“Well, all right. I hope this doesn’t mean one of your all-night binges with your Tammany Hall friends.”
If the girls had not been there he would have given a more blistering answer than: “I should have been a doctor.”
A taxi took him to a drug store in the Grand Central zone and he tried to get Gloria on the telephone. He tried her home, several speakeasies, and—he did not quite know why—had her paged at two of the Times Square hotels. A woman he guessed was her mother said Gloria was out for dinner and the evening. It sounded so respectable, the voice and the words, that he wanted to laugh in the mouthpiece. He could not tell (and he tried) whether he was now angry with Gloria for stealing Emily’s coat, or because he had her, in his mind, grappling with some young snot-nose from Princeton. He came out of the telephone booth sweating and uncomfortable, with his hat on the back of his head. He had a Coca-Cola standing up at the fountain, and when he set the glass down on the fountain it made the hollow
cloup
sound those glasses make, but this glass must have been imperfect because it cracked and broke and he cut his finger, ever so slightly, but enough to cause an industrial crisis in the store. The pharmacist and the soda jerker were so solicitous and made him so angry with it that he was rude to them, and away went his resolution not to drink. He had been feeling so respectable and superior up to then, but the cut on his finger, which was minutely painful but enormously annoying, and the store people with their attentions got him upset. “Jesus Christ, why don’t you send for a God damn ambulance,” he said, and went out in search of a drink.
Fifty-second Street between Fifth and Sixth Avenues was packed solid with automobiles and their sound, never changing. The
eep
sound of the taxis and the
aa-oo-aa
of Lincoln town cars predominated in the chorus. It was like an evening wedding in a small town; with the invited, those who had cards, inside, and the big noise going outside independent of the rest.
He went inside and had a Scotch and soda at the bar. It appeared to be full of people trying to be late for the theater, and out-of-town men in light tan suits, drinking Old Fashioneds and laughing too loud for the humor in anything they could possibly say. Liggett did not want to talk to anyone, not even the bartenders. He drank and smoked and drank and smoked, and when his cigarette was done he ate potato chips and when his drink was done he lit another cigarette and then had more to drink. This way he waited out the people who were going to the theater, and was alone at the bar. By that time the men in the tan suits were kissing the handsome women. Those men were getting drunk much too soon, Liggett decided, getting drunk. He realized he was drinking too much and he put it up to himself squarely, whether to go home now or get really stewed. He decided to get stewed, because he would be uncomfortable if he went home, where he never got drunk; and because if he got drunk here he might think of some crazy thing to do that might lead to his finding Gloria. Where could she be? New York’s a big place, but the places Gloria went to were not many. The theater was out; she never went to the theater. The only other place she could be was in any apartment in town. Any other, from the houses that hung over the Harlem River branch of the New York Central to the apartments that hung over the East River, or in a one-room apartment in the Village, or an artist’s studio in the West Sixties, or some place on Riverside Drive. Any apartment.
He went home late, having gone to nine speakeasies in one block, having been refused admission to two others. He went home without seeing Gloria.
She was spending the evening with Eddie. She went to his apartment and they had dinner at a restaurant, where Eddie ate a lot of spaghetti, winding it expertly around his fork. They had a bottle of red wine. It was a good little restaurant, with sawdust on the floor and a pool table, where some elderly Italians played a game which Eddie never understood; something to do with shooting the cueball between two tiny bowling pins. A small radio was turned on. They did not change the dial, and the program went from music to speech to adventure story to torch-singer, with no editing on the part of the proprietor of the place. It was probably the only station that came in good, because of the “L,” which was only half a block away. Gloria and Eddie were the only Americans in the place, and no one paid any attention to them. When they wanted the waiter they had to call him from his card game with three other patrons.
“What did you do last night?” said Eddie.
“Oh, went to a movie.”
“Which one?” Eddie asked.
“The Strand.”
“What did you see?”
“Uh, Norma Shearer, in ‘Strangers May Kiss.’ “
“Oh, did you? How’d you like it? Any good?”
“Not very. I like her, though. I think she’s terribly attractive.”
“She’s a Canadian. From Montreal. You know, Montreal, Nova Scotia,” said Eddie.
