“It’s not that. I’ve got to go back to my folks and food. I came over to ask if you’d got an answer to your ad in this morning’s Times.”
“Not yet. Sit down, Nick, there’s a lot I want to ask you. You told the police about Wynant’s letter, didn’t–”
“Come up to lunch tomorrow and we’ll bat it around. I’ve got to get back to my folks.”
“Who is the little blonde girl?” Louise Jacobs asked. “I’ve seen her places with Harrison Quinn.”
“Dorothy Wynant.”
“You know Quinn?” Macaulay asked me.
“Ten minutes ago I was putting him to bed.”
Macaulay grinned. “I hope you keep his acquaintance like that–social.”
“Meaning what?”
Macaulay’s grin became rueful. “He used to be my broker, and his advice led me right up to the poor-house steps.”
“That’s sweet,” I said. “He’s my broker now and I’m following his advice.”
Macaulay and the girl laughed. I pretended I was laughing and returned to my table.
Dorothy said: “It’s not midnight yet and Mamma said she’d be expecting you. Why don’t we all go to see her?”
Nora was very carefully pouring coffee into her cup.
“What for?” I asked. “What are you two up to now?”
It would have been hard to find two more innocent faces than theirs.
“Nothing, Nick,” Dorothy said. “We thought it would be nice. It’s early and–”
“And we all love Mimi.”
“No–o, but–”
“It’s too early to go home,” Nora said.
“There are speakeasies,” I suggested, “and nightclubs and Harlem.”
Nora made a face. “All your ideas are alike.”
“Want to go over to Barry’s and try our luck at faro?”
Dorothy started to say yes, but stopped when Nora made another face.
“That’s the way I feel about seeing Mimi again,” I said. “I’ve had enough of her for one day.”
Nora sighed to show she was being patient. “Well, if we’re going to wind up in a speakeasy as usual, I’d rather go to your friend Studsy’s, if you won’t let him give us any more of that awful champagne. He’s cute.”
“I’ll do my best,” I promised and asked Dorothy, “Did Gilbert tell you he caught Mimi and me in a compromising position?”
She tried to exchange glances with Nora, but Nora’s glance was occupied with a cheese blintz on her plate. “He–he didn’t exactly say that.”
“Did he tell you about the letter?”
“From Chris’s wife? Yes.” Her blue eyes glittered. “Won’t Mamma be furious!”
“You like it, though.”
“Suppose I do? What of it? What did she ever do to make me–”
Nora said: “Nick, stop bullying the child.”
I stopped.
22
Business was good at the Pigiron Club. The place was ‘full of people, noise, and smoke. Studsy came from behind the cash register to greet us. “I was hoping you’d come in.” He shook my hand and Nora’s and grinned broadly at Dorothy.
“Anything special?” I asked.
He made a bow. “Everything’s special with ladies like these.”
I introduced him to Dorothy.
He bowed to her and said something elaborate about any friend of Nick’s and stopped a waiter. “Pete, put a table up here for Mr Charles.”
“Pack them in like this every night?” I asked.
“I got no kick,” he said. “They come once, they come back again. Maybe I ain’t got no black marble cuspidors, but you don’t have to spit out what you buy here. Want to lean against the bar whilst they’re putting up that table?”
We said we did and ordered drinks.
“Hear about Nunheim?” I asked.
He looked at me for a moment before making up his mind to say: “Uh-huh, I heard. His girl’s down there”–he moved his head to indicate the other end of the room–“celebrating, I guess.”
I looked past Studsy down the room and presently picked out big red-haired Miriam sitting at a table with half a dozen men and women. “Hear who did it?” I asked.
“She says the police done it–he knew too much.”
“That’s a laugh,” I said.
“That’s a laugh,” he agreed. “There’s your table. Set right down. I’ll be back in a minute.”
We carried our glasses over to a table that had been squeezed in between two tables which had occupied a space large enough for one and made ourselves as nearly comfortable as we could.