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

Her eyes flew open abruptly. Someone had touched her to attract her attention. She gave a single hopeful glance; then her hopes were indefinitely postponed. She reached out mechanically, took the ticket, tore it across, and returned half of it, keeping the rest herself. The dance was on.

An hour and a half went by. Over each strange shoulder Faith’s eyes busily, expectantly roved the room. Looking for a very small thing, looking for a small white flower, as out of place there as a bird or a ray of sunlight. For the fast, “hot” pieces they used magenta lights; for the slow “sweet” ones blue and green lights mixed, causing a sort of dreamy twilight to fill the ballroom as though it were a grotto or undersea cavern. Incidentally, also causing green dresses to appear blue, and vice versa.

She brushed by Trixie, the latter damsel favoring her with grimaces of spiritual anguish to indicate that her partner was a trial to her. Trixie seemed to have a strange attraction for the meek, the halt, and the aged, likewise those who were in need of special instruction, which consisted in leading them to a far corner of the room and endlessly repeating, “One, two, three! Now just watch my feet. One, two, three. That’s it!” This was highly lucrative but pretty much of a strain on Trixie. As they swayed close to one another, Faith found time to murmur anxiously:

“See anybody?”

“Not yet,” Trixie assured her. “Cheer up, sugar,” she added hearteningly. “Not you,” she informed her partner coldly. “I was speaking to my friend.”

The lights went up, then down again. Half-past eleven and no sign of him. Time seemed to drag so tonight. She had taken these same gliding steps a thousand times before, or maybe a million. Dancing was supposed to be fun. But not when you earn your living at it. Sometimes she wished she would never have to listen to another saxophone again as long as she lived. She also found herself praying that she was invisible, so that no one would come near her for at least half an hour. But someone did almost at once. And stood there grinning foolishly and holding out his ticket.

“What’s the joke?” she inquired frostily, as she took it and tore it in two.

“These darned lights,” he said. “They blur everything up. What color dress is that you’re wearing?” The greenish-blue lights had gone on just before he came over to her, drowning out the shade of her dress.

Her eyes had flown automatically to his lapel but it was barren; there was nothing there. She felt like saying “Oh, go away!” What was he to her, anyway? Still, it was quite a coincidence, his asking her about her dress like that. Maybe he had lost the flower, or forgotten to buy one.

So she decided to play safe and not reveal herself until she had found out a little something about him.

“Blue,” she lied. And then, “What made you ask that?”

“Just curiosity,” he answered.

“Is there — er — any particular color you were looking for?” she wanted to know.

“Originally, yes,” he said smoothly, “but I changed my mind as soon as I saw you.” So he was as fickle as all that, was he? Well, she was glad she’d found out in time. He wasn’t the type for her, all right. He just didn’t click somehow, that was all. But the chief thing was to get away from him before the lights went up again and revealed her in her green dress. Otherwise she was stuck for the night.

Then, at the crucial moment, assistance came to her. She happened to look over his shoulder and catch Trixie’s eye and she read unmistakably in it that Trixie had a message for her.

The two couples drew closer, the men still imagining they were leading and not realizing that their footsteps were being guided for them. When they had come up to each other, Trixie nodded vigorously.

“Got him for you,” she breathed huskily. “Right here!” All Faith could see was the back of his head and the fairly broad shoulders that cut Trixie off below the chin. She had to take Trixie’s word for it about the flower part of it. “Meet me down at the refreshment-stand as soon as this is over,” Trixie instructed her in clear ringing tones, and was wafted away. The muscular gentleman stationed in the middle of the floor for the purpose of preserving order and decorum frowned unfavorably upon her as she went by.

“How many more times, Red,” he remarked ungrammatically, “have I gotta tell you to quit talkin’ on the boss’s time?”

“You’ve got about a dozen to go,” Trixie informed him insouciantly. “After that maybe I’ll listen to you. And if you don’t mind, it’s Miss Red to you.”

The music stopped at last. Faith had counted each tinny note that came out of the saxophone and thought it would never end, but now the lights went up and she saw Trixie and the man waiting for her down at the end of the room. However, there was an obstacle to be overcome before she could get over to them.

Her present partner stared down at her figure in surprise.

“Why,” he stammered, “why, that’s a green dress you’re wearing! I didn’t notice—”

“Yes, it is,” Faith interrupted hastily, beginning to back away from him, “but not nearly as green as the one my friend is wearing. See her down there? Much better dancer than I am. Wait, I’ll send her over to you.” Then she walked away and left him standing there with his mouth open as though he had wanted to say something and hadn’t had time.

As she walked toward them, doing her best to be casual about it, all she had eyes for was a little dot of white in the distance; a carnation that had already shed several of its petals, nestling against the coat of the very tall, very likable young man standing beside Trixie. When Faith came up to them Trixie said: “Look what I’ve got for you,” and with a gesture somewhat like that of a referee: “Now remember, Marquis of Queensberry rules and no hitting in the clinches. Anything else I can do for you? Just say the word.”

Faith glanced back over her shoulder. “Him,” she said unfeelingly. “He’s sort of sticky and might come around again.”

Trixie appeared to understand perfectly what was expected of her. “A pleasure,” she announced, and started over toward him, a young lady attired so unmistakably in green that even the color-blind would have had to take cognizance of it.

Faith’s new-found hero smiled at her, and she smiled back at him, bashfully. “I guess it’s you,” she breathed almost inaudibly.

“It isn’t my brother,” he answered. “Well, shall we dance?” he went on.

“Must we?” she smiled.

So they didn’t dance. Each time the music sounded, she took another ticket from him and tore it up in full view of the manager. “Anyway, it saves the wax floor,” she laughed. They sat together in one of the little stalls provided with tables that overlooked Broadway, a wax-paper cup of untasted orangeade standing in front of each of them.

“I knew you’d be like this,” she said softly after a while. “Something told me. You see, I play hunches, and I’ve never yet been wrong.”

He seemed glad to hear her say that and yet at the same time more than a little surprised.

“You mean before you even laid eyes on me you knew what I was going to be like?”

“Why, yes,” she said. “I could tell by your voice.”

“My voice?” He seemed completely taken back.

“Over the telephone, silly,” she explained. “How else?”

He was about to say something to that, but just then the young man with the slide trombone stood up in his seat and emitted noises that drowned out everything else.

Faith was more used to these sudden blasts of melody, if they could be called that, than he was.

“Funny place, isn’t it,” she laughed, “to sit and try to carry on a conversation with any one?”