by John O'Hara
“Another country heard from!” said Emily.
“Who wants to dance? I got rhythm, I got rhythm!” sang Dutch Snyder.
“Yeah. You got rhythm. You said it you got rhythm,” said Emily.
“Well, come on, what’s holding you?” said Dutch.
“Frannie,” said Emily.
“I am not,” said Frannie. “Go ahead and dance with him if you want to.” In a slightly lower tone she added: “You like it.”
“What you say?” said Emily.
“I said you like it. Go ahead and dance with him,” said Frannie.
“All right,” said Emily. “I will dance with him. Come on, Dutch.”
“Let’s go,” said Dutch. “I got sweet dreams in green pastures.”
The others, except Lute and Frannie, chose or were somehow maneuvered into taking partners. Lute got up and moved to a chair beside Frannie.
“That Emily Ziegenfuss,” she said. “What does she think she is? I know what I think she is.”
“Uh-huh. Don’t say it,” said Lute, “don’t say it. If there’s one thing I don’t like, I don’t like to hear one woman call another a bitch.”
“Well, that’s what she is, all right,” said Frannie. “It’s partly your fault, too, Lute. You know she can’t drink. Why do you keep on giving her drinks?”
“She’d be just as bad on two as she is on four or five,” he said. He dropped the levity for a moment. “The only thing to do now is make her pass out. She will.”
“Well, she can’t pass out any too soon for me,” said Frannie. “And that husband of hers, that Harvey. Trying to give me a feel under the table. Honestly! Can you imagine that? Just because she makes a fool out of him he thinks because Dutch is a sap, I guess he thinks that gives him the right to try to paw over me.”
“I don’t blame him,” said Lute. “I’d like a little of that myself.”
“Oh, you,” said Frannie, but pleased. “Gee, if they were all like you, married men I mean, it wouldn’t be so bad. Anyhow I burnt Mr. Ziegenfuss with a cigarette. He thought he was getting along fine and then I reached down and pushed the lighted end of the cigarette on the back of his hand.”
“Oh, swell. I saw him kind of jump there for a minute.”
“He jumped all right,” said Frannie. She sipped her drink and she was looking around the room, over the rim of the glass. “Say, look,” she said. “Isn’t that your boss there, just coming in?”
“My God! Yes,” said Lute. “Oh, and has he a nice package?”
“I’ll say. That’s his wife with him, isn’t it?”
“That’s her, all right,” said Lute. “That’s funny. They were supposed to go to the dance at the country club tonight. I know that for sure.”
“Oh, that’s nothing,” said Frannie. “They often come here when they get tired of the club dances. I often hear them talking when I go to have my hair waved. They often leave the country club dances.”
“He’s nice and drunk, all right,” said Lute.
“He doesn’t look so drunk,” said Frannie. “I’ve seen a lot worse.”
“Yes, but that boy can drink. When he’s that way you can tell he had plenty. He can drink all night without showing it. When he shows it, boy, you can be pretty sure he has damn near a quart under his belt.”
“That’s Carter Davis with him,” said Frannie.
“I know. Carter Davis, and I can’t see who the girl is.”
“I can’t either, but wait a minute. Oh, it’s Kitty Hofman. Yeah. Kitty Hofman, and there comes Whitney Hofman. I guess he was parking the car.”
“Yeah. I guess he was parking the car. I wonder if English drove,” said Lute.
“Oh, I don’t imagine so,” said Frannie. “Not if Whitney Hofman had to park the car.”
“You can’t be so sure about that. English gets that way sometimes. He can always drive when he’s stinko, but a big thing like parking the car—no, sir. That’s asking too much.”
“Well, they got a good table,” said Frannie. “Look at that old Frenchman, What’s His Name, moving that Taqua crowd around to make room for English.”
“To make room for Hofman, you mean,” said Lute.
“Oh, of course. I didn’t think of that. I like that Whitney Hofman. He’s so democratic.”
“Well, I guess if I had fourteen million bucks I imagine I’d be democratic, too. He can afford it,” said Lute.
“What are you talking about, Lute?” said Frannie. “They’re the ones that you never see democratic, those with the money.”
