Джеймс Кейн - Career in C Major and Other Fiction

“You want to sleep?”

“No, I don’t want to. I could stay this way forever. But I’m going to. I can’t help it.”

“I’ll leave you.”

“Kiss me.”

I kissed her, and she put her arms around me, and sighed a sleepy little sigh. Then she smiled, and I tip-toed out, and I think she was asleep before I got to the door.

I had a bite to eat, went down to the office, checked on the trunk, had a look at what mail there was, and raised the windows to let a little air in the place. Then I sat down at the desk, hooked my heels on the top, and tried to keep my head from swimming till it would be time to go back to Doris. I was so excited I wanted to laugh all the time, but a cold feeling began to creep up my back, and pretty soon I couldn’t fight it off any more. It was about Cecil. I had to see her, I knew that. I had to put it on the line, how I felt about Doris, and how she felt about me, and there couldn’t be but one answer to that. Cecil and I, we would have to break. I tried to tell myself she wouldn’t expect to see me for a day or so, that it would be better to let her get started on her new work, that if I just let things go along, she would make the move anyway. It was no good. I had to see her, and I couldn’t stall. I walked around to her hotel. I went past it once, turned around and walked past it again. Then I came back and went in.

She had the same suite, the same piano, the same piles of music lying around. She had left the door open when they announced me from the lobby, and when I went in she was lying on the sofa, staring at the wall, and didn’t even say hello. I sat down and asked her how she felt after the trip. She said all right. I asked her when her rehearsals started. She said tomorrow. I said that was swell, that she’d really be with an outfit where she could do herself justice. “... What is it, Leonard?”

Her voice sounded dry, and mine was shaky when I answered. “Something happened.”

“Yes, I heard.”

“It — broke her up.”

“It generally does.”

“It’s — made her feel different — about a lot of things. About — quite a few things.”

“Go on, Leonard. What did you come here to tell me? Say it. I want you to get it over with.”

“She wants me back.”

“And you?”

“I want her back too.”

“All right.”

She closed her eyes. There was no more to say and I knew it. I ought to have walked out of there then. I couldn’t do it. I at least wanted her to know how I felt about her, how much she meant to me. I went over, sat down beside her, took her hand. “... Cecil, there’s a lot of things I’d like to say.”

“Yes, I know.”

“About how swell you’ve been, about how much I—”

“Good-bye, Leonard.”

“... I wanted to tell you—”

“There’s only one thing a man ever has to tell a woman. You can’t tell me that. I know you can’t tell me that, we’ve been all over it — don’t offer me consolation prizes.”

“All right, then. Good-bye.”

I bent over and kissed her. She didn’t open her eyes, didn’t move. “There’s only one thing I ask, Leonard.”

“The answer is yes, whatever it is.”

“Don’t come back.”

“... What?”

“Don’t come back. You’re going now. You’re going with all my best wishes, and there’s no bitterness. I give you my word on that. You’ve been decent to me, and I’ve no complaint. You haven’t lied to me, and if it hasn’t turned out as I thought it would, that’s my fault, not yours. But... don’t come back. When you go out of that door, you go out of my life. You’ll be a memory, nothing more. A sweet, lovely, terrible memory, perhaps — but I’ll do my own grieving. Only... don’t come back.”

“I had sort of hoped—”

“Ah!”

“... What’s the matter?”

“You had sort of hoped that after this little honeymoon blows up, say in another week, you could give me a ring, and come on over, and start up again just as if nothing had happened.”

“No. I hoped we could be friends.”

“That’s what you think you hoped. You know in your heart it was something else. All right, you’re going back to her. She’s had a bad morning, and been hurt, and you feel sorry for her, and she’s whistled at you, and you’re running back. But remember what I say, Leonard: you’re going back on her terms, not yours. You’re still her little whimpering lapdog, and if you think she’s not going to dump you down on the floor, or sell you to the gypsies, or put you out in the yard in your little house, or do anything else to you that enters her head, just as soon as this blows over, you’re mistaken. That woman is not licked until you’ve licked her, and if you think this is licking her, it’s more than I do, and more than she does.”

“No. You’re wrong. Doris has had her lesson.”

“All right, I’m wrong. For your sake, I hope so. But... don’t come back. Don’t come running to me again. I’ll not be a hot towel — for you or anybody.”

“Then friendship’s out?”

“It is. I’m sorry.”

“All right.”

“Come here.”

She pulled me down, and kissed me, and turned away quick, and motioned me out. I was on the street before I remembered I had left my coat up there. I went in and sent a bellboy up for it. When he came down I was hoping he would have some kind of a message from her. He didn’t. He handed me my coat, I handed him a quarter, and I went out.

When I got back to the house, the kids were home, and came running downstairs, and said did I know we were all going that night to hear Mamma sing. I said there had been a little change in the plans on that, and they were a little down in the mouth, but I said I had brought presents for them, and that fixed it all up, and we went running up to get them. I went in the nursery for my bag. It wasn’t there. Then I heard Doris call, and we went in there.

“Were you looking for something?”

“Yes. Are you awake?”

“Been awake... You might find it in there.”

She gave a funny little smile and pointed to the dressing room. I went in there, and there it was. The kids began jumping up and down when I gave them the candy, and Doris kept smiling and talking over their heads. “I would have had Nils take your things out, but I didn’t want him poking around.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Where did you go?”

“Just down to the office to look at my mail.”

“No, but I mean—”

“Oh... Rochester, Chicago, Indianapolis, and around. Thought it was about time to look things over.”

“Did you have a nice trip?”

“Only fair.”

“You certainly took plenty of glad rags.”

“Just in case. Didn’t really need them, as it turned out.”

Christine called the kids, and they went out. I went over to her and took her in my arms. “Why didn’t you want Nils poking around?”

“Well — do you want him?”

“No.”

We both laughed, and she put her head against mine, and let her hair fall over my face, and made a little opening in front of my mouth, and kissed me through that. Oh, don’t think Doris couldn’t be a sweet armful when she wanted to be. “You glad to be back, Leonard? From Chicago — and the nursery?”

“Yes. Are you?”

“So glad, Leonard, I could — cry.”

I kept letting her hair fall over my face, and holding her a little tighter, and then all of a sudden she jumped up. “Oh my God, the cocktail party!”

“What cocktail party?”

“Gwenny Blair’s cocktail party. Her lousy annual stinkaroo that nobody wants to go to and everybody does. I said I’d drop in before the supper show, and I had completely forgotten it. The supper show, think of that. Wasn’t I the darling little trouper then? My that seems a long time ago. And it was only this morning.”