by John O'Hara
A. Ab, Ab, Ab, ante, con, de—no, this was no time to be thinking of the Latin prepositions. Thinking of things like that would only rattle him now. Think viciously, that was the thing. A for Abbott. A for Abercrombie. A for Abingdon. A for Abrams. Wonder what ever happened to that Abrams girl that was so good on the piano? He could think kindly of her now and remember her as a girl who had a nice touch at the piano. She was a degenerate at heart, though, and when her father came to him and asked him what was the meaning of this what his daughter had told him, Dr. Reddington had almost felt like telling the girl’s father what kind of child he was raising. But instead he had said: “Look here, Abrams, this is a terrible thing you are saying to me, a serious charge. Am I to infer that you are taking an impressionable child’s word against mine?” And the little man had said he was only asking, only wanted to know the truth so if it was the truth he could go farther. “Oh, indeed? Go farther, eh? And who might I ask would take your word against mine? I was born in this town, you know, and for five generations my ancestors have been prominent in this town. I myself have spent twenty-two years in the teaching profession, and you have been here how long? Two years? Well, six years. What’s six years against hundreds? Do you think even your own people would take your word against mine? Dr. Stein, for instance. Do you think he would believe you rather than me? Mr. Pollack at The Bee. Do you think he would believe you, risk his standing in this community where there are mighty few of your people, to side with you in an attack on me with a story that has no foundation in fact? Mr. Abrams, I could thrash you within an inch of your life for coming to me with this accusation. The only thing that prevents me from doing that is that I am a father myself. I think we’ve said enough about this. Your daughter is your problem. My job is to see that she is given an education, but my job begins at nine in the morning and ends at three in the afternoon.” The Abramses. They probably were in New York, at least they took their daughter out of school and sold out their store shortly after the two fathers had their conversation. Abrams. A lot of Abramses in New York.
B. C. D. E. F. G. H. Think of all the people in this city, the money the telephone company must make. All those people, all with their problems. B. Buckley. Brown. Brown with an e on the end. Barnes. Barnard. Brace. Butterfield. Brunner! Gloria knew someone named Brunner. Dr. Reddington found the number and gave it to the operator.
He heard the signal of the number being rung, and then the practiced voice: “What number did you call, please? . . . I’m sorry, sir, that telephone has been dis-con-nec-ted.”
He replaced the transmitter. This was a hunch. He looked up the address and memorized it, and went downstairs and took a taxi to the address. He told the driver to wait at the corner of Hudson Street and the driver gave him a good look and said he would.
Dr. Reddington walked down the street, following a girl with a large package under her arm. Any other time she might have interested him, but not today. She was just the back of a girl with a good figure, from what he could see, carrying a bundle. Then to his dismay she turned in at the number he sought, and he had to walk on without stopping; and he thought of the taxi driver, who would be looking at him and wondering why he had passed the number. All confused he turned around and went back to the taxi and they left the neighborhood and drove back to the hotel in the sunshine.
• • •
“This is terribly nice of you,” said Gloria.
“Oh, that’s all right,” said Miss Day.
“Thanks a lot, Norma,” said Eddie Brunner.
“Oh, I don’t mind a bit. I know how it is,” said Miss Day. “You’d roast in that mink coat today.”
“Eddie, you look out the window a minute,” said Gloria.
“Oh! You really did need these,” said Miss Day when Gloria took off her coat. “I’m glad I had them. Usually on Sunday my extra things are at the cleaners’. I didn’t think to bring a slip.”
“I won’t need one with this skirt. This is a marvelous suit. Where did you get it?”
“Russek’s. Were you playing strip poker?”
“It looks that way, doesn’t it? Yes, I was, in a way. That is, we were shooting crap and I was ’way ahead at one time and then my luck changed, and when I offered to bet my dress the men took me up and of course I didn’t think they’d hold me to it and it wasn’t the men that held me to it, it was the girls on the party. Fine friends I have. It made me very angry and I left.”
“Are you going to school in New York?”
“No, I live here, but I couldn’t go home looking like this. My family—they won’t even allow me to smoke. All right, Eddie.”
“Looks better on you than it does on me,” said Norma.
“I wouldn’t say that,” said Eddie.
“I wouldn’t either,” said Gloria, “but Eddie never says anything to make me get conceited. We’ve known each other such a long time.”
“Eddie, I thought you went on the wagon after Friday,” said Norma.
“I did.”
“Oh, that. That’s mine,” said Gloria. “I bought it for Eddie because I wanted to get in his good graces. You see I thought I was going to have to spend the day here and I was going to bribe Eddie to go uptown to one of the Broadway shops, I think there are some open on Sunday night, they always seem to be open. But then he suggested you, and I think you’re perfectly darling to do this. I’ll hang this up in one of your closets, Eddie, and call for it tomorrow. I’ve been intending to put it in storage but I keep putting it off and putting it off—”
“I know,” said Miss Day.
“—and then last night I was glad I hadn’t, because a cousin of mine that goes to Yale, he and a friend arrived in an open car and it was cold. No top. They were frozen, but they insisted on driving out to a house party near Princeton.”