“No, you’re wrong there. The ones with the dough, the big dough, they’re always democratic,” said Lute.
“Oh, you have everything upside down,” said Frannie. “The ones that have a lot of money, they’re the ones you always think of as being the high-hat ones.”
“Not me, Frannie. I always think of the ones that really have more money than I’d know what to do with, I think of them as the democratic ones. If you don’t have money you’re not democratic. You don’t have to be democratic. You just act natural and nobody ever thinks of it as democratic or anything else. It’s like a story I heard about Jim Corbett.”
“Jim Corbett? Is he the one that’s staying at the Y.M.C.A.? The electric engineer?”
“Hell, no. His name is Corbin. No, Jim Corbett was the fighter, heavyweight champion. They used to call him Gentleman Jim.”
“Oh, Gentleman Jim. Oh, I heard of him. I always thought he was some kind of a crook. I heard of him all right. What’s the story?”
“Well, when he was here two years ago—”
“Was he here? In Gibbsville? I never knew that,” said Frannie.
“Yes, he was here for a banquet. Anyhow, one of the reporters got to talking to him about his title of Gentleman Jim, and he told the story about how he was in the subway in New York or something and somebody started pushing him around—no, that’s the one about Benny Leonard. Wait a minute. Oh, yes. This is it. Somebody was asking him why he was always so polite to everybody. He is the politest man in the world, I guess, and he said, ‘Well, when you’ve been heavyweight champion of the world, gentlemen, you can afford to be polite.’”
“What did he mean by that?” said Frannie.
“What!” said Lute. “Let it go, Frannie. It isn’t that important.”
“Well, I just don’t see what that has to do with Whitney Hofman being democratic. I think he’s very democratic.”
“I think you better have a shot,” said Lute.
“Am I dumb or something?” she said. “You act as though I said something dumb or nay-eeve.”
“Not at all. You want ginger ale with yours, or straight?” said Lute.
“I’ll have a straight one I guess, then you can give me another in a highball.”
“That’s talking,” said Lute. “Oh. Don’t look right away, but I think we’re going to have a little company. You can look now.”
“You mean English? He’s coming over. Introduce me to him, will you?”
“Sure. If he ever makes it,” said Lute.
Julian English had stood up and looked around the room and had recognized Lute Fliegler. Immediately he told Caroline and Kitty and Whit and Carter that he had to talk to Lute. Matter of business that couldn’t wait. He excused himself and began to make his way, assisting himself by taking hold of the backs of chairs and people’s shoulders, to the table where Lute and Frannie were seated.
He extended his hand to Lute. “Luther, I came all the way over here to wish you a happy birthday. All the way over here. Happy birthday, Luther.”
“Thanks, boss. Will you sit down and have a drink with us? This is Mrs. Snyder. Mrs. Snyder, this is Mr. English.”
“I’m pleased to meet you,” said Frannie, and began to get up.
“Not leaving?” said Julian.
“Oh, no,” said Frannie. “I’ll stay.”
“Very good. Very, very good. Very good. Luther, I came over here to talk to you on a matter of business—no,
sit down, Mrs. Snyder. Please sit down. You can hear what I have to say. Luther, have you any Scotch?”
“No, I only have rye, I’m sorry to say.”
“What of it?” said Julian. “Who is that man over there, Luther?”
“Where?”
“The one that’s staring at us. I think he’s dead. Did you ever hear the story about the dead man in the subway, Luther?”
“No, I don’t think I did.”
“Lucky boy. Lucky boy, Luther. I always said you were a fine fellow. Are you having a good time?”
“Pretty good.”
“How about you, Mrs. Snyder? Have I the name right?”
“Yes, that’s right, Mr. English. I’m having a pretty good time.”
“Well, I’m not. Or at least not till I came to this table. Are you married, Mrs. Snyder?”
“Yes, I’m married.”
“She’s Dutch Snyder’s wife,” said Lute.
“Oh. Oh, of course. Of course. Dutch Snyder. Well, I’ll be God damned. What ever became of old Dutch? I haven’t seen old Dutch in years.”
“He’s dancing,” said Frannie.
“Dancing, is he? He was always a great one for dancing, was our Dutch. So you married Dutch. How nice. How jolly. Do you think Dutch has any Scotch, Luther?”
