“Yes,” she said.
He laughed. “Tonight, too. Here in the Plaza Hotel, New York City, I wanted to give him a punch in the nose. That would have been something, explaining that to the New York police. Thirty years later. You would have had to tell your friends you were out with a lunatic, all these people that know you.”
“Yes, they’d have thought you were a lunatic. But I don’t.”
“Well, that’s good. I’m glad to hear that.”
They talked no more about Canning or Indiana or anything so remote as thirty years ago. He paid the bill and walked with her to her car and they shook hands. “Let me know if you’re coming to Detroit,” he said. “My wife and I’d be glad to have you stay with us.”
“I’ll do that, Van,” she said. The lie was not as bad as some she had told. It was the most harmless lie imaginable. At home, comfortable at last in her lavender-scented bath, she thought of lies and of truth, and of a life she had not spent with a man who could be so unforgiving of a little thing that had happened thirty years ago. Humphreysville, Indiana. Good God!
(1962)
A PHASE OF LIFE
The radio was tuned in to an all-night recorded program, and the man at the good upright piano was playing the tunes that were being broadcast. He was not very original, but he knew all the tunes and the recordings, and he was having a pleasant time. He was wearing a striped pajama top which looked not only as though he had slept in it, but had lived in it for some days as well. His gray flannel slacks were wrinkled, spotted, and stained and were held up not with a belt but by being turned over all around at the waist, narrowing the circumference. On the rug in back of him, lined up, were a partly filled tall glass, a couple of bottles of beer, and a bottle of rye, far enough away from the vibration of the piano so they would not be spilled. He had the appearance of a man who had been affable and chunky and had lost considerable weight. His eyes were large and with the fixed brightness of a man who had had a permanent scare.
The woman on the davenport was reading a two-bit reprint of a detective story, and either she was re-reading it or it had been read by others many times before. Twice a minute she would chew the corners of her mouth, every four or five minutes she would draw up one leg and straighten out the other, and at irregular intervals she would move her hand across her breasts, inside the man’s pajamas she was wearing.
The one o’clock news was announced and the woman said, “Turn it off, will you, Tom?”
He got up and turned it off. He took a cigarette from his hip pocket. “You know what the first money I get I’m gonna do with?” he asked.
She did not speak.
“Buy a car,” he said. He straddled the piano bench, freshened his drink. “We coulda been up in the Catskills for the weekend, or that place in Pennsylvania.”
“And tonight in one of those traffic jams. Labor Day night. Coming back to the city. And you could walk it faster than those people.”
“But, Honey, we could stay till tomorrow,” he said.
“I’d be in favor of that, but not you. Three nights away from the city is all you can take. You always think they’re gonna close everything up and turn out all the lights if you don’t get back.”
“I like Saratoga, Honey,” he said.
“Show me the difference between Broadway, Saratoga, and Broadway, New York. Peggy, Jack, Phil, Mack, Shirl, McGovern, Rapport, Little Dutchy, Stanley Walden. Even the cops aren’t different. Aren’t you comfortable here, Honey? If we were driving back from Saratoga tonight you’d be having a spit hemorrhage in the traffic.”
“Fresh air, though,” said Tom.
He kept straddling the piano bench, hitting a few treble chords with his left hand, holding his drink and his cigarette in his right hand. “Do you remember that one?” he said.
“Hmm?” She had gone back to her mystery novel.
“That was one of the numbers I used when you sent over the note. That was ‘Whenever they cry about somebody else, the somebody else is me.’ I was getting three leaves a week. The High Hat Box. Three hundred bucks for sittin’ and drinkin’.”
“Mm-hmm. And some kind of a due bill,” she said.
“Uh-huh.”
“And nevertheless in hock,” she said.
“On the junk, though, Honey,” he said.
“If you wouldn’t of been taking that stuff it’d been something else.”
“You’re right,” he said.
“Well? Don’t say you aren’t better off now, even without any three hundred dollars a week. At least you don’t go around looking like some creep.”
“Oh, I’m satisfied, Honey. I was just remarking, I used to get that three every Thursday. Remember that blue Tux?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I had two of them, and in addition I had to have two white ones. You know with the white ones, those flowers I wore in the button-hole, they were phonies. I forget what the hell they were made out of, but they fastened on with some kind of a button. They were made out of some kind of a wax preparation.”
“I remember. You showed me,” she said.
He put his drink on top of the upright and played a little. “Remember that one?”
“Hmm?”
He sang a little. “‘When will you apologize for being sorry?’ I laid out two leaves for that. I liked it. Nobody else did.”
“I did. It had a twist.”
“The crazy one. Do you remember the cute crazy one? ‘You mean to say you never saw a basketball game?’ Where was it they liked that? Indianapolis.”
“Yep,” she said. She laid down the mystery novel, surrendering to the reminiscent mood. “I wore that blue sequin job. And of course the white beaded. Faust! Were they ever sore at me!”
