I Can Get It for You Wholesale (18 page)

“But you must have,” she said, looking at me. “I could tell by the way you said it, all of a sudden.”

“Well, I’ll tell you,” I said. “I don’t know if I can exactly tell you what I mean. And then, again,” I added, “maybe you won’t like it. So suppose we skip the whole thing and listen to—”

“But, Harry, please,” she said. “I’d rather you told me.”

It was the first time she’d called me by my given name. And the way she said it made the skin and the little hairs on the side of my jaw stand up and tingle. Well, at least I could say she had better manners than Babushkin.

“Well, it’s like this,” I said. “Maybe I don’t know you long enough to go around telling you these things, but hell, the way I figure, I figure it’s important. So don’t get sore, or anything like that. Okay?”

“I promise,” she said, smiling, and I was sure she meant it.

“All right,” I said. “Now don’t ask me for explanations or anything like that, because I can’t give them to you. All I know is there’s something about you, let’s say about the way they put your face together when they made it, or the way you sit and walk and even talk—I heard it on the phone to-night—there’s something there that’s sort of soft and, well, I guess honest is the best word. Anyway, that’s the general idea, see? And it reminds me a lot of my mother. And any girl that can do that, I mean remind me of my mother, must be pretty good. You follow me?”

She nodded a little, quickly, without looking at me.

“Now,” I continued, “this is where it gets a little thick, but it’s the best I can do in the way of an explanation. I mean, if you only let yourself alone, if you only act natural, you can take my word for it you’re all right; you can’t go wrong. Anything you say or do, any way you sit or walk or I don’t know what, if you only do it natural, without adding anything fancy, you don’t have to worry; it’ll come out right and it’ll look and sound right, too. But the minute you try to add some of those touches, you know, the minute you try to do something different than what you would do if you let yourself alone, it sticks out like a sore thumb; it just doesn’t ring right. Now take for instance to-night. We were talking there on the phone and everything was okay; then, I don’t know exactly where it was, but all of a sudden you said something—yeah, I remember, now—I think you said something about ‘Thank you, kind sir,’ or something like that. Anyway—now don’t get sore—it was, well, it was fake; just like me tearing up that couple of tickets a little while ago was fake. It didn’t sound like you and if you wanna really get right down to it, it wasn’t you talking. So the second you said it, it hit me so wrong that before I even knew what was happening, I forgot all those high-class manners my mother taught me and like a dope I was yelling ‘Ouch,’ and I was telling you not to talk like that. Naturally, I got no right to tell you what—aah,
hell
,” I said suddenly, “what’s the sense of talking?”

“That’s all right, Harry,” she said quietly. “I know what you mean.”

It was nice to know that at least
one
of us did.

“Then suppose we forget it,” I said, “and listen to the music.”

“All right,” she said.

We sat quietly for a while, and the music coming up made everything seem all right. Then I thought of something, and I said, “There’s one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“What do you want to have people go around calling you Betty for?” I said. “That’s not you. You’re Ruthie. You know what I mean?”

She nodded slowly.

“Ruthie,” I said, trying it out. “Ruthie. See, that sounds right. Because that’s you, you know. Ruthie,” I said again. “Well, that’s settled. Your friends, they call you Betty, but me, I’m different.”

Boy, I was as casual as a freight car.

I turned back to the orchestra below us. The music came up thin and tinkly and it suddenly occurred to me that I liked it. It was just right for that sort of place.

“I never listened to this stuff before,” I said, “but it’s pretty good, isn’t it?”

She didn’t answer.

She sat with her elbows on her knees, supporting her chin in her hands. A man in a white suit stood up under the lights and put a violin under his chin.

“That’s Spalding,” she said, as he began to play.

I put my arm around her and she leaned against me, resting her head on my shoulder. I leaned my head down and kissed her hair gently. She didn’t move.

The music stopped and we left the Stadium with the crowd.

“How about a little bite of something to eat?” I said.

“I’m not hungry,” she said, “but if you are—”

“I’m not either,” I said. “Shall we walk a while?”

“All right,” she said.