“No, he only has rye, too,” said Lute.
“What of it? Is that any of my business who has rye or who has Scotch? Well. I think I have to leave you now, my friends. It’s been a great little visit and I want to tell you I enjoyed every minute of it. You be nice to Mrs. Snyder, Luther. She is my ideal woman. But now I have to go. I see little old Al Grecco over there and I think if I play my cards right I could get a drink of Scotch out of him. I understand he knows a fellow that can get it for you.”
“So I hear,” said Lute.
Julian stood up. “Mrs. Snyder—a pleasure. A pleasure indeed. Luther—I’ll see you some other time. Luther and I work together, Mrs. Snyder. We’re buddies. He’s my buddy, and I’m his buddy. He’s my buddy, I’m her Joe. Ju. If a buddy, meet a buddy, looking for the Scutch. If a buddy, meet a buddy, how’s my old friend Dutch? Auf wiedersehen.”
“Auf wiedersehen,” said Lute.
Julian moved away, and they saw him sitting down at Al Grecco’s table, in Helene Holman’s chair. Helene was singing Love for Sale: “Let the poets pipe of love in their childish way; we know every type of love better far than they…”
“Don’t get up, Al, don’t get up,” said Julian.
“Oh, that’s all right,” said Al Grecco.
“I wanted to see you on a business proposition,” said Julian.
“Well,” said Al, rising. “I guess we can—”
“Oh—” Julian put a hand on Al’s shoulder. “Sit down, sit down. We can talk here. I wanted to know if you knew anybody that could let me have some Scotch.”
“Why, sure,” said Al. “What’s the matter? Don’t Lebrix know you? He ought to. I’ll fix it right away. Waiter! Eddie!”
“No, no,” said Julian. “I can get it here all right. They’ll sell it to me. But I don’t want to buy it. I simply don’t want to buy drinks, Al. If there’s anything I don’t want to do it’s buy a drink. I’ll buy you a drink. I’ll buy—oh, that man over there, I’ll buy him a drink. But I don’t want to buy a drink. See what I mean?”
“No. I don’t exactly see what you mean, Mr. English.”
“Just call me Mr. English, Al. You call me Mr. English and I’ll call you Al. The hell with this formality. We’ve known each other all our lives. You know, we Gibbsville people, we have to stick together in a place like this. If we don’t you know what happens? Those Hazleton people gang us. What was I talking about just before you said that?”
“What?”
“Oh, yeah. About drinks. Uh, if I don’t want to do anything it’s buy a drink. You know why? You want to know why I feel that way?”
“Sure.”
“Well, it’s like love, Al,” said Julian. “You know what I mean? Or don’t you see what I mean? You buy a drink, and that’s all it is, just a bought drink. Whereas, on the other hand, au contraire, au contraire, Al, uh, you uh, uh, somebody gives you a drink and that’s like love. Why, say, who is this?”
“You got my chair, Mister,” said Helene Holman, who had finished her song.
“Not at all,” said Julian. “Sit right down. Don’t apologize. Just sit down. If this is your chair you needn’t apologize. Just sit right down and Al will get another chair for us, won’t you, Al?”
Al pulled a chair from another table.
“Shake hands with Mr. English,” said Al. “He’s a friend of Ed’s.”
“Are you a friend of Ed’s?” said Julian to Helene.
“Yes, I guess you’d call it that,” said Helene.
“Fine,” said Julian. “Ed who?”
“Ed Charney,” said Al.
“Oh-h-h. Ed Charney,” said Julian. “Well, my God, why didn’t you say so? My God. Jesus Christ Almighty, why didn’t you say so? I didn’t think you were a friend of Ed Charney’s. My God.”
“What Ed did you think he meant?” said Helene.
“Oh, I don’t know. Do we have to go into that?” said Julian. “What’s your name?”
“Helene Holman,” she said.
“Oh, yes, yes,” said Julian. “What? Will you say that again, please?”
“Helene, Hol-man,” she repeated.
“Oh. Helene Holman. You’re the one that married Dutch Snyder. How is old Dutch? Does he still dance as much as ever?”
