Studs Lonigan (63 page)

“They're having a hot Benson band tonight,” she said, breaking his mood.

He was in for it, a chump. How in hell would he act? Jesus Christ. Already, he felt as if he were an entirely different Studs Lonigan from what he'd ever been, and they wouldn't even know him around the poolroom. They rolled nearer and nearer to the Loop, and he felt like he was being taken to his doom.

Entering the hotel, Studs tried to appear calm and natural, as if he belonged in places like this, and was the kind of a guy who could bust right into any kind of a joint, no matter how swell it was, and act like he belonged there and knew what to do. They passed across a pillared lobby that possessed an indefinable atmosphere of lacy ornateness. Studs felt that everybody was looking at him, ready to laugh if he pulled a boner. He knew that he was blushing. He walked by an old man lounging in a chair, half asleep, his somnolent face making him look like he was dead on his feet. He threw back his shoulders. He thought of himself as youth, and hoped the old man saw him and thought so too. He spotted several loudly dressed Jews, and they seemed to be looking at Lucy. She was worth looking at, and they should be envying him, but let them crack wise or dirty!

They turned to their left, and up a marble stairway with gilt banisters to the Blue Room.

“All the dances that count are being held here this year,” she exclaimed.

“Yeah!”

He could just tell that she was able to see right through him, see that he was out of place and without confidence. Maybe she was just silently laughing at him, and later she would laugh and talk about him behind his back. If she did, let her, he thought, in a cursing mood. If she was that way, she could go plumb to—. He wished it was over or that he hadn't been chump enough to let himself in for such a thing. He knew he would make a fathead out of himself. And he was too old for this cake-eater stuff. He determined that if trying could do, he would carry himself through it with . . . dignity.

A lanky, effeminate fellow, with blond marcelled hair, stood collecting tickets. Studs handed him the ticket, his face set in a challenging sneer. Let that sap bat out of turn. The fellow pointed to the right, and stated in an affectedly refined voice that the checkroom was in that direction. He started taking his coat off as he walked towards it. Placing it over his arm, he realized that he hadn't paused first to take Lucy's shawl. She handed it to him, and said that she would go and powder up. It was bull number one for him, bad way to start the evening off. Girls got sore when fellows pulled little boners like that; Fran always talked about them, and she didn't like fellows who were so dumb. All girls, he guessed, were the same way. After checking the wraps, he went to the lavatory. He shook his head with surprise. Building cans like palaces nowadays. Two fellows stood smoking by the washbowls. They looked like boy scouts to Studs. The kind of fake gentlemen that Fran would like. They all looked alike, and talked alike, and shook hands in the same Joe College way. Johnny O'Brien was getting that way too. They were all like a walking book of etiquette, and the only thing they needed was a good hard mash in the puss.

“Jake has a keen woman with him tonight,” said one of the young fellows by the washbowl, as Studs washed his hands.

“I don't like her.”

“What did she do, two-time you on a date?”

“That mama wouldn't two-time anything in pants. She's a tramp and anything from eight to eighty goes with her. If you ask me, Jake had plenty of guts, plenty of guts, bringing her to a dance like this, where there's all kinds of decent, respectable girls.”

“Jake must be hard up if that's the case. Only whatever you or I saw, I know I'd never kick her out of bed.”

“I never could understand Jake anyway. He always does things like this.”

“Yeah, he is kind of unconventional.”

They passed on out. A white-coated shine started brushing Studs' suit. He was a pest. Studs handed him two bits and told him to lay off. Studs dallied over a cigarette, because he didn't want to face the crowd. Finally he shot the cigarette aside and walked out with the air of a guy who was making a big decision.

The groups, spread across the long, narrow, and gaudily upholstered lounge, disheartened him. They talked in muffled voices, strolled languidly up and down, stood and sat about. He was afraid of it all, afraid he might act like a clown. But it seemed warm, gay, because there was such a number, so many good-looking young girls. He was glad he'd come, and he wanted to, was determined to, become part of it. He went forwards as if he had nothing to do, hoping he'd recognize some friends. He'd never seen so many hot-looking women in his life; and he had one of the hottest ones of all here. His elation subsided as quickly as it had arisen. Hell, it was all artificial. They were all trying to put on the dog, show that they were lace-curtain Irish, and lived in steam-heat.