We went west, toward the river, and then walked downtown, arm in arm, without talking. In a dark spot, under a tree, we stopped and I tipped her face up toward me with my hand and kissed her on the mouth. It was all right.

She shivered a little and said, “I’m afraid I’ll have to be getting home, Harry.”

“All right,” I said, and hailed a cab.

I sat with my arm around her, holding her hand in mine, and didn’t think of anything.

After a while she coughed a little.

“Well,” she said, “I guess we’ll, well, I guess we’ll be getting home soon.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Wasn’t it nice?” she said.

“Yeah,” I said, without thinking. Then I looked at her quickly. “It was all right,” I added.

She turned to look at me.

“What’s the matter, Harry? Didn’t you like it?”

So far, what had there been to like?

“Yeah, sure,” I said. “I liked it.”

That was just the trouble. What
did
I like about it? It wasn’t the music, that was sure. And as far as I’m concerned, a stadium is just a big draft. I guess I liked my mother so much, I got a kick out of taking her girl friends out.

“It was all right,” I repeated. Maybe it still would be, at that. “Only I sort of hate to, well, you know, break the whole thing up right now.”

A dame was a dame.

She moved closer to me and put her head against my shoulder. I guess it’s all in the words you use.

“Harry—” she began.

I put my other arm around her and drew her close. The cab stopped. What a spot! That’s what you get when you haven’t got a place to go.

“Well, here we are,” she said in a quick, relieved voice.

Yeah, home.

We got out and I paid the driver. She stood on the stoop, hesitating.

“Well, good night,” she said slowly.

“Good night,” I said; then, quickly, “hey, wait a minute!” Where did she get off, making me behave like a gentleman? “What are you doing to-morrow, Ruthie?”

What was I going to do, let her go thinking I went out with her for the sake of her company?

“Nothing,” she said. “Why?”

“How would you like to run up to Totem for the day?” What the hell, I had business up there anyway. I’d kill two birds with one stone. “We could leave early—”

“Oh, I couldn’t go to-morrow, Harry,” she said.

“Why not?”

“It’s Saturday. My mother wouldn’t let me ride on Saturday.”

It was just as well to be warned in advance. Maybe her mother wouldn’t let her do other things on Saturday, either.

“Then suppose we make it for Sunday, then?”

“All right,” she said, opening the door and stepping into the hall. “I’ll tell my mother.”

“Okay,” I said, smiling. “Tell her not to worry.”

She’d be doing that soon enough.

But somehow, as I walked down the street to the subway, I couldn’t help thinking that if I had to knock off a dame to prove I didn’t like her, there was something wrong.

I
DIDN’T SAY MUCH
on the train because I didn’t know what she was thinking. Whatever it was, I could tell by her face that it was harmless. And I didn’t want to jolt her into a series of questions. But I sat with my arm around her and every once in a while I asked her if she was comfortable.

“I’m comfortable, Harry, thanks,” she said, “only—”

“Only what?”

“I’m just a little worried if I’m dressed right for a place like that,” she said.

“Don’t be silly,” I said. “You’re all right.”

She was wearing a blue sports dress with a pleated skirt and white trimmings, including a sailor collar with a white star in each corner.

“You’re dressed better than most of the girls you’ll see up there,” I said.

There were a half dozen busses around the station when we got off the train. I looked for the one with the sign
TOTEM MANOR
over it and walked toward it.

I recognized a few people from Seventh Avenue in it when we took our seats, and nodded to them.

“You know those people?” she asked.

“Sort of,” I said. “Not that they’re my friends, or anything like that, but it’s just that I do the delivery work for some of them. This Totem is a regular hangout for the garment industry.”

I tried to figure out what I wanted to avoid most: these heels thinking I couldn’t pick myself anything better-looking than Ruthie Rivkin, or her thinking that these heels were my friends.

About a dozen people got into the bus in all, and then it drove away. It went down the state road for a few miles and then turned into a private road for a half mile. It drew up in front of a big wide two-story building with screened-in porches all around it. People were sitting in chairs on the lawn and on the porches. To the left were the tennis courts and the swimming pool, both crowded, and to the right, on a hill, was the first tee of the golf course that they spend sixty per cent of their advertising copy in describing. Around the large main building were the half dozen or so smaller ones, the annexes, in which they accommodated the guests that couldn’t be taken care of in the main house. Between the main house and the first annex was the very wide and square casino, where the social staff did its stuff after dinner.

