Manhattan Transfer (19 page)

When thou and I my love shall come to part, Then shall I press an ineffable last kiss Upon your lips and go… heart, start, who art… Bliss, this, miss… When thou… When you and I my love…

Eighth Street. She got down from the bus and went into the basement of the Brevoort. George sat waiting with his back to the door snapping and unsnapping the lock of his briefcase. ‘Well Elaine it’s about time you turned up… There aren’t many people I’d sit waiting three quarters of an hour for.’

‘George you mustn’t scold me; I’ve been having the time of my life. I haven’t had such a good time in years. I’ve had the whole day all to myself and I walked all the way down from 105th Street to Fiftyninth through the Park. It was full of the most comical people.’

‘You must be tired.’ His lean face where the bright eyes were caught in a web of fine wrinkles kept pressing forward into hers like the prow of a steamship.

‘I suppose you’ve been at the office all day George.’

‘Yes I’ve been digging out some cases. I cant rely on anyone else to do even routine work thoroughly, so I have to do it myself.’

‘Do you know I had it all decided you’d say that.’

‘What?’

‘About waiting three quarters of an hour.’

‘Oh you know altogether too much Elaine… Have some pastries with your tea?’

‘Oh but I don’t know anything about anything, that’s the trouble… I think I’ll take lemon please.’

Glasses clinked about them; through blue cigarettesmoke faces hats beards wagged, repeated greenish in the mirrors,

‘But my de-e-ar it’s always the same old complex. It may be true of men but it says nothing in regard to women,’ droned a woman’s voice from the next table… ‘Your feminism rises into an insuperable barrier,’ trailed a man’s husky meticulous tones. ‘What if I am an egoist? God knows I’ve suffered for it.’ ‘Fire that purifies,
Charley…’ George was speaking, trying to catch her eye. ‘How’s the famous Jojo?’

‘Oh let’s not talk about him.’

‘The less said about him the better eh?’

‘Now George I wont have you sneer at Jojo, for better or worse he is my husband, till divorce do us part… No I wont have you laugh. You’re too crude and simple to understand him anyway. Jojo’s a very complicated rather tragic person.’

‘For God’s sake don’t let’s talk about husbands and wives. The important thing, little Elaine, is that you and I are sitting here together without anyone to bother us… Look when are we going to see each other again, really see each other, really…’

‘We’re not going to be too real about this, are we George?’ She laughed softly into her cup.

‘Oh but I have so many things to say to you. I want to ask you so many things.’

She looked at him laughing, balancing a small cherry tartlet that had one bite out of it between a pink squaretipped finger and thumb. ‘Is that the way you act when you’ve got some miserable sinner on the witnessbox? I thought it was more like: Where were you on the night of February thirtyfirst?’

‘But I’m dead serious, that’s what you cant understand, or wont.’

A young man stood at the table, swaying a little, looking down at them. ‘Hello Stan, where the dickens did you come from?’ Baldwin looked up at him without smiling. ‘Look Mr Baldwin I know it’s awful rude, but may I sit down at your table a second. There’s somebody looking for me who I just cant meet. O God that mirror! Still they’d never look for me if they saw you.’

‘Miss Oglethorpe this is Stanwood Emery, the son of the senior partner in our firm.’

‘Oh it’s so wonderful to meet you Miss Oglethorpe. I saw you last night, but you didn’t see me.’

‘Did you go to the show?’

‘I almost jumped over the foots I thought you were so wonderful.’

He had a ruddy brown skin, anxious eyes rather near the bridge of a sharp fragillycut nose, a big mouth never still, wavy brown hair that stood straight up. Ellen looked from one to the other inwardly giggling. They were all three stiffening in their chairs.

‘I saw the danderine lady this afternoon,’ she said. ‘She impressed me enormously. Just my idea of a great lady on a white horse.’

‘With rings on her finger and bells on her toes, And she shall make mischief wherever she goes.’ Stan rattled it off quickly under his breath.

‘Music, isn’t it?’ put in Ellen laughing. ‘I always say mischief.’

‘Well how’s college?’ asked Baldwin in a dry uncordial voice.