He waited for Lucy in a corner, near the entrance, feeling lonesome, watching more couples coming, envying the guys who came with laughing girls, because he knew they were going to have a good time, and he wasn't. He saw Lucy coming toward him and his mood vanished. Maybe she did like him. He noticed her high-heeled silver slippers, and the silver rose buds on her shoulder straps. He realized that she didn't see him, as she walked forwards, half-smiling, seeming very happy. He hoped she was that way, because of him. She was damn keen all right. Plenty of bastards were going to wish they were in his shoes tonight.

“Here you are. I've been looking for you,” she said in a very friendly voice.

He said yeah. She babbled that the dance was going over big and would make money. It tickled her so that she could hardly wait to see Fran. Fran would be so thrilled because she had plugged so much for it and took such an interest in the affairs of the sorority. Studs listened, shifting his weight from foot to foot. When she finished chattering, he answered yeah.

“Everybody is here,” Lucy said.

“Yeah,” Studs said, wondering what the hell she meant by everybody, a lot of these goddamn two-bit jellybeans around the place.

The music started up. He suggested dancing. She nodded but said to wait until a few others went in. If she was one of the first on the floor, she'd feel like she was on exhibition. He put his hands in his pockets, and waited. He took them out, and let them hang at his side, figuring he guessed he might as well not put them in his pockets. She said he had a nice-looking suit on. He said it was the first time he had worn it. She said it was in good taste and in fashion. He folded his arms, self-conscious of his hands. He unfolded his arms and let them hang at his side.

They followed the other couples towards the ballroom. Studs was afraid he wouldn't dance well, and was too excited to say anything clearly to her. But he felt quite proud that others could see him with Lucy, see how well-dressed she was. A spine-shivering solo from the saxophone broke into his attention. It made him sad and want to be reckless. He walked down the steps with her, and saw the dancers inside, wheeling, and spinning on the glossy floor in dim lights.

The Blue Room was square-shaped, with French windows on two sides, a vaulted ceiling, and pillars in the center of the floor. The decoration was in a blue motif. He danced a little stiffly. The mere touching of her in the dance postures made him want to crush her to him, squeeze her against him almost to the point of breaking her bones, tell her that goddamn it, she had to be his woman, and there was no other side to the question. It made him gloomy. Some said a dose could never be cured, although his doctor said otherwise. Maybe even if she did love him and would marry him, he'd never be able to. A sudden vision of him ruining her for all times came to him like a nightmare. They swung into a patch of colored orange light, and then passed the tuxedoed orchestra, which was playing wildly on a dais. She let herself go against him, drew back. He wanted her close against him, wanted to feel her belly hot against him. He didn't have the nerve.

The lights brightened, and the music stopped. Following the example of other fellows, he clapped perfunctorily. A fat blond girl smiled at him. He smiled back, not knowing who she was. Must be a sorority sister of Fran's. It was pleasing, though, to have people he didn't know remembering him.

“Studs, you dance nicely,” Lucy said.

He tried to take the compliment modestly, but wondered if she was only pulling his leg, the way janes always enjoyed pulling a guy's leg. He guessed, though, he did dance well enough to get by. And he wanted Fran, everybody to notice it. If he and Lucy went together, he'd learn how to dance as good as all the cake-eaters, even Rolfe. He saw Rolfe with Loretta at the other end of the room. Fritzie looked sweet in her new black velvet dress; too sweet for Rolfe.

The music commenced, and he tried to dance more swiftly, like so many of the guys did, and they got out of step and Lucy almost tumbled on the floor. She smiled, then laughed. There seemed to be a twinkle in her eye, the twinkle in the eye of the old Lucy, and he was reminded of the way she'd smiled at the party at his house on the night of their graduation.

