Here on this little bench. You left me wretched, Sally Tomson. You left me sad. Last night on Her Majesty's balcony couldn't you see me wave. In the light breeze weeping. Her Majesty sleeping. Laughed lightly letting treasury notes slip out from fingers. Down over the city, separating away in the dark. Fell so silently. Without pomp in the crazy circumstance. I thought let urine be followed by gold.
Just
For
A
Change.
20
ON the corner of Eagle Street near the river, this chilly autumnal evening, Smith leaning back against a dead wall, head tilted towards a tiny luminosity decorating the night. A personal little star. Siren sounding in the distance. Tiny puffs of steam from a sewer cover in the middle of the road.
Barges and tugs melting green and red colors in the darkness. A doorman along the curb with two doggies. One maneuvering on hind legs to disgrace the gutter. Avocado green letter box lonely stuck on a pole. Where Hugo strolls from Merry Mansion to pop in the mail. Tonight he stood in the lobby fingering his nose in front of the long glass doors. Rumours rampant that Mr. and Mrs. Goldminer had turned to religion. Filling their flat for days with hammering under the supervision of Mr. Stone to erect an altar in their drawing room. Where they knelt naked, holding hands and praying. Matilda said she could smell insense in the delivery shoot.
Up the avenue. Bathed suddenly in the flood light of an apartment entrance. She comes right on the dot of eight o'clock with a smile on her face in the crisp of evening. Raising her eye brows amused. In seal skin. Alligator shoes. Where have all the animals gone.
"Hello, Miss Tomson."
"When are you going to call me Sally."
"Or Dizzy."
"That's a crazy story I'll tell you about when you're older."
"How are you Sally."
"That's better. I'm fine, Smithy. And you. You look like the international gentleman. That collar's the best sable, Smithy."
"That's the best seal."
'What's the matter, we're meeting on this corner like two clothes racks."
"You look so splendid."
"Just my image. The inner Tomson is in a sand storm, the outer one is skiing down the sunny mountain, smiling."
"Shall we bring the inner Tomson somewhere for a cocktail."
"Let's."
"What would you like, a place, dark or dazzling."
"Tell you the honest truth Smithy, for the inner Tomson I'd just like a glass of beer in some cozy joint with a booth. What have you got in that paper bag."
"Difficult to explain, Miss Tomson. I'm trying an experiment. That the human organism won't do the same daft thing twice."
"Looks like you've been mushroom picking."
Smith raising his arm. A long dark squat gleaming vehicle pulling out from the curb and coming down towards them on the avenue. With a whirring groan on its fat tires. Chauffeur stepping round, a white gloved hand opening the door. A salute for Smith.
"Wow, what's this, Smithy."
"Miss Tomson, have you met Herbert."
"Don't think so, hi."
"Please to meet you, Miss Tomson. I see your picture a lot."
"No kidding."
"I'd know you anywhere."
"I can't recognise myself. But thanks."
Dark deep capeskin interior. Smith stepping past Miss Tomson. Leaning back in the softness, hunching shoulders up in the sable collar, a left black gloved hand wrapped rightly round an apple walking stick. Tie with the three legged golden stars. Black shoes, black silk socks. Black briefcase of unfathomable facts, twice as foolish as fiction. And the onion paper copies of correspondence under the file heading, Discourteous.
"Smithy, I don't get it. Real lighthearted socks you're wearing."
"Get what Miss Tomson."
"This car. The richness is crippling. You rob a bank. These blue tinted windows."
"Can see out but can't see in."
Miss Tomson rapping a knuckle. Turning to Smith, bun of blond hair softly folded at her neck. Eyeballs still so white and laughing.
"Are you a perve, Smithy."
"I beg your pardon Miss Tomson."
"The windows are solid. This car's bullet proof."
"Absolutely ordinary vehicle. Little extra thickness here and there. The bumpers are perhaps of the heavy duty quality."
"Someone's trying to rub you out, Smithy. You need a friend. It's sad. Even a microphone."
"Must tell Herbert where to go. Hello. Herbert."
"Yes, Mr. Smith."
"Go crosstown two blocks. Then left down the avenue. I'll tell you when to stop."
"Smithy, come on, why would they want to air condition a sweet guy like you."
"Bullets are the least of it, Miss Tomson. One can always deal with those. It's the insinuation and discourtesy I find weighs heavy on my spirit. I've missed you."
Miss Tomson looks out at a lighted marquee, a lobby filling with people before a performance begins. The car turns left downtown on the wide avenue. And her lips purse and open slowly.
"Surprise you I was only living a block away from Merry Mansions. Under the name of Tomson too."
"You never tried to get in touch."
"Smithy, you know, things happen. It was one thing after another."
Smith slowly pulling off gloves looking at them in his hand.
"You don't believe that. All right I'll tell you. You got a wife and four kids. A certain log cabin, in a certain woods, and a certain secretary, you want me to go on. You see Smith, what you don't know about me is. I got principles. What shit, sorry about the language. This vein of talk is a sure way of ruining an evening."
"Tell me."
"If I phoned you up and said hello George, I'm expecting a baby. What do you say, Sally, that's great, but I got four already. I know you got to be a tightwad with your commitments. Don't get scared, I'm not pregnant. See what I mean, you had a real look of fear."
"Just concern."
Miss Tomson's big eyes slowly sheltered by her lids.
"Smithy. It was great strolling out in the fresh air tonight to meet you. Walking down the block. To see you there standing against the building. Just like we were kids or something meeting for a date. You've never taken me out on a date, a real date."
taken me out on a date, a real "I'll take you tonight."
"I can't. I'm giving a party. One of those after midnight things. So suicides out the window don't kill someone innocent in the street. Maybe you'd like to come. Some interesting people."
"I'd be out of place."
"Smithy, you're fishing for compliments."
Tomson leaning her hand across to take Smith's. Locking her fingers with his on the capeskin. Tender world spreads. Looking down at her ungloved hand. And a sparkling gigantic diamond.
"Don't ask me about that, Smithy."
Limozine pulling to a stop in front of yellow lighted steamy windows. Herbert giving his hand to Miss Tom-son's elbow and an eye to her knees. She stands. Awaits Smith's emerging. Smiling her loveliest of smiles. Up on her lissome legs.
"Smithy I got to laugh at you. That get up. The paper bag. The cane."
"It's a stick."
"A stick. I mean you been taking some kind of advice maybe. You know, you're so out of date that it doesn't matter."
"Thank you."
A long mahogany bar. White aproned waiter whisking shoulder high trays to booths. Schooners of beer. Heads turning as Miss Tomson pushes in the door. An unseemly whistle. And lowly mumbled remarks at this apparition of the international gentleman.
"Miss Tomson, perhaps this place is unsuitable."
"It's fine. They just want a harmless laugh. Someone appears stepping out of some drama a century ago, why not a chuckle. That's why you're so sweet Smith with all these old fashioned ideas. Take no notice, it's just a beer joint."
Waiter flourishing menus. Looking like an emperor some ridiculous century ago, with eyes staring down on Miss Tomson who lays back the glistening seal skin from her shoulders. All the blond rest of her in black silk. Waiter rubbing nose with a knuckle. Tomson flicking menu with a fingernail. Smith measuring out his best voice.