NEWSREEL LII 6 страница

When he changed his wallet from one jacket to the
other he opened it and counted his cash. He had four cen-
turies and some chickenfeed. The bills were crisp and new,
straight from the bank. He brought them up to his nose
to sniff the new sweet sharp smell of the ink. Before he
knew what he'd done he'd kissed them. He laughed out
loud and put the bills back in his wallet. Jesus, he was
feeling good. His new blue suit fitted nicely. His shoes
were shined. He had clean socks on. His belly felt hard

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under his belt. He was whistling as he waited for the ele-
vator.

Over at Doris's there was George Duquesne saying how
ripping the new buildings looked on Fifth Avenue. "Oh,
Charley, wait till you taste one of George's alexanders,
they're ripping," said Doris. "He learned to make them
out in Constant after the war. . . . You see he was in the
British army. . . . Charley was one of our star aces,
George."

Charley took George and Doris to dinner at the Plaza
and to a show and to a nightclub. All the time he was
feeding highpower liquor into George in the hope he'd
pass out, but all George did was get redder and redder in
the face and quieter and quieter, and he hadn't had much
to say right at the beginning. It was three o'clock and
Charley was sleepy and pretty tight himself before he
could deliver George at the St. Regis where he was stay-
ing. "Now what shall we do?""But, darling, I've got to
go home.""I haven't had a chance to talk to you. . . .
Jeez, I haven't even had a chance to give you a proper
hug since you landed." They ended by going to the Co-
lumbus Circle Childs and eating scrambled eggs and bacon.

Doris was saying there ought to be beautiful places
where people in love could go where they could find pri-
vacy and bed in beautiful surroundings. Charley said he
knew plenty of places but they weren't so beautiful. "I'd
go, Charley, honestly, if I wasn't afraid it would be sordid
and spoil everything." Charley squeezed her hand hard.
"I wouldn't have the right to ask you, kid, not till we was
married." As they walked up the street to where he'd
parked his car she let her head drop on his shoulder. "Do
you want me, Charley?" she in a little tiny voice. "I want
you too . . . but I've got to go home or Mother'll be
making a scene in the morning."

Next Saturday afternoon Charley spent looking for a
walkup furnished apartment. He rented a livingroom

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kitchenette and bath all done in grey from a hennahaired
artist lady in flowing batiks who said she was going to
Capri for six months of sheer beauty, and called up an
agency for a Japanese houseboy to take care of it. Next
day at breakfast he told the Askews he was moving.

Joe didn't say anything at first, but after he'd drunk the
last of his cup of coffee he got up frowning and walked a
couple of times across the livingroom. Then he went to
the window saying quietly, "Come here, Charley, I've got
something to show you." He put a hand on Charley's arm.
. . . "Look here, kid, it isn't on account of me being so
sour all the time, is it? You know I'm worried about the
damn business . . . seems to me we're getting in over our
heads . . . but you know Grace and I both think the
world of you. . . . I've just felt that you were putting
in too much time on the stockmarket. . . . I don't sup-
pose it's any of my damn business. . . . Anyway us fel-
lows from the old outfit, we've got to stick together."

"Sure, Joe, sure. . . . Honestly, the reason I want this
damn apartment has nothin' to do with that. . . . You're
a married man with kids and don't need to worry about
that sort of thing . . . but me, I got woman trouble."

Joe burst out laughing, "The old continental sonofagun,
but for crying out loud, why don't you get married?"

"God damn it, that's what I want to do," said Charley.
He laughed and so did Joe.

"Well, what's the big joke?" said Grace from behind
the coffeeurn. Charley nodded his head towards the little
girls. "Smokin'room stories," he said. "Oh, I think you're
mean," said Grace.

One snowy afternoon before Christmas, a couple of
weeks after Charley had moved into his apartment, he got
back to town early and met Doris at the Biltmore. She said,
"Let's go somewhere for a drink," and he said he had
drinks all laid out and she ought to come up to see the
funny little sandwiches Taki made all in different colors.

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She asked if the Jap was there now. He grinned and shook
his head. It only took the taxi a couple of minutes to get
them around to the converted brownstone house. "Why,
isn't this cozy?" Doris panted a little breathless from the
stairs as she threw open her furcoat. "Now I feel really
wicked.""But it's not like it was some guy you didn't
know," said Charley, "or weren't fond of." She let him
kiss her. Then she took off her coat and hat and dropped
down beside him on the windowseat warm from the steam-
heat.

