“That’s the trouble with you, you’ll never make good, you’re too upstage.” She looked up at him with streaming eyes that glistened in the white powdery light of an arclamp.
“Oh don’t cry for God’s sake. I didnt mean anythin.”
“I’m not upstage with you Morris, am I?” She sniffed and wiped her eyes.
“You are kinda, that’s what makes me sore. I like my little girl to pet me an love me up a little. Hell Cassie life aint all beer an sourkraut.” As they walked tightly pressed one to another they felt rock under their feet. They were on a little hill of granite outcrop with shrubbery all round. The lights from the buildings that hemmed in the end of the Park shone in their faces. They stood apart holding each other’s hands.
“Take that redhaired girl up at 105th Street. … I bet she wouldnt be upstage when she was alone with a feller.”
“She’s a dweadful woman, she dont care what kind of a wep she has. … Oh I think you’re howid.” She began to cry again.
He pulled her to him roughly, pressed her to him hard with his spread hands on her back. She felt her legs tremble and go weak. She was falling through colored shafts of faintness. His mouth wouldnt let her catch her breath.
“Look out,” he whispered pulling himself away from her. They walked on unsteadily down the path through the shrubbery. “I guess it aint.”
“What Morris?”
“A cop. God it’s hell not havin anywhere to go. Cant we go to your room?”
“But Morris they’ll all see us.”
“Who cares? They all do it in that house.”
“Oh I hate you when you talk that way. … Weal love is all pure and lovely. … Morris you don’t love me.”
“Quit pickin on me cant you Cassie for a minute … ? Goddam it’s hell to be broke.”
They sat down on a bench in the light. Behind them automobiles slithered with a constant hissing scuttle in two streams along the roadway. She put her hand on his knee and he covered it with his big stubby hand.
“Morris I feel that we are going to be very happy from now on, I feel it. You’re going to get a fine job, I’m sure you are.”
“I aint so sure. … I’m not so young as I was Cassie. I aint got any time to lose.”
“Why you’re terribly young, you’re only thirtyfive Morris. … And I think that something wonderful is going to happen. I’m going to get a chance to dance.”
“Why you ought to make more than that redhaired girl.”
“Elaine Oglethorpe. … She doesnt make so much. But I’m different from her. I dont care about money; I want to live for my dancing.”
“I want money. Once you got money you can do what you like.”
“But Morris dont you believe that you can do anything if you just want to hard enough? I believe that.” He edged his free arm round her waist. Gradually she let her head fall on his shoulder. “Oh I dont care,” she whispered with dry lips. Behind them limousines, roadsters, touringcars, sedans, slithered along the roadway with snaky glint of lights running in two smooth continuous streams.
The brown serge smelled of mothballs as she folded it. She stooped to lay it in the trunk; a layer of tissuepaper below rustled when she smoothed the wrinkles with her hand. The first violet morning light outside the window was making the electriclight bulb grow red like a sleepless eye. Ellen straightened herself suddenly and stood stiff with her arms at her sides, her face flushed pink. “It’s just too low,” she said. She spread a towel over the dresses and piled brushes, a handmirror, slippers, chemises, boxes of powder in pellmell on top of them. Then she slammed down the lid of the trunk, locked it and put the key in her flat alligatorskin purse. She stood looking dazedly about the room sucking a broken fingernail. Yellow sunlight was obliquely drenching the chimneypots and cornices of the houses across the street. She found herself staring at the white E. T. O. at the end of her trunk. “It’s all too terribly disgustingly low,” she said again. Then she grabbed a nailfile off the bureau and scratched out the O. “Whee,” she whispered and snapped her fingers. After she had put on a little bucketshaped black hat and a veil, so that people wouldn’t see she’d been crying, she piled a lot of books, Youth’s Encounter, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, The Golden Ass, Imaginary Conversations, Aphrodite, Chansons de Bilitis and the Oxford Book of French Verse in a silk shawl and tied them together.
There was a faint tapping at the door. “Who’s that,” she whispered.
“It just me,” came a tearful voice.
Ellen unlocked the door. “Why Cassie what’s the matter?” Cassie rubbed her wet face in the hollow of Ellen’s neck. “Oh Cassie you’re gumming my veil. … What on earth’s the matter?”
“I’ve been up all night thinking how unhappy you must be.”
“But Cassie I’ve never been happier in my life.”
“Aren’t men dweadful?”
“No. … They are much nicer than women anyway.”
“Elaine I’ve got to tell you something. I know you dont care anything about me but I’m going to tell you all the same.”
“Of course I care about you Cassie. … Dont be silly. But I’m busy now. … Why dont you go back to bed and tell me later?”
“I’ve got to tell you now.” Ellen sat down on her trunk resignedly. “Elaine I’ve bwoken it off with Morris. … Isn’t it tewible?” Cassie wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her lavender dressinggown and sat down beside Ellen on the trunk.
“Look dear,” said Ellen gently. “Suppose you wait just a second, I’m going to telephone for a taxi. I want to make a getaway before Jojo’s up. I’m sick of big scenes.” The hall smelled
