, sculptured point over a book and a pair of shimmering, nylon
legs.
Viola went on.
She opened another door. Hattie was standing at the window in a green
dress--her once-sleek orange hair dyed black, now, and fluffed out--her
ankles no longer slim--and when she turned I hid, as all of us do, my
inner response to the etching of the interval--that very Time which
I so recently had seen to be without importance. She was now about
fifty-five.
"Phil," she said, "this is nice! You don't seem a day older--just
wiser. But look at me!"
"Brunette."
"A harridan. The warmest heart in the world--and what happens? The
opposite of Dorian Grey. I blame it on the high morals and low conduct
of the cops. Hard years. I loved Fiorello--and he despised every bone
in my body. I was even over in Jersey for a while. It was the lowest
period in my life. Sit down over there in the red chair. Viola, bring
us coffee. You know--I've often thought about you--when I read your
books--or when one of the girls did--or when I read something of yours
in a magazine. You aren't around here much, any more, though, are you?"
I shook my head. "Miami Beach. And now--we're building a house in
Miami."
"Florida. I went down last winter. Had a cold I simply couldn't
shake. Stayed at the Steinberg-Riviera. Hell of a place, Miami Beach!
Wonderful weather, period. Everybody on the make. Shake a palm and out
drops a chippy. A madam with ethics would starve there--and the news
about good taste hasn't got south of the Mason and Dixon Line."
"I always think of it as the end of the American dream."
"It's the end, anyhow. Phil. Do you really want to see me? Because if
you're being polite for old time's sake--maybe you'd rather put off the
sentimental chitchat till later."
Hattie is a thoughtful dame.
I was about to laugh at her when an abrupt inquiry held me for a second
or two. I was surprised--a little. But the question postponed itself.
"I came up--solely and utterly to call on you, Hattie."
She shrugged one shoulder. She yawned. "Maybe we can return your
calls. We used to. But--really--I'm delighted. Except when you
were--overburdened--you were always fun to have around. It's a dull
life--just being chaperon to a lot of whores. And it seems to me the
boys aren't interested in philosophy any more. They used to spend
more time chinning than cheating, around here. Back in the old days
of humanism and liberalism and Coué and the market boom, when the
world was full of fun. Why--I had to scout local campuses for girls
who could keep in the debates! Now--the boys just come in tight and
preoccupied--ask for a girl by hair color, like picking out paint for
a kitchen--pay--and scram. I can't recall how long it's been since we
held one of those impromptu breakfasts--for the celebrities and plain
people who happened to be around! It's depressing!"