They had finished their coffee. Jimmy had drunk his very slowly as if some agony waited for him when he finished it.
‘Well I was afraid we’d find the Barneys here,’ said Ellen.
‘Do they know about this place?’
‘You brought them here yourself Jimps… And that dreadful woman insisted on talking babies with me all the evening. I hate talking babies.’
‘Gosh I wish we could go to a show.’
‘It would be too late anyway.’
‘And just spending money I havent got… Lets have a cognac to top off with. I don’t care if it ruins us.’
‘It probably will in more ways than one.’
‘Well Ellie, here’s to the breadwinner who’s taken up the white man’s burden.’
‘Why Jimmy I think it’ll be rather fun to have an editorial job for a while.’
‘I’d find it fun to have any kind of job… Well I can always stay home and mind the baby.’
‘Dont be so bitter Jimmy, it’s just temporary.’
‘Life’s just temporary for that matter.’
The taxi drew up. Jimmy paid him with his last dollar. Ellie had her key in the outside door. The street was a confusion of driving absintheblurred snow. The door of their apartment closed behind them. Chairs, tables, books, windowcurtains crowded about them bitter with the dust of yesterday, the day before, the day before that. Smells of diapers and coffeepots and typewriter oil and Dutch Cleanser oppressed them. Ellen put out the empty milkbottle and went to bed. Jimmy kept walking nervously about the front room. His drunkenness ebbed away leaving him icily sober. In the empty chamber of his brain a doublefaced word clinked like a coin: Success Failure, Success Failure.
she hums under her breath as she dances. It’s a long hall with a band at one end, lit greenishly by two clusters of electric lights hanging among paper festoons in the center. At the end where the door is, a varnished rail holds back the line of men. This one Anna’s dancing with is a tall square built Swede, his big feet trail clumsily after her tiny lightly tripping feet. The music stops. Now it’s a little blackhaired slender Jew. He tries to snuggle close.
‘Quit that.’ She holds him away from her.
‘Aw have a heart.’
She doesn’t answer, dances with cold precision; she’s sickeningly tired.
An Italian breathes garlic in her face, a marine sergeant, a Greek, a blond young kid with pink cheeks, she gives him a smile; a drunken elderly man who tries to kiss her… Charley my boy O Charley my boy… slickhaired, freckled rumplehaired, pimple-faced, snubnosed, straightnosed, quick dancers, heavy dancers… Goin souf… Wid de taste o de sugarcane right in my mouf… against her back big hands, hot hands, sweaty hands, cold hands, while her dancechecks mount up, get to be a wad in her fist. This one’s a good waltzer, genteel-like in a black suit.
‘Gee I’m tired,’ she whispers.
‘Dancing never tires me.’
‘Oh it’s dancin with everybody like this.’
‘Dont you want to come an dance with me all alone somewhere?’
‘Boyfrien’s waitin for me after.’
‘What time’s it?’ she asked a broadchested wise guy. ‘Time you an me was akwainted, sister…’ She shakes her head. Suddenly the music bursts into Auld Lang Syne. She breaks away from him and runs to the desk in a crowd of girls elbowing to turn in their dancechecks. ‘Say Anna,’ says a broadhipped blond girl… ‘did ye see that sap was dancin wid me?… He says to me the sap he says See you later an I says to him the sap I says see yez in hell foist… an then he says, Goily he says…’
3 Revolving Doors
Glowworm trains shuttle in the gloaming through the foggy looms of spiderweb bridges, elevators soar and drop in their shafts, harbor lights wink.
Like sap at the first frost at five o’clock men and women begin to drain gradually out of the tall buildings downtown, grayfaced throngs flood subways and tubes, vanish underground.
All night the great buildings stand quiet and empty, their million windows dark. Drooling light the ferries chew tracks across the lacquered harbor. At midnight the fourfunneled express steamers slide into the dark out of their glary berths. Bankers blearyeyed from secret conferences hear the hooting of the tugs as they are let out of side doors by lightningbug watchmen; they settle grunting into the back seats of limousines, and are whisked uptown into the Forties, clinking streets of ginwhite whiskey-yellow ciderfizzling lights.
She sat at the dressingtable coiling her hair. He stood over her with the lavender suspenders hanging from his dress trousers prodding the diamond studs into his shirt with stumpy fingers.
‘Jake I wish we were out of it,’ she whined through the hairpins in her mouth.
‘Out of what Rosie?’
‘The Prudence Promotion Company… Honest I’m worried.’
‘Why everything’s goin swell. We’ve got to bluff out Nichols that’s all.’
‘Suppose he prosecutes?’
‘Oh he wont. He’d lose a lot of money by it. He’d much better come in with us… I can pay him in cash in a week anyways. If we can keep him thinkin we got money we’ll have him eatin out of our hands. Didn’t he say he’d be at the El Fey tonight?’
Rosie had just put a rhinestone comb into the coil of her black hair. She nodded and got to her feet. She was a plump broadhipped woman with big black eyes and higharched eyebrows. She wore a corset trimmed with yellow lace and a pink silk chemise.
‘Put on everythin you’ve got Rosie. I want yez all dressed up like a Christmas tree. We’re goin to the El Fey an stare Nichols down tonight. Then tomorrer I’ll go round and put the proposition up to him… Lets have a little snifter anyways…’ He went to the phone. ‘Send up some cracked ice and a couple of bottles of White Rock to four o four. Silverman’s the name. Make it snappy.’
‘Jake let’s make a getaway,’ Rosie cried suddenly. She stood in the closet door with a dress over her arm. ‘I cant stand all this worry… It’s killin me. Let’s you an me beat it to Paris or Havana or somewheres and start out fresh.’
‘Then we would be up the creek. You can be extradited for grand larceny. Jez you wouldnt have me goin round with dark glasses and false whiskers all my life.’
Rosie laughed. ‘No I guess you wouldnt look so good in a fake zit… Oh I wish we were really married at least.’
‘Dont make no difference between us Rosie. Then they’d be after me for bigamy too. That’d be pretty.’
Rosie shuddered at the bellboy’s knock. Jake Silverman put the tray with its clinking bowl of ice on the bureau and fetched a square whiskeybottle out of the wardrobe.
‘Dont pour out any for me. I havent got the heart for it.’
‘Kid you’ve got to pull yourself together. Put on the glad rags an we’ll go to a show. Hell I been in lots o tighter holes than this.’ With his highball in his hand he went to the phone. ‘I want the newsstand… Hello cutie… Sure I’m an old friend of yours… Sure you know me… Look could you get me two seats for the Follies… That’s the idear… No I cant sit back of the eighth row… That’s a good little girl… An you’ll call me in ten minutes will you dearie?’