Studs Lonigan (111 page)

Studs picked up his slug, and turned toward a booth. The druggist frowned after him.

Waiting to get her, he became afraid she'd turn him down flat, and he breathed in choking anxiety. Jesus, she couldn't. It was her voice.

“This is Studs,” he mumbled with a prayerful hope.

“Yes,” she replied, but in a friendly voice.

He coughed in the embarrassment of an extended thirty seconds of silence.

“It's a bum day and I guess I caught a cold.”

“It is terrible out, and you should stay in today and drink tea and hot lemonade.”

“I think I'll go home and do that,” he gravely said.

He grunted during a second silence.

“How have you been?” he asked.

“All right, that is, in one way.”

“Well, in what way?” he asked gently.

“Well,” she said, and he liked her soft and caressingly friendly voice, and Jesus, he had to see her again.

“I thought I'd call you up because I didn't see any point in not calling and . . .”

“Yes,” she said encouragingly while he struggled to find words.

“Anyway, when am I going to see you?”

“When do you want to?”

“When can I?”

“Come over to supper tonight. Mother and dad are going out to a supper and bridge party, and I'll cook supper for you.”

“What time?”

“Six-thirty.”

“I'll be there.”

“Goodbye, Bill.”

“Goodbye, Kid.”

“And, Bill, you go home now and put on dry socks and have your mother make you a hot lemonade.”

“I will. So long, Kid.”

He emerged from the telephone booth smiling.

“Bad day,” he said to the druggist.

“Yes, looks like it'll rain all day.”

“It's rained more than the flood already.”

“Well, maybe it'll clear up tomorrow.”

“Say, give me a coke.”

“Yes, sir. Say, you know what I'll bet? I bet you've been fighting with your girl. When you came in, you had a face on you like a man ready to lick his weight in wild cats, and didn't even hear me talk to you. And you came out smiling like Easter Sunday. I said to myself, Wow, there's a lad, quarrelling with his girl friend or his missus. Well, here's your coke.”

“Yeah, you guessed it. We had a dumb fight, and fixed it up. She's a damn fine kid.”

“If she is, don't let a little spat draw you apart. These days there ain't many of them left that a man can have trust in. I know that with so many of them painting up and smoking cigarettes. They ain't out of public school before they're in here for cigarettes and making eyes at anything in pants.”

“Well, my girl's the goods and I'm glad I got her.”

“If she is, boy, hang on to her.”

“I know that much.”

“Well, it's still raining. Looks like an all-day rain.”

“Uh huh! So long.”

He could thank that Jackson bitch for one thing. She'd shown him what a decent girl Catherine was. Catherine was pure gold, and she was Studs Lonigan's girl.

Studs smiled apologetically at Catherine in the doorway.

“Come in,” she said sheepishly.

“I'm not late, am I?” he asked, feeling the necessity of saying something.

“Why, no. I have things about ready, though, because I got off work a little early today to come home and cook.”

“Well, that was certainly nice of you,” he said hoarsely.

“Here, give me your hat and coat,” she said, accepting them and hanging them in a hall closet off the front door.

They looked at each other. She broke into an effervescently spontaneous smile.

“Is this going to be all the greeting I get?”

“Well . . .” he said gravely.

“You're not even going to say you're glad to see me?” she said, showing disappointment.

Seeing the look of tragic discomfort on his face, she smiled lightly, drawing a grin from him.

“I'm glad, naturally.”

“You men!” she exclaimed familiarly.

She flung her arms about him, kissed him, led him by the hand into the parlor.

“Aren't you going to tell me how glad you are to see me?” she said as they sat down on the small couch in the corner of the parlor.

“Yes, I am.”

“And now, tell me, what have you been doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“These last few days.”

“Oh, nothing much. There hasn't been anything to do. I haven't been doing any work because things are pretty quiet with my dad.”

“Want to know what I've been doing?”

“Why, sure.”

“I'll tell you. I've been wondering when you would have enough sense to telephone me. You're such a booby, taking things so seriously. You men, you're worse than babies when it comes to trying to understand a girl.”

“Maybe it's because girls are babies.”

“Oh, yeah?” she smiled.

“Nice babies,” he said heavily.

She mussed his hair playfully, kissed him, momentarily nestled her head against his shoulders. She jumped up.

“You wait here a minute until I call you,” she said like a mother instructing a child, shoving him back onto the couch as he arose.

He watched her vanish from the parlor, and leaned back comfortably in the couch. His eyes travelled about the small, neat parlor, with the square piano against one wall, two flush easy chairs, a lamp with a flowery blue-bordered shade reposing on a doily in the center of a small table. Outside, the rain had stopped, and an after-glow endowed the street with a mellow coloring. A pleasant street, with homes and apartments, and it made him think of the 5700 block on Indiana Avenue in the old days.

He could hear her fussing in the rear of the apartment. She was doing things for him. He was gratified. Now he was sorry he had goofed around with that Jackson bitch. All she was good for was a jazz and he'd gotten that and finished. If they ever saw each other again they wouldn't speak. But wouldn't he love to sink his fist down her dirty goddamn throat! Still, it was a closed book, best forgotten.

“Bill?”

He walked self-consciously to the back, and he was struck by the pleasant sight of the dining room, the oval table set for two, the freshly baked chocolate cake flanked by two burning red candles. There were glasses of tomato juice cocktails before each plate, and the steak soaked with juicy gravy, the baked potatoes, and carrots and peas in a separate dish were already on the table.

“Now, dear, hurry up and let's drink our tomato juice so that the rest of the supper doesn't get cold.”

Smiling, they sat down and drank the tomato juice.

“Well, what do you say?”

