Studs Lonigan (116 page)

“Say, I'll bet he grows hay in his nose,” Studs said to Catherine while there was laughter and applause.

“If any of the folks of Coonville, Missouri, are listening in, let me tell you Harold is one boy that Coonville can be mighty proud of. I've watched him sticking it out here solo, and I tell you, Harold is one boy who shows all the earmarks of making good here in the city. He's showing the real spirit of the hardy old pioneers who made America what it is today.”

“That's putting it on thick,” Studs whispered.

“Since the time for this broadcast is getting short, we'll only have time to put one more of our contestants on the mike, and I'll now call on Katy Jones of team number two. Katy is another girl who has thrilled marathon fans out here at the World Championship Super Dance Marathon now in progress at the Silver Eagle Ballroom. You know, a week ago it looked like we were going to lose our Katy. She had already taken some bad tumbles, and then one night an abscessed tooth began to trouble her. If most of us had as painful a toothache as Katy's, we would have howled all night in bed. But not Katy. Holding ice packs to her swollen face, she stuck it out through the dog hours of the night, and took the pain philosophically. I remember how she said to me, The tooth makes it easier for me to stay awake.' And the next morning she refused to leave the floor, even to have it pulled, and then she marched gamely forward. Was that a thrill! Seeing this brave little girl join the marathon dancers here a few moments after that painful extraction of that abscessed tooth. Was it a thrill. . . . Now, here's Katy Jones, and she'll sing one of her favorite songs.”

Katy Jones, built to barrel-like proportions, stepped forward in a short brown dress and sweater, her legs stockingless, her ripe-sized breasts bobbling. Her thick black bobbed hair was uncombed, and her face, white with powder, almost resembled a clown's mask. She sang
Rose of Picardy,
her voice whiny and monotonous in its even accenting.

“Now, folks, I am closing our regular evening broadcast for the World's Championship Super Dance Marathon at the Silver Eagle Ballroom which is now in its three hundred and sixty-seventh hour with eighteen couples and two solos still in the running. And let me say, in farewell, to all you radio ears, that the Silver Eagle Ballroom is one place these days that is always open, always interesting, always exciting, with thrills and humor and pathos galore. Make it a place to meet your friends and have your parties, the place to come when you want to see something new and exciting in the way of sport and entertainment. This dance marathon of ours and the contestants are the talk of the town, and if you haven't yet seen Squirmy Stevens, Takiss Filios, the Greek boy who sings
Yes, We Have No Bananas
in his native tongue, Harold Morgan, Katy Jones, Georgia Ginger, and all the other thirty-eight headliners competing in the World's Championship Super Dance Marathon at the Silver Eagle Ballroom, you've got something, and I mean
something,
in store for you. Thank you, and good evening.”

“Folks, we now have one final surprise for you by way of entertainment before I call it a night,” the announcer addressed the spectators through the microphone. “Some of the boys have been practicing here on a little playlet called
The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere
, so please give them your kind attention. And oh, yes, the author of this skit is Squirmy Stevens.”

Applauded, Squirmy Stevens bowed, grinned clownishly, and stepped to the microphone.

“I suppose you bozos didn't know that I wrote plays. Well, I does.”

Studs looked on curiously while Squirmy stationed Katy Jones at a corner in the arena. Facing the same direction as Studs, he scratched and shook his head, studying the unselected girls on the floor. Katy Jones joined them and he drew a laugh returning her to the spot he had placed her.

“Oh,” he loudly exclaimed, pointing to a tall brunette who wore a green sweater.

He led her by the arm toward a corner of the floor below and to the right of Studs. Her partner suddenly grabbed the girl's free wrist.

“Le' go,” he called at Squirmy. Squirmy held to the other hand and both pulled, the girl's head and shoulders bobbing first in one way, then in the other.

“Seems like Ted Delancy of team twenty-two doesn't trust Doris Davis with Squirmy. I don't blame you, either, Ted,” the announcer said through the microphone, the crowd licking it all in.

