by Gore Vidal
“Is it nice?” asked Caroline.
He shook his head. “It’s very depressing.”
“I guess I’m lucky to be living with my family,” said Kuppelton. “It’s real nice out where we are and there aren’t so many people. I’d hate to have to live in the city.”
They talked of the places where they lived and then they started to talk of the places where they would like to live.
Kuppelton watched Holton as he talked and he tried to learn, by concentrating intensely, what he was thinking; to learn if Mr. Murphy had said he would promote him. Holton’s smooth forehead, however, was a wall and Kuppelton could not pierce it, could not discover the dreams behind it.
Marjorie came over to their table and put two plates of veal in front of Caroline and Robert. The veal was a uniform tan color, floating in a sea of red sauce. Two saucers of dark-green spinach floating in water were put beside the plates of veal.
“Looks good, doesn’t it?” commented Marjorie.
“Sure, sure,” said Holton, looking at his plate with distaste.
Kuppelton ordered veal and Marjorie left.
Kuppelton looked at Ruth. She was dark, with a big nose and with self-pitying eyes. Her complexion was oily and she wore too much make-up. Ruth liked all men; she was sitting very close to Robert Holton now.
“Any interesting people come into the office?” asked Holton, turning to Ruth: as receptionist she was always able to tell them about celebrities.
Ruth nodded. “Laura Whitner was in to see Mr. Heywood.”
Caroline was interested. “She’s the movie star, isn’t she?”
Ruth nodded again, a bird-like motion. “Why, she used to be one of the biggest stars. I used to go see all her pictures. My gracious, they were wonderful.”
Marjorie Ventusa returned with veal for Kuppelton and the ham and eggs for Ruth.
“Oh, thank you,” said Ruth. “I love ham,” she added.
Richard Kuppelton looked at Ruth with disapproval. She was an aggressive woman and he was tired of aggressive women. His mother was that way. Caroline was more what he wanted. She had spirit but was not aggressive. There was a difference between spirit and aggressiveness. He could not quite define it but still there was a difference. Caroline could act irritated with him and he would not mind. And she always smiled, even when she was angry; he could not feel that a woman who always smiled was aggressive. She had a mind of her own but then he could handle that. Eating veal, Richard Kuppelton felt he could handle anything.
Robert Holton finished eating. He sat back in his chair and yawned.
“Bored?” asked Caroline.
He shook his head. “No, not very. Just sleepy.”
“Well, I like that!” exclaimed Ruth. “You’d think we weren’t good enough for him.” She said this in a way to let him know she was being humorous.
Kuppelton decided, however, to develop what she’d said. “Sure, he’s a good friend of Mr. Heywood.”
Ruth was impressed. “I certainly wish I had your contacts then. I sure wouldn’t be working in this lousy job.”
Robert Holton wanted to know what was wrong with her job.
“Oh, you know how it is. Doing the same thing day after day. It makes me sick. I’d like to do something exciting.”
Like what? asked Richard Kuppelton. These were his secret wishes, too, but he would never have put them into words. He was delighted to hear someone else say them.
Ruth was not sure just what she wanted. She decided she would like to travel. Richard Kuppelton admitted, then, that he would like to travel. Caroline thought a moment and agreed with them that to travel would be the best thing anyone could do, the thing she wanted to do.
Robert Holton, who had traveled, said that he didn’t care to leave New York again: not for many years at least.
“You’re not adventurous,” said Caroline sadly.
Ruth protected him. “After all, he’s had some adventures. He was in the war.”
Richard Kuppelton was glad that Holton did not talk about the war. It made too great a difference between them and the women might have called attention to this difference.
He disliked Robert Holton because he was afraid of him. It was more than the threat to his job, much more than that. Caroline, whom Kuppelton wanted, seemed interested in him. He flattered himself that she was no more interested in Holton than she was in himself; still he was a threat.
Ruth was moving closer to Robert Holton now. Her thick curved lips, heavily painted a dark red, looked unpleasantly moist. Kuppelton had a desire to dry her mouth. He was amused, though, at the way she was playing up to Holton. She liked him now because of his influence, not because he was good-looking. Although Kuppelton, for one, couldn’t see his handsomeness. Holton was well-built but not much better than he was; of course, Kuppelton had a slight stomach and Holton didn’t, but a few days of exercise and he could be as slim. He made a mental note to do some exercise.
Marjorie Ventusa arranged her hair in front of the steamy mirror. It didn’t look too bad when she wore it over her ears. She pinned it back carefully. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to get a snood after all.
She put some other people’s orders on her tray and left the kitchen. The crowd waiting to be seated was beginning to thin and soon the lunch rush would be over.
She waited on the customers whose orders she had and then she moved over to the table where Robert Holton was sitting. He was very handsome, she thought. She looked at the others with him and she envied them all. They didn’t understand what he was, how important he was.
The girl with the blue eyes and slim legs she could not like. This was her rival—one of her rivals, anyway. She was glad that he never seemed particularly interested in this girl and, for that matter, the girl didn’t seem interested in him. Still she was near, worked with him probably: she was a danger.
