Authors: J. P. Donleavy
T
HE
square high vast room. Two A.M. More arrivals. Throats of pearl. Wrists of diamonds. Hearts of. Who knows. I'm throwing no pebbles. With vaults of bullion. And followed Miss Tomson down her spiral staircase back into the crowded voices. Hands reach out for Sally.
Slip away now behind her back because I feel a stranger. To hide. From people together like this. They see me. My myth gets shaken and shattered. Lift a morsel from this passing tray. Thank you. No spiders anywhere. My God Her Majesty is popular. No one coming to my little corner to ask me who I am. Who are you. I yam der yingle humperkink. Vas ist das. Nooding.
Winter air in the door from the terrace. Blazing logs under the head high marble mantel. And a portrait of Sally. Holding Goliath on lead, top a windswept bluff. Milkweed and stormy bright spring flowers. Poor Merry Mansions just hasn't got what it takes. Too late to buy the top tip of a building. Rent some cheap space under the water tank.
Smith near a doorway. Dark serving girl taking and hanging coats. Miss T. took mine. Never even asked where the sable went. Or come back to talk to me. Don't go down. And as I went into Merry tonight, with Her Majesty. Hugo. Came snapping to attention. Saluting Queen Evangiline. Bowing, kissing her hand. As I nearly fell through the glass door. To find. I had to draw her by the elbow away. Out of her animated foreign conversation. Unearthing Matilda, who thank God, thought Her Majesty worthy of an instant invitation to The Tabernacle Of The Dark Complexioned Redeemer. And I asked her point blank. What's this with Hugo. How I stumbled once drunk into Merry. Handing out commands. As one does when fried. In the eye of Hugo as I barked a few parade ground manoeuvres. I saw that burning fleck of obedience. The soldier's eye. Would follow me in revolution. Your Majesty, who is he. George, heavens. A former officer of my household cavalry. When I had a household, when I had a cavalry. I took a handful of the royal backside. To giggles. When she was a girl.
Two black shoe toes appearing beneath Smith's downcast eyes. And standing astride apart, the champagne in my hand just between.
"Who are you a friend of. Friend."
"I
beg your pardon."
"You ever had a picture in the paper. Maybe a magazine. You're familiar."
Face leaning in over Smith's sparkling glass. Temperature up one's rear always runs one degree higher. Short hair sticking up on a head out of a blue suit. Rises up on the toes. Down on heels. Legs spread. Rocking back and forth.
"I like to observe when others are not aware. You appear to me a guy who doesn't let a party waste time.
By the way, it's Ralph."
"I see."
"You."
"Smith's the name."
"Hey not George."
"No perhaps not."
"Hey, it's George. Sure. Glad I jumped to a conclusion. I mean here, have a canap6. This is indicative. You stand in one spot and don't move. That's what I would have thought you would have done. You want to know by what route I was led here."
'What route."
"There she is. I thought she's got class. Right. Right. The mature woman. Of beauty. Hey I witness no rings on your fingers."
"No."
"Strange. So O.K. I go up to this personage. Sure. Let's admit. It figures a personage. Sally doesn't kid around. As who can afford to. So I says, same approach, note, who are you a friend of. Then in the most beautiful voice, like yours maybe, she says. I'm sweet. Hey, I'm telling you. Said I was sweet. I mean she could have said push off, crumb. I mean, right. Right."
"Yes."
"Well. I'm smiling. Naturally. I'm thinking wow. This dame. Maybe she's forty but you don't care, eighty, who cares. Standing right there she's thirty one. In any he man's language. Course I told you, my name's Ralph."
"Yes."
"Then she just waves her hand. See. Like this. Here's this whole room. But the way she did it, that hand waves right to you. She said, there's my friend. Man, I said, here are real beautiful people. Quality people. Well for Christ's sake, you're George Smith. See. How could I imagine. I mean, just what I would imagine. Well well. Here. Pour you a drink"
"Thanks."
"I'm out of words. For a second. And you just staring down at the floor. Come on. Who did you just sell up the river. Let's be frank. I mean I don't mind telling a guy like you the lousy things I did. You know Sally gave me a shot one night, for just what I said to you. Her brother's a friend of mine. It's amazing."
"What's amazing."
