Флетчер Флора - Take Me Home

“Nevertheless, I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“Willingly.”

“Fat men are very pleasant, I think, and the Greeks have an honorable history.”

“It’s agreeable of you to say so. Will you have something to eat?”

“Yes. I’d like some toast and coffee.”

“I suggest an egg and some bacon besides.”

“No egg. I can’t tolerate an egg. Two strips of bacon, perhaps.”

While the toast and bacon were being prepared, she sat on the stool at the counter with her sense of acceptance growing warmer and bigger inside her. It was very pleasant to sit there in amiable association with the fat, honorable Greek. It was even more pleasant to know that one had been accepted on reasonable terms by someone who knew the worst about her. The pretense of being what one is not, the sustenance over a long period of time of an enormous deception, is at best difficult, and at worst destructive, as it had nearly been with her. It was such a relief to be honestly understood in one way by one person that she wished now to be understood in all ways by all persons. She wished her young relationship with Henry Harper, for instance, to be clearly understood by this fat, honorable Greek who was at the moment bringing her toast and bacon and coffee. There was also, she saw, a little paper cup of jelly.

“Did Henry come here for breakfast this morning?” she said.

“Henry Harper?” George said.

“Yes. He was gone this morning when I woke up.”

The Greek possessed, after all, being the proprietor of a successful diner, his full share of sophistication. He attached naturally to her stark statement an embroidery of details that were not true, but even so, allowing for his ignorance of all the facts, it was creditable that he showed no reaction except a polite interest in her small affairs “Henry’s a problem,” he said. “He hardly ever eats breakfast.”

“Perhaps I can make him understand that breakfast is important.”

“It would be a service if you could. He doesn’t take proper care of himself. He drinks black coffee late at night and refuses to have breakfast in the morning.”

“Well, it’s obvious that he’s very opinionated. I have learned that already. He’s very kind, though, for all that, and has given me a warm place to stay. I’m going to live with him for the time being.”

Into the Greek’s amiable countenance, despite his reliable sophistication, there now crept an expression of concern.

“Are you convinced,” he said, “that it’s the best arrangement?”

“We have come to a mutually satisfactory agreement. You needn’t worry about it.”

“I have a natural concern for Henry, you understand.”

“Yes, I do. I noticed it immediately.”

“It’s really the book. It would be too bad if anything interfered with the writing of the book.”

“I promise not to interfere.”

“A certain amount of interference arises inevitably from certain situations.”

“Distractions, you mean. However, you don’t have a full understanding of the arrangement. It’s possible that I may even be helpful in the writing of the book.”

“Let us hope so,” George said.

But it was evident that he was not convinced and was still concerned. He was forced to depart to serve another customer, but he kept glancing at Ivy from the corners of his eyes, evaluating her potential as a distraction as opposed to a help, and when he returned to her after a few minutes it was obvious that he considered the distractive potential, in terms of his own susceptibility to such things in his youth, to be the greater of the two.

“One can only pray for the best,” he said.

“As for me,” Ivy said, “I’ve never found prayer to be particularly helpful. It doesn’t matter, however, because you are concerning yourself needlessly. Do you have a telephone?”

“Yes. A business phone.”

“I wonder if you’d call a taxi for me. I have to go someplace to get a few things.”

He called the taxi, which arrived shortly, and she paid for her breakfast with one of the dollar bills and received her change.

“The breakfast was very good,” she said. “Especially the coffee.”

“I’m famous for my excellent coffee,” he said.

“Your fame is deserved. Well, I must go now. Good-by.”

“Good-by. I hope you will return.”

“It’s more than likely that I shall,” she said.

Outside in the taxi, she told the driver where she wanted to go and sat back in the seat to watch the streets slip past beyond the glass. She was in much better contact with things than she had been for some time, and everything was, in fact, quite ordinary and dependable, exactly what it was represented to be, and not the distorted and treacherous element of a hostile world that was, incongruously, at once remote and imminently threatening. She felt that she had done quite well with the Greek. She was very pleased with the way she had done. She had been, after apologizing for her previous rudeness, amiable and casual. It would be necessary, if she were to succeed in living normally, to achieve an attitude of amiable casualness with people who wished her no harm, if not actually good, and it was certain that she had made a good beginning with the Greek. Her pleasure and confidence were somewhat shaken when she realized suddenly that they were approaching the apartment building in which she had lived with Lila so long ago, but then she remembered that Lila would almost certainly have a modeling engagement for the day, and that it would not, therefore, be necessary to see her or talk with her, and she felt relieved and again pleased and confident.

But she did not have her key to the apartment. She had come away without it, as she had come away without everything else except the clothes she wore, and so she was forced to find the superintendent of the building and ask him to let her in with his key. He was, fortunately, in his own apartment on the ground floor, and they went up together in the elevator, and Ivy, after thanking him for his help, closed the door of the apartment behind her and leaned against it. She shut her eyes and took a deep, deep breath and waited for the slow recession of the familiar, free-floating fear that had risen within her. When she opened her eyes again, Lila was standing in the doorway to the bedroom watching her.

Strangely enough, Lila did not seem at all angry. If the color was heightened in her cheeks, which was often a sign in her of anger, it was nullified by her lips, which were smiling, and her eyes, in which there was relief. She was wearing, Ivy noticed with an appreciation of detail that was rather remarkable under the circumstances, a soft white blouse tucked into the waistband of a pair of tight lounging pants of a style she always wore so beautifully over her slim and elegant legs. She possessed the same kind of perfection that she did in the sleek, full-page photographs in the slick magazines that Ivy had often looked at with an intense resentment that anyone could see and admire her also for no more than the price of the magazine.

“Where in God’s name have you been?” Lila said.

“Away,” Ivy said. “With a friend.”

“A friend? What friend?”

“No one you know. A man.”

“Are you out of your mind? I believe you are.”

“You may think as you please about me. I don’t care.”

“Well, I know I was cruel to you the other night, and I’m sorry. I’m glad you’ve finally regained your sanity and come back where you belong. I’ve been sick with worry about you.”

“I only came to get my clothes and other things. I’m not going to stay. I’m never going to stay here again.”

“Nonsense. Where on earth will you go?”

“Back where I came from.”