John Passos - Manhattan transfer

‘He’s coming east in two weeks. He says he hopes to be here for the first of the year.’

‘Did you get another wire Maisie?’

Maisie nodded. ‘Do you know James, Jack never will write a letter. He always telegraphs,’ said Mrs Merivale through the paper at her son. ‘He certainly keeps the house choked up with flowers,’ growled James from behind the paper.

‘All by telegraph,’ said Mrs Merivale triumphantly.

James put down his paper. ‘Well I hope he’s as good a fellow as he seems to be.’

‘Oh James you’re horrid about Jack… I think it’s mean.’ She got to her feet and went through the curtains into the parlor.

‘Well if he’s going to be my brother-in-law, I think I ought to have a say in picking him,’ he grumbled.

Mrs Merivale went after her. ‘Come back and finish your breakfast Maisie, he’s just a terrible tease.’

‘I wont have him talk that way about Jack.’

‘But Maisie I think Jack’s a dear boy.’ She put her arm round her daughter and led her back to the table. ‘He’s so simple and I know he has good impulses… I’m sure he’s going to make you very happy.’ Maisie sat down again pouting under the pink bow of her boudoir cap. ‘Mother may I have another cup of coffee?’

‘Deary you know you oughtnt to drink two cups. Dr Fernald said that was what was making you so nervous.’

‘Just a little bit mother very weak. I want to finish this muffin and I simply cant eat it without something to wash it down, and you know you dont want me to lose any more weight.’ James pushed back his chair and went out with the Times under his arm. ‘It’s half past eight James,’ said Mrs Merivale. ‘He’s likely to take an hour when he gets in there with that paper.’

‘Well,’ said Maisie peevishly. ‘I think I’ll go back to bed. I think it’s silly the way we all get up to breakfast. There’s something so vulgar about it mother. Nobody does it any more. At the Perkinses’ it comes up to you in bed on a tray.’

‘But James has to be at the bank at nine.’

‘That’s no reason why we should drag ourselves out of bed. That’s how people get their faces all full of wrinkles.’

‘But we wouldn’t see James until dinnertime, and I like to get up early. The morning’s the loveliest part of the day.’ Maisie yawned desperately.

James appeared in the doorway to the hall running a brush round his hat.

‘What did you do with the paper James?’

‘Oh I left it in there.’

‘I’ll get it, never mind… My dear you’ve got your stickpin in crooked. I’ll fix it… There.’ Mrs Merivale put her hands on his shoulders and looked in her son’s face. He wore a dark gray suit with a faint green stripe in it, an olive green knitted necktie with a small gold nugget stickpin, olive green woolen socks with black clockmarks and dark red Oxford shoes, their laces neatly tied with doubleknots that never came undone. ‘James arent you carrying your cane?’ He had an olive green woolen muffler round his neck and was slipping into his dark brown winter overcoat. ‘I notice the younger men down there dont carry them, mother… People might think it was a little… I dont know…’

‘But Mr Perkins carries a cane with a gold parrothead.’

‘Yes but he’s one of the vicepresidents, he can do what he likes… But I’ve got to run.’ James Merivale hastily kissed his mother and sister. He put on his gloves going down in the elevator. Ducking his head into the sleety wind he walked quickly east along Seventysecond. At the subway entrance he bought a Tribune and hustled down the steps to the jammed soursmelling platform.

Chicago! Chicago! came in bursts out of the shut phonograph. Tony Hunter, slim in a black closecut suit, was dancing with a girl who kept putting her mass of curly ashblond hair on his shoulder. They were alone in the hotel sitting room.

‘Sweetness you’re a lovely dancer,’ she cooed snuggling closer.

‘Think so Nevada?’

‘Um-hum… Sweetness have you noticed something about me?’

‘What’s that Nevada?’

‘Havent you noticed something about my eyes?’

‘They’re the loveliest little eyes in the world.’

‘Yes but there’s something about them.’

‘You mean that one of them’s green and the other one brown.’

‘Oh it noticed the tweet lil ting.’ She tilted her mouth up at him. He kissed it. The record came to an end. They both ran over to stop it. ‘That wasnt much of a kiss, Tony,’ said Nevada Jones tossing her curls out of her eyes. They put on Shuffle Along .

‘Say Tony,’ she said when they had started dancing again. ‘What did the psychoanalyst say when you went to see him yesterday?’

‘Oh nothing much, we just talked,’ said Tony with a sigh. ‘He said it was all imaginary. He suggested I get to know some girls better. He’s all right. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about though. He cant do anything.’

‘I bet you I could.’

They stopped dancing and looked at each other with the blood burning their faces.

‘Knowing you Nevada,’ he said in a doleful tone ‘has meant more to me… You’re so decent to me. Everybody’s always been so nasty.’

‘Aint he solemn though?’ She walked over thoughtfully and stopped the phonograph.

‘Some joke on George I’ll say.’

‘I feel horribly about it. He’s been so decent… And after all I could never have afforded to go to Dr Baumgardt at all.’

‘It’s his own fault. He’s a damn fool… If he thinks he can buy me with a little hotel accommodation and theater tickets he’s got another think coming. But honestly Tony you must keep on with that doctor. He did wonders with Glen Gaston… He thought he was that way until he was thirtyfive years old and the latest thing I hear he’s married an had a pair of twins… Now give me a real kiss sweetest. Thataboy. Let’s dance some more. Gee you’re a beautiful dancer. Kids like you always are. I dont know why it is…’

The phone cut into the room suddenly with a glittering sawtooth ring. ‘Hello… Yes this is Miss Jones… Why of course George I’m waiting for you…’ She put up the receiver. ‘Great snakes, Tony beat it. I’ll call you later. Dont go down in the elevator you’ll meet him coming up.’ Tony Hunter melted out the door. Nevada put Baby … Babee Deevine on the phonograph and strode nervously about the room, straightening chairs, patting her tight short curls into place.

‘Oh George I thought you werent comin… How do you do Mr McNiel? I dunno why I’m all jumpy today. I thought you were never comin. Let’s get some lunch up. I’m that hungry.’

George Baldwin put his derby hat and stick on a table in the corner. ‘What’ll you have Gus?’ he said. ‘Sure I always take a lamb chop an a baked potato.’

‘I’m just taking crackers and milk, my stomach’s a little out of order… Nevada see if you cant frisk up a highball for Mr McNiel.’

‘Well I could do with a highball George.’

‘George order me half a broiled chicken lobster and some alligator pear salad,’ screeched Nevada from the bathroom where she was cracking ice.

‘She’s the greatest girl for lobster,’ said Baldwin laughing as he went to the phone.

She came back from the bathroom with two highballs on a tray; she had put a scarlet and parrotgreen batik scarf round her neck. ‘Just you an me’s drinkin Mr McNiel… George is on the water wagon. Doctor’s orders.’

‘Nevada what do you say we go to a musical show this afternoon? There’s a lot of business I want to get off my mind.’

‘I just love matinees. Do you mind if we take Tony Hunter. He called up he was lonesome and wanted to come round this afternoon. He’s not workin this week.’