“Oh. Weren’t your family worried? You didn’t go home then?”
“The car broke down on the way back at some ungodly hour this morning. Bob, my cousin’s friend, took us to a party when we got back to town and that’s where I got in the crap game.”
“But what about your cousin? I should think—”
“Passed out cold, and he’s not much help anyway. Not that he’d let them make me give up my dress, but he can’t drink. None of our family can. I had two drinks of that Scotch and I’m reeling. I suppose you noticed it.”
“Oh, no. But I can never tell with other people till they start doing perfectly terrible things,” said Miss Day.
“Well, I feel grand. I feel like giving a party. By the way, before I forget it, if you give me your address I’ll have these things cleaned and send them to you.”
“All right,” said Miss Day, and gave her address.
“Let’s go to the Brevoort, but my treat.”
“I thought you lost all your money,” said Miss Day.
“I did, but I cashed a check on the way downtown. A man that works for my uncle cashed it for me. Shall we go?”
• • •
The nose of the Packard convertible went now up, now down. The car behaved like an army tank on a road that ordinarily was used only by trucks. Paul Farley, driving, was chewing on his lower lip, and the man beside him, looking quite pleased with himself and the world at large, was holding his chin up and dropping the ashes of his cigar on the floor of Farley’s car.
“Let’s stop,” said the man. “Just take one more look. See how it looks from here.”
Farley stopped, none too pleased, and looked around. It did please him to look at the nearly finished house; it was his work. “Looks pretty swell to me,” he said.
“I think so,” said Percy Kahan. He was just learning to say things like “I think so” when he meant “You’re damn right.” People like Farley, you never knew when they were going to say something simple, like “You’re damn right,” or something sophisticated, restrained, like “I think so.” But it was better to
err on the side of the restrained than the enthusiastic. Besides, he was the buyer; Farley was still working for him as architect, and it didn’t do to let Farley think he was doing too well.
“A swell job. I know when I’ve done a swell job, and I’ve done one for you, Mr. Kahan. About the game room, my original estimate won’t cover that now. I could have done it earlier in the game, but I don’t suppose you’re going to quibble over at the most twelve hundred dollars now. You understand what I meant about the game room itself. That could be done for a great deal less, and still can, but if you want it to be in keeping with the rest of the house my best advice is, don’t try to save on the little things. I was one of the first architects to go in for game rooms, that is to recognize them as an important feature of the modern home. Up to that time a game room—well, I suppose you’ve seen enough of them to know what most of them were like. Extra space in the cellar, so they put in a portable bar, ping-pong table, a few posters from the French Line—”
“Oh, I want those. Can you get them?”
“I think so. I never like to ask them for anything, because I have my private opinion of the whole French Line crowd, but that’s a mere detail. Anyway, what I want to point out is that I was one of the first to see what an important adjunct to the home a game room can be. I’d like to show you some things I’ve done out in the Manhasset section. The Whitney neighborhood, you know.”
“Oh, did you do the Jock Whitney estate too?”
“No, I didn’t do that, but in that section I’ve—two years ago I had eleven thousand dollars to spend on one game room out that way.”
“But that was two years ago,” said Mr. Kahan. “Whose house was that?”
“Weh-hell, I, uh, it isn’t exactly ethical to give names and figures, Mr. Kahan. You understand that. Anyway, you see my point about not trying to chisel a few dollars in such an important feature of the home. For instance, you’ll want a large open fireplace, you said. Well, that’s going to cost you money now. You see, not to be too technical about it, we’ve gone ahead without making any provision for fireplaces on that side of the house, the side where it would have to be if you wanted it in the game room. And, you have the right idea about it. There should be an open fireplace there.
“You see, Mr. Kahan, I want this house to be right. I’ll be frank with you. A lot of us architects just can’t take it, and a lot of fellows I know are pretty darn pessimistic about the future. Naturally we’ve been hit pretty hard, some of us, but I personally can’t complain. So far this year I’ve done well over a half a million dollars’ worth of business—”
“Net?”
“Oh, no. Not net. I’m a residence architect, Mr. Kahan. But that stacks up pretty well beside what I’ve been doing the last three years. I had my best year oddly enough last year, Mr. Kahan.”
“No kidding.”
“Oh, yes. I had a lot of work in Palm Beach. And so far this year I’ve had a very good, a very satisfactory year. But next year, I’m a little afraid of next year. Not because people haven’t got the money, but because they’re afraid to spend it. There’s an awful lot of hoarding going on. I know a man who is turning everything he can into gold. Gold notes when he can’t get the actual bullion. Well, that isn’t so good. The general spirit of alarm and unrest, and next year being a Presidential year, but I’ve got my overhead, I’ve got my expenses, Presidential year or no Presidential year. So far I haven’t had to lay off a single draftsman and I don’t want to have to do it, but great heavens, if people are going to take their money out of industry and let it lie gathering dust in safe deposit vaults, or in secret vaults in their own homes, the general effect is going to be pretty bad.
