Array The griffin classics - The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald

An hour and a half from the time when she had left Greenwich, Diana pulled up her roadster in front of the Restaurant Mont Mihiel. The theaters were already dumping their crowds into Broadway and half a dozen couples in evening dress looked at her curiously as she slouched through the door. A moment later she was talking to the head-waiter.

“Do you know a girl named Elaine Russel?”

“Yes, Miss Dickey. She comes here quite often.”

“I wonder if you can tell me where she lives.”

The head-waiter considered.

“Find out,” she said sharply. “I’m in a hurry.”

He bowed. Diana had come here many times with many men. She had never asked him a favor before.

His eyes roved hurriedly around the room.

“Sit down,” he said.

“I’m all right. You hurry.”

He crossed the room and whispered to a man at a table—in a minute he was back with the address, an apartment on 49th Street.

In her car again she looked at her wrist watch—it was almost midnight, the appropriate hour. A feeling of romance, of desperate and dangerous adventure thrilled her, seemed to flow out of the electric signs and the rushing cabs and the high stars. Perhaps she was only one out of a hundred people bound on such an adventure tonight—for her there had been nothing like this since the war.

Skidding the corner into East 49th Street she scanned the apartments on both sides. There it was—“The Elkson”—a wide mouth of forbidding yellow light. In the hall a negro elevator boy asked her name.

“Tell her it’s a girl with a package from the moving-picture company.”

He worked a plug noisily.

“Miss Russel? There’s a lady here says she’s got a package from the moving-picture company.”

A pause.

“That’s what she says…. All right.” He turned to Diana. “She wasn’t expecting no package but you can bring it up.” He looked at her, frowned suddenly. “You ain’t got no package.”

Without answering she walked into the elevator and he followed, shoving the gate closed with maddening languor….

“First door to your right.”

She waited until the elevator had started down again. Then she knocked, her fingers tightening on the automatic in her blazer pocket.

Running foot-steps, a laugh; the door swung open and Diana stepped quickly into the room.

It was a small apartment, bedroom, bath and kitchenette, furnished in pink and white and heavy with last week’s smoke. Elaine Russel had opened the door herself. She was dressed to go out and a green evening cape was over her arm. Charley Abbot sipping at a highball was stretched out in the room’s only easy chair.

“What is it?” cried Elaine quickly.

With a sharp movement Diana slammed the door behind her and Elaine stepped back, her mouth falling ajar.

“Good evening,” said Diana coldly, and then a line from a forgotten nickel novel flashed into her head. “I hope I don’t intrude.”

“What do you want?” demanded Elaine. “You’ve got your nerve to come butting in here!”

Charley who had not said a word set down his glass heavily on the arm of the chair. The two girls looked at each other with unwavering eyes.

“Excuse me,” said Diana slowly, “but I think you’ve got my man.”

“I thought you were supposed to be a lady!” cried Elaine in rising anger. “What do you mean by forcing your way into this room?”

“I mean business. I’ve come for Charley Abbot.”

Elaine gasped.

“Why, you must be crazy!”

“On the contrary, I’ve never been so sane in my life. I came here to get something that belongs to me.”

Charley uttered an exclamation but with a simultaneous gesture the two women waved him silent.

“All right,” cried Elaine, “we’ll settle this right now.”

“I’ll settle it myself,” said Diana sharply. “There’s no question or argument about it. Under other circumstances I might feel a certain pity for you—in this case you happen to be in my way. What is there between you two? Has he promised to marry you?”

“That’s none of your business!”

“You’d better answer,” Diana warned her.

“I won’t answer.”

Diana took a sudden step forward, drew back her arm and with all the strength in her slim hard muscles, hit Elaine a smashing blow in the cheek with her open hand.

Elaine staggered up against the wall. Charley uttered an exclamation and sprang forward to find himself looking into the muzzle of a forty-four held in a small determined hand.

“Help!” cried Elaine wildly. “Oh, she’s hurt me! She’s hurt me!”

“Shut up!” Diana’s voice was hard as steel. “You’re not hurt. You’re just pulpy and soft. But if you start to raise a row I’ll pump you full of tin as sure as you’re alive. Sit down! Both of you. Sit down !”

Elaine sat down quickly, her face pale under her rouge. After an instant’s hesitation Charley sank down again into his chair.

“Now,” went on Diana, waving the gun in a constant arc that included them both. “I guess you know I’m in a serious mood. Understand this first of all. As far as I’m concerned neither of you have any rights whatsoever and I’d kill you both rather than leave this room without getting what I came for. I asked if he’d promised to marry you.”

“Yes,” said Elaine sullenly.

The gun moved toward Charley.

“Is that so?”

He licked his lips, nodded.

“My God!” said Diana in contempt. “And you admit it. Oh, it’s funny, it’s absurd—if I didn’t care so much I’d laugh.”

“Look here!” muttered Charley, “I’m not going to stand much of this, you know.”

“Yes you are! You’re soft enough to stand anything now.” She turned to the girl, who was trembling. “Have you any letters of his?”

Elaine shook her head.

“You lie,” said Diana. “Go and get them! I’ll give you three. One——”

Elaine rose nervously and went into the other room. Diana edged along the table, keeping her constantly in sight.

“Hurry!”

Elaine returned with a small package in her hand which Diana took and slipped into her blazer pocket.

“Thanks. You had ’em all carefully preserved I see. Sit down again and we’ll have a little talk.”

Elaine sat down. Charley drained off his whiskey and soda and leaned back stupidly in his chair.

“Now,” said Diana, “I’m going to tell you a little story. It’s about a girl who went to a war once and met a man who she thought was the finest and bravest man she had ever known. She fell in love with him and he with her and all the other men she had ever known became like pale shadows compared with this man that she loved. But one day he was shot down out of the air, and when he woke up into the world he’d changed. He didn’t know it himself but he’d forgotten things and become a different man. The girl felt sad about this—she saw that she wasn’t necessary to him anymore, so there was nothing to do but say good-bye.

“So she went away and every night for awhile she cried herself to sleep but he never came back to her and five years went by. Finally word came to her that this same injury that had come between them was ruining his life. He didn’t remember anything important anymore—how proud and fine he had once been, and what dreams he had once had. And then the girl knew that she had the right to try and save what was left of his life because she was the only one who knew all the things he’d forgotten. But it was too late. She couldn’t approach him anymore—she wasn’t coarse enough and gross enough to reach him now—he’d forgotten so much.

“So she took a revolver, very much like this one here, and she came after this man to the apartment of a poor, weak, harmless rat of a girl who had him in tow. She was going to either bring him to himself—or go back to the dust with him where nothing would matter anymore.”