“Nice.”

“Is that all?”

“Very nice.”

“Hurry up, now, you serve the meat.”

He cut two large slices of steak with an air of profound seriousness, and laid one on each plate. She served the carrots and peas. He reached for a baked potato, sank butter into it, buttered a slice of bread.

“How does it taste?”

“Swell,” he answered with his mouth full.

“Is the steak seasoned enough?”

He nodded, still chewing, and during a brief silence he thought that anyway, he was grabbing himself off a girl who could cook.

“You're not saying a lot about the supper I cooked for you?”

“I was just thinking how good it is.”

“You men, with your heavy compliments,” she smiled.

He returned the smile, chewing.

“Aren't you glad now that you telephoned me and didn't go on being such a silly goose?”

“I wasn't silly . . .” he stopped short, determining not to let himself in for dumb baby talk, or even for a teasing argument, lest it lead to another serious row.

“Dear, you know, you did say nasty things to me the other night.”

“You didn't seem to spare my feelings,” he said, immediately fearing that it was the wrong thing to have said.

“Your feelings. . . . You acted like your feelings were hurt. You just went ahead like a bull in a china shop, insulting me right and left.”

“I got sore, that's all. I got a bad temper, and I lose it sometimes.”

“Don't I know your temper?” she smiled.

“Of course, maybe I was too quick on the draw in some of the things I said, and I guess I really didn't mean them. But gee, Kid, I couldn't see the reason for making so much importance out of an unimportant quarrel.” He chewed into a slice of steak. “And listen, Kid, don't you ever let anyone try to tell you that you can't cook.”

“I'm glad you're learning some things,” she said, continuing to eat.

He helped himself to more steak. She blew him a kiss.

“How is your mother and everyone?”

“Oh, all right ”

When they finished, she brought in the coffee percolator from the kitchen and set it on a pad. She poured coffee and pointed at the cake.

“I baked it.”

“Looks swell.”

“I hope it tastes as good as it looks. I'm worried about it. I'm afraid it'll be too heavy.”

“It looks jake to me.”

She cut large pieces, carefully placing them on plates. The inside was golden yellow color, and Studs, watching her, playfully licked his lips, made extravagant faces, smiled at her boyishly.

“You're a darling.”

“Swell,” he said with his first taste of the cake.

“No, I think it's too heavy,” she said, her air almost professional.

“You're a dandy cook, Kid, and don't let anyone ever tell you anything previous.”

“You're just trying to be nice to me and make up. Well, mister, I'm not going to let you off so easily. I'm going to put you through a long probation of good behavior.”

“And suppose it isn't good,” he said, his eyes almost twinkling mischievously.

“You men, you're so much like little children,” she said with a gay laugh.

“And, girls, you're just old Father Experience herself,” he said, and she returned his smile.

“And now you're going to play house with me and help wash the dishes,” she said after they finished their coffee and dessert.

His face suddenly flushed. He arose and walked over to her.

“I thought I better bring this back to you.”

“Put it on,” she said, raising her hand.

He slipped their engagement ring back onto her finger. She kissed it, and looked at him tenderly. She pulled him down onto her lap, kissed him, toyed with his hair, pressed his head against her breasts.

“I don't want you ever to fight with me again,” she said with assumed sternness, again kissing him.

He was proud to have his girl back, and to receive her attentions. But not wanting to show his feelings too much, he let himself act a little bored.

“We better get those dishes done,” he said with transparent gruffness.

“I see you're beginning to get trained right.”

He got up and commenced to pick dishes off the table.

“You're so inefficient,” she said, smiling with a sense of superiority. “Here, scrape the leavings off the plates, and then stack them and save yourself extra trouble.”

He helped carry out the dishes, thinking that there'd been a time when Studs Lonigan had never thought he'd be doing a thing like this —and liking it, too.

“Nice looking monkey-suit you got me into,” he said with pretended discomfort after she had tied an apron on him.

She laughed and left the kitchen. Returning with her hands behind her back, she smiled impishly.

“Close your eyes.”

He complied, and she placed a lace night cap on his head.

“You look so sweet and innocent and domestic now. . . . No, don't you dare do that. William Lonigan, you keep that cap on. Don't you dare. I won't let you take it off.”

He looked at her, helpless and petulant. Laughing again, she threw her arms around him and kissed him.

“You're my dear, sweet, adorable boob.”

“I guess I am,” he sighed disconsolately.

She laughed.

“Nice compliments I'm getting.”

“Beautiful compliments they are.”

She let hot water into the dishpan and dropped in a handful of soap chips. Studs lit a cigarette, dropped the lace cap on the sideboard, and draped a dish towel over his arm, while she commenced to wash the dishes.

“Wait until it's rinsed,” she said dictatorially when he started drying a soapy dish.

“All right.”

“You men, you're such babies and incompetents in the kitchen. You talk so big and pretend so much for yourselves, and when it comes to doing simple, practical little things, you're all left-handed.”

“Yeah,” he countered with playful irony.

Drying the dishes, he admitted to himself that he liked this, and he liked her, and she sure was a rest and a consolation to him, and he was damn glad that they'd patched up their quarrel. But he couldn't say too much of such thoughts out loud because he'd look goofy and seem like a mollycoddle.

He wondered about the fellows like Red Kelly. Did he do things like this around his home and like it? Slowly and carefully, he dried the dishes and silverware. She put the dishes away, and he watched in a mellow, happy state while she perfunctorily swept the kitchen. It was going to be nice, too, when they got married, and she was going to make a real wife, and with her to help him he couldn't help but get along. And the difference between her and such a lying, lowdown broad as that Jackson bitch!