J. Donleavy - A Singular Man

"You never tried to get in touch."

"Smithy, you know, things happen. It was one thing after another."

Smith slowly pulling off gloves looking at them in his hand.

"You don't believe that. All right I'll tell you. You got a wife and four kids. A certain log cabin, in a certain woods, and a certain secretary, you want me to go on. You see Smith, what you don't know about me is. I got principles. What shit, sorry about the language. This vein of talk is a sure way of ruining an evening."

"Tell me."

"If I phoned you up and said hello George, I'm expecting a baby. What do you say, Sally, that's great, but I got four already. I know you got to be a tightwad with your commitments. Don't get scared, I'm not pregnant. See what I mean, you had a real look of fear."

"Just concern."

Miss Tomson's big eyes slowly sheltered by her lids.

"Smithy. It was great strolling out in the fresh air tonight to meet you. Walking down the block. To see you there standing against the building. Just like we were kids or something meeting for a date. You've never taken me out on a date, a real date."

taken me out on a date, a real "I'll take you tonight."

"I can't. I'm giving a party. One of those after midnight things. So suicides out the window don't kill someone innocent in the street. Maybe you'd like to come. Some interesting people."

"I'd be out of place."

"Smithy, you're fishing for compliments."

Tomson leaning her hand across to take Smith's. Locking her fingers with his on the capeskin. Tender world spreads. Looking down at her ungloved hand. And a sparkling gigantic diamond.

"Don't ask me about that, Smithy."

Limozine pulling to a stop in front of yellow lighted steamy windows. Herbert giving his hand to Miss Tom-son's elbow and an eye to her knees. She stands. Awaits Smith's emerging. Smiling her loveliest of smiles. Up on her lissome legs.

"Smithy I got to laugh at you. That get up. The paper bag. The cane."

"It's a stick."

"A stick. I mean you been taking some kind of advice maybe. You know, you're so out of date that it doesn't matter."

"Thank you."

A long mahogany bar. White aproned waiter whisking shoulder high trays to booths. Schooners of beer. Heads turning as Miss Tomson pushes in the door. An unseemly whistle. And lowly mumbled remarks at this apparition of the international gentleman.

"Miss Tomson, perhaps this place is unsuitable."

"It's fine. They just want a harmless laugh. Someone appears stepping out of some drama a century ago, why not a chuckle. That's why you're so sweet Smith with all these old fashioned ideas. Take no notice, it's just a beer joint."

Waiter flourishing menus. Looking like an emperor some ridiculous century ago, with eyes staring down on Miss Tomson who lays back the glistening seal skin from her shoulders. All the blond rest of her in black silk. Waiter rubbing nose with a knuckle. Tomson flicking menu with a fingernail. Smith measuring out his best voice.

"What's for you Sally."

"Just a beer."

"Mind if I have some wiener and sauerkraut."

"Mind if I have some wiener "Feel free, Smithy."

"Beer for madam, beer, wiener and sauerkraut for me."

"If that's what you want."

"That's what we want."

Raucous laughter from along the bar. Thumps of back slapping. Little raps of whiskey glasses. A curtain of smoke. Man pulling up a trouser leg to show a scar. Another opening coat to count out notches on his belt. Flashes of merriment erupting from the calm misery.

"Smithy it was sweet of you. The dogwood. Thanks. I was in Dogdale Cemetery all by myself. Got a little white stone up. With a quotation. You know I began to see the point of your pyramid in Renown. I nearly didn't see the card, got covered in blots of mud, ink almost faded away. I saw those two last words. I broke up. I was saying hey Sally, you can't be like this over two little words. And the, this is George Smith speaking. I clutched. I could really hear you."

Miss Tomson's smile of friendly sadness. Peel a grape for her to crush twixt those teeth. She stands and the whole world turns to look. And applaud. My hand on her breast. Nipple between my teeth. A hundred telephone calls away.

"But Smithy you're not ebbing. Just need a little more fat on the face. I phoned you a couple of times last few days at Merry and at that new office. I ask for George Smith and after a few seconds a pipe and drum band fades in and some crazy song away in the highlands or something. Your wires must be crossed. Operator said she couldn't explain it. You rascal."

"Little phone difficulties recently."

"Ha well tonight just had an instinct. I was going to wash my hair in the shower. I was all undressed. I pick up the bathroom phone and dial you at Merry Mansions. And I hear, this is the tabernacle of the dark complexioned redeemer. Was that Matilda. I was about to hang up until I heard you. Black bitch. Shit. Sorry about the language. I was promising myself I wouldn't be uncharitable. Smith you busted a guy into the tracks. I couldn't believe it was you till I read about the cemetery and that last line. I laughed. Gent of the old brigade."

"School."

"That got me. My brother is getting jealous of your publicity. Wallflower Smith, the small backroom operator. Marvellous how you come out in the paper as if you were something important with your ritzy bone house. Even I was saying to somebody, I know that guy. They said you're a mystery, till I told them."

"What, Miss Tomson."

"That you're real. Guy my brother knows, Ralph, a big mouth, as if he knew you, that it was interesting how you sold out your closest friends first, double crossing distant acquaintances last. I socked him right on the jaw. He thought it was funny because he didn't feel it. So I grabbed him by the hair. Boy he started screaming. Think I had him by the balls or something. If he has any. Just a jerk in show biz said he could do something for my brother, who isn't too well recently. Too many dames and cotillions."

Waiter with steamy tray. A plate of copper colored glistening futters in a light grey sea of sauerkraut. Setting a beer before Miss Tomson and a beer and white plate before Smith, who smiling sat, socks pulled up. An arm's length away from the blue wisely lit eyes of Sally Tomson, full of sparks and narrowing strangely, full of woman. Her finger glittering with an overture to a complicated contract. Like one I agreed with Shirl. Tied together with four kids. That come tripping you up during the waltz. Go sleigh riding down the other side of life in the sixty foot winter shadows. Hoping to land in May and wallow among the daisies of July. Instead of pushing them up.

"Smithy what do you think about when your eyes go away like that. Like you belong to the committee figuring the solution to the prevention of do it yourself whipping in isolated convents."

"Ha ha."

"Give me a wiener. Please."

Smith spearing the defenceless cylinder. Lifting it dripping with sauerkraut juice to Miss Tomson's open lips. As she softly sucks it in. A flash of white teeth. For which I searched waiting in train stations, lonely seven, eight and nine o'clock at dark. Left me all these many weeks tarnished and vulnerable till the phone rang tonight. And my heart nearly exploded. Letting the seconds tick in silence listening to her voice like one two three freckles under her right eye where there used to be four. My God Miss Tomson please. Come walking back as Sally into my life. Wearing nothing but your pearls.

"Come on, what do you think of."

"Just pleased you're here chewing a wiener."

"We're kind of like old friends now. I said I'd go to your funeral. So if I ask you to my wedding will you come."

"Miss Tomson, this is a terrible conversation."

"I know. I better go."