"Nobody knows the address, nobody knows the phone-
number," said Charley. When he put his arm around her
thin shoulders and pulled her to him she gave in to him
with a little funny shudder and let him pull her on his
knee. They kissed for a long time and then she wriggled
loose and said, "Charley darling, you invited me here for
a drink."

He had the fixings for oldfashioneds in the kitchenette
and a plate of sandwiches. He brought them in and set
them out on the round wicker table. Doris bit into several
sandwiches before she decided which she liked best. "Why,
your Jap must be quite an artist, Charley," she said.

"They're a clever little people," said Charley.

"Everything's lovely, Charley, except this light hurts
my eyes."

When he switched off the lights the window was bright-
blue. The lights and shadows of the taxis moving up and
down the snowy street and the glare from the stores oppo-
site made shifting orange oblongs on the ceiling. "Oh, it's
wonderful here," said Doris. "Look how oldtimy the
street looks with all the ruts in the snow."

Charley kept refilling the oldfashioneds with whiskey.
He got her to take her dress off. "You know you told me
about how dresses cost money.""Oh, you big silly. . . .
Charley, do you like me a little bit?""What's the use of
talking . . . I'm absolutely cuckoo about you . . . you

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know I want us to be always together. I want us to get
mar --""Don't spoil everything, this is so lovely, I never
thought anything could be like this. . . . Charley, you're
taking precautions, aren't you?""Sure thing," said Char-
ley through clenched, teeth and went to his bureau for a
condom.

At seven o'clock she got dressed in a hurry, said she had
a dinner engagement and would be horribly late. Charley
took her down and put her in a taxi. "Now, darling," he
said, "we won't talk about what I said. We'll just do it."
Walking back up the steep creaky stairs he could taste her
mouth, her hair, his head was bursting with the perfume
she used. A chilly bitter feeling was getting hold of him,
like the feeling of seasickness. "Oh, Christ," he said aloud
and threw himself face down on the windowseat.

The apartment and Taki and the bootlegger and the
payments on his car and the flowers he sent Doris every
day all ran into more money than he expected every
month. As soon as he made a deposit in the bank he drew
it out again. He owned a lot of stock but it wasn't paying
dividends. At Christmas he had to borrow five hundred
bucks from Joe Askew to buy Doris a present. She'd told
him he mustn't give her jewelry, so he asked Taki what he
thought would be a suitable present for a very rich and
beautiful young lady and Taki had said a silk kimono was
very suitable, so Charley went out and bought her a man-
darincoat. Doris made a funny face when she saw it, but
she kissed him with a little quick peck in the corner of the
mouth, because they were at her mother's, and said in a
singsongy tone, "Oh, what a sweet boy."

Mrs. Humphries had asked him for Christmas dinner.
The house smelt of tinsel and greens, there was a lot of
tissuepaper and litter on the chairs. The cocktails were
weak and everybody stood around, Nat and Sally Benton,
and some nephews and nieces of Mrs. Humphries', and
her sister Eliza who was very deaf, and George Duquesne

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who would talk of nothing but wintersports, waiting for
the midafternoon dinner to be announced. People seemed
sour and embarrassed, except Ollie Taylor who was just
home from Italy full of the Christmas spirit. He spent
most of the time out in the pantry with his coat off manu-
facturing what he called an oldtime Christmas punch. He
was so busy at it that it was hard to get him to the table
for dinner. Charley had to spend all his time taking care
of him and never got a word with Doris all day. After
dinner and the Christmas punch he had to take Ollie back
to his club. Ollie was absolutely blotto and huddled fat
and whitefaced in the taxi, bubbling "Damn good Christ-
mas" over and over again.

When he'd put Ollie in the hands of the doorman Char-
ley couldn't decide whether to go back to the Humphries'
where he'd be sure to find Doris and George with their
heads together over some damnfool game or other or to go
up to the Askews' as he'd promised to. Bill Cermak had
asked him out to take a look at the bohunks in Jamaica but
he guessed it wouldn't be the thing, he'd said. Charley
said sure he'd come, anyplace to get away from the stuffed-
shirts. From the Penn station he sent a wire wishing the
Askews a Merry Christmas. Sure the Askews would under-
stand he had to spend his Christmas with Doris. On the
empty train to Jamaica he got to worrying about Doris,
maybe he oughtn't to have left her with that guy.

Out in Jamaica Bill Cermak and his wife and their
elderly inlaws and friends were all tickled and a little bit
fussed by Charley's turning up. It was a small frame house
with a green papertile roof in a block of identical little
houses with every other roof red and every other roof
green. Mrs. Cermak was a stout blonde a little fuddled
from the big dinner and the wine that had brought bright-
red spots to her cheeks. She made Charley eat some of the
turkey and the plumpudding they'd just taken off the
table. Then they made hot wine with cloves in it and Bill

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played tunes on the pianoaccordion while everybody
danced and the kids yelled and beat on drums and got
underfoot.