“Come on, Ruthie,” I said, “let’s go in and register.”

We walked up the steps into the large lobby with the rustic furniture and the Seventh Avenue kibitzers.

As I signed the register I asked the clerk, “Is there a Mr. Ast registered here for the week end, a Mr. Teddy Ast?”

“Yes, sir,” the clerk said. He pointed to the porch on the right of the desk. “There’s Mr. Ast now.”

“Thanks,” I said, and to Ruthie, “Just a second, I want to see if that’s the guy I’m looking for.”

I walked over to the screen door and looked out. It was Ast all right, sitting in a steamer chair with a half dozen snappy-looking blondes surrounding him. I ducked away from the door quickly and walked over to Ruthie.

“Look,” I said, walking her toward the other end of the lobby, toward the porch on the left of the desk, “I’ve got to go out and talk to that guy for a few minutes. On business. You sit out here like a good girl for a while, and wait till I come back for you. All right?”

“Can’t I sit out on the other porch while you’re talking to him?” she asked. “I’m a little afraid to be alone. I don’t know any of these people, and—”

“Don’t be silly,” I said, laughing and pinching her cheek. “Nobody’s going to eat you up.”

That’s all I’d need. Ast with his six blonde nifties, and me with Ruthie Rivkin of the Bronx!

“You want anything to read?” I asked, when she was finally seated. “I’ll get you a magazine or something.”

“No, that’s all right, Harry, thanks. I’ll just sit here and wait for you. Hurry, though, will you?”

“I sure will,” I said, patting her cheek again.

As I left the porch to go into the lobby again I took a quick look around. I didn’t know any of the people sitting there nor did they pay any attention to me. So
that
was all right.

I walked across the lobby and threw open the door behind Ast. He looked up and recognized me.

“Hello, Bogen,” he said, reaching out his hand.

“Hello, there, Ast,” I said.

“Meet the stable,” he said, waving his hand to take in the girls.

They giggled crazily as though he’d said the smartest thing they’d ever heard. I had to hand it to the little kike. He was a skinny little runt, with a face that looked like it had been worked on often enough but never quite finished, and a nose that could have hidden the Statue of Liberty and a couple of ferryboats besides. But with all those handicaps, when it came to the women, he was all there.

“Pull yourself over a chair,” he said, pointing toward an unoccupied rocker with one leg.

“Thanks,” I said, and sat down.

“When’d you arrive, Bogen? I didn’t see you around last night.”

“I just got in a few minutes ago,” I said.

“When are you going back?”

“To-night,” I said.

“Hell of a trip for just one day,” he said. “What’s the matter, no more dames left in New York?”

The blondes laughed like they were getting paid for it and they’d been promised a raise if they turned in a good performance.

“No, not dames,” I said. “I came up here on business.”

“Business?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I came up here to see you.”

He dropped his legs to the ground and sat up in the chair.

“Okay, girls,” he said, waving his hands at them, “scram for a while, will you? I’ve got business with Mr. Bogen, here. I’ll see you all later.”

“Oh, Teddy,” one of the blondes said, pouting.

“Come on,” he said, raising his voice. “Shoo!”

They shooed.

“What’s up?” he said.

“I had Babushkin up to the house for dinner the other night,” I said.

“Yeah? What happened?”

“Oh, my mother filled him full of food, and then I took him into the living room and talked his ear off for a couple of hours.”

“How does it look?”

“Pretty good,” I said. “I think he’s in. He just wanted a little time to talk it over with his wife. He’s got one of those things, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said. He waved his hand understandingly. “A designer.
Nu.
He’s gotta have a steady position.”

It wasn’t funny. But he was expecting it. I laughed.

“And he promised to let me know definitely on Monday. That’s to-morrow.”

“But how does he look to you? I mean, do you think there’s any chance of his getting cold feet or anything like that?”