Флетчер Флора - Park Avenue Tramp

“Dinner and dancing to begin with,” he said. “Afterward I have something rather unusual in mind. I think it will amuse you.”

“What is it?”

“If I told you now it would spoil the surprise. I want you to anticipate it, my dear.”

“Well, I know you don’t really like to do things like this and are only doing it now for my sake. It’s very kind of you, I’m sure, but it isn’t necessary.”

“On the contrary, I’m quite enthusiastic about it. Do you think I’m incapable of enjoying anything out of the routine?”

“You’ll have to admit that you always plan things ahead very carefully and hardly ever deviate from them.”

“That’s true. I like an ordered life, as you say, but I’ve been thinking that perhaps you should be included more often in the order. I’m afraid I’ve been neglecting you shamefully, my dear, and you’ve been exceedingly generous and understanding about it.”

This remark seemed to indicate that he was only trying to alter their relationship with good intentions, which was a relief from fear but would certainly become a great nuisance if she permitted it to continue, for it would prevent her from going places and doing things as she pleased, or at least as frequently as she pleased. It was extremely unlikely, however, that Oliver would deviate from his established order for any length of time, and the acute problem now was tonight, how she could possibly go to Joe Doyle while Oliver was imposing himself upon her in this extraordinary way, and her going, which had up to now been no more than desirable, became imperative as it became imperiled.

“Thank you very much,” she said, “but I don’t think I’d care to become part of an order. I prefer to do things more spontaneously.”

“I know. We are quite different in that respect. An adjustment will demand concessions from us both. Is that a new gown on the bed?”

“Yes, it is. I bought it yesterday, and it was delivered this afternoon.”

“It’s nice. I’m sure you’ll look charming in it. Were you planning to wear it tonight?”

“Yes. I was trying it on before you came.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier. No matter, though. I’ll see it on you later when we go out together.”

“Are you certain you want to go? If you prefer, we could go another night when you have more time to prepare for it.”

“No, no. It’s all arranged. We’ll go to the Empire Room for dinner and dancing, and later we’ll have our little surprise.”

He moved toward her suddenly and took her by the shoulders and kissed her on the mouth with a lightness and tenderness that were rare and would have been deeply moving in the kiss of anyone else. In his, they were somehow frightening, the qualities of mockery. She was ravished by the kiss as she had never been by his occasional brutality, and at the same time, paradoxically, she felt far more rejected than all his customary coldness had ever made her feel. Worst of all, she was compelled to recognize with an exorbitant sense of loss and despair that he was determined to take her with him to the Empire Room and wherever else afterward he had planned, and there was nothing, nothing at all, that she could do to prevent it.

“We’ll leave at a quarter to eight,” he said.

He released her and went out, and she sat on the edge of the bed in her despair and tried and tried to think of something she could do to save the night, to make it possible still to go to Joe Doyle, but she could think of nothing, and she knew that there was nothing to be done by her or anyone else in the world. It would be necessary, then, to call Joe and tell him that she couldn’t be there, and why she couldn’t, and how terribly sorry she was, and that she would surely come as soon as she could, which would be tomorrow if she could possibly manage it.

Having decided to call, she tried to remember if there was a telephone in his room, and she couldn’t remember any. If there had been one she would certainly have remembered it, and so she concluded that there wasn’t, which meant that there was a house phone in the hall that would probably be listed under the name of whoever owned the house, and the trouble was that she didn’t know who owned it. Then it occurred to her that he might be at Duo’s already, where he worked, and that she could at least leave word for him there if he wasn’t actually there himself to be talked to.

She turned in the classified directory to the nightclubs and found Duo’s number and dialed it, and while she was doing this she kept hoping very hard that Joe would be there to be talked to, for she wanted to tell him personally how much she wanted to come and how sorry she was that she couldn’t. It was imperative that he understand this and believe it, for he was inclined to lack faith in her anyhow, and he might decide that she had simply had enough of him, which wasn’t, surprisingly enough, yet true. After she had finished dialing, she waited and waited while the phone rang in long bursts at the other end of the line, and she had about concluded in despair that Duo’s was one of those places that absolutely ignored telephone calls whenever it suited them, but then, just as she was preparing to cut the connection, someone answered. It was Yancy.

“Duo’s,” he said. “Yancy speaking.”

“Hello, Yancy,” she said. “This is Charity Farnese. You know. The dry Martini.”

“I know.”

“Where in the world have you been? The phone rang and rang, and I was about to hang up.”

“I was here all the time. I was busy.”

“Well, I’m glad I waited. It just shows you that it doesn’t pay to give up too soon, doesn’t it?”

“Not always. Sometimes it pays to give up as soon as possible.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean, and I don’t think I want to know. What I do want to know is, is Joe there?”

“Joe Doyle?”

“Of course Joe Doyle. You know perfectly well I mean Joe Doyle. Please don’t be so evasive, Yancy.”

“Sorry. He isn’t here.”

“Do you suppose he will be there soon?”

“I don’t think so. Not soon.”

“Do you know his telephone number?”

“It’s a house phone. I don’t know the number.”

“Perhaps you could tell me the name the number is listed under.”

“I can’t. I don’t know it.”

“Are you merely being contrary, Yancy?”

“No. If I knew I’d tell you.”

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you. Will you please give him a message from me when he comes in?”

“I might.”

“What do you mean, you might? Will you or won’t your?”

“It depends on the message.”

“Please tell him that I won’t be able to come tonight. Something has developed that makes it impossible.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“Tell him also that I’m truly sorry and will see him as soon as I can. Will you tell him that?”

“Reluctantly.”

“What’s the matter with you, Yancy? Do you still think it’s wrong for me to see him and that no good will come of it?”

“You know what I think. I told you.”

“Well, in the beginning there may have been an excuse for your scepticism, but now there is none whatever, and you are only being stubborn and unpleasant. I can tell you that some good has already come of it, and Joe will tell you the same if you will only ask him.”

“Not me. What’s good or what’s bad is for you and Joe to figure, and you don’t owe any accounting to anyone but each other and maybe your husband. I just decided. Good-by, now. I’ve got customers.”

He hung up without giving her a chance to say good-by in return, and she listened for a few moments to the humming of the wire and hung up too. It was still earlier than she needed to start dressing for the evening, but she started anyhow, because there was nothing else to do and doing something was a necessary defensive mechanism, taking a long bath and brushing her hair for a long while deliberately. Finally, after everything else was done, she took the new gown off the bed and hung it in a closet and selected another, which she hardly looked at, and put it on. She was compelled under the circumstances to go out with Oliver if he demanded it, but she was not compelled to wear the gown she had bought particularly to wear for Joe Doyle, and she was not going to do it. She would think of something to say in explanation if Oliver noticed it was not the new gown and said something about it, and that, of course, as it happened, was the first thing Oliver did when he knocked on the door at a quarter to eight and entered.