When Charley said he had to go Bill walked to the sta-
tion with him. "Say, boss, we sure do appreciate your
comin' out," began Bill. "Hell, I ain't no boss," said Char-
ley. "I belong with the mechanics . . . don't I, Bill? You
and me, Bill, the mechanics against the world . . . and
when I get married you're comin' to play that damned
accordeen of yours at the weddin' . . . get me, Bill . . .
it may not be so long." Bill screwed up his face and rubbed
his long crooked nose. "Women is fine once you got 'em
pinned down, boss, but when they ain't pinned down
they're hell.""I got her pinned down, I got her pinned
down all right so she's got to marry me to make an honest
man of me.""Thataboy," said Bill Cermak. They stood
laughing and shaking hands on the drafty station platform
till the Manhattan train came in.

During the automobile show Nat called up one day to
say Farrell who ran the Tern outfit was in town and
wanted to see Charley and Charley told Nat to bring him
around for a cocktail in the afternoon. This time he got
Taki to stay.

James Yardly Farrell was a roundfaced man with sandy-
gray hair and a round bald head. When he came in the
door he began shouting, "Where is he? Where is he?"
"Here he is," said Nat Benton, laughing. Farrell pumped
Charley's hand. "So this is the guy with the knowhow, is
it? I've been trying to get hold of you for months . . .
ask Nat if I haven't made his life miserable. . . . Look
here, how about coming out to Detroit . . . Long Island
City's no place for a guy like you. We need your knowhow
out there . . . and what we need we're ready to pay for."

Charley turned red. "I'm pretty well off where I am,
Mr. Farrell."

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"How much do you make?"

"Oh, enough for a young feller."

"We'll talk about that . . . but don't forget that in a
new industry like ours the setup changes fast. . . . We
got to keep our eyes open or we'll get left. . . . Well,
we'll let it drop for the time being. . . . But I can tell
you one thing, Anderson, I'm not going to stand by and
see this industry ruined by being broken up in a lot of little
onehorse units all cutting each other's throats. Don't you
think it's better for us to sit around the table and cut the
cake in a spirit of friendship and mutual service, and I tell
you, young man, it's going to be a whale of a big cake."
He let his voice drop to a whisper.

Taki, with his yellow face drawn into a thin diplomatic
smile, came around with a tray of bacardi cocktails. "No,
thanks, I don't drink," said Farrell. "Are you a bachelor,
Mr. Anderson?"

"Well, something like that. . . . I don't guess I'll stay
that way long."

"You'd like it out in Detroit, honestly. Benton
tells me you're from Minnesota."

"Well, I was born in North Dakota." Charley talked
over his shoulder to the Jap. " Taki, Mr. Benton wants
another drink."

"We got a nice sociable crowd out there," said Farrell.

After they'd gone Charley called up Doris and asked
her right out if she'd like to live in Detroit after they were
married. She gave a thin shriek at the other end of the
line. "What a dreadful idea . . . and who said anything
about that dreadful . . . you know, state . . . I don't
like even to mention the horrid word. . . . Don't you
think we've had fun in New York this winter?""Sure,"
answered Charley. "I guess I'd be all right here if . . .
things were different. . . . I thought maybe you'd like a
change, that's all. . . . I had an offer from a' concern out
there, see.""Now, Charley, you must promise not to men-

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tion anything so silly again.""Sure . . . if you'll have
dinner with me tomorrow night."" Darling, tomorrow I
couldn't.""How about Saturday then?""All right, I'll
break an engagement. Maybe you can come by for me
at Carnegie Hall after the concert.""I'll even go to the
damn concert if you like.""Oh, no, Mother's asked a lot
of old ladies." She was talking fast, her voice twanging in
the receiver. "There won't be any room in the box. You
wait for me at the little tearoom, the Russian place where
you waited and got so cross the time before.""All right,
anyplace. . . . Say, you don't know how I miss you when
you're not with me.""Do you? Oh, Charley, you're a
dear." She rang off.

Charley put the receiver down and let himself slump
back in his chair. He couldn't help feeling all of a tremble
when he talked to her on the telephone. "Hey, Taki, bring
me that bottle of scotch. . . . Say, tell me, Taki," Charley
went on, pouring himself a stiff drink, "in your country
. . . is it so damn difficult for a guy to get married?" The
Jap smiled and made a little bow. "In my country every-
thing much more difficult."

