“Yes, of course.” He leaned back. “You’re full of surprises, Christine.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“What do you think?”
“We were looking for your opinion, Jack. Now. About the last sentence. Do I remember that with such exactitude. As I recall it, it’s forty-odd pages long.”
“It’s the last few words everyone knows.”
“Of course. Your turn now, Jack. I started the book, you finish it.”
“ ‘… and yes I said yes I will Yes.’ Some words for a guy to say, Molly Bloom’s thoughts in the darkness.”
“It must be fantastic to write something deathless.”
“Even Ulysses will probably wither in the dust of time. Sad to say.” He smiled. “Yours truly isn’t aspiring to immortality, I’m quick to add. Just a little honesty and originality.”
He had a voice that fitted him, Christine reflected. A deep-based voice that seemed to have a long way to travel, like the rumble of a train in the far distance, a dark voice, smooth and dark and subterranean in a way. It made her think of a handed-down record of her mother’s, Chaliapin singing “The Volga Boatman.” I like his voice, she thought, I like to listen to him talk.
“Do you ever have any doubts about having left your job?” she asked him. “Becoming self-employed.”
“No,” he said positively. “There was ample aforethought, it was no hasty decision. I wanted to write this book. It won’t be an easy one to turn out, I may be overextending myself. I told you I’d done some yeoman work, half a dozen suspense novels which, very gratifyingly, and much to my surprise, netted more than the advance, which was modest in the extreme, admittedly. Foreign sales, two of them reprinted, unexpected money in the till. I’m not a raw novice, like these cab drivers who tell you they have a story, boy have they got a story, it’s all there in their head, all they have to do is get it on paper.”
“Do they do that? Cab drivers always discuss politics with me. They have very strong opinions, mostly fascistic.”
“I like cab drivers, though.”
“So do I. It’s bus drivers I’m not fond of. Of course they have a hard row to hoe, but they’re so often mean to old people. Did your publishing house try to persuade you to stay when you said you were quitting?”
“Let’s say they didn’t twist my arm. It was a quid pro quo thing, one of those uncomfortable circumstances where the options had to be up to me. I was covering for a lush of a senior editor, a real baddie who was dumping the work load on me, I saved his hide a hundred thousand times. I never ratted on him, but everyone knew the state of affairs anyway, including management, who assured me on the Q.T., that the situation would be rectified, that this guy would be eased out and I’d get his title. And that corner office. It was an open and shut case, I was given to understand. Yeah, man. Okay, they dumped him, sure, and I waited. I wasn’t about to dance a tarantella on the body of a dead man, rush in and say when, guys, when? So I went on with my double work load, meanwhile mentally moving into the corner office, I’d get a corn plant and at last have some decent working space and good, bright light. Okay?”
He crushed out his cigarette. “Do I need to go on with the saga?”
“You mean they replaced him with someone else?”
“Damn right they did. Jack, you can be a star, they’d been telling me, tacitly, but it seemed explicit enough. Many thanks, Jack, we want you to know how much we appreciate … a real crock. Yeah, someone else moved into that corner office, a guy from S and S, with a longer track record than mine, and there I stayed in my cubbyhole, smilin’ through my tears.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I sound like an injustice collector. If I were hearing this it’s what I’d think, this guy’s a sorehead. It ain’t so, and I’m not rationalizing. Taking some things lying down’s bad for the old ego, but it can be just as bad for the old rep. If you don’t hype yourself nobody’s going to do it for you. I didn’t truckle in the trade. You’d be surprised, word gets around that you’re no schlemiel, it’s a kind of advertisement in your favor. Of course I’ll be in the business again. Some day. When I knock off this little masterpiece, start my oeuvre, I’ll go back. If the book’s any kind of success, that will sew it up.”
He put an elbow on the table, leaned his head on his hand. “Christ. Why do I always dither about myself and my times when I’m with you?”
“It’s only the second time we’ve been together, Jack.”
