“You make it impossible, Beth. I suppose it’s beside the point that I meant to be. I didn’t organize the jam session.” He followed her into her office and she turned and faced him while he talked. “Mitch was honest with you, and what happens? You force a man to use his ingenuity, Beth.” It was the rare kind of compliment she couldn’t resist. “Mitch says, ‘Beth, I’d like to see you again, will you go out with me this weekend?’ and gets a flat ‘No.’ So what am I supposed to do? Throw myself against the same brick wall?” He smiled at her and she had to laugh. “You can’t say I’m not being honest now,” he said.
“Still, Charlie,” she said in a gentler voice, “it must be hard on Mitch.” She was arguing for Laura, not for Mitch.
“Look, Beth, we had this out together. We both wanted to see you, we had a big argument over it, we finally decided to leave it up to you. It was the only way. Mitch called first. Then I called. He knows I called. My God, I’m not keeping any secrets.”
Beth said firmly to herself, I can’t go out. But she didn’t say it to Charlie and when she looked up at him her resolution began to falter.
“Now, where’s your coat?” he said, lifting a gray one from the rack. “This it?”
“No. Won’t you please give up and go away?”
“This one?”
Oh, Laura—I can’t help it, I want to go….
“Hey, Beth?” A girl put her head in the door. “Oops, sorry!” she said, catching sight of Charlie. “You leaving?”
“Well, I—what is it, Doris?”
“Nothing vital. Entertainment committee. You can see ’em tomorrow.” She grinned at Charlie and left.
“Well, that’s settled,” said Charlie. “Which coat?”
“The tan one.”
“That’s more like it.” He smiled and held it for her and she slipped into it with the feeling that she was slipping into a trap. She expected to pay for it somehow, but at the moment payment seemed far off.
They walked briskly over to Maxie’s and Charlie talked with her all the way, holding her arm, stopping her at curbs, leading her around puddles. Now she liked it and now it annoyed her but the curious excitement of being with Charlie overwhelmed her other feelings.
“Your friend Emily is over there,” he said.
“She is?” Beth was vaguely upset. She would rather have had her escapade unobserved, but better Emmy than Laura.
“Yeah. Bud’s playing. He’s got her hypnotized.”
“It’s a way he has.” And as a matter of fact it was true that he had held Emmy’s affections longer than any other boy she knew.
“I’d like to know when that guy studies,” Charlie went on. “Jesus, I only study the bare minimum myself. He studies about half as much as I do. Every time I go over to Maxie’s he’s down there playing. Damn near lives there, I guess.”
Bud managed to stay in music school by conducting all his practice sessions down in Maxie’s basement. Everybody loved it except his professors. He saw them only on the rare occasions when he went to class.
At the door to Maxie’s Beth tried to hesitate once more, in deference to her conscience, but it was too late. Charlie pushed the door open with one hand and pushed Beth inside with the other.
“Get in there, girl, and behave yourself,” he said.
She turned to glare at him and ended up laughing and doing as he told her. “One beer,” she said weakly. “One.”
The music floated up from downstairs. Maxie had moved the band permanently to the basement in the interest of maintaining the public peace. They went down the narrow flight of stairs to a huge dimly lit room full of long tables and smoke and music. The tables were full of people and the people were full of beer, as a general rule.
Bud was regaling the crowd with a trombone solo when Beth and Charlie found seats in a booth, and Emily was sitting on the floor of the bandstand at his feet, leaning against the piano.
“See?” said Charlie with a grin. He helped her out of her coat. “Be right back,” he said, and went off to get beer.
Beth took out a cigarette and settled back to watch Bud perform. He stood with his head cocked toward the trumpet, building a duet for the clarinet to coast on. There was a cigarette jutting from his left hand and his shirt sleeves were rolled halfway up his long forearms. His legs were set wide apart and his right foot beat steadily on the stand beneath it. He belonged wholly at that moment to the melody and rhythm he was making, and Emily belonged wholly to him.
Beth studied them with the strange little prick of foreboding that Bud always inspired in her. It wasn’t that she didn’t like him; he was, as everybody said, a great guy. But he was no great guy to fall in love with. His eyes were always busy with other women and his head was full of music. He was crazy about Emmy, but he didn’t love her. Beth didn’t think he ever would. It wasn’t Emmy’s personal failure; he was just made that way. Some men are.
Charlie set a quart of beer under her nose and pushed her over into the booth. She looked up at him and smiled. He kept shoving until he had her pinned against the wall.
“Are you going to let me get away with this?” he said.
“Hell, no. I’m a lady,” said Beth.
“Beth honey, you swear too much.”
“I know,” she said, “it’s a defense mechanism.”
He slid away from her and poured her beer. Beth felt the release of pressure from his body with regret. She watched him while he poured, wondering what it was that made her follow him, smile against her will at him, feel content just to look at him.
“Drink up,” he