“You trying to win a race or go to a fire?” she asked.

“We better not go so fast,” he said with gravity.

He passed Rolfe and Fritzie, holding his head erect. His face was grave, and he nodded curtly. Phil smiled back at him, and then bent down to say something to Fritzie. She smiled sweetly at him.

“Penny for your thoughts?” said Lucy.

“I was just noticing my kid sister.”

“Oh.”

She turned and smiled at Fritzie.

“I'll bet she'd like to hear you calling her your kid sister. She's a young lady now.”

He went outside of Carroll Dowson and Fran. They smiled at him; he nodded back.

“You know a lot of people here,” he said to make conversation, noticing how many couples she greeted.

‟Oh, you meet everybody, here and there,” she said with intended casualness.

“Yeah, it's tough being popular.”

‟Now, don't you go getting sarcastic,” she said, but not angrily.

Christ, he felt that he was acting and talking like a goddamn dingbat. Well, if it was so, he was only getting what he had bargained for. He looked into Lucy's face, and away, and felt again the desire to crush her to him.

Fran and Dowson joined them after the dance. She bestowed an approving glance on Studs and told Lucy that she looked lovely and darling. She said with enthusiasm that the dance was way over, and that they'd clear at least two hundred dollars on it.

“Thinking about playing any football this fall?” Carroll asked, shaking with Studs.

“Maybe,” said Studs.

“If you do, let me know.”

Studs asked Dowson how his brother was, and Dowson said all right. He was here some place with Gertrude O'Reilley.

They talked until the music for the next dance was heard. They again waited for others to go in first and then followed.

“Everybody is here,” she said in a very natural voice, as if her body was not tight against him.

“Yeah,” he said, looking at her, hoping she'd say something else, some hint about the way they were dancing, and that it meant something to her. Colored lights were played across the floor. Silly words were in his head. He was silent.

“Oh, there's Mike!” Lucy exclaimed.

“Mike who?”

“Don't you know him? Mike Crowley. He's such a cute boy.”

“Hello, Mike,” Lucy called.

“He's a darling boy,” she told Studs.

Studs looked after him. He was a big, dumb, but decent-looking young chap, and the girl with him seemed eighteen or nineteen, a plain-looking girl with a wide, Dutch face.

“He's only a boy, but he's so darling. He's the captain of St. Ignatius' football team, and everybody says he's a fine player and that some day he'll be a famous college football player.”

‟Oh,” said Studs, looking again after Mike Crowley, wanting to meet him, wanting Lucy to remember that he'd been and still was a good player.

Studs told her he had just seen Dan Donoghue on the floor. He danced towards Dan, good old Dan. It made him feel better and more confident than he had all evening. Dan smiled with surprise, but Studs knew he was glad to see him, and said he'd never expect to see them together, and Studs liked it; particularly, because Dan linked him and Lucy together as if it was very natural and expected. After the dance, Dan and Studs walked off the dance floor together, and Dan's girl and Lucy strolled just ahead of them.

Studs asked how everything was going, as if it was a question of grave import. Dan said he couldn't complain, and asked Studs how it was riding, and Studs said he couldn't complain either. He asked about the old fellows, and Studs said he'd seen some, and he hadn't seen others. Dan said to tell them all he'd been asking for them.

They grouped together in the lobby. Studs felt as if he belonged, one of a talking group. Good old Dan. Dan was no cake-eater either, and if Dan could enjoy these dances, well, he could. He'd take Lucy to more of them. He looked at her as she laughed with Dan's girl, Catherine Marie Boylan. He envied everybody who knew her. He wanted the dance to be over, and the two of them to be alone in a cab, because it would mean the chance he'd been waiting for all his life, ever since they had sat in the tree. If he didn't make the most of it, win her, maybe he might never have another chance.

Studs and Dan exchanged dances. Catherine Marie was only a kid, but damn pretty, with chestnut hair, round face, blue eyes, athletic figure.

“I feel as if I know you,” she said on the dance floor.

“Yes.”