“Music, isnt it?” put in Ellen laughing. “I always say mischief.”
“Well how’s college?” asked Baldwin in a dry uncordial voice.
“I guess it’s still there,” said Stan blushing. “I wish they’d burn it down before I got back.” He got to his feet. “You must excuse me Mr. Baldwin. … My intrusion was infernally rude.” As he turned leaning towards Ellen she smelled his grainy whiskey breath. “Please forgive it, Miss Oglethorpe.”
She found herself holding out her hand; a dry skinny hand squeezed it hard. He strode out with swinging steps bumping into a waiter as he went.
“I cant make out that infernal young puppy,” burst out Baldwin. “Poor old Emery’s heartbroken about it. He’s darn clever and has a lot of personality and all that sort of thing, but all he does is drink and raise Cain. … I guess all he needs is to go to work and get a sense of values. Too much money’s what’s the matter with most of those collegeboys. … Oh but Elaine thank God we’re alone again. I have worked continuously all my life ever since I was fourteen. The time has come when I want to lay aside all that for a while. I want to live and travel and think and be happy. I cant stand the pace of downtown the way I used to. I want to learn to play, to ease off the tension. … That’s where you come in.”
“But I don’t want to be the nigger on anybody’s safety-valve.” She laughed and let the lashes fall over her eyes.
“Let’s go out to the country somewhere this evening. I’ve been stifling in the office all day. I hate Sunday anyway.”
“But my rehearsal.”
“You could be sick. I’ll phone for a car.”
“Golly there’s Jojo. … Hello Jojo”; she waved her gloves above her head.
John Oglethorpe, his face powdered, his mouth arranged in a careful smile above his standup collar, advanced between the crowded tables, holding out his hand tightly squeezed into buff gloves with black stripes. “Heow deo you deo, my deah, this is indeed a surprise and a pleajah.”
“You know each other, don’t you? This is Mr. Baldwin.”
“Forgive me if I intrude … er … upon a tête à tête.”
“Nothing of the sort, sit down and we’ll all have a highball. … I was just dying to see you really Jojo. … By the way if you havent anything else to do this evening you might slip in down front for a few minutes. I want to know what you think about my reading of the part. …”
“Certainly my deah, nothing could give me more pleajah.”
His whole body tense George Baldwin leaned back with his hand clasped behind the back of his chair. “Waiter …” He broke his words off sharp like metal breaking. “Three Scotch highballs at once please.”
Oglethorpe rested his chin on the silver ball of his cane. “Confidence, Mr. Baldwin,” he began, “confidence between husband and wife is a very beautiful thing. Space and time have no effect on it. Were one of us to go to China for a thousand years it would not change our affection one tittle.”
“You see George, what’s the matter with Jojo is that he read too much Shakespeare in his youth. … But I’ve got to go or Merton will be bawling me out again. … Talk about industrial slavery. Jojo tell him about Equity.”
Baldwin got to his feet. There was a slight flush on his cheekbones. “Wont you let me take you up to the theater,” he said through clenched teeth.
“I never let anyone take me anywhere … And Jojo you must stay sober to see me act.”
Fifth Avenue was pink and white under pink and white clouds in a fluttering wind that was fresh after the cloying talk and choke of tobaccosmoke and cocktails. She waved the taxistarter off merrily and smiled at him. Then she found a pair of anxious eyes looking into hers seriously out of a higharched brown face.
“I waited round to see you come out. Cant I take you somewhere? I’ve got my Ford round the corner. … Please.”
“But I’m just going up to the theater. I’ve got a rehearsal.”
“All right do let me take you there.”
She began putting a glove on thoughtfully. “All right, but it’s an awful imposition on you.”
“That’s fine. It’s right round here. … It was awfully rude of me to butt in that way, wasn’t it? But that’s another story. … Anyway I’ve met you. The Ford’s name is Dingo, but that’s another story too. …”
“Still it’s nice to meet somebody humanly young. There’s nobody humanly young round New York.”
His face was scarlet when he leaned to crank the car. “Oh I’m too damn young.”
The motor sputtered, started with a roar. He jumped round and cut off the gas with a long hand. “We’ll probably get arrested; my muffler’s loose and liable to drop off.”
At Thirtyfourth Street they passed a girl riding slowly through the traffic on a white horse; chestnut hair hung down in even faky waves over the horse’s chalky rump and over the giltedged saddlecloth where in green letters pointed with crimson read Danderine.
“Rings on her fingers,” chanted Stan pressing his buzzer, “And bells on her toes, And she shall cure dandruff wherever it grows.”
II
Longlegged Jack of the Isthmus
Noon on Union Square. Selling out. Must vacate. We have made a terrible mistake. Kneeling on the dusty asphalt little boys shine shoes lowshoes tans buttonshoes oxfords. The sun shines like a dandelion on the toe of each new-shined shoe. Right this way buddy, mister miss maam at the back of the store our new line of fancy tweeds highest value lowest price … Gents, misses, ladies, cutrate … We have made a terrible mistake. Must vacate.
Noon sunlight spirals dimly into the chopsuey joint. Muted music spirals Hindustan. He eats fooyong, she eats chowmein. They dance with their mouths full, slim blue jumper squeezed to black slick suit, peroxide curls against black slick hair.
Down Fourteenth Street, Glory Glory comes the Army, striding lasses, Glory Glory four abreast, the rotund shining,