“I never heard of him,” said Helene.
“Neither—did—I,” said Julian. “You’re my pal. Neither did I. And I don’t want to again. My goodness that’s a nice gown you have on.”
“I like it,” she said, smiling at Al.
“Miss Holman is a very, very good friend of Ed Charney’s,” said Al.
“That’s fine. I like that,” said Julian. “And I’ll tell you something else. I’m a very very good friend of Ed Charney’s.”
“Oh, I know,” said Al. “I was just telling you, Miss Holman is, too. A very good friend. You know what I mean?”
“You don’t have to draw a map, do you?” said Helene.
“You mean—Miss Holman is Ed’s mistress? Is that what you mean?” said Julian.
“Yes, that’s what he means,” said Helene.
“Well, I don’t know what to say,” said Julian, and then: “Except—I do like that dress. I like that dress.”
“I like it,” said Helene.
“So do I,” said Julian. “How about you, Al? What’s your opinion on Miss Holman’s dress? Come on, speak up.”
“It’s all right,” said Al. “It’s all right.”
“I should say it is,” said Julian. “How about dancing, Miss Holman?”
“She’s tired,” said Al.
“Well, in that case, she better go to bed,” said Julian.
“Hey,” said Al.
“What do you want?” said Julian.
“Nothing. Only remember what I told you about Miss Holman and Ed,” said Al.
“My friend, I’ve already forgotten that little bit of gossip,” said Julian. “I’m not a bit interested in Miss Holman’s affairs, am I, Miss Holman?”
“Not a bit.”
“Right,” said Julian. “So let’s dance.”
“Check and double check,” said Helene, and got up and went to the dance floor with Julian.
Everyone in the big room watched them. She was a good dancer, and so was Julian. And they danced, which was a kind of disappointment to several persons, who expected another kind of exhibition. It also was a kind of surprise to Helene, and a kind of surprise to Al Grecco. When they sat down again Al relaxed and was able to laugh at the things Julian said. Presently they were joined by Carter Davis. After he was introduced he said: “Caroline wants you.”
“I happen to know she doesn’t,” said Julian.
“Well, she does,” said Carter.
“Carter, sit down before there’s an ugly scene,” said Julian.
Carter hesitated, and then sat down. “All right,” he said, “but only for a minute. Ju, you’ve got to—”
“Did you all meet my friend Mr. Davis?” said Julian.
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, they met me,” said Carter.
“So they did,” said Julian. “Well, let’s talk about something else. Books. Uh, Miss Holman, have you read The Water Gipsies?”
“No, I don’t believe I have,” said Helene. “What is it about?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” said Julian. “I got it for Christmas, or rather a member of my family did.”
“A member of your family,” said Carter.
“Yes, a member of my family,” said Julian. “My wife, Miss Holman. Mr. Davis, this is Mr. Davis right here, he gave my wife The Water Gipsies for Christmas. What did you give me, pal?”
“You know what I gave you,” said Carter.
“Of course I do, and I’m a bastard for not remembering it.” Julian leaned forward to explain to Helene and Al: “Mr. Davis gave me a tie, from Finchley’s. All the way from Finchley’s. Do you remember which tie you gave me, Carter?”
“Sure I do,” said Carter.
“I’ll bet you five dollars you don’t,” said Julian. “Al, you hold stakes. Here’s my five. Is it a bet, Carter?”
“I don’t want to take your money,” said Carter.
“Oh, yes you do. Oh, yes you do. Put up your five bucks. There, Al. Now.
“How can we prove it?” said Julian. “Oh, I have an idea. You tell me what kind of tie it was, and then go over to Caroline and repeat the description of the tie, see? And if you’re right she’ll shake her head yes, and if you’re wrong she’ll—”
“She’ll shake her head no,” said Carter. “Okay.” He got up and went over to the table.
“Do you want to dance some more?” said Julian.
“Don’t you want to wait till your friend proves who won the bet?”
“The hell with him. I just did that to get rid of him,” said Julian.
“But you lose five bucks,” said Helene.
“Yeah, you lose five bucks,” said Al.
“It’s worth it,” said Julian. “I got rid of him, didn’t I? Come on, let’s dance.”