“Now with a house like this, people will see this house and they can’t help being enchanted with it, and it’s been my experience that a house like yours, Mr. Kahan, with a page or two of photographs in Town and Country and Country Life and Spur, people who might be tempted to hoard their money—”
“You mean pictures of this house in Town and Country?”
“Naturally,” said Farley. “You don’t suppose I’d let this house go without—unless you’d rather not. Of course if you’d—”
“Oh, no. Not me. I’m in favor of that. Don’t tell Mrs. Kahan, though. It’d make a nice surprise for her.”
“Certainly. Women like that. And women are mighty important in these things. As I was saying, I’m counting on people seeing this house, and your friends and neighbors coming in—that’s one reason why I’d like to see you have a good game room, when you entertain informally, people will see what a really fine house you have, and they’ll want to know who did the house. It’s good business for me to do a good job for you any time, Mr. Kahan, but especially now.”
“Town and Country, eh? Do I send in the pictures or do you?”
“Oh, they’ll send for them. They call up and find out my plans in advance, you know, and I tell them what houses I’m doing, or at least my secretary does—it’s all routine. I suppose I’ve had more houses chosen for photographing in those magazines than any architect within ten years of my age. Shall we go back to the club? I imagine the ladies are wondering what’s happened.”
“Okay, but now listen, Mr. Farley, I don’t want you paying for dinner again. Remember last time we were out here I said next time would be my treat?”
“Huh, huh, huh,” Farley chuckled. “I’m afraid I cheated, then. I have to sign. Some other time in town I’ll hook you for a really big dinner, and I might as well warn you in advance, Mrs. Farley knows wines. I don’t know a damn thing about them, but she does.”
They drove to the club, where the ladies were waiting; Mrs. Farley fingering her wedding ring and engagement ring and guard in a way she had when she was nervous, Mrs. Kahan painlessly pinching the lobe of her left ear, a thing she did when she was nervous.
“Well,” said the four, in unison.
Farley asked the others if they would like cocktails, and they all said they would, and he took Kahan to the locker-room to wash his hands and to supervise the mixing of the drinks. As they were coming in the locker-room a man was on his way out, in such a hurry that he bumped Kahan. “Oh, I beg your pardon, sir,” said the man.
“Oh, that’s all right, Mr. Liggett,” said Kahan.
“Oh—oh, how are you,” said Liggett. “Glad to see you.”
“You don’t know who I am,” said Kahan, “but we were classmates at New Haven.”
“Oh, of course.”
“Kahan is my name.”
“Yes, I remember. Hello, Farley.”
“Hello, Liggett, you join us in a cocktail?”
“No, thanks. I’ve got a whole family waiting in the car. Well, nice to have seen you, Kann. ’By, Farley.” He shook hands and hurried away.
“He didn’t know me, but I knew him right away.”
“I didn’t know you went to Yale,” said Farley.
“I know. I never talk about it,” said Kahan. “Then once in a while I see somebody like Liggett, one of the big Skull and Bones fellows he was, and one day I met old Doctor Hadley on the street and I introduced myself to him. I can’t help it. I think what a waste of time, four years at that place, me a little Heeb from Hartford, but last November I had to be in Hollywood when the Yale-Harvard game was played, and God damn it if I don’t have a special wire with the play by play. The radio wasn’t good enough for me. I had to have the play by play. Yes, I’m a Yale man.”
THREE
“Well, I can see why you didn’t want me to see the ending first. I never would have stayed in the theater if I’d seen that ending. And you wanted to see that again? God, I hope if you ever write anything it won’t be like that.”
“I hope if I ever write anything it affects somebody the way this affected you,” said Jimmy.
“I suppose you think that’s good. I mean good writing,” said Isabel. “Where shall
we go?”
“Are you hungry?”
“No, but I’d like a drink. One cocktail. Is that understood?”
“Always. Always one cocktail. That’s always understood. I know a place I’d like to take you to, but I’m a little afraid to.”
“Why, is it tough?”
“It isn’t really tough. I mean it doesn’t look tough, and the people—well, you don’t think you’re in the Racquet Club, but unless you know where you are, I mean unless you’re tipped off about what the place has, what its distinction is, it’s just another speakeasy, and right now if I told you what its distinguishing characteristic is, you wouldn’t want to go there.”
“Well, then let’s not go there,” she said. “What is peculiar about the place?”
“It’s where the Chicago mob hangs out in New York.”
“Oh, well, then by all means let’s go there. That is, if it’s safe.”
“Of course it’s safe. Either it’s safe or it isn’t. They tell me the local boys approve of this place, that is, they sanction it, allow it to exist and do business, because they figure there has to be one place as a sort of hangout for members of the Chicago mobs. There’s only one real danger.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, if the Chicago mobs start shooting among themselves. So far that hasn’t happened, and I don’t imagine it will. You’ll see why.”
They walked down Broadway a few blocks and then turned and walked east. When they came to a highly polished brass sign which advertised a wigmaker, Jimmy steered Isabel into the narrow doorway, back a few steps and rang for the elevator. It grinded its way down, and a sick-eyed little Negro with a uniform cap opened the door. They got in and Jimmy said: “Sixth Avenue Club.”