‘I guess it’s still there,’ said Stan blushing. ‘I wish they’d burn it down before I got back.’ He got to his feet. ‘You must excuse me Mr Baldwin… My intrusion was infernally rude.’ As he turned leaning towards Ellen she smelled his grainy whiskey breath. ‘Please forgive it, Miss Oglethorpe.’

She found herself holding out her hand; a dry skinny hand squeezed it hard. He strode out with swinging steps bumping into a waiter as he went.

‘I cant make out that infernal young puppy,’ burst out Baldwin. ‘Poor old Emery’s heartbroken about it. He’s darn clever and has a lot of personality and all that sort of thing, but all he does is drink and raise Cain… I guess all he needs is to go to work and get a sense of values. Too much money’s what’s the matter with most of those collegeboys… Oh but Elaine thank God we’re alone again. I have worked continuously all my life ever since I was fourteen. The time has come when I want to lay aside all that for a while. I want to live and travel and think and be happy. I cant stand the pace of downtown the way I used to. I want to learn to play, to ease off the tension… That’s where you come in.’

‘But I don’t want to be the nigger on anybody’s safetyvalve.’ She laughed and let the lashes fall over her eyes.

‘Let’s go out to the country somewhere this evening. I’ve been stifling in the office all day. I hate Sunday anyway.’

‘But my rehearsal.’

‘You could be sick. I’ll phone for a car.’

‘Golly there’s Jojo… Hello Jojo’; she waved her gloves above her head.

John Oglethorpe, his face powdered, his mouth arranged in a careful smile above his standup collar, advanced between the crowded tables, holding out his hand tightly squeezed into buff gloves with black stripes. ‘Heow deo you deo, my deah, this is indeed a surprise and pleajah.’

‘You know each other, don’t you? This is Mr Baldwin.’

‘Forgive me if I intrude… er… upon a tête à tête.’

‘Nothing of the sort, sit down and we’ll all have a highball… I was just dying to see you really Jojo… By the way if you havent anything else to do this evening you might slip in down front for a few minutes. I want to know what you think about my reading of the part…’

‘Certainly my deah, nothing could give me more pleajah.’

His whole body tense George Baldwin leaned back with his hand clasped behind the back of his chair. ‘Waiter…’ He broke his words off sharp like metal breaking. ‘Three Scotch highballs at once please.’

Oglethorpe rested his chin on the silver ball of his cane. ‘Confidence, Mr Baldwin,’ he began, ‘confidence between husband and wife is a very beautiful thing. Space and time have no effect on it. Were one of us to go to China for a thousand years it would not change our affection one tittle.’

‘You see George, what’s the matter with Jojo is that he read too much Shakespeare in his youth… But I’ve got to go or Merton will be bawling me out again… Talk about industrial slavery. Jojo tell him about Equity.’

Baldwin got to his feet. There was a slight flush on his cheekbones. ‘Wont you let me take you up to the theater,’ he said through clenched teeth.

‘I never let anyone take me anywhere… And Jojo you must stay sober to see me act.’

Fifth Avenue was pink and white under pink and white clouds in a fluttering wind that was fresh after the cloying talk and choke of tobaccosmoke and cocktails. She waved the taxistarter off merrily and smiled at him. Then she found a pair of anxious eyes looking into hers seriously out of a higharched brown face.

‘I waited round to see you come out. Cant I take you somewhere? I’ve got my Ford round the corner… Please.’

‘But I’m just going up to the theater. I’ve got a rehearsal.’

‘All right do let me take you there.’

She began putting a glove on thoughtfully. ‘All right, but it’s an awful imposition on you.’

‘That’s fine. It’s right round here… It was awfully rude of me to butt in that way, wasn’t it? But that’s another story… Anyway
I’ve met you. The Ford’s name is Dingo, but that’s another story too…’

‘Still it’s nice to meet somebody humanly young. There’s nobody humanly young round New York.’

His face was scarlet when he leaned to crank the car. ‘Oh I’m too damn young.’

The motor sputtered, started with a roar. He jumped round and cut off the gas with a long hand. ‘We’ll probably get arrested; my muffler’s loose and liable to drop off.’

At Thirtyfourth Street they passed a girl riding slowly through the traffic on a white horse; chestnut hair hung down in even faky waves over the horse’s chalky rump and over the giltedged saddlecloth where in green letters pointed with crimson read
DANDERINE.