"You would hit a cripple into the tracks. So who knows two sides to every story. Some of the biggest operators in this town are here. You wonder how they make their money. I mean, that's just a reflection in passing. See the hairy guy, that's Al. He's a no fooling guy. You ever heard of Jiffy. Got a lot of interests, maybe even gravel pits. Another no fooling guy. I mean now, Sally could have got me up to his place. I tell you. Like a real castle. His wife is bald. O you knew that."
"No."
"He's insane about Sally. O you knew that too."
"No."
"He shot her dog."
"I know that."
"Hey prize. You knew that. A canap6. Caviar. You don't mind I call you George. I mean someone with your accent might not like it, first names just like that. You see I know."
"George is all right."
"O.K. George, here's the caviar. You know this is a great moment in my life to meet you. No kidding. And boy I'm impressed, everybody throws dough around to make themselves look good living. So what refreshment, a guy. Who wants to look good dead. Right."
"Perhaps."
"I've seen it. Your mortuary. Went up there night after I read the mention. It's swell. Now what do you do."
"What do you mean."
"Why you send me an invitation to the bust out."
"I beg your pardon."
"Hey. The memorial opening. Like decorations won't be worn. Some touch that is. Decorations. So I don't have any."
"Pity."
"Shake. I feel you're a real friend of Sally's. She hates my guts. Thinks I ruined her brother's career. I sweated my ass for him. I nearly had to come in the service entrance tonight, that girl's ruthless. I mean I don't mean she's not nice. She's just God damn ruthless. Do you know, in the garage of this building, three hand made cars, the kind you get a flat and have to send it back to the factory. Hey, just off the record. You packing anything."
"I beg your pardon."
"A rod. You know. Bang bang. Rumours around, you travel under armour. Just thought I saw a bulge under the jacket. I mean, none of my business."
"Perhaps not."
"A sharp eye. You know, I really admire you. It's engraved ivory. The handle. You shouldn't lean over like that. Doesn't it make you sad."
"What."
"Guys blasting. When they could argue insults. So what's words, if maybe you said the wrong thing the first time. I mean look at me. I'm nervous now, you got me nervous. I said things. Look forget what I said. You're a swell guy. I mean. Just wish I didn't see the gun. That's all."
"You didn't see it."
"You're right. So right. I'm blind."
"What's your earning power."
"Mr. Smith I'm glad you asked me that question. Really, I am. It's just I don't want to damage our friendship by mentioning it with a figure right now. I could give you my job history."
"Shoot."
"Don't say that word. But listen. You're ruthless."
"I yam der yingle humperdink."
"What's that lingo. Why don't you talk. Could we do a deal I mean you could have the upper hand."
"No."
"You think I'm the human condition at its lowest."
"Yes."
"Can I pick up the telephone and call you sometime."
"No."
Sally Tomson across the room. Lifting her chin. A flat final line of her lips as she stepped from group to group. Four cars below. Handmade. Nudge me under the tennis balls, Sally. Kiss your flowering parts. World's so big. All in one room. High above the streets over a staggering stack of humanity sound asleep.
Ralph with his hair plastered down. Cruising elsewhere. Smith letting the great thoughts of the century float by. And Miss Martin shoots them down with her rifle. To let strange horrors come to mind. Standing here. Sally's brother shouting he screwed my sister. I'd take a bow. In front of all these spongy hearts. Time to leave. Step down into the rapid transit system forever. Get Herbert's coat. Collect Her Majesty.
"Smithy, you're not leaving."
"Yes."
Miss Tomson standing in front of Smith. Taking his elbow. Leading him backwards. Across the foyer. Staring in his eyes. As if a slap had landed on her face and she slumped, hanging to my lapels, looking up. Blue. Like the flag raised to the mainmast. Five minutes before sailing. As we float into a bedroom. All pink, couched and satiny. Deep silled window. Stars out there in the long night. Cold in heaven. And motor birds crossing the sky with a pencil ray of light pointing towards Bonniface cooped up with his trusty bottle in the mop closet. Alone with his secrets.
Behind a wall of sliding doors. Sally Tomson's clothes. Glass case of little gleaming square boxes just like the automat and in each, a pair of shoes, gleaming, precious, slippers, gold and silver. A table, two lotions, three waters, four perfumes. Fewer than I thought. Her face when it lay cupped in my hands. Her mouth open over her teeth in the tiniest most exquisite of smiles.
