Well, he did that. He thought of her sometimes. But after the last letter, which came in the spring of his third year at the university, it no longer seemed quite worth his while to stay where he was and do what he was doing, and so he left in June after taking his examinations and did not return. He pulled his hitch in the army instead, and one day in the hills of Korea, when he was thinking about what he would do next, if he lived to do anything, he decided definitely, like Saroyan, that he must be a writer or be nothing, and although he had worked at it very hard ever since on the side of a variety of jobs in various places, he sometimes thought, unlike Saroyan, that it was nothing that he would turn out to be.
And now it was almost another Christmas. And now he stood at the window and looked down into the street below, and the bell of the soldier of salvation rose and fell, rose and fell, and he felt the striking of the clapper that he couldn’t hear. Three people were crossing toward Adolph Brennan’s bookstore from the other side of the street. One man and two women. Their arms were linked, the man in the middle, and they picked their way carefully through the slush. One of the women was carrying a paper bag in the arm that was not linked with the man’s. “Someone’s coming,” Henry said.
“Coming?” There was a high note of alarm in Ivy’s voice. “Coming here?”
“I think so. Yes, I’m certain of it.”
“What makes you think so? How do you know?”
“Well, they’re crossing the street in this direction, and they happen to be three people I know, and so I assume that they’re coming here.”
“Who are they?”
“A man named Ben Johnson. He writes Western stories for slick magazines and makes quite a lot of money. And two women named Clara Carver and Annie Nile.”
“How do you happen to know them?”
“Well, damn it, I do know a few people, you know. Do you imagine that you are the only person I’ve ever met in my life? As a matter of fact, though, if you must know, Ben and I were in the army together. When I came here later, I looked him up. He lives in an apartment not far away. Besides writing Westerns for money, he writes poetry for the good of his soul. Clara lives with him, but they aren’t married. She’s very pretty and friendly but rather stupid. I like her.”
“What about the other one. What did you say her name is?”
“Annie Nile. Her father owns a shoe factory. She lives by herself and paints pictures, but fortunately it isn’t necessary for her to sell any in order to live, for she isn’t very good at it. Sooner or later she’ll give it up and go home and marry someone richer than she is, but in the meanwhile it amuses her, and so do Ben and Clara.”
“Do you amuse her too?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you think I mean?”
“God only knows. I’ve learned already that it’s impossible to know what you really mean by anything you say.”
“Why are you so sensitive about it? It was only a perfectly natural question. Do you think I give a damn if you amuse her, or what method you use in doing it?”
She was sitting erect on the edge of the sofa, and he was puzzled and a little concerned by the ferocity of her expression as she looked at him.
“Look,” he said. “Will you please behave yourself? There’s no need to be offensive, and I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t be.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t say anything to hurt the feelings of your precious friends. It may be interesting to watch their expressions when they discover me here. What do you suppose they will think?”
“They’ll probably think the same thing that Adolph and George think, thanks to your admirable compulsion to explain matters.”
“Do you think so? It’s very funny, isn’t it?”
They could hear the trio tramping up the stairs from the street. The sound of their voices in words and laughter rose clearly ahead of them.
“They seem to be gay enough,” Henry said.
“Or drunk,” she said.
“Both, probably,” he said.
He went over and opened the door in response to banging and his name called out. The two women came into the room ahead of the man. Both were wearing fur coats and fur hats to match. One of them was also carrying a fur muff, but the other one wasn’t. The one without the muff was carrying the brown sack, and it was obvious from the sounds that came from it that it contained bottles. The one with the muff was prettier than the one with the sack, but you felt almost at once, after the first concession to superior prettiness, that the one with the sack would be more attractive to most men in the long run. The prettier one was a redhead, the deep red known as titian, and the more attractive one in the long run was a brunette whose hair below the fur hat had the color and luster of polished walnut. There was about her, the more attractive brunette, an air of being present by accident in circumstances and company that she accepted in good humor. She leaned over the sack of bottles and kissed Henry on the mouth.
“Darling,” she said, “where have you been forever? It’s shameful, the way you’ve been avoiding me, and I ought to be angry, but I’m not. As you see, I’ve come with Clara and Ben to wish you a merry Christmas.”
“He’s a genius, Annie,” Ben said. “It’s impossible to be angry with a genius.”
He was a stocky young man with a broad, homely face dusted across a pug nose with freckles. A thin, sandy mustache on his lips was just faintly discernible when the light was favorable. He removed his hat and coat and relieved Annie Nile of the sack.
“Wouldn’t it be nice if he could sell something and make a lot of money?” Clara Carver said. “Don’t you wish Henry had a lot of money, Annie?”
“Yes, I do,” Annie said. “It would make things much more pleasant and simple all around.”
“It isn’t expected of a genius to sell anything,” Ben Johnson said. “A genius is never appreciated until he’s dead. Everyone knows that.”
“If it’s true that a genius never sells anything, then I must be a genius too,” Annie said, “for I’ve painted pictures and pictures and never sold a one.”
“Darling,” Clara said, “you already have nearly all the goddamn money in the world. You must leave a little for the rest of us.”
“Nevertheless,” Annie said, “it would be encouraging to sell a picture as a matter of principle.”
“The only principal you need be concerned with,” Ben said, “is the one you draw your interest on.”
While they were talking, they were also disposing of hats and coats and dispersing a little in the room. Ben set the sack of bottles on Henry’s work table and sat down in Henry’s chair. Annie and Clara sat beside each other on the frieze sofa. Clara stretched her long nylon legs in front of her and stared at them with an air of appreciation. It was clear that she admired them and considered them her most valuable asset, which was a judgment just as clearly shared by Ben. Ben also stared at the legs with an air of appreciation.
Ivy stood quietly in a corner and was ignored. Everyone had seen her there, but no one had spoken or recognized her presence by any sign or word, and there seemed to be a conspiracy instantly in existence among then to establish the pretension that she wasn’t there at all.