“That’s right. It seems like more than that.”
“I think I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You can. You most assuredly can. You must be starved. And bored. With my self-centered mewling.”
“I’m far from bored. I’m having a lovely time. I like the place and the company. If we come here again it’s my treat next. All right, let’s do our ordering. I want some Calamari and I want it fast. I’m famished just thinking about it.”
“They generally serve sautéed escarole with it, great stuff. Grated parmesan. Hello, there — ah, he sees me. This lady’s famished,” he told the waiter. “Calamari for us both. And I know we’re disgusting, but may we have some more of the garlic bread.”
“Coming up right away,” the man said, and was back in no time at all with their meal, a fresh basket of bread, and a brisk “Buon appetito.”
• • •
It was almost four when they left Anthony’s. Mario had sent over a liqueur, Strega in tall, slender-slim goblets. “That was nice of him,” Christine said, pleased.
“He’s a nice guy. What are you going to do when we leave here?”
“Walk home. Do some food shopping on the way, rather a lot, the larder’s dangerously low.”
“I’d ask you up to my place, as a matter of fact I’d very much like to. I’m afraid, though, there’s no place to sit down. I know it sounds wacko, but the thing is my sofa’s out for reupholstering and hasn’t come back yet, though it was promised for early this week.”
“You don’t have any chairs?”
“Junked the two I had. You can see I was very cavalier with my few possessions, but the truth is they were crummy specimens, I couldn’t see hanging on to them.”
“Where are you sitting in your spare time, on the toilet seat?”
“Not quite reduced to that, babe.” He snickered. “No, I have my desk chair. I cart it around. Down to the bare essentials, that’s me, no excess baggage. The simple life, of course primitive’s more the word.”
“Better call your place that’s doing over your sofa and light a fire under them.”
“I’ve been calling every day. To no avail, alack.”
“At least you’ve got a roof over your head.”
“And one that doesn’t leak, praise the Lord.” He rapped the table top. “Knock wood on that one.”
On the way out she thanked Mario for the Strega. “And the squid was delicious, I never had better.”
“Come again, please.”
On the street Jack said, “Why don’t I walk you home?”
“Why don’t you go back and work? Don’t you think you’ve wasted enough time today?”
“Wasted? Are you kidding?”
“Furthermore, I don’t want you to see where I live. I’m ashamed of it.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s a dumb place, a bourgeois bummer, it wasn’t my choice.”
“Now you have me all curious. The Excelsior? The Sovereign?”
“No, the Colonnade, you probably know it and laugh up your sleeve at it.”
“Oh, that one, I don’t think it’s too outré, not like Le Galleria, which I’m sure has a golden calf in its lobby.”
“Come on, I’ll leave you at your street and then you get going starting on your oeuvre.”
“A heart like a stone.”
“Not at all. I don’t intend to be a bad influence.”
She held out a hand when they came to Sixty first Street. “So long, Jack, and thanks very much for the lun
ch.”
“Thank you, Christine. All right if I call you when that elusive sofa arrives, lay an invite on you for a modest housewarming? You and Rodney.”
“Sounds great.”
“Well, then. Take care.”
“You too.”
It was Rodney, she thought, continuing on up along Lex. Rodney’s coming here had somehow picked things up for her. Nothing had changed, yet in a way everything had changed, for one thing her attitude. She felt light as a feather, buoyant, with her lips turned up in a faint smile. New people, that was what you needed, and Jack Allerton was a most attractive and interesting guy. She couldn’t remember when she had liked someone so much, and she hoped the “elusive sofa” would make its appearance before too long.
In fact it was the following Monday when Rodney phoned to inform her that the chap who’d put him on to his flat had rung him up. “Jack Allerton, I was so pleased to hear from him. I had thought of asking info for his number, as I owe him a great deal, but I had some reservations due to his writing style of life, I presume he may not want to be disturbed in his battles with the Muse. But we had a very agreeable chat.”
