him, ‘See here, Mr. Beck, you can’t talk to me in any such
style as that. I’m not in the habit of comin’ late often. An’
wot’s more, this ain’t the only place I can work in K.C. If I
can’t be late once in a while without hearin’ about it, you
can just send up for my time, that’s all, see.’ I wasn’t goin’
to let him get away with that stuff. And just as I thought, he
weakened. All he says was, ‘Well, just the same, I’m
warnin’ you. Next time maybe Mr. Tierney’ll see you an’
then you’ll get a chance to try some other store, all right.’
He knew he was bluffing and that I did, too. I had to laugh.
An’ I saw him laughin’ with Mr. Scott about two minutes
later. But, gee, I certainly do pull some raw stuff around
there at times.”
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By then she and Clyde, with scarcely a word on his part,
and much to his ease and relief, had reached Frissell’s. And
for the first time in his life he had the satisfaction of
escorting a girl to a table in such a place. Now he really was
beginning to have a few experiences worthy of the name.
He was quite on edge with the romance of it. Because of
her very high estimate of herself, her very emphatic picture
of herself as one who was intimate with so many youths
and girls who were having a good time, he felt that up to
this hour he had not lived at all. Swiftly he thought of the
different things she had told him—Burkett’s on the Big Blue,
skating and dancing on the ice—Charlie Trone—the young
tobacco clerk with whom she had had the engagement for
to-night—Mr. Beck at the store who was so struck on her
that he couldn’t bring himself to fire her. And as he saw her
order whatever she liked, without any thought of his purse,
he contemplated quickly her face, figure, the shape of her
hands, so suggestive always of the delicacy or roundness
of the arm, the swell of her bust, already very pronounced,
the curve of her eyebrows, the rounded appeal of her
smooth cheeks and chin. There was something also about
the tone of her voice, unctuous, smooth, which somehow
appealed to and disturbed him. To him it was delicious.
Gee, if he could only have such a girl all for himself!
And in here, as without, she clattered on about herself, not
at all impressed, apparently, by the fact that she was dining
here, a place that to him had seemed quite remarkable.
When she was not looking at herself in a mirror, she was
studying the bill of fare and deciding what she liked—lamb
with mint jelly—no omelette, no beef—oh, yes, filet of
mignon with mushrooms. She finally compromised on that
with celery and cauliflower. And she would like a cocktail.
Oh, yes, Clyde had heard Hegglund say that no meal was
worth anything without a few drinks, so now he had mildly
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127
suggested a cocktail. And having secured that and a
second, she seemed warmer and gayer and more gossipy
than ever.
But all the while, as Clyde noticed, her attitude in so far as
he was concerned was rather distant—impersonal. If for so
much as a moment, he ventured to veer the conversation
ever so slightly to themselves, his deep personal interest in
her, whether she was really very deeply concerned about
any other youth, she threw him off by announcing that she
liked all the boys, really. They were all so lovely—so nice to
her. They had to be. When they weren’t, she didn’t have
anything more to do with them. She “tied a can to them,” as
she once expressed it. Her quick eyes clicked and she
tossed her head defiantly.
And Clyde was captivated by all this. Her gestures, her
poses, moues and attitudes were sensuous and
suggestive. She seemed to like to tease, promise, lay
herself open to certain charges and conclusions and then to
withhold and pretend that there was nothing to all of this—
that she was very unconscious of anything save the most
reserved thoughts in regard to herself. In the main, Clyde
was thrilled and nourished by this mere proximity to her. It
was torture, and yet a sweet kind of torture. He was full of
the most tantalizing thoughts about how wonderful it would
be if only he were permitted to hold her close, kiss her
mouth, bite her, even. To cover her mouth with his! To
smother her with kisses! To crush and pet her pretty figure!
She would look at him at moments with deliberate,
swimming eyes, and he actually felt a little sick and weak—
almost nauseated. His one dream was that by some
process, either of charm or money, he could make himself
interesting to her.
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128
And yet after going with her to the theater and taking her
home again, he could not see that he had made any
noticeable progress. For throughout the performance of
“The Corsair” at Libby’s, Hortense, who, because of her
uncertain interest in him was really interested in the play,
talked of nothing but similar shows she had seen, as well
as of actors and actresses and what she thought of them,
and what particular youth had taken her. And Clyde, instead
of leading her in wit and defiance and matching her
experiences with his own, was compelled to content himself
with approving of her.
And all the time she was thinking that she had made
another real conquest. And because she was no longer
virtuous, and she was convinced that he had some little
money to spend, and could be made to spend it on her, she
conceived the notion of being sufficiently agreeable—
nothing more—to hold him, keep him attentive, if possible,
while at the same time she went her own way, enjoying
herself as much as possible with others and getting Clyde
to buy and do such things for her as might fill gaps—when
she was not sufficiently or amusingly enough engaged
elsewhere.
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129
Chapter 13
FOR a period of four months at least this was exactly the
way it worked out. After meeting her in this fashion, he was
devoting not an inconsiderable portion of his free time to
attempting to interest her to the point where she would take
as much interest in him as she appeared to take in others.
At the same time he could not tell whether she could be
made to entertain a singular affection for any one. Nor
could he believe that there was only an innocent
camaraderie involved in all this. Yet she was so enticing
that he was deliriously moved by the thought that if his
worst suspicions were true, she might ultimately favor him.
So captivated was he by this savor of sensuality and
varietism that was about her, the stigmata of desire
manifest in her gestures, moods, voice, the way she
dressed, that he could not think of relinquishing her.
Rather, he foolishly ran after her. And seeing this, she put
him off, at times evaded him, compelled him to content
himself with little more than the crumbs of her company,
while at the same time favoring him with descriptions or
pictures of other activities and contacts which made him
feel as though he could no longer endure to merely trail her
in this fashion. It was then he would announce to himself in
anger that he was not going to see her any more. She was
no good to him, really. But on seeing her again, a cold
indifference in everything she said and did, his courage
failed him and he could not think of severing the tie.
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130
She was not at all backward at the same time in speaking
of things that she needed or would like to have—little
things, at first—a new powder puff, a lip stick, a box of
powder or a bottle of perfume. Later, and without having
yielded anything more to Clyde than a few elusive and
evasive endearments—intimate and languorous reclinings
in his arms which promised much but always came to
nothing—she made so bold as to indicate to him at different
times and in different ways, purses, blouses, slippers,
stockings, a hat, which she would like to buy if only she had
the money. And he, in order to hold her favor and properly
ingratiate himself, proceeded to buy them, though at times
and because of some other developments in connection
with his family, it pressed him hard to do so. And yet, as he
was beginning to see toward the end of the fourth month,
he was apparently little farther advanced in her favor than
he had been in the beginning. In short, he was conducting a
feverish and almost painful pursuit without any definite