Росс Макдональд - Trouble Follows Me

“Here’s to the old Dog-Dog,” Eric said. “How do you think the party’s going?”

For him, the party seemed to be going well. His light blue eyes glittered damply. He was turned towards Sue Sholto so that their knees must have been touching under the table.

“I like it fine,” I said, and looked at Mary.

Halford produced an appreciative grin from some reserve that Mrs. Merriwell had not yet touched.

“I think it’s lovely, simply lovely,” said Mrs. Merriwell. “All you handsome young men in your uniforms. The stewards in their white coats. You know, it reminds me of our old club, in the days before my dear deceased husband – But I mustn’t talk of that: I mustn’t even think of it.”

She lowered her eyes, saw her highball, and took a long swallow.

“It is a bit like the old South, isn’t it?” Eric leaned forward slightly, his face serious. “I often wonder whether it’s a good thing.”

“Whether what’s a good thing?” Sue said in her child’s voice. “What’s a good thing?”

“I have my doubts about our policy of concentrating Negroes in the menial jobs. This quarter I happen to be treasurer of our wardroom mess, and it’s partly my responsibility to supervise the stewards. I often think their morale would be higher, and they’d be more useful into the bargain, if they didn’t feel so darn limited.”

“I agree with you,” Mrs. Merriwell cried. “I thoroughly agree with you. Everyone should be given an equal chance, even niggers. Naturally they’ll never reach the position in life of a white man. But I say, give all an equal opportunity, unless, of course, they show they don’t deserve it.”

“How could a black man deserve the same things as an Anglo-Saxon?” Sue said quietly. There was a hostile and sardonic glitter in her dark eyes, but Mrs. Merriwell didn’t notice it.

“You know, sometimes I feel inclined to agree with you. There’s something so unpleasant about a black skin. And the way that big buck looked at me when he was serving my salad – It really gave me the shivers.”

“Hector Land?” Eric said. “The big bruiser with the broken nose?”

“Yes, that’s the one. Those radicals in Washington talk about social equality, and that’s all well and good, but I couldn’t bear to sit down at the same table with a nigger. I’d feel contaminated.”

“But you don’t mind eating food that they’ve prepared,” Sue said. “In fact you greatly enjoy the idea.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m Jewish,” Sue said. Her eyes were burning black. Her voice was hard. She was quite drunk. “So I have some faint idea of what it feels like to be a Negro. Other things being equal, I prefer Negroes to whites. Especially unreconstructed Southern whites.”

“Well!” said Mrs. Merriwell. The word made a rushing sound in her mouth. She stood up with her unfinished plate in one hand and her highball in the other. “You said you wanted to talk to me privately, Gene. Are you coming?”

Halford got up unwillingly, murmured his excuse, and went into the house at her angry clicking heels.

“That’s an insult she’ll never get over,” I said to Mary. “Who is she?”

“Secretary to one of the men at Hickam. She’s probably one of Halford’s sources.”

Eric’s angular face was very stiff, on the point of crumpling in anger or despair. “You shouldn’t talk like that,” he said to Sue. “She’ll tell everybody in town that you’re a nigger-lover.”

“I don’t give a damn,” she said in a high thin voice.

“Maybe I am.” His face reddened and grew pale in blotches. “Excuse me. How interesting.”

“And don’t try to snub me, either, my ambulating ego. Have you always confined yourself strictly to Mem Sahibs? Pray tell us about your amorous exploits, gentlemen.”

She was so evidently drunk that Eric decided he needn’t take her seriously. “You’re getting as tight as a tick, my girl. No more liquor for you. Can’t anyone, for God’s sake, think of an impersonal subject to talk about?”

“We were talking about love,” I said. “There’s nothing more impersonal than love. Everybody has it, shows the same symptoms, and does the same things about them.”

“Nonsense,” Mary said pleasantly. “Love is a highly individual art. A great many people aren’t even capable of it. From what you just said, I suspect you’re one of them.”

“From what you just said, I suspect you aren’t.”

An orchestra began to play in the ballroom. Sue told Eric that she would like to dance. They went away together in unconscious step, as if they knew each other very well and lived by the same fundamental rhythms. She was clinging a little blindly to his arm. As they passed through the door into the bright light, he looked down at her with anxious tenderness in the very set of his shoulders.

“Sue and Eric are old friends, aren’t they?” I said.

“For a year or so, I guess. He looks her up whenever he’s in port. She’s in love with him.”

“It’s funny he didn’t mention her to me before we got here.”

“No it isn’t. The affair isn’t going too well. Eric’s married, isn’t he?”

“Yes, I know his wife. She’s crazy about him. I think he’s gotten himself into a box.”

“Sue’s the one to be sorry for.” Her glance passed over my face swiftly. “Are you married?”

“No. It’d be quite safe to dance with me, I think.”

It was a six-piece scratch orchestra, but she danced so well that she made me feel expert and daring. Her high heels made her almost as tall as I was, and I had a chance to study her face. It was a Leonardo face, with full red lips, a straight and passionate nose, high delicate temples, and mutable eyes that altered with her mood in color, depth, and meaning. Her body was whalebone and plush. Her legs were a perfect rhyme.

After a couple of dances she said, “I have to go pretty soon.”

“Why?”

“I go on the air at nine-fifteen.”

“Say, you’re not the girl that announces the record programs?”

“Sue and I alternate. Have you heard us?”

“The last few nights I have, when we were coming in. No wonder I felt as if I’d known you before.”

“Don’t be irrelevant. I want to know what you think of the programs.”

“I liked them. I like your voice, too. It’s funny I didn’t recognize it.”

“It’s always different over the air.”

The music started again and we danced to it. I couldn’t see Sue and Eric on the floor.

“Any criticisms?” Mary said.

“No. Well, not enough Ellington. There’s never enough Ellington on any record program. Too much Don’t Fence Me In. I admire both Crosby and Cole Porter, but I can imagine a more fortunate marriage of their talents.”

“I know, but a lot of people like it. And the best Ellington aren’t so easy to get. I broke our Portrait of Bert Williams last week, and I almost sat right down and cried.”

“Pinch me somebody quick. The girl in the dream always liked Portrait of Bert Williams.”

“You wouldn’t like it if I pinched you. I’m a very intense pincher. What dream?”

“The dream I had. I’m a very intense dreamer. And it worked. The dream came real.”

She pulled back a little and looked levelly into my eyes. “You say it well. Have you been out a long time?”

“Just a year. It seemed like a long time. That’s why the dream was necessary.”

“Don’t make me feel like a necessity. Since I came out here I’ve learned how it feels to be something there’s a shortage of.”

“The last pack of cigarettes under the counter?”

“The scrap of meat thrown to the wolves. I’d rather feel like a human being.”