Irwin Shaw - Short Stories - Five Decades

“This is Paris,” a voice said. “All the lights are out. The Cabinet has been in conference since seven o’clock this evening.”

Machamer turned the radio off.

Dutcher felt Maxine eyeing him. He turned and looked pleasantly at her. After all, he thought, regarding her, she is a pretty girl, with a fine figure and we are going to be together until tomorrow night …

“Is that how you’re going to the races tomorrow?” Maxine asked. “Without a tie?”

Dutcher felt at his collar. He was wearing a polo shirt, open at the throat. “I guess so,” he said. “It’s awfully hot.”

“I won’t go with you,” Maxine said, “unless you wear a tie.”

“I haven’t got a tie.”

“I won’t go with you,” Maxine said firmly.

“We live in a tropical climate,” Dutcher said. “We mustn’t ever forget that. I’m a Northern man, I sweat like …”

“I have an extra tie,” Machamer said. “You can wear that.”

Dutcher nodded. “If it’ll make Maxine happy …” He smiled at her.

“I wouldn’t be seen in front of all those people with a man who wasn’t wearing a tie.”

“You’re right,” Dutcher said, smiling pleasantly at her. “Now that I think of it, you’re absolutely right.”

Maxine smiled back at him. At least, he thought, I haven’t thought of Murder at Midnight since the trip began. At least, she’s done that.

They stopped in San Diego and drank at a bar among a lot of sailors from the naval base. Dolly took some of the pills she was always taking and for a moment gripped Machamer’s arm and leaned over and kissed his neck. It was nearly two o’clock and the bar was closing and the sailors were drunk.

“The United States will not get into any war,” a big blond farm boy jutting out of his flimsy blue uniform announced. “I have the guarantee of my congressman.”

“Where you from?” Dutcher asked.

“Arkansas.”

Dutcher nodded as though this convinced him. The sailor gulped down what was left of his beer.

“Let the Japs come over,” he called. “We’ll sweep ’em from the seas. I’d like to see the Japs just try and come over. I’d just like to see …”

Maxine was smiling at the sailor.

“I’m hungry,” Dutcher said, herding Maxine and Dolly toward the door. “I hate discussions of relative naval strength.”

“That was heartening,” Machamer said, as they walked toward the bright lights of a waffle shop down the street. “An official representative of the United States armed forces says we won’t get into a war.”

“He was a nice-looking boy,” Maxine said, as they entered the waffle shop. “If you took him out of that sailor suit.”

The waffle shop was crowded, and they sat at a table that had not been cleared. Maxine and Dolly went to the ladies’ room and Machamer and Dutcher were left at the table, looking at each other in the garish waffle-room light, across the dirty dishes and spilled coffee on the table.

“She’s all right,” Machamer said loudly, grinning at Dutcher. “Dolly did all right for you, didn’t she? She’s got a wonderful figure.”

“Machamer,” Dutcher said, “if I had a cement mixer and I wanted somebody to make a speech while it was going, I would pick you.”

Machamer looked around him apologetically. “Isn’t it funny, how loud I talk?”

“Everybody in the Square Deal Waffle Shop now knows you think Maxine has a wonderful figure.”

The waitress, very pale and harried-looking at two in the morning, rattled the dishes between them as she cleared the table.

“You’re having a good time, aren’t you?” Machamer asked. “She makes you laugh, doesn’t she?”

“She makes me laugh,” Dutcher said.

Dolly and Maxine came back. Dutcher watched Maxine walk down the aisle between the tables, her red fox shaking down the front of her suit and all the men in the place watching her. That suit, Dutcher thought, is one-half inch too tight, in all directions. Everything she wears, always, I bet, is one-half inch too tight. Even her nightgowns.

“You know what I’m thinking of?” Dutcher said to Maxine as she sat down.

“What?” Maxine asked, all newly powdered and rouged.

“Your nightgowns.”

Maxine frowned. “That’s not a nice thing to say.”

“Dutcher’s a very vulgar man,” Machamer said. “You ought to read his books.”

“The English,” Maxine said, “just declared war on the Germans. The woman in the ladies’ room told us.”

That’s how I found out, Dutcher thought. In the ladies’ room in a waffle shop in San Diego, a woman told an actress from Republic, who drank too much wine in New York, that the English declared war on Germany, and that’s how I found out.

“This fork is dirty,” Maxine said loudly to the waitress, who was putting their waffles down on the table. “You have some nerve giving us dirty forks.”

The waitress sighed and put down a clean fork.

“They’ll get away with murder,” Maxine said, “if you let them.”

All through the room, people knifed slabs of butter and poured syrup and ate waffles, Dutcher noted, as he started on his. There was no change, just the usual restaurant noise of voices and plates.

“This waffle stinks,” Maxine said. “That’s my honest opinion. And they make a specialty of them! San Diego!”

Dutcher put his hand gently on hers to calm her.

“You got the hand of a day-laborer,” Maxine said. “What do you do, hammer in nails with them at the studio?”

“It’s the disgraceful heritage of my wasted youth,” Dutcher said.

Maxine turned his hand over and carefully examined the palm. “You got a heart line that’s branched many times,” she said.

“Tell me more,” said Dutcher.

“You’re fickle, jealous, selfish.” Maxine leaned over his hand very seriously. “And in the long run, you’re not going to be very successful.”

“What a catch!” Dolly said.

“Tell me more,” said Dutcher.

“You’re moody,” Maxine ran her finger lightly over his palm. “You’re a very moody man.”

“They don’t come any moodier,” said Dutcher.

“Your life line is short.”

Dutcher took his hand back gravely. “Thank you very much,” he said, his hand still aware of the soft promising feel of Maxine’s fingers. “Now I’m all cleared up about myself. I certainly am glad I brought you down to San Diego.”

“It’s all there in the palm,” Maxine said defensively. “I didn’t put it there.” She drew her collar around her. “Let’s get out of this joint.” She walked toward the door, with all the men in the room watching her.

“You’re not her type,” Dolly whispered to Dutcher. “She told me in the ladies’ room. She likes you, but you’re not her type.”

Dutcher shrugged. “Palmists don’t like me. It’s something I’ve always noticed.”

He caught up with Maxine and held her elbow as they walked toward the car. “Now,” he said, “we come to a most delicate point. We—uh … We have to go to a hotel—and—I …”

“I want my own room,” Maxine said firmly.

“I just thought I’d ask.” Dutcher shrugged.

“A gentleman doesn’t ask,” Maxine said.

“What does a gentleman do for girls?” Dutcher asked.

“He doesn’t talk about it! It just happens.”

“It never occurred to me before,” Dutcher said as they got into the car. “But you’re absolutely right.”

They could only get a two-room suite at the hotel, because it was all filled up, and there were some other people from Hollywood in the lobby and Dutcher tried to appear as though he were in no way connected with Maxine. If only she didn’t have that red fox, he thought. And all day tomorrow, at the races, there would be people he knew, and he’d have to try to be eight paces in front of her or at the betting windows or at the bar …