“Montreal isn’t in Nova Scotia,” said Gloria.
“I know. And ‘Strangers May Kiss’ isn’t at the Strand, in case you’re interested. Of course I’m not. I don’t give a damn, only I don’t know why you think you have to lie to me.”
“Well, I could have got the theater wrong.”
“No, you couldn’t. You could have got the theater wrong, but not the picture, and ‘Strangers May Kiss’ isn’t playing on Broadway. It was, but it isn’t now. So don’t lie any more than you have to.”
“I’ll lie to you if I want to. What I do isn’t your affair anyway.”
“You won’t lie to me often, because I won’t be around to listen.”
“Why? Are you going away?”
“No. Where would I go? No, it’s just that I won’t see you. I don’t want to see you if you lie to me. I know practically everything about you that there is to know, and I don’t mind the kind of life you lead, because that’s your business. But just don’t go to all the trouble of lying to me. Save your lies for someone you have to lie to.”
“Oh—”
He laughed. “Unless of course you want to
practice
on me. You ought to do a little more practicing, by the way. If you think Norma believed that story the other night about you and your imaginary cousin and the crap game where you lost your clothes. What do you think people are? Don’t you give them credit for any sense at all? You know it’s a form of insult, making up a screwy story to explain something that you don’t have to explain. You know, Norma’s my girl, and she hasn’t any wrong ideas about us.”
“Did you tell her?”
“Certainly I told her.”
“How? What did you say to her?”
“I told her we weren’t having an affair.”
“Who brought it up? Did you say it first, or did she ask you? How did you happen to tell her?”
“I don’t know,” said Eddie, and reflected. “It was when I first knew her. She asked me if I was in love with anybody, and I said no, and she said what about the girl named Gloria that someone said I saw all the time. Someone told her I was seeing you, but all she knew was your first name. So I said you were a platonic friend, and that’s all.”
“Is it?”
“About all. Nothing else worth repeating.”
“Didn’t she say that if you and I were platonic friends, you were my only platonic friend?”
“No. Not exactly.”
“Not exactly, hah? You know she said something like that, though, don’t you?”
“A little like that. Oh, what the hell, Gloria, yes. She didn’t put it that way. She wanted to know how I could see a good-looking girl like you and keep up a platonic friendship. I mean keep it platonic.”
“And you were peeved because you thought she was laughing at you. It didn’t make you look so good to be the one man I didn’t sleep with.”
“There you’re wrong. If I started to resent that now it’d be pretty late in the game.”
“Did you ever resent it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
“Because I’m not attractive to you?”
“No. Not that either.”
“Well then,
what?”
“Well, we didn’t start off that way, is the only reason I can give right now. Do you want a psychological reason?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I haven’t got one for you. Do you want some more wine?”
“Yes, I guess I ought to have some wine from sour grapes.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” said Eddie. “Am I supposed to infer that you’re sour grapes because I like Norma better than you?”
“Why not? Isn’t that the truth?”
“No, certainly not.”
“You don’t like me because you feel superior. You know all about me and that’s why you never ask me to sleep with you.”
“I’ve asked you to sleep with me.”
“Yes. Sleep with you. Good Samaritan. When I’m tight and you think I’ll get the devil if I go home drunk. You ask me if I’ll sleep in your apartment. Why, that’s the most insulting thing you can do, in a way. It
proves
how you feel about me. You’re above my sex appeal. You could sleep with me and not feel a thing.”
“Good Lord.”
“Yes, good Lord. I’m no good. I’m not fit to touch. You’d be contaminated if you touched me. That’s the way you feel about me, isn’t it?”
“No.”
“It is! You hate me, Eddie Brunner. You can’t stand the sight of me. You’re so damned superior you—”
“Oh, stop.”
“Why should I stop? Because I’m talking too loud. I’m embarrassing you by talking too loud. That’s it, isn’t it?”
“You
are
talking above a whisper.”
“God damn it, why not? Here! You!” She called to one of the elderly Italians.
“Me, Miss?”
“Yes. Come here.”
The old man came over and tipped his hat. “Yes,” he said.
“Am I talking too loud?”
“Oh, no. Not at all, Miss. You have a good time.” He smiled at Eddie.