Then Marjorie Ventusa did not like the dark-haired girl with the big nose who sat so close to him, but at least she was not a danger. She almost pitied this girl who had moved her chair so close to his that their legs were touching.
The other man was dull-looking and obviously interested in the girl with the blue eyes. Marjorie Ventusa wished him luck. Then, having thought these things about her customers, she walked over to their table.
“Ready for dessert?” asked Marjorie Ventusa cheerfully, trying not to look at Robert Holton.
They were ready.
Everyone decided to have vanilla ice cream. Slowly she cleared the table. This was a hard thing to do, because she had to act as if she were in a hurry.
They talked at the table as though she weren’t there. She was, naturally, used to that: she had been a waitress a long time, but today she was almost angry at being treated like a piece of furniture. She could do nothing about it, though. She picked up her tray and went into the kitchen.
Marjorie ordered the ice cream. As she waited she wondered if there was any way she could ever see Robert Holton in his other life: the mysterious important life he had in the brokerage firm. She tried to think of some way she could get to know him in this other life. She could think of nothing.
The ice cream was ready and she took it back to the dining room.
She gave them their dessert and only Holton said thank you. She tried to expand this one phrase into a conversation but it was too difficult. So she walked over to the next table which was now empty. Slowly she placed dishes on her tray. She was near enough to them to hear what they were saying.
Robert Holton was talking about his job: “I don’t mind being in an office all day. I can’t see why people mind that so much.”
The dark girl with the big nose disagreed: “It’s much more natural to be able to wander around like you want to do. It’s natural to travel, I think.”
He laughed. Marjorie liked his laugh. He said, “You should get married, that’s what you should do.”
The dark girl became coquettish. “But I haven’t had any offers yet. Of course, I’m open to any
.”
The bitch, thought Marjorie Ventusa, disliking her now.
“You shouldn’t have any trouble,” said Holton gallantly and Marjorie liked him for saying this.
“You’re just saying that.”
Then the girl with the blue eyes and the dull man began to talk together and their voices blended into the ocean-like sound of many voices in the restaurant.
They finished the ice cream.
Marjorie walked over to the table. “Will there be anything else?” she asked officially.
There was nothing else.
“We’ll have our check, please, Marjorie,” said Robert Holton and she liked the way he said her name.
“Certainly.” She went to the cashier and had the four checks totalled. Then she came back.
They paid her.
“Back to work,” said the blue-eyed girl with a sigh.
Chapter Seven
“HERE WE ARE,” SAID CAROLINE.
Ruth went to her desk in the reception room. “I’ll see you all later,” she said and she sat down and took out a large gold compact. Caroline watched her a moment as she powdered her nose, watched her with a certain pity because she was ugly.
“Come on,” said Kuppelton and he and Robert Holton walked on either side of her through the office. She was conscious of the envious stares of the other girls and she smiled at them as nicely as she could, knowing that they hated her for her smile.
Mr. Murphy was not in the Statistical office. Everyone else was back, though. As she entered the room Caroline was conscious of a difference in the atmosphere. The women were quieter than usual and the men were watching. She looked and saw, sitting at Holton’s desk, an army officer.
“Jim!” said Holton when he saw him; the other looked up.
“Hi,” he said and he got to his feet. They shook hands with Anglo-Saxon restraint, muttering monosyllables of greeting, each asking about the other’s health.
Kuppelton went to his own desk without speaking to the army officer. Caroline stood expectantly beside Robert Holton, waiting to be introduced.
“This,” said Holton finally, “is Caroline. Caroline, meet Jim Trebling.”
“How do you do,” said Trebling.
“How do you do,” said Caroline and they shook hands. His hand, she noticed, was rough and hard.
“You live in New York?” asked Caroline. This was always a good beginning because it could lead to all sorts of confessions.
He shook his head. “No, I’m from California. I’m from Los Angeles.”
She was impressed. “That’s where Hollywood is, isn’t it? You from Hollywood?”
No, he was not from Hollywood. He lived near by.
“I’d certainly like to visit out there.”
“It’s not as interesting as New York.”
She gave a little laugh to show her scorn for New York, her laugh leveling the buildings and cracking Grant’s Tomb. “It’s awful here,” she said. “We have an awful climate.”
He raised the buildings again. “Oh, I think it’s pretty exciting. You’ve got so many things. This is really the first time I’ve seen New York. Bob and I went overseas from here and we came back here but I never really saw the town.”
“Are you regular army?” she asked. Men in uniform were becoming rare.
“No, I’m getting out soon. I signed up for a little while longer.”
“Oh.”
He and Robert Holton began to talk then about the army and she felt shut out. She stood there wondering whether she should go or not. She rather liked this young man. He was a lieutenant, at least he had one bar on his shoulder and she thought that lieutenants wore a single bar: the war had been such a long time ago and she had forgotten so many things.
He had dark eyes and bleached-looking hair which Caroline had always found attractive in men. His skin was rather pale for a Californian; all Californians had brown skin in her imagination. He was not particularly handsome, though he looked rather distinguished, with sharp features and circles under his eyes.