Next day when Charley got back from the plant he
found a wire from Doris saying Saturday absolutely im-
possible. "Damn the bitch," he said aloud. All evening he
kept calling up on the phone and leaving messages, but she
was never in. He got to hate the feel of the damn mouth-
piece against his lips. Saturday he couldn't get any word to
her either. Sunday morning he got Mrs. Humphries on
the phone. The cold creaky oldwoman's voice shrieked that
Doris had suddenly gone to Southampton for the week-
end. "I know she'll come back with a dreadful cold," Mrs.
Humphries added. "Weekends in this weather.""Well,
goodby, Mrs. Humphries," said Charley and rang off.
Monday morning when Taki brought him a letter in
Doris's hand, a big blue envelope that smelt of her per-

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fume, the minute he opened it he knew before he read it
what it would say.

CHARLEY DEAR,

You are such a dear and I'm so fond of you and do so
want you for a friend [underlined]. You know the silly
life I lead, right now I'm on the most preposterous week-
end and I've told everybody I have a splitting headache
and have gone to bed just to write to you. But, Charley,
please forget all about weddings and things like that. The
very idea makes me physically sick and besides I've prom-
ised George I'd marry him in June and the Duquesnes
have a publicrelations counsel -- isn't it just too silly -- but
his business is to keep the Duquesnes popular with the
public and he's given the whole story to the press, how I
was courted among the Scotch moors and in the old medi-
eval abbey and everything. And that's why I'm in such a
hurry to write to you, Charley darling, because you're the
best friend [twice underlined] I've got and the only one
who lives in the real world of business and production and
labor and everything like that, which I'd so love to belong
to, and I wanted you to know first thing. Oh, Charley
darling, please don't think horrid things about me.
Your loving friend [three times underlined]

D

Be a good boy and burn up this letter, won't you?

The buzzer was rattling. It was the boy from the ga-
rage with his car. Charley got on his hat and coat and went
downstairs. He got in and drove out to Long Island City,
walked up the rubbertreaded steps to his office, sat down
at his desk, rustled papers, talked to Stauch over the
phone, lunched in the employees' lunchroom with Joe
Askew, dictated letters to the new towhaired stenographer
and suddenly it was six o'clock and he was jockeying his
way through the traffic home.

Crossing the bridge he had an impulse to give a wrench

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to the wheel and step on the gas, but the damn car
wouldn't clear the rail anyway, it would just make a nasty
scrapheap of piledup traffic and trucks.

He didn't want to go home or to the speakeasy he and
Doris had been having dinner in several times a week
all winter, so he turned down Third Avenue. Maybe he'd
run into somebody at Julius's. He stood up at the bar.
He didn't want to drink any more than he wanted to do
anything else. A few raw shots of rye made him feel bet-
ter. To hell with her. Nothing like a few drinks. He was
alone, he had money on him, he could do any goddam
thing in the world.

Next to Charley at the bar stood a couple of fattish
dowdylooking women. They were with a redfaced man
who was pretty drunk already. The women were talking
about clothes and the man was telling about Belleau Wood.
Right away he and Charley were old buddies from the
A.E.F. "The name is De Vries. Profession . . . bon-
vivant," said the man and tugged at the two women until
they faced around towards Charley. He put his arms
around them with a flourish and shouted, "Meet the wife."

They had drinks on Belleau Wood, the Argonne, the
St. Mihiel salient, and the battle of Paree. The women
said goodness, how they wanted to go to Hoboken to the
hofbrau. Charley said he'd take them all in his car. They
sobered up a little and were pretty quiet crossing on the
ferry. At the restaurant in the chilly dark Hoboken street
they couldn't get anything but beer. After they'd finished
supper De Vries said he knew a place where they could
get real liquor. They circled round blocks and blocks and
ended in a dump in Union City. When they'd drunk
enough to start them doing squaredances the women said
wouldn't it be wonderful to go to Harlem. This time the
ferry didn't sober them up so much because they had a bot-
tle of scotch with them. In Harlem they were thrown out
of a dancehall and at last landed in a nightclub. The bon-

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vivant fell down the redcarpeted stairs and Charley had a
time laughing that off with the management. They ate
fried chicken and drank some terrible gin the colored
waiter sent out for, and danced. Charley kept thinking
how beautifully he was dancing. He couldn't make out
why he didn't have any luck picking up any of the high-
yallers.

