Conrad Aiken - The Collected Short Stories of Conrad Aiken

Pete lay unmoving. “Leave me alone,” he murmured.

“Oh, come on, Pete. It’ll do you good. You need a little excitement to get the adrenals working.”

“No,” said Pete. And then with violence: “NO!”

“What time did you tell her we’d meet her, Dil?”

Dil got up and stretched, eyeing his reflection in the mirror over the mantelpiece. He smoothed his sleek hair with his hands, with something of an air of vanity. He was dark and handsome.

“I said we’d be at the stage-door at twenty of eleven.… What do you say about another little drink?… Say, Pete, what’s the matter with you, anyway? Why don’t you come and meet her? She’s a peach. She’s a creamer. She isn’t any ordinary chorus girl, you know.”

“Women don’t interest me,” said Pete.

“There he goes again,” said Bill. “What’s the use?”

“You’re both of you damn fools,” said Pete. “Just spending your money for nothing. What does she care about you? All she wants is food and somebody to dance with. She just uses you to kill time. She’s probably got a couple of husbands in New York.”

“You’re crazy,” said Dil mildly.

He went into a bedroom, and came back with his coat.

“Come on,” he said.

“All right,” said Bill. “Wait till I get my coat. Sure you won’t come, Pete?”

“No, I’m going to bed. And for the love of Pete don’t be so damned noisy when you come back. Last night I thought somebody was being murdered.”

The two men put on their hats, without comment, and went out. Dil carried a malacca stick with a silver band around it. They went down the stairs in silence, and emerging into the spring night turned to the left.

“It’s funny about Pete,” said Dil. “I wonder what’s the matter with him.”

Bill ruminated.

“He was always that way,” he said. “That was the way he was all through college.”

“Didn’t he ever have a girl?”

“Never a girl. Never would go to a dance or anything. You know, it isn’t that he’s shy, or anything like that. He came into my room once, by accident, when I was giving a tea. And he got along perfectly all right. In fact, my sister was crazy about him. She tried like the devil to get hold of him again. Even called him up on the phone to ask him to dinner. I was there when he answered it. And he just kind of drawled back at her, kidding her along. He just kept saying, ‘No, I guess not, thanks,’ till she got tired. Gee! she was mad. He didn’t bother to give any excuse. Just refused point-blank.”

“Maybe he just needs to be waked up.”

“Maybe he does.…”

They turned to the left again, entering a main thoroughfare, which was crowded and brightly lighted. They passed a lunchroom, and then the portals of a stone church. A lot of sodden confetti was scattered on the wet sidewalk.

“He’s right about one thing,” said Dil. “This business costs a lot of money. I’m getting kind of low.”

“By gosh, that’s true.”

“But then, it’s worth it.”

“Sure. There was a picture of her in Theatre Magazine last week. It said she was considered the most beautiful woman on the musical-comedy stage.”

“Everybody runs after her. I wonder why it is she’s taken such a fancy to us. I guess maybe she meets so few men who are decent to her. You know how it is.”

“Well she seems to like us, all right. Anyway, she likes you .”

“I’m not so sure about that. But she’s pretty keen on you, Bill. I could tell it last night by the way she looked at you.”

“Oh, go on.”

“When she was dancing with you. I had an idea I’d better go home and leave you alone together. But then I thought you might be embarrassed.”

Bill gave a flattered and uneasy little laugh.

“That’s just the way I felt about you,” he said. “I guess maybe she’s pretty fond of us both, really. It must be a kind of a relief to a woman like that to feel sure that a man isn’t all the time trying to take advantage of her. She feels safe with us.”

Dil hung his stick over the crook of his arm.

“You don’t suppose she gets bored with us, do you?” he said. “I was wondering last night whether she just thought of us as kids. It was when she was talking about that week-end party she went to at the painter’s on Long Island. It sounded pretty gay—almost fast.”

Bill pondered. The lights of the theater-canopy were just ahead of them. The people were beginning to come out, and the line of cars was forming. “Why should she?” he said. “After all, we’re as old as she is. And we aren’t either of us fools.… Of course a girl like Mae is bound to run into some fast parties. She has to be a good sport. But that doesn’t prove anything against her. And you’ve only got to look at Mae to see that she’s nice. And the way she’s all the time telegraphing and telephoning to her mother.”

Dil sighed.

“Absolutely,” he said. “Right turn.”

They greeted the doorman at the stage-door with the dignified knowingness of men of the world, and informed him that Miss Melville was expecting them. Dil tapped the ferrule of his stick against the door-jamb. They waited in silence, and other men were waiting also, with their coat-collars turned up. They looked like conspirators. Two chorus girls came out, two men stepped forward quickly and bowed, taxis came and went.

“She’s coming now,” said Ollie, the doorman.

“Hello, boys!” she cried. “I didn’t see you out in front tonight.”

“No, we had to sweat for an exam,” said Bill.

She stood on the step, drawing the fur collar against her lovely chin. She smiled amiably at each of them in turn, and they smiled back at her.

“You look fine,” said Dil.

“Don’t waste time flattering me,” she said, “let’s get a taxi.”

They got a taxi and piled into it and drove to the Shawmut. The hotel lobby was crowded, and so was the grill-room, but they found a booth. The band was playing a fox-trot and people were dancing in the railed-off center of the floor. A lot of the tables had toy balloons tethered to them, and some of the couples carried balloons with them as they danced.

“Same old crowd,” said Mae. “There’s grandpa and his cutie. He’s got a new pair of spats.”

“Would you like a little fox-trot?” said Dil.

“I don’t mind a little one. Let’s go.”

Bill ordered the supper while they danced. Dil was talking to Mae, and she seemed to be listening with great amusement. They took a few turns and came back.

“I’ve been telling Mae about Pete,” said Bill.

“He sounds too fascinating,” said Mae. “Tell me some more about him. Does he live with you?”

“Sure, he lives with us,” said Dil. “Regular old crab. Got the best head in the class.”

“He’s a real woman-hater. Won’t have a thing to do with them. My sister tried to get him to come to a dinner-dance once, and he turned her down flat.”

“What does he say about women?” said Mae. She leaned forward on her elbows. Her eyes were very bright. Then she took out a little mirror and began titivating her eyelashes and nose with a tiny finger-tip. She smoothed the powder round her nostrils.

“Oh, he just says ‘women don’t interest me.’”

“Well, I’d like a drink,” said Mae.

“I’ve got a flask,” said Dil, “and there’s some White Rock coming.”

“Is my nose all right?”

She snapped shut the lid of the little box and looked brightly from one to the other. Then she opened it again and, tilting her head to make sure that her hair was not disarrayed, she patted a golden wave or two lightly with the palm of her hand.

“Perfect,” said Bill.