Корнелл Вулрич - A Treasury of Stories (Collection of novelettes and short stories)

Somebody was knocking on his door. He bobbed up. “Who is it?” he demanded. He scratched the back of his head.

“You’re wanted on the telefoam,” cried the lady of the house through the panel. He heard her go away again.

He unlocked the door and went down to the foot of the staircase. The receiver was hanging on its cord, so low that it almost touched the floor. He had to stoop to pick it up.

“Yeah?” he said constrainedly.

“Oh, hello!” said a girl’s voice. “This is Connie. Connie speaking.”

“I know,” he remarked dispiritedly, fishing the while through several pockets in the effort to locate a cigaret. When he had found one he held it between his lips without lighting it — a dry smoke — and it bobbed up and down each time he had anything to say.

“I’m up at the Rainbow,” she said. “Why didn’t you show up tonight? Anything wrong?”

“Na,” he said, closing his eyes for a brief moment. He felt he couldn’t stomach Connie this evening, nor any of the others either. The sound of a band, infinitely small and far away and blurred with other noises, came through the receiver.

“Hear that?” said Connie. “Doesn’t it make you itchy?”

“Hm?” he said, not caring much.

“I’ll keep my eye open for you,” she went on. “How long will it take you to get here, cake?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not coming. No, not for tonight. I’m all fagged out.”

“Why, what’s gotten into you all of a sudden?” she demanded in surprise. “Are you trying to kid me? You know yourself you couldn’t keep away from here even if you wanted to.”

“That’s what you say.”

He shut his eyes and pressed his forehead against the wall.

“They’re going to have a Charleston contest and everything,” Connie was saying. “I entered your name for you. You better see that you get here. The leading lady from ‘Lucille’ is coming up after the show to award the prizes—”

“Hell she is!” he burst out.

“What’s the matter,” protested Connie angrily, “are you trying to crack my eardrum?”

“Wait for me,” he cried. “I’ll be over in a jiffy. Meet you in the foyer—” and hung up.

“Men sure are changeable,” sighed Carfare Connie, powdering her nose with a puff the size of a postage stamp.

Meanwhile in Wally’s room a toilette was in full swing. He crowded his number eight feet into number seven dancing shoes, with spats to cap the climax; he soaked his hair with glycerin — oh, there’s no use denying Wally tossed a mean toilette once he got going. And as he went out, carelessly banging the door shut after him, the draft brought the movie star’s picture fluttering down from the wall.

There was a taxi standing in front of the Rainbow with its engine going, waiting for someone. It was unusual for a taxi to be here at that hour. Most patrons of the place arrived on foot, or if they rode at all it was in trolley cars and the front seats of moving vans. Wally knew who had hired it without being told. He bought his ticket of admission at the box office and went in. At the inner door he was frisked for possible concealed liquor and brushed by them impatiently. He checked his coat and hat and bought twenty-five cents’ worth of blue dance tickets at a nickel a dance. The lights were all swathed in yellow and orange gauze, and from each corner of the gallery a colored lens was directed against the dancers below. Connie was sitting waiting for him at a tiny table which held her elbows, an imitation rhinestone purse, a limeade with two straws, and a zigzag of undetached blue tickets. She waved and he went over to her.

“Hello, cake. How are you, honey?”

“’Lo.”

She looked at him happily. “I saved all my tickets until you got here.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I bought some.”

“You didn’t need to, honey. That’s what I kep’ these for.”

His glance wandered all around the place. “Did that girl from the show get here yet?” he wanted to know confidentially.

“Yeah,” said Connie. “The manager took her over to introduce her to the leader. She’s going to award the prizes.”

Wally looked down at his feet.

“You’ll make it,” nodded Connie, reading his thoughts. “You have it cinched.”

“What is it, a singles or a doubles?”

“Singles. That’s why I stayed out of it. I didn’t want to go against you.”

He pressed her hand under the table. “Good kid,” he said, which was as close as he ever got to tenderness with her.

Connie felt herself tingle with loyalty. She offered him a straw.

“Let’s finish this drink together,” she said.

They bent down over the glass, their faces close together. Connie’s eyelids fluttered with the nearness of it but she didn’t dare look up. They made a slight gurgling sound. “You take the cherry,” said Wally generously.

There was a crash of cymbals from the gallery upstairs. Connie and Wally raised their heads. The orchestra leader was holding a megaphone to his mouth. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he boomed, “the Charleston contest will now begin. Entries are by name only. Each contestant will be limited to a five-minute performance. Miss Mimi Travers of the ‘Lucille’ company has consented to act in the capacity of judge of this contest. The winner will be awarded a silver loving cup, donated through the courtesy of the United Barber Shops’ Association.” He held the cup up by one handle and a round of applause followed.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” beamed Connie, craning her neck. She put her arm around Wally’s shoulder. “It’ll be pie for you, honey. They might as well hand it over to you right now.”

He smiled — but the smile wasn’t meant for her. It was for Mimi, standing beside the orchestra leader. Mimi was beautiful — she was almost too beautiful to live.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Mimi Travers.” She and the orchestra leader took a bow apiece. With an almost imperceptible movement Wally freed himself of Connie’s encouraging arm. He was clapping his hands vigorously. “Yea, Mimi!” he shouted.

The contest began. Rose and Myrtle and Lily took turns twisting their legs into unbelievable positions while the band played on.

“Faster and funnier,” called the onlookers. “Spread yourself. Do that thing!”

Rose and Myrtle and Lily spread themselves. They did that thing. They did a lot of other things with it. They skipped like devils. Mimi Travers had come out on the floor to get a better look at them. She was sitting gazing over the back of a chair with her chin resting on her arms. There was a gold bracelet around one of her ankles. Rose and Myrtle and Lily were through now. They were panting like grasshoppers. Also they were considerably disheveled.

“Mr. Wallace Walters,” shouted the orchestra leader. The music began again.

“Oh boy, Wally,” Connie was saying excitedly, “go out there and tear that floor to splinters.” She gave him a push between the shoulders as he got up.

Wally was out there now and the whole hall was spinning around him like a merry-go-round. He could hear them chanting:

Wally saw red. He’d show them whether their baby did that Charleston! Mimi was beating time with her hands. Clap-clap, clap-clap. “I never saw anyone like him,” she turned and said to somebody. “Where did he get that from?”

Wally began to skate as though he were on a pond. A tinkle of small sleigh-bells immediately followed from the musicians.

Connie was almost following him around the floor. “Come on, cake! Eat it up, eat it up!”

“Give him room!” they cried.

“Get that girl out of the way,” ordered Mimi imperiously. “What does she think she is, the tail of his shirt?”