“I didn’t ask you if I could have a good time. I asked you if I were talking too loud.”
“Oh, no. We don’t mind it,” said the Italian.
“Doesn’t it disturb your card game to have me talking so loud?”
“No. No. Oh, no.”
“All right. You may go.”
The old man looked at her and then at Eddie, and smiled at Eddie, and then tipped his hat and went back to the game. He explained in Italian the interruption, and each of the players turned and looked at Gloria before resuming the game.
Eddie went on eating.
“There you sit,” she said.
“Uh-huh. Just as though nothing happened. Drink your wine, bad girl, and feel sorry for yourself some more. John!” The waiter came. “Another bottle of wine,” said Eddie.
They did not speak while the waiter went to fetch the wine. He opened the bottle and poured some in Gloria’s glass.
“That’s an insult!” said Gloria.
“Miss?” said the waiter.
“That’s an insult. Didn’t you see what he did? You know you’re supposed to pour it in his glass first.”
“I’ll take your glass,” said Eddie.
“That’s not the idea. He’s supposed to pour some in your glass first and then fill mine and then fill yours. You know that, so why shouldn’t he know it?”
“This wine is just bottled, Miss. It is only when the wine has been in the bottle a long time.”
“You don’t have to tell me about wine. I know more about wine than you do.”
“Yes, Miss. This is home-made wine and it is only bottled this evening.”
“I didn’t ask you the history of it. I won’t drink it. I want a highball.”
“Give her a highball. Rye and soda,” said Eddie.
“Humor her,” said Gloria. “Let her have her own way. Well, I don’t want a highball. I want another bottle of wine, and you pour it the right way, whether it was bottled in 1926 or five minutes ago. I’ve never been so insulted in all my life.”
“Are you drunk, by any chance?” said Eddie.
“No, and you know I’m not.”
“Well, what are you sore about? All right, John, another bottle of wine. What’s the matter with you, Gloria? Did someone do something to you? You’re never like this with me. In a minute I’ll begin to be sorry for myself. Maybe you hate me and you don’t want to tell me.”
“No.”
“Tell me, what is it?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You can talk to me. You always have.”
“I don’t even know what it is myself. It isn’t against you. I love you, Eddie. Oh, I’m so awful.”
“Are you in love with someone?”
“Not the way I want to be.”
“You mean me?”
“No. Yes. But you’re not the one I’m thinking of. No, it’s this Liggett.”
“You’re in love with Liggett?”
“Oh, I think so. I don’t know.”
“Does he know it?”
“No.”
“Really in love with him?”
“I am, yes. He isn’t. I know what he thinks. He thinks—well, just a pushover. First night I go out with him I go to bed with him. Even worse than that. He picked me up in a speakeasy.”
“Well, being picked up in a speakeasy is better than being picked up in the Grand Central station.”
“Why did you say that! Answer me!
Why did you say that?”
“Hell’s bells, I don’t know. Did I say the wrong thing?”
“What made you say the Grand Central station? What do you know about the Grand Central station?”
“Well—it’s—a
station.”
“You said it was better to be picked up in a speakeasy than in Grand Central. Why did you say that? Do you know anything about my being picked up in the Grand Central?”
“No, were you?”
“Oh, God. Oh, Eddie. Take me out of here. Let’s go to your apartment.”
“Sure. John! Tell John I don’t want the wine. Just bring the check.”
They went home and she told him about Dr. Reddington. She spent the night there because she was afraid, and Eddie went to sleep in a chair, watching her while pretending to read. He became exhausted by the first experience of the desire to kill a man.
• • •
The next morning, Tuesday, Liggett got awake with an average hangover, the kind that reminded him of mornings after football games and boat races, except that after a night’s drinking like last night’s he could count on partial recovery within a few minutes after answering the call of nature, and after a day of strenuous athletics nature does not always call, at least not before he was at top form. It always seemed to Liggett that too hard rowing stiffened the muscles of the intestines, resulting in constipation, which resulted in boils. Drinking had for him no such effect. A trip to the bathroom and the worst of this kind of hangover was gone. A shot of tomato juice with a generous dash of Worcestershire sauce, and a cup of black coffee and a plate of cream of tomato soup—that was his breakfast on mornings like this.