“Look, Squirmy,” someone in the box-seat section called as Ted Delancy led Doris Davis away.

“I'll settle with you later,” Squirmy shouted at the announcer. “Come on, baby,” he coaxed, grabbing Doris Davis' left wrist.

“Get another girl,” Ted Delancy said.

“Come on, baby. Doncha want to be an actress?”

“Yes, if I can be the leading man,” Ted Delancy shouted.

“Looks like a case of where the eternal triangle bumps its isosceles angle against the artistic temperament,” the announcer said into the microphone, and the amused crowd laughed.

“The announcer is witty, but that guy Squirmy is dumb,” Studs said to Catherine.

“He's funny, though. Watch.”

“Let go of her,” Ted challenged.

“You . . .”

“I ain't afraid of you,” Ted Delancy yelled, letting go of Doris Davis and sneering at Squirmy.

“I ain't afraid of your mother-in-law,” Squirmy said.

“Not?”

“No.”

“No!”

“Say, you guys, what's the idea?” the announcer said like a vaudeville stooge, while the crowd roared.

“He's jealous because he's not in my play and Doris is. I didn't put him in because I couldn't think up a part dopey enough.”

“I wouldn't act in his play. He wrote it so he could steal my partner.”

“Well, I don't care about all that, but listen to me, you mugs, this isn't a prize ring, it's a dance marathon.”

“All right, tell him to go dance in a corner with his head in a sack,” Squirmy said.

“Well, are we or aren't we going to have this play?” the announcer asked.

“Yes, yes, yes, that's right, clear the floor,” Squirmy shouted, excitedly running around in circles, drawing fresh laughs from the crowd.

“But he can't have my partner.”

“But she won't be out of your sight,” the announcer persuaded.

Ted Delancy sulked aside. Squirmy again stationed the girls about the floor. He stepped to the microphone.

“Ladies, gentlemen and others, this is going to be the performance of a play of which I am the one and only author, and also the hero. You didn't know that I could write a play, did you? Well, I fooled you that time.” He waited while the crowd laughed. “This play by Squirmy Stevens is called
The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere
. I am Paul Revere, and these girls are in houses.”

He walked to one of the benches along the side of the dance floor and fetched a cap and broom from under it. He put the cap on with the peak backward, and stood holding the broom between his legs in the fashion of a small boy playing that the broom was a horse.

“Giddyap. Clop! Clop! Clop! Giddyyap!”

He stamped to Katy Jones.

“Rap, Rap, Rap. This is Paul Revere. The British are coming. Is your husband home?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Well, tell him to shake his tomato out of bed and get out and fight the British.”

The audience laughed.

“I saw this pulled in a vaudeville show once,” Studs said to Catherine, while Squirmy repeated this scene. He lit a cigarette, and was beginning to feel stiff. “Shall we blow?”

“Yes, but wait until this is over.”

“No, my husband isn't home,” Doris Davis answered in response to Squirmy's question.

“Well, hurry up and open the door. I want to get in.”

“Funny, even if I did hear it sprung before,” Studs said, laughing.

“I don't think it's so funny,” Catherine said.

The crowd laughed and applauded, and a shower of coins poured down onto the dance floor.

“This looks funny. He's asleep on his feet,” Studs laughed.

“Play ball,” Harold Morgan bawled from the center of the floor while the other contestants trudged slowly around and around.

Harold wound up to pitch, swaying as his arm circled over his head, half turned his left foot, rising, and performed the motions for an overhand pitch. Losing his balance, he fell on his face, and Studs roared.

“Don't laugh, he might be hurt.”

“He ought to be.”

“You're cruel.”

“No. It's just funny.”

Harold arose with a dazed expression on his face and a streak of dirt splotching his right cheek. He shook his head, opened his eyes like a man awakening, grinned sheepishly, joined the line which wound around and around and around the floor with a deadening slowness and a steady dragging of feet.