Next morning he woke up in a room in a hotel. He
looked around. No, there wasn't any woman in the bed.
Except that his head ached and his ears were burning, he
felt good. Stomach all right. For a moment he thought
he'd just landed from France. Then he thought of the
Packard, where the hell had he left it? He reached for
the phone. "Say, what hotel is this?" It was the McAlpin,
goodmorning. He remembered Joe Turbino's number and
phoned him to ask what the best thing for a hangover was.
When he was through phoning he didn't feel so good. His
mouth tasted like the floor of a chickencoop. He went back
to sleep. The phone woke him. "A gentleman to see you."
Then he remembered all about Doris. The guy from Tur-
bino's brought a bottle of scotch. Charley took a drink of
it straight, drank a lot of icewater, took a bath, ordered up
some breakfast. But it was time to go out to lunch. He
put the bottle of scotch in his overcoat pocket and went
round to Frank and Joe's for a cocktail.

That night he took a taxi up to Harlem. He went from
joint to joint dancing with the highyallers. He got in a
fight in a breakfastclub. It was day when he found himself
in another taxi going downtown to Mrs. Darling's. He
didn't have any money to pay the taximan and the man
insisted on going up in the elevator while he got the
money. There was nobody in the apartment but the col-
ored maid and she shelled out five dollars. She tried to get
Charley to lie down but he wanted to write her out a check.
He could sign his name all right but he couldn't sign it on

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the check. The maid tried to get him to take a bath and
go to bed. She said he had blood all over his shirt.

He felt fine and was all cleaned up, had been asleep in
a barberchair while the barber shaved him and put an ice-
bag on his black eye, and he had gone back to Frank and
Joe's for a pickup when there was Nat Benton. Good old
Nat was worried asking him about his black eye and he
was showing Nat where he'd skinned his knuckles on the
guy, but Nat kept talking about the business and Askew-
Merritt and Standard Airparts and said Charley'd be out
on the sidewalk if it wasn't for him. They had some drinks
but Nat kept talking about buttermilk and wanted Charley
to come around to the hotel and meet Farrell. Farrell
thought Charley was about the best guy in the world, and
Farrell was the coming man in the industry, you could bet
your bottom dollar on Farrell. And right away there was
Farrell and Charley was showing him his knuckle and tell-
ing him he'd socked the guy in that lousy pokergame and
how he'd have cleaned 'em all up if somebody hadn't
batted him back of the ear with a stocking full of sand.
Detroit, sure. He was ready to go to Detroit any time,
Detroit or anywhere else. Goddam it, a guy don't like to
stay in a town where he's just been rolled. And that damn
highyaller had his pocketbook with all his addresses in it.
Papers? Sure. Sign anythin' you like, anythin' Nat says.
Stock, sure. Swop every last share. What the hell would a
guy want stock for in a plant in a town where he'd been
rolled in a clip joint. Detroit, sure, right away. Nat, call a
taxi, we're goin' to Detroit.

Then they were back at the apartment and Taki was
chattering and Nat attended to everything and Farrell was
saying, "I'd hate to see the other guy's eye," and Charley
could sign his name all right this time. First time he signed
it on the table but then he got it on the contract, and Nat
fixed it all up about swapping his Askew-Merritt stock for
Tern stock and then Nat and Farrell said Charley must be

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sleepy and Taki kept squeaking about how he had to take
right away a hot bath.

Charley woke up the next morning feeling sober and
dead like a stiff laid out for the undertaker. Taki brought
him orangejuice but he threw it right up again. He
dropped back on the pillow. He'd told Taki not to let any-
body in, but there was Joe Askew standing at the foot of
the bed. Joe, looked paler than usual and had a worried
frown like at the office, and was pulling at his thin blond
mustache. He didn't smile. "How are you coming?" he
said.

"Soso," said Charley.

"So it's the Tern outfit, is it?"

"Joe, I can't stay in New York now. I'm through with
this burg."

"Through with a lot of other things, it looks like to
me."

"Joe, honest I wouldn'ta done it if I hadn't had to get
out of this town . . . and I put as much into this as you
did, some people think a little more."

Joe's thin lips were clamped firmly together. He started
to say something, stopped himself and walked stiffly out of
the room.

" Taki," called Charley, "try squeezin' out half a grape-
fruit, will you?"

NEWSREEL LVI

his first move was to board a fast train for Miami to see
whether the builders engaged in construction financed by his
corporation were speeding up the work as much as they might
and to take a look at things in general

Pearly early in the mornin'

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Oh joy
Feel that boat arockin'
Oh boy
See those darleies floclein'
What's that whistle sayin'
All aboard toot toot

AIR REJECTION BLAMED FOR WARSHIP DISASTER

You're in Ken-tucky just as sure as you're born

LINER AFIRE