“Good.”
“And he wants us over this week. He said he tried to get in touch with you this afternoon.”
“I see, well yes, I’ve been out.”
“He suggested Thursday. Is Thursday all right with you?”
“Yup. Thursday will be fine.”
“He said if it isn’t it can be another day.”
“No, Thursday’s okay.”
“Anyway, he’s to ring you up this evening. It’s evening now, and he may be trying to get you, so I shall buzz off. Call me when you have it settled, will you? I’ll pick you up.”
She was in the midst of dinner preparations when the phone rang again. “Is this a bad time to call?” Jack asked. She said no, it was a good time to get her and if she sounded tearful not to wonder about it. “I’ve been peeling onions. Rodney said you tried to get me earlier. I’ve only been home a short while.”
“As for the onions,” he advised, “munch on a piece of bread. It does the trick, at least for me. I won’t keep you long, I just wanted to know if you and Rodney could come over for afternoon drinks on Thursday. If not, what day would be better for you?”
“I can make it and so can Rodney. He said you had a nice talk over the phone.”
There was a slight hesitation. “I — uh, didn’t say we’d met the other day. Possibly I thought his nose might be out of joint. For some reason I — ”
“It’s all right, I didn’t say anything either. It’s of no importance at all. What time would you like us on Thursday?”
“About two or so?”
“Very good. I take it your sofa’s back home?”
“And looking very posh, I don’t even recognize it.”
“So they did a good job.”
“Fantastic. It exceeds my wildest expectations.”
“And we won’t have to sit on the floor.”
“Or the toilet seat.”
“I would call that a giant step.”
“So would I. Now I can offer you a place to sit down, ain’t that ritzy?”
“Seriously, I’m so eager to see the apartment again. I felt like moving in myself when I was there. It’s just the kind of place I adore. Okay, Jack, around two on Thursday, and I’ll be looking forward to it.”
She went back to the onions. He said to munch on a piece of bread, she remembered, and broke off part of a slice from the loaf. It didn’t do much, but then of course the damage had already been done. Thursday, two o’clock — she would take something, of course. Maybe a plant. Plants would do well in that big sunny room. Perhaps a little orange tree, it would be a cut above your philodendron or baby’s tears.
“Keep the aspidistra flying,” was one of Rodney’s British phrases. She had no idea what an aspidistra looked like. Out of curiosity she might ask the florist, but it wouldn’t be an aspidistra anyway, it would be an orange tree. He seemed like the sort of guy who’d enjoy eyeing those brilliant little fruit-lings. Thursday, two o’clock, she scribbled on the counter-top calendar. Allerton.
She couldn’t remember the address number, but it didn’t matter, she knew the house. The house had reminded her of her first apartment building, after leaving home, on Ninety-second Street. She wouldn’t live that far up now, in these changing times, but in those days it had been a safe area. She had loved that apartment, and still thought of it with pensive fondness. The first home of her own. She never went that far uptown now, ending her walks in that direction at Eighty-sixth Street, which was only wise. But it was also because she didn’t want to see the building that had housed her young self. Better to remember it with a sentimental affection. It would be like confronting a ghost to come across it again, in some careless moment. It would be like resurrecting the dead.
7.
“Oh, you brought a present too,” Rodney said when Christine opened the door for him.
“Just an obligatory one, I couldn’t really pick out anything else without knowing his tastes. This is just a plant, an orange tree. What have you got there, Rodney?”
“An ashtray for him. He smokes, and probably a lot when he’s writing, so I got a big one.”
“That’s thoughtful. If you’ll carry this I’ll carry your package.”
He hefted the foil-wrapped plant, which was of considerable size and weight. “It’s heavy,” she said. “We’ll get a cab.”
“No, let’s walk.”
“You don’t want to tote that all the way over to Sixty-first.”
“I don’t mind at all.”
“It’s up to you.”