“Are you in the East long?” she asked.
He looked at her as if he had forgotten she was there; still, he was very polite. “No, I’m only here for a week.”
“Looking around?”
“Yes, looking around.”
“Caroline,” said Robert Holton, as though explaining an important thing, “Caroline is the belle of the office.”
“I can see that,” said Trebling without too much effort, saying it almost naturally, a hard thing to do.
“Oh, thank you,” said Caroline. Now she didn’t know what to say. She looked at his ribbons. She counted them mechanically, the way she did before the war ended: five ribbons. “You must’ve been around quite a bit,” she said finally, speaking before the silence her last words had made became another conversation.
Trebling nodded seriously. “Yes, I saw quite a bit. No more than Bob did, though.”
“That must’ve been nice,” said Caroline, “your being able to serve together everywhere.”
“Yes, it was.”
She knew that they were waiting for her to go but she wasn’t ready yet. “Do you like being in the army in peacetime?”
“No, not particularly.”
“Well, you’ll be out soon, I suppose.”
“Quite soon.”
She had to go now. She couldn’t understand what kept her standing there foolishly trying to make a conversation by herself. It was not as if Lieutenant Trebling were handsome or unusual.
Caroline made her great effort. “Well,” she said, “I guess I’ll see you later, Mr. Trebling.” Was that the right name? She wasn’t sure. She hoped she hadn’t said it wrong.
“Nice to have met you, Caroline.” She smiled at him, her face at a three-quarter angle: her most flattering angle. Then, with great nonchalance, she walked slowly back to her desk.
Trebling was surprised at the way Holton looked out of uniform.
To have lived several years with a person who looked always one way and then to see him later another way is startling. Jim Trebling had always thought of Holton as a soldier: he could not get used to him as a civilian in an office.
“Sit down, Jim.” Holton pointed to a chair beside his desk. They both sat down. Trebling felt a little awkward. The office was too formal for him and he was not at ease.
Jim looked at Holton, trying to get accustomed to him. “You’ve certainly changed. I don’t know if I’d have recognized you.”
Robert Holton laughed a little self-consciously. “These civilian clothes are different. They make you feel different.”
“You’re really settling down, I guess.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I wish I could. Maybe I will when I get out...I don’t know.”
“What do you think you’re going to do?”
Jim shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking of starting some kind of a business. You know, what we used to talk about before you got out.”
Holton nodded. “That’s a good idea, I guess. I thought of it, too, but of course the odds are against you.”
Trebling was surprised to hear Holton say this. “I know it,” he said.
Holton saw then that he hadn’t said the right thing. He tried to explain. “I don’t mean you shouldn’t start a business. I just mean something might go wrong.” He was saying worse things now; he stopped.
Jim changed the subject. “How do you like being out?”
“Oh, it’s pretty wonderful. Just to be able to stay in one place....”
“I guess it’s nice for a while.”
Holton sighed. “I don’t think I’ll ever travel again.”
Jim was surprised. “I thought you were going to go around the world. Don’t you remember when we used to talk about seeing more of Italy?”
“Well, maybe sometime. I hadn’t stopped moving for very long then.”
“No, that’s right, you hadn’t.” As they talked Jim Trebling became more uneasy. This
was a person he had not met before and he was surprised and sorry. Robert Holton had been different as a soldier.
As they talked, the words forming conventional patterns and hiding their real thoughts, Jim thought of the war.
“You remember the time we were in Florence?”
Holton said that he remembered it very well.
They spoke then of Florence and as they talked Jim Trebling began to remember many things.
The city had been liberated for several months. The war was almost over and Holton and Trebling were able to take a week’s leave: they went to Florence.
Parts of the city had been badly damaged. The old buildings on the Arno had been leveled in many places but the Ponte Vecchio was still there. These things had not been very important, however, because they had not gone to see antiques. They had gone to rest, to meet women, and to try to find enough liquor to get drunk on.
They stayed with a family outside of the town; they stayed in a place called Fiesole.
Trebling remembered the house clearly: long and rambling, dirty-white stucco with small iron balconies beneath the larger windows. A rock garden, dusty gray-green olive trees and an unearthly view of the valley in which was Florence.
The house belonged to a family named Bruno, friends of Robert Holton’s mother. They had invited the two of them to stay as long as they liked: in those days it was a good policy to have American soldiers in one’s home.
Robert Holton had liked a girl named Carla. Trebling had liked her too, but not as much as Holton did. He remembered one night when the three had sat on the terrace, watching the city.
It was summer and the night was warm and vibrant. The city lights glittered in the valley-cup; the lights were golden and flickering and the river shone darkly.
They sat on a stone ledge, their feet dangling above the rock garden. Carla was between them; her hair was dark and her face pale. They sat like this, watching the lights of the city and listening to the sound of insects whirring in the night.
And Jim had said, embarrassed by the long silence, “It’s so peaceful here.”
The other two acted as if they had not heard him. Holton, sitting close beside Carla, touched her.
