was a novel should be... a dull, mechanical sort. And you're just the opposite.”
“I was reading it because I was bored with myself. How did you know that George Moore line?”
She shrugged. “Stayed in my mind. First because I thought the fruitless years would be a good theme for a song lyric. Then, because it's so true. Our values are all based on comparison, and if you go along on a pretty even level, you never will know great passion, great love or great sorrow.”
“Yeah, but isn't that learning it the hard way?”
“Lately I've found you don't learn anything the easy way. Like tonight, because both of us are down on our luck, the money we have seems like a million dollars to us. A rich slob wouldn't be excited about winning a...”
The cabbie double-parked, said, “Here ya are.”
The meter said we owed him 70 cents, and when I gave him the fifty-dollar bill, he said, “Mac, you must have been celebrating since yesterday. I ain't got change for no green this long.”
“I'll see if I can get change in the restaurant,” I said, embarrassed. “Don't have anything smaller.”
Elma took a dollar out of her bag, handed it to him. As we went into the restaurant, I said, “I'll pay you, soon as I change....”
“Stop it, Marsh, stop acting like we're still poor people. We're a pair of the most highly paid people in the world— over two thousand dollars for less than ten minutes work,” she said, teasing me.
It was about nine-thirty and the place was pretty empty. We took a corner booth and ordered cocktails and two thick steaks with all the trimmings. Now that the excitement was over—or just beginning—I looked at Elma more closely. Her blue suit, the gray blouse, the cloth coat trimmed with some sort of cheap fur—all seemed well kept; the way a person with only a few clothes takes care of her things.
Her face was far from pretty, in the classical sense, but then what the hell is classical beauty? Her features might even be called sloppy, the odd slanted eyes, and the contrasting overlarge mouth. But the soft lines were interesting, and whatever makes for warmth and intelligence in a face was there—lots of it.
“Okay,” she said, “I stared at you, so it's your turn.”
“You have an exciting face.”
“You just say that because I have money.”
“As a sculptor, I say you have a wonderful face.”
“Tell me about your work. I don't know a thing about statues. There you see, I'm sure there's more to sculpting than 'statues.'”
“Statues is good enough. I go in for what they call objective realism. See, I'm crazy for Rodin's works, and strictly against non-objective shapery that...”
“Good Lord, what's that?”
“All this so-called extreme modernism—that's usually only understood by the artist himself. I'm striving for art that can be understood at once, don't go for this stuff about you-got-to-educate-the-people before they can enjoy your work. In one of Malvina Hoffman's books on art she quotes a Paul Valery who wrote:
It depends on him who passes by
Whether I'm a tomb or a treasure,
Whether I speak or keep silent.
This rests with you,
Friend, do not enter without desire.
“Well, I see it this way....”
“I like that,” Elma said. “Sometimes a poem really gets under your skin. This does.”
“And the same for art. If the average person can't tell if your work is a treasure or a tomb, then it's
As the waiter brought our steaks, Elma said, “Honesty is the key to all things. Why I'm here with you, even back in the radio studio when you were snotty, it was a snotty kind of honesty. Say, does that make sense?”
I nodded. “Everything about you makes sense. That's what I see in your face, realness... honesty. And it can't be merely skin deep. Why in 1914 when Rodin heard about the war breaking, he said, 'Oh civilization—the civilization of man! It's a bad coat of paint that comes off when it rains.' See what I mean, he was honest in all his thoughts— art was life to him. Why next to da Vinci, Rodin was one of the greatest all-around men the world has ever...”
I talked and talked, even talked my steak cold. I rambled on and on as if to make up for all the months of loneliness, of
“What was supposed to happen after the winter?” she asked, pushing her plate away with a sigh.
“First, I had to see if I had any ability. This was my first attempt at sculpting full time. If I can do it, I want to make small works, nothing more than a foot high, so they'll be within anybody's pocketbook range Not that size alone determines price, but for Christsakes, where could a family living in two or three rooms put a six-foot figure, even if they got it as a gift? I'll make small objects of beauty, capture the realism of nature and life in my clay, solid, yet living-in movement. I figure there will be a market among people who never had a chance before to buy anything except an insipid cupid doll, or a gaudy figurine, or one of those crummy brass horses. But I didn't get started, ran out of dough.”
“Now what, little artist?”
I laughed, in love with her mouth every time she talked. “Now? I been living on seven bucks a week, spent all my time trying to keep warm, something in my belly. I'd walk up and down the beach after a storm, picking up fish that had been washed ashore, waiting for me all nice and frozen....”
“Nature's deep freeze.”
“Yeah. Telling you this so you'll understand what a big deal winning this money is to me. It's a miracle, a fantastic gift. Now... my God! With twelve hundred bucks.... Oh man, I'll really give it a try. I'm going back to Sandyhook, get me a winter house... one with heat and light, hot water, buy a... Hey, I'm gassing too much, and all about boring me. Let's start over—where shall we go tonight?”
“I don't know. I can't drink much, these three cocktails are past my limit. And I certainly can't eat any more... so... what?”
“Taking in a midnight show would be a sad way of spending New Year's Eve. Know a few parties, but...” I didn't want to take Elma to any party, listen to the attempts at being oh-so-clever, the small talk... sharing her with all the people. It was hard to believe I had her alone... and we were going so fast... so fast.
“I have a party we could go to,” she said. “Except I haven't seen the people for months and... I don't feel up to that.”
“Tough spot, lousy with dough and no place to go. Sometimes I keep thinking this
“I hope that's a compliment.”
“Come on, Elma, we're way past the coy stage. I've never seen anybody as beautiful as you are.” And I kept thinking, Slow down, you've only known her a few hours, slow down... don't spoil this, you
“Now who's being coy? You're pretty too. Not just the big shoulders, but the rugged bitterness in your face. Listen to me, and to you.... I'm not even ordinary-pretty.”
“Stop it, stop fishing for compliments because I'm the guy to give them to you. Beauty is an individual thing and to me—you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen.”
She studied me for a moment—those exciting slant eyes —said, “Marsh, I think you actually mean that.”
“I do.”
“Well it's the nicest... God, the waiter's bringing us more drinks. And who ordered the strawberry shortcake?”
“We did.”
“Don't think I can put it down. One thing we'll have to do is take a long walk— work some of this food off. I'm wearing a new garter belt and it's killing my... Why are you looking at me that way? I say something wrong?”
“Wrong? No. What do you see on my face?”
“I don't know exactly. Sort of a pained expression, or... What is it?”
“Elma, we've been moving along at a fast pace these few hours we've known each other and...” I stopped. I didn't want to talk out of turn, ruin things, yet when she said garter belt I had such a vivid picture of long slim legs in sheer stockings, the flash of her bare thighs and round hips... and I wanted her so much I had to stop talking, or come right out and ask her... and we couldn't be going
I tried to cover up by gulping a cocktail, mumbling, “Come on, take a drink.”
“I'm high now. Marsh, what's happened, you look so strained, so...?”
“Elma, stop it.”
She giggled. “But what...?”
The giggle tore things. I said slowly, “All right. When you said garter belt, I pictured you... Elma, I want you!”
Then the words came bursting out, stumbling over my tongue. “Don't get sore, we're just going fast, awful fast. I'm not slipping you a line, the old one-two or... I didn't want to spoil things. I'm sorry.”
Her face seemed a mask I couldn't understand as she said, “Why should you be sorry? It's no crime to tell somebody you want them, only...”
“Only what?”
“Nothing.”
“What is it?”
“Well we are racing along