“You said an orange tree? I’d like an orange tree.”
“You can’t have one in your place. You have a good, soft, gentle light, but you need strong, direct sun for a fruit tree. You don’t think a plant’s too chintzy for a gentleman, then?”
“Certainly not. I mean to buy some, I just don’t know what kind. The ashtray I bought is ceramic, interesting design. I went to Royal Copenhagen, as I intended to present him with something magnificent, but everything in the size I wanted cost about a hundred and fifty dollars. So I found this elsewhere. I didn’t want it to look ostentatious.”
“How are you doing moneywise?”
“Managing.”
“Talked to your mother lately?”
“You mean has she threatened to cut off my allowance due to wild extravagance?”
“No, I just meant how is she. Are you being wildly extravagant?”
“Not at tall. I’m really awfully tight. Stingy, you know. That’s why the girl I met suits me very well.”
“You met a girl? At last? Where?”
“Jack put me on to her. When he called on Monday. She lives in his old building, where he was before he moved to where he is now. She’s a Gaslight Girl.”
“A what?”
“She works at a place called the Gaslight Club. At night. It sounds seedy, but it’s not really.”
“You’ve been there?”
He was elaborately offhand. “I took her over there, so I could see what it was like. It’s rather amusing, quite harmless, no leather jackets.”
“Jack told you about her on Monday. You didn’t waste any time, I see.”
“I was naturally curious.”
“Naturally. Well, she must be a decent girl if Jack suggested your getting in touch with her.”
“As a matter of fact, very proper. I couldn’t get in her knickers even if I cared to try.”
She said it was nice to know that some girls were protective of themselves, but why didn’t he care to try? “Isn’t she comely?”
“Pretty as a pixie,” he assured her cheerfully.
“Well?”
“Too many other things to do,” he replied blithely. “Plus I don’t get worked up over a girl who doesn’t send out feelers.”
“Just like a man, you all want to be cozened with Delilah ways and
suggestive perfumes. If she works at night how can you take her out?”
“During the day, I expect. She had me to lunch yesterday. Not a bad little cook. She’s a good stick.”
She glanced at him. Rodney certainly seemed unpreoccupied with sexual matters. Was he a fag, after all? But she thought not. He was very egoistic, even egotistic, absorbed with himself most of all. Also, he was lazy.
“She promised to make me a soufflé,” he announced. “I told her I was keen on them.”
“I see,” she said dryly. “Is she going to darn your socks as well?”
He grinned. “Haven’t got round to asking her yet.”
“As a rule what do you do about meals? I mean at night, dinner?”
“Take-out,” he enlightened her. “You can get a nice little roast chicken at a Safeway on Third, it does you for two meals. There’s a good deli on Eighty-sixth Street. Madison Avenue. All sorts of juicy meats, roast beef, and things like smoked salmon. Sturgeon too. Potato salad and all that. It’s not at all difficult.”
He grinned again. “And once in a while a friend of mine invites me to dinner, Christine Jennings. I believe you have a nodding acquaintance with her.”
“I’d ask you more often, but you have your own life to live, Rodney. I don’t want to be a mother hen.”
“I never think of you that way,” he said rakishly, shifting the plant from one arm to the other.
“We should have taken a cab, you’ll be muscle-bound.”
“It’s a bit awkward, that’s all. Anyway, we’re not far now.”
A few blocks farther he indicated a corner spot on the street. “A film crew was shooting a scene there the other day. Most interesting, you know. I’m told they make a lot of pictures in this city now.”
“I guess they do.”
“Two people running out of that house across the street, one in full chase of the other. I didn’t recognize the players. They did it over and over, about a hundred times. I was exhausted just watching them. I couldn’t see any difference in the way it was done, it all looked exactly the same. Much gesticulating and arm waving. It must be smashing to make movies, I know I’d certainly like to take a shot at it.”
Classic Love: 7 Vintage Romances Page 9