“They loved you!” he said.
“I don’t mean those characters from the cow barns. I mean the company manager and them.”
He laughed. “Well, Honey, all you did was walk out on their show for some lousy society entertainer.” He sneaked a glance at her. “I guess you been sorry ever since.”
“Put that away for the night,” she said, and picked up her mystery novel.
He played choruses of a half dozen tunes she liked, and was beginning to play another when the doorbell rang. They looked at each other.
“That wasn’t downstairs. That was the doorbell,” he whispered.
“Don’t you think I know it?” she said. “Are you sure we’re in the clear with the cops?”
“May my mother drop dead,” he said.
“Well, go see who it is.”
“Who the hell would it be tonight? Labor Day,” he said.
“Go to the door and find out,” she said. She got up and tip-toed down the short hall. He picked up the poker from the fireplace and held it behind his back, and went to the door.
“Who is it?” he called.
“Tom? It’s Francesca.”
“Who?” he said.
“Francesca. Is that Tom?”
He looked down the hall and Honey nodded. “Oh, okay, Francesca,” he said. He stashed the poker and undid the chain lock and held the door open. In came Francesca, and her half-brother, Cyril, and a girl and a man whom Tom never had seen before.
“Is there someone else here?” said Francesca.
“No,” said Tom.
“Honey’s here, I hope,” said Francesca.
“Oh, yeah,” said Tom. “Come in, sit down.” He nodded in greeting to Cyril.
“This is Maggie, a friend of ours,” said Francesca, “and Sid, also a friend of ours.”
“Glad to know you,” said Tom. There was no shaking of hands. “These are friends of yours,” he said, studying Francesca.
“Definitely. You have nothing to worry about,” said Francesca. She sat down, and her half-brother lit her cigarette. She was in evening clothes
, with a polo coat outside. The girl Maggie was in evening clothes under a raincoat. Both men were wearing patent-leather pumps and black trousers with grosgrain stripes down the sides, and Shetland jackets. Sid’s jacket was too small for him and most likely came out of Cyril’s wardrobe. Francesca and Sid looked about the same age—late thirties—and Cyril was a few years younger, and Maggie could not have been more than twenty-one.
“I know we should have called up. We drove in from the country. But we decided to take a chance.” Francesca liked being haughty with Tom.
“That’s all right. It’s quiet tonight,” said Tom.
“I was going to ask you if it was quiet tonight,” said Francesca.
“Yeah, we were just sitting here listening to the radio. I was playing the piano,” said Tom.
“Really? Have you anything in the Scotch line?” said Francesca.
“Sure,” said Tom. He named two good brands.
They ordered various Scotch drinks, doubles all, and Tom told Francesca that Honey’d be right out. He opened Honey’s door on the way to the kitchen and saw that she was almost dressed. “Did you hear all that?” he said.
“Yes,” she said.
“What do you want?”
“Brandy, probly,” she said.
He continued to the kitchen, and when he brought back the drinks Honey was sitting with the society group, very society herself with Francesca and Cyril, and breaking the ice for Maggie and Sid. Sid was holding Maggie’s hand, but Tom broke it up by the way he handed those two their drinks.
“Oh, Von said to say hello,” said Francesca.
“Really? What’s with Von these days? We didn’t see Von since early in the summer,” said Honey.
“He was abroad for a while,” said Francesca.
“He’s thinking of getting married,” said Cyril.
“God help her, whoever she is,” said Honey.
Sid laughed heartily. “You’re so right.”
“Is that the Von we know?” said Maggie.
“Yes, but no last names here, Maggie,” said Honey. “Except on checks.” She laughed ladylike.
Maggie joined up with the spirit of the jest. “How do you know Von isn’t marrying me?” she said.
“The gag still goes. If you’re gonna marry Von, God help you. But my guess is you aren’t,” said Honey.
“I’m not, don’t you worry,” said Maggie.
“I’m not worried,” said Honey.
“I oughta rise and defend my friend,” said Sid. He was still laughing from his own comment.
“Have you got a friend?” said Honey.
“You’re so right,” said Sid, starting a new laugh.
“I understand you’re moving,” said Francesca.
“We were, but we had a little trouble. I’ll speak to you about that, Frannie,” said Honey.
“Anything I can do,” said Francesca.
“Or me either,” said Cyril.
“Well, it’s the same thing, isn’t it?” said Honey.
“Not entirely,” said Cyril. “Frannie has the dough in this family.”
“Ah, yes,” said Francesca. “But you go to the office.”
They all required more drinks and Tom renewed them. When he served the fresh ones the seatings had been changed. Honey and Francesca and Cyril were sitting on the davenport, and Maggie was sitting on the arm of Sid’s chair. They sipped the new drinks and Francesca whispered to Honey and Honey nodded. “Will you excuse us?” she said, and she and Francesca and Cyril carried their drinks down the hallway. Tom went to the piano and played a chorus. He turned and asked Maggie and Sid if they wanted to hear anything.