“Gee, it's late,” Catherine said.

“Twelve-twenty,” Studs said, yawning.

“The time certainly does pass here, doesn't it?”

He shook his head and looked sidewise at her. She leaned forward, watching, her dimpled chin resting in her left hand. She looked cute, pretty, and he wished he could keep her in that pose, just that way. And she looked no different, either, from what she had before she'd been made. He guessed he liked her.

“They made me feel kind of sorry for them, some of them look so tired. And that poor partner of Squirmy Stevens, poor girl, having to hold him up when he's in such a dead sleep.”

“Well, that's their racket and they get dough for it. Look at all the dough that was thrown into them. And then after that little play, they came through the stands here selling their pictures. It's tough, but they're getting something.”

“You're heartless. I bet you would feel a lot different if you were going through what they are down there.”

“I know that.”

“But I wouldn't let you, Bill, not if it was for a ten-thousand-dollar prize. The things they go through! Look at that poor Greek boy falling all over that girl.”

“It's a dumb stunt in one way, because they got to go through so much, but they must be making a lot of dough. Still, your health is worth more to you than all the dough in the world.”

“You bet it is.”

“And say, they get a crowd. People are still coming in.”

“Shall we leave, Bill?”

“All right.”

“The air gets so bad and there's so much cigarette smoke. I bet this dance does no good for their lungs.”

“Me, too.”

The contestants silently circled the floor, marched around and around almost in slow-motion.

“Shall we just wait until the next rest period and see if anything else happens?”

“All right,” Studs said.

“Katy Jones is a brave girl. And that partner of hers, Honks Oliver, he's the deadest old thing. He's always asleep, falling all over her. And Katy, she's such a brave girl.”

“Yes, look at her. She's having a time with him, isn't she?” Studs watched Katy Jones shift the strain her partner placed on her, his arms flung around her, his head lodged against her stomach, her large breasts wobbling. She shook his head and talked at him.

“If I was Katy, I'd just give him a good kick in his ask-me no-questions,” the woman below them said.

“Say, the Romans were more humane. They fed their people to the lions and didn't leave them suffer,” a fellow above them said.

“Yes, it makes me ill to look at them,” a girl answered the fellow.

“They look worse than a chain gang walking around the floor,” the fellow said.

Studs saw Katy hold her partner under the arms, again speaking. She locked his hands in back of her neck and dragged him, lightly slapping his face.

“That Jones dame is a tough gal. She's always fighting with Honks Oliver,” a fellow to Studs' right said.

“He's an old no-good, always sleeping, and the poor girl has to carry him around,” the woman below said, flashing an angry glance at the fellow.

“My, some of the people who come here take it awfully seriously,” Catherine said very low, and Studs smiled, watching Katy Jones.

“Ouch,” Honks Oliver yelled as Katy suddenly bit his ear.

“Good for you! Bite him again, Katy!” the woman below them shouted, standing up and waving her purse.

“Looks like a nice row. I'm glad we stayed,” Studs said, while all over the hall people were shouting, laughing, talking with rising excitement.

“Well, I ain't a bed or a pillow,” Katy said loudly while the referee and the contestants clustered around her and Honks Oliver.

“If I was Oliver, I'd sock that broad in her kisser. Hell, she sleeps on him, too,” the fellow beside Studs said.

“Wake up, Katy,” a woman cried shrilly from the stands.

The siren sounded. Katy and Oliver walked off the floor, followed by others, and a male attendant assisted Squirmy, whose face was besotted with sleep.

“We'll wait until their rest is over and see what happens.”

“All right,” Studs yawned.

A cheer broke over the hall when Katy Jones and Honks Oliver smiled at each other and joined the dragging parade.

A half dollar landed at Honks' feet. He picked it up and handed it to Katy, who blew kisses toward the stands. Some dimes and nickels landed. The line wove around and around.

“Shall we go?” Catherine yawned.

“Yes, in a few minutes.”