"Hey what is this Smithy you're going."
"Yes."
"O."
"It was marvellous."
"That isn't a word you'd ever use Smithy if you meant it."
"I do. I enjoyed myself."
"Stay."
"It's good to look at you, Sally. I like you."
"Smithy you're easily pleased by beautiful things. And we never even scratched each other like monkeys."
"When can I see you again."
"Come on, Smithy. You talk like you're never going to see me again."
"Can I see you again."
"Shit.Yesh."
"What's the matter."
"I don't know. But. Yesh. You can see me."
Miss Tomson, slender satin straps, holding lightly the fabric over her bosom. Soft swelling lines, the gentle nipples. Smiling and doubling up her fist, leaning back with a wink and slow motion and clipping Smith lightly on the jaw as he rolled with the punch.
"Nice moving, Smithy."
"Guess I'll get my coat."
"You could have been a fighter."
"I've taken instead to foil, epee, saber."
"There's so much I want to say, Smithy."
"Say it."
"There really is but no time."
"You won't miss my funeral. When the bullets blot me out."
"No no. You give them hell Smithy. Make your bark more scary than your bite. Then you avoid using the teeth too much. They won't get you."
"You're on my side."
"Yesh."
"Should we shake hands."
"Yesh."
"I like your bedroom."
"I stretch and yawn here every morning for three hours."
"Wish I was here."
"Smithy I know. I know."
"I do."
"Be patient. You line up with a woman don't you. And you never leave her. You might add more women. You never leave any of them."
"Save a page."
"Of what."
"Your appointment diary. It's there, by the phone. Put me in."
"Sure. What day do you want."
"Any day."
"Afternoons on Thursdays. I'm not kidding."
"I'm not either."
"Smithy, let's have the now. Although the past is nice to have around as well. I want to grab it right now."
"Grab it."
"Wow. I yam der yingle. Ralph said you said."
"Shake it goodbye. You humperdink."
"O gee. It's saying hello. It's shaking my hand."
"Sally, my God we're being watched."
"Whoops. Beat it Ralph."
"O yeah, sure."
Ralph, his back hiding a frown all over his face clicking the door closed behind these two lovers.
"Tell me, Smithy, is it true."
"What."
"About the machine you have installed. That claps and roars. Out of a loud speaker."
"Who told you that."
"I'm not telling. Does it really roar and cheer."
"Yes. At the end of a sentence."
"Why do you need it."
"When I'm lonely, sometimes, and feel powerless."
"O come on."
"Just nice to stand in my room in Dynamo. Switch it on, on a bereft Saturday afternoon. Has a seeing eye. Shake a fist. Thirty five thousand voices roaring. It says on the label."
"And if you let this out. And waved it. Flashed it to the machine."
"Yes. Roars and claps."
"I'll join that, Smithy, you know when I tried to phone you the last day or two. I had dreams about you. You were wearing pyjamas and spectacles and you stood at a window after opening these heavy metal shutters. And you know what you were holding. A pneumatic drill."
"I beg your pardon."
"I was a street girl walking in front of an opera house. You came out with the drill. I came up to you talking another language and wagging my ass. Followed you right by your shoulder, you didn't even look. Then I just stopped and watched a bunch of guys dressed in blue with big thick leather boots coming up out of a sewer in the road. They were saying hi to each other, like long lost friends. Some dream. A bellybuster. Don't go, now. Stay."
"I must."
"I keep leaving all my guests for you. Claude had to run out for a minute."
Smith's hand on Tomson's backside. Quiet light of her bedroom. A servants elevator up to this labyrinthine house of hers, touching the clouds. You sleep with a lot of men, said it was too much trouble to fight. Easier to let them in. Nearly kept me out. On an island surrounded by milk white water. See through the crack in your bathroom door, rozy marble and steps to a sunken bath. Feel poor. With a flick of your fingernail your world is so full of blue and gold. My bath stands on makeshift cast iron lion paws. And you step down into yours, like a beach with two tides a day. And all I have is a little rubber pillow to rest my head while I wallow. I need the cheering, roars of crowds. Once the machine went wrong, something slipped. Just as I was shouting Til win. And thirty five thousand voices went hee hee.