“Not specially,” said Maggie.
“No. Say, Old Boy, I understand you have some movies here,” said Sid.
“Sure,” said Tom. “Plenty. You ever been to Cuba?”
“I have. Have you, Maggie?”
“No. Why?”
“Well, then, let’s go easy the first few, hah?” said Sid.
“Sit over here and I’ll set everything up. I have to get the screen and the projection machine. By the way, if you ever want to buy any of these—”
“I’ll let you know,” said Sid.
Sid and Maggie moved to the davenport and crossed their legs while Tom set up the entertainment devices. “You want me to freshen your drinks before I start?” he said.
“That’s a thought,” said Sid.
Tom got the drinks and handed them over. “You know I have to turn out the lights, and some people prefer it if I keep the lights out between pictures. That’s why I said did you want another drink now.”
“Very damn considerate,” said Sid. “When do we get to see the movies? Eh, Maggie?”
“I’m ready,” she said.
The lights were turned off and the sound of the 16 mm. machine was something like the sound of locusts. The man and the girl on the davenport smoked their cigarettes and once in a while there was so much smoke that it made a shadow on the portable screen. Sid tried a few witty comments until Maggie told him, “Darling, don’t speak.”
In about fifteen minutes Tom spoke. “Do you want me to go ahead with the others?” he said.
“What about it, Kid? Can you take the others, or shall we look at those again, or what?” said Sid.
The girl whispered to him. He turned around. “Old Boy, have you got some place where we can go?”
“Sure,” said Tom. “Room down the hall.”
“Right,” said Sid.
“I’ll see if it’s ready. I think it is, but I’ll make sure.”
He came back in a minute or so and stood in the lighted doorway of the hall and nodded. “Third door,” he said.
“Thanks, Old Boy,” said Sid. He put one of his ham-hands on Maggie’s shoulder and they went to the third door.
Tom put the movie equipment away, and now that the lights were up he had nothing to do but wait.
The waiting never had been easy. As the years, then the months went on, it showed no sign of getting easier. The rye and beer did less and less for him, and the only time Honey got tough was if he played piano at moments exactly like this. He was not allowed to play piano, he could have a drink to pass the hour, but he could not leave the apartment because his clothes were in one room, and the little tin aspirin box that Honey did not know about was in another room. He was glad for that. He had fought that box for damn near a year, and lost not more than twice.
One of these days the thing to do was call up Francesca and get five palms out of her, just for the asking. Not spend it all on a Cadillac. A Buick, and wherever the horses were running at the time go there. What if Honey did get sore? What about giving up three leaves a week for her? And she’d always get along. What about tonight? Wasn’t he ready to swing that poker for her? Where would Honey be if he let fly with that poker? Stepping over the body and on her way to Harrisburg, and leaving him to argue it out under the cold water with the Blues.
“What are you thinking about?”
It was Francesca.
“Me? I was just thinking,” said Tom.
“Mm. A reverie,” said Francesca. “What do I owe you?”
“Leave that up to you,” said Tom.
“I don’t mean Honey. I mean you,” said Francesca.
“Oh,” said Tom. “Including—”
“Including my friends,” she said.
“Five thousand?” said Tom.
Francesca laughed. “Okay. Five thousand. Here’s thirty, forty, forty-five on account. Forty-five from five thousand is five, four from nine leaves five. Forty-nine fifty-five. Tom, I never knew you had a sense of humor.” She lowered her voice. “Tell Sid he owes you a hundred dollars. That’ll make him scream.”
“Sure.”
“He has it, so make him pay,” said Francesca. ?
??He has something like two hundred dollars. Shall we wait for them, Cyril?”
“Oh, we have to,” said Cyril.
“Here they are,” said Francesca.
“Hundred dollars, Sid,” said Tom.
“A what?” said Sid.
“Pay up or you’ll never be asked again,” said Francesca.
“A hun-dred bucks!” said Sid. “I haven’t got that much.”
“Pay up, Sid,” said Francesca.
Maggie giggled. “I hope it was worth it,” she said.
“Oh, by all means, but—am I giving the party?” said Sid.
“If you are you owe me plenty,” said Francesca.
“I’ve some money,” said Maggie.
“You know what that makes you, Sid,” said Francesca. “Oh, Tom, I beg your pardon.” She curtsied.
“Don’t pay it then. Von never squawks,” said Tom.
Sid took out his billfold and tossed Tom a hundred and twenty dollars and another ten. “Well, let’s get the hell out of here,” he said.
They all said good night to Tom and he to them. He counted the money and was recounting it when Honey came in.
“We got any more beer in the icebox?” she said.
“Three or four,” said Tom.
“I see one fifty, two twenties, and a lot of tens. It’s all yours, sweetie. For not going away to the country.” She sank down in a chair. “You had a funny expression on your face when I came in. What were you thinking of?”