Conrad Aiken - The Collected Short Stories of Conrad Aiken

“Absolutely perfect,” said Dil.

The music stopped, the couples drifted back to their booths with trailing and bobbing balloons, and in the distressing silence the waiter opened the White Rock. As soon as he had gone away Dil took out his flask and poured from it into the three glasses. The saxophone began again. Mae subtly swayed her shoulders, narrowing her eyes a little.

“Mm—what I mean !” she said, lifting her glass.

“Well, here’s to poor old Pete,” said Dil.

“Oh, yes, tell me some more about Pete. Is he good-looking?”

“He’s red-haired and blue-eyed,” said Bill. “Red curly hair. He’s not what you’d call handsome exactly—do you think so, Dil?—but he’s awfully nice -looking. He’s terribly innocent.”

“This is a nice drink,” said Mae. “I needed it badly. Gosh, it was hot in that dressing-room! I thought I would die. I thought I would faint or something. I tell you what, boys, I’m going to bed early tonight.”

“Oh, don’t say that. The night’s still young.”

“I’m going to bed at one o’clock on the dot. You see if I don’t. Just the same, I’d like to do something exciting, if I weren’t so tired.”

“Are you feeling tired? This drink will fix you up. We were feeling pretty shot ourselves. We’ve been working since three this afternoon. But I’m feeling a lot better already. All you need is a little jazz.”

“What would you like to do, Mae?” asked Dil. “How about riding out to the Bell-in-Hand and having a dance? Some of the fellows are going to be out there.”

Mae considered, her pretty head on one side. She watched the couples dance by, watching with a sort of melancholy, bored expression. She rested her chin on knitted fingers.

“I want to do something exciting ,” she said. “Gosh, how I hate this sleepy town.”

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” said Bill.

“Sleepy Hollow,” said Dil.

“What else does Pete say about women, Dil? I bet some girl turned him down. That’s the way it usually is.”

“No, nothing like that. It’s just the way he is. He’s a real woman-hater. We tried to make him come and meet you, but he wouldn’t. He said women didn’t interest him.”

Mae smiled at Dil in a queer sleepy sort of way. Her eyes were very blue and very deep.

“He didn’t want to meet me?” she said.

“It would have been the same with anybody,” Bill said, a little anxiously. “He never goes out anywhere. Never goes to a show.”

“What’s he doing now?”

“Now? This minute? Probably gone to bed.”

“Well, let’s go and wake him up.”

Dil laughed. Bill poured out the rest of the White Rock. The glasses were empty.

“By gosh, that would be amusing,” said Dil. “I wonder what old Pete would do if we came in and woke him.”

“Throw a fit or something,” said Bill.

“I’d like to meet a real woman-hater. I’ve never met one. Does he bite and scratch?”

Dil smoothed his black hair; he was very urbane.

“Oh, no. He’s very polite. But the only things that interest him are surgery and hunting. He went big-game hunting in Africa just after he got out of college. Shot a couple of lions, and nearly got killed by a lioness.”

“My, my, just think of that. Where was this—in California?”

They laughed, and drank.

“No movie stuff,” said Dil. “Honest-to-God Africa. He’s got the gun to prove it.”

“Well, now, isn’t he the little hero,” said Mae primly. “Let’s go and wake him up and talk to him. I’d like to talk to him. We can go there, can’t we?”

“Sure, we can go there.”

“That’s a swell idea,” said Bill. “By gosh, it’ll be fun to see Pete in a situation like that! By gosh, I wonder what he’ll do. It wouldn’t surprise me if he shot you or jumped out of the window.”

“No; do you know what I think he’ll do? He’ll just take one look at Mae and go to sleep again. That’s what he’ll do. He’ll open one eye like a sick hen and then shut it again and tell us to go to hell.”

“What will you bet? I’ll bet I can make him like me,” said Mae. “I’ll bet you a dinner. Give me a cigarette, that’s a good boy.”

“All right, I’ll bet you can’t.”

“Come on, then, let’s go.”

“Wait till I pay the bill. You go ahead and get a taxi.”

Mae and Bill got up and moved through the returning dancers, and a moment later Dil followed them. They walked down the steps from the lobby under the lighted glass canopy and got into a scarlet taxi. The stars were out. Mae sat between them and held their arms, and laughed.

“This is great,” she said.

“It’s only just around the corner,” Bill murmured. “Here it is.”

“What—already? We could have walked.”

“Well, you’ll have walk enough going up the stairs.”

“All right, you’ll have to push me.”

They put their hands against the small of her back and pushed her, all three of them laughing. Bill took out his key and opened the door. The apartment was dark, and he felt along the wall and switched on the light. Everything was exactly as they had left it—the glasses still on the floor, the window open, and the cushion just where Pete had flung it. A purple galleon was embroidered on the cushion, and there was a rip at one corner.

“He’s gone to bed,” said Dil. “Just what I said.”

“Where does he sleep? In here?”

Mae went to one of the bedroom doors, on tiptoe.

“No, here.”

“Let me see him.… You leave this to me!”

She flung off her cape and went to the door. Bill reached his hand in and turned on the light. Pete was asleep. His head was twisted a little to one side, and his left arm lay outside the blanket, across his breast. His lips were lightly closed, and his face had the soft and relaxed look of one who sleeps deeply.

“Isn’t he darling !” Mae whispered. “Sh-h-h!”

She removed her slippers and went to the bed, where for a moment she leaned over the sleeping figure.

“Hello, Pete!” she said softly.

Pete didn’t stir. His breath was perfectly even. Mae knelt on the bed, stretched herself out beside him, very gently, and put her arm across him. She leaned her face above his, by degrees allowing him to feel more and more of her weight. Then she inclined her head and gave him a kiss. As she withdrew her face, smiling deliciously, Pete opened his eyes. He didn’t move—his face didn’t change expression. He looked up at the smiling and beautiful face that hung over him, very much as if he thought he might still be dreaming. Then he put his arm around her shoulders and drew her down to him, without saying a word.

Bill and Dil retreated. Bill sank down on the couch, and Dil went to the window. They both felt a little hurt.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” said Dil.

“Can you beat it?”

“So that’s the end of poor old Pete.”

Bill went to the door and looked in. Mae was sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling still, and Pete was staring up at her, entranced, as if his visitant were a sort of archangel. Neither of them said anything.

“The drinks are on us,” said Bill, “any time you’re ready. Come on, Mae, and let the great man get some clothes on.”

Mae jumped up and laughed.

“So that’s that,” she said. “Put on a record, someone, and let’s dance. Don’t look so gloomy, Bill!…”

“By gosh, that was too easy.”

“I like him,” said Mae. “He’s a darling! Why didn’t you tell me he was such a darling?”

“Oh, yes, he’s a darling, all right,” said Dil.

There was a silence, a little awkward, during which Pete got up and shut his door. They could hear him moving around at a great rate, getting dressed. Bill put on a record and wound the phonograph. His eyes met Dil’s, and they both looked away, They were both wishing that it hadn’t happened. Then the fox-trot began whining, Bill snapped his fingers, and Dill took Mae in his arms, grinning, and started to dance.