‘Rings on her fingers,’ chanted Stan pressing his buzzer, ‘And bells on her toes, And she shall cure dandruff wherever it grows.’

Noon on Union Square. Selling out. Must vacate. WE HAVE MADE A TERRIBLE MISTAKE. Kneeling on the dusty asphalt little boys shine shoes lowshoes tans buttonshoes oxfords. The sun shines like a dandelion on the toe of each new-shined shoe. Right this way buddy, mister miss maam at the back of the store our new line of fancy tweeds highest value lowest price… Gents, misses, ladies, cutrate… WE HAVE MADE A TERRIBLE MISTAKE. Must vacate.

Noon sunlight spirals dimly into the chopsuey joint. Muted music spirals Hindustan. He eats fooyong, she eats chowmein. They dance with their mouths full, slim blue jumper squeezed to black slick suit, peroxide curls against black slick hair.

Down Fourteenth Street, Glory Glory comes the Army, striding lasses, Glory Glory four abreast, the rotund shining, navy blue, Salvation Army band.

Highest value, lowest price. Must vacate. WE HAVE MADE A TERRIBLE MISTAKE. Must vacate.

From Liverpool, British steamer Raleigh, Captain Kettlewell; 933 bales, 881 boxes, 10 baskets, 8 packages fabrics: 57 boxes, 89 bales, 18 baskets cotton thread: 156 bales felt: 4 bales asbestos: 100 sacks spools…

Joe Harland stopped typing and looked up at the ceiling. The tips of his fingers were sore. The office smelled stalely of paste and manifests and men in shirtsleeves. Through the open window he could see a piece of the dun wall of an airshaft and a man with a green eyeshade staring vacantly out of a window. The towheaded officeboy set a note on the corner of his desk: Mr Pollock will see you at 5:10. A hard lump caught in his throat; he’s going to fire me. His fingers started tapping again:

From Glasgow, Dutch steamer Delft, Captain Tromp; 200 bales, 123 boxes, 14 kegs…

Joe Harland roamed about the Battery till he found an empty seat on a bench, then he let himself flop into it. The sun was drowning in tumultuous saffron steam behind Jersey. Well that’s over. He sat a long while staring at the sunset like at a picture in a
dentist’s waiting room. Great whorls of smoke from a passing tug curled up black and scarlet against it. He sat staring at the sunset, waiting. That’s eighteen dollars and fifty cents I had before, less six dollars for the room, one dollar and eighty-four cents for laundry, and four dollars and fifty cents I owe Charley, makes seven dollars and eighty-four cents, eleven dollars and eighty four cents, twelve dollars and thirty-four cents from eighteen dollars and fifty cents leaves me six dollars and sixteen cents, three days to find another job if I go without drinks. O God wont my luck ever turn; used to have good enough luck in the old days. His knees were trembling, there was a sick burning in the pit of his stomach.

A fine mess you’ve made of your life Joseph Harland. Forty-five and no friends and not a cent to bless yourself with.

The sail of a catboat was a crimson triangle when it luffed a few feet from the concrete walk. A young man and a young girl ducked together as the slender boom swung across. They both were bronzed with the sun and had yellow weather bleached hair. Joe Harland gnawed his lip to keep back the tears as the catboat shrank into the ruddy murk of the bay. By God I need a drink.

‘Aint it a croime? Aint it a croime?’ The man in the seat to the left of him began to say over and over again. Joe Harland turned his head; the man had a red puckered face and silver hair. He held the dramatic section of the paper taut between two grimy flippers. ‘Them young actresses all dressed naked like that… Why can’t they let you alone.’

‘Dont you like to see their pictures in the papers?’

‘Why cant they let you alone I say… If you aint got no work and you aint got no money, what’s the good of em I say?’

‘Well lots of people like to see their pictures in the paper. Used to myself in the old days.’

‘Used to be work in the old days… You aint got no job now?’ he growled savagely. Joe Harland shook his head. ‘Well what the hell? They ought to leave you alone oughtn’t they? Wont be no jobs till snow shoveling begins.’

‘What’ll you do till then?’

The old man didnt answer. He bent over the paper again screwing up his eyes and muttering. ‘All dressed naked, it’s a croime I’m tellin yez.’