Studs Lonigan (59 page)

“Let's go!” Studs said to Red, while chairs were being folded up and piled along the walls, amidst confusion and a pretentiously affected masculine show of energy. Studs wanted to hang around, but he was losing his nerve.

“Hell, Studs, there's no hurry. And there's a lot of nice girls here. We might as well dance.”

Martha Curley played
Frivolous Sal
on the out-of-tune piano. Studs watched the dancers spread over the large floor. He saw her standing alone. He took a step to go over and ask her to dance. He decided he wouldn't be too much in a hurry. Making them wait was a good technique. He was interested only in her, dancing with her, so he acted as if he was interested in everything. He moved from spot to spot and watched Larkin waltz with Dorothy Gorman. Larkin kept almost a yard between them and acted as if he were being reckless. And Dorothy had always been plain, almost homely. Her face looked muddy. He guessed that because of her old man she had forgotten how to laugh, and only smiled in a half-interested way. He wondered if Larkin was too thick to realize that any regular guy would be laughing at him. He saw Phil Rolfe and Loretta going as if they were dancing slow-motion. The kike could dance, though, and he guessed that was what pleased young kids like Loretta. He didn't like her dancing with the Jew, felt like telling her. But after all it wasn't his business. He minded his business, and felt it was the place of everybody else in the family to mind theirs about him. Austin came by with Lillian Stone, taking short, choppy, graceless steps, keeping over a foot away from her. All church ushers danced alike; if a broad just danced close to them, they'd die of stage fright. Danny O'Neill whirled past him with one of the wild Dolan girls. Both of them were good dancers; it was nice to watch them. But Christ, any guy could waste his time learning how to dance.

She was still standing alone. Funnyface Duffy approached her. He got turned down. Hell, she wasn't a wet nurse to punks. He felt as if her refusal of the goof established a bond between them. He wanted this dance to end, because he knew that he'd dance the next one with her. Red winked at him as he and Fran Reilley stepped along. Fran Reilley was a hot girl. Aggravating. Just like his own sister. Whatever you said about them, the two of them could get about anybody they wanted and wind him around their fingers like a piece of old string. And Loretta was going to be the same way. He felt proud that he had two such good-looking sisters. And they could take care of themselves too. He saw Weary's kid sister, Jane, almost laying against that loud-mouthed Young Rocky, who turned frequently, and placed his thigh between her legs with each turn.

After the dance Red said:

“It's hell dancing with a broad as tantalizing as Fran Reilley. She knows she's got everything and it just teases your pants off. She eggs you into thinking you can get away with murder, and then pulls herself away and goes right on talking as if she didn't even think of what she was doing. Then she starts it all over again. Christ, Studs, she drives you into utter misery.”

“Yep, Red, she's luscious.”

“The guy who gets her is getting his jack's worth. Only nobody will do it without the ring. She knows how to play her game,” Red said, half in tribute.

“Hello, fellows,” Larkin said, offering a limp, sweaty hand that made Studs feel as if he was grasping a chunk of contaminated meat. He greeted Larkin with condescension.

“Gee, I'm glad you came, because we all want to get behind Father Gilhooley in the drive to raise funds for the new church.”

Studs and Red gave each other the wink.

“Studs, how's it going?”

“Nothing to complain about,” Studs replied disinterestedly.

“Well, I hope that now we'll be seeing a lot of you, and Kelly, too.”

“That goddamn fat slob,” Studs sneered, as Larkin walked away.

Another dance started. Studs hesitated about asking her. Fran came up to him and demanded that he dance with her. He saw that she was with a sappy-looking guy he didn't know. The bird was taller than he, but he'd take him on. He saw himself meeting the guy out on the street, asking him, Are you tough? and letting him have something he wouldn't forget very easy. He danced a bit woodenly, and Fran made it worse, because she kept leading him. She made a dirty crack about Fran Reilley. Studs guessed good-looking broads were that way about other broads. After the dance, she told him he wouldn't be a bad dancer at all, if he got more practice. She went off to join Fran Reilley and some other girls. He looked around until he saw the girl walking towards the other wall with the sappy-looking egg. He felt she'd notice him if he kept looking at her, and he might seem like a goof. He watched Austin join the group around his sister, Fran. Austin talked. He heard them laugh. What the hell could they see to laugh at in anything Austin said?

“Hello, Studs! Say, I'm glad to see you, just like old times,” Johnny O'Brien said, smiling, shooting his arm up as if a button had been pressed, and giving Studs the collegiate handshake. Studs remembered that Johnny had been a fat, husky kid. Now he was thin, pale, a bit lifeless. Johnny asked him what he was doing. Studs told him.

“I'm over at the U. Belong to Kappa Psi now. Come on over some time, and I'll introduce you to the boys. Fine bunch of brothers, they are.”

“Say, I hear they're anti-Catholic at the University. First thing you know, you'll be losing your religion,” Studs said, kidding to make talk; he saw that the sappy-looking guy was walking away.

“Well, some of the professors are. You know, they believe in evolution and teach it in their classes, and say things against the church, but, of course, that doesn't affect me. And the fellows in my frat, say, Studs, they're all swell fellows. I'd like to have you meet them.”

“You're all dressed up like Joe College,” Studs said, letting his glance wander. She was dancing with Larkin, smiling at something the mush-face said. Somebody ought to take a picture of the guy. Johnny continued speaking.

“Now, you take this suit. As I said, it's new, first time I wore it. Had it made to order at Jerrems, seventy-five bucks. That's the way I believe in getting clothes, if you want to be really well-dressed. Pay for them and get clothes that fit properly and make you look distinguished. You can always tell what kind of a guy a fellow is, and how he rates, from the clothes he wears. A lot of guys you know have enough suits to change every day in the week, and they pay nothing for them. You can't take them out in the rain. Not me, I'd rather have a few suits, but good ones like this one I'm wearing.”

Johnny excused himself and shambled over to Big Nodalsky. Studs watched him give the college handshake, and thought what a heel O'Brien had turned into. He wondered if Lucy would hear about the society here, and come out to a meeting. He could see the other girl, himself with her, dancing, everybody taking it for granted that he and she were going together, and Lucy seeing it. Himself treating Lucy with cold formality. He'd dance with her once or twice, and talk about general things. That would be all. See how she'd like it. He wondered what her name was. He could find out from Larkin. He knew he wouldn't ask that mush-face. She was dancing with Austin, and they seemed to be getting along all right. An old, not-belonging feeling came upon him. He felt like going. He felt that it was just nerve, expecting to make the grade with her. Let her go. If Austin and Larkin were her speed, well, she wasn't his kind. He'd go. He watched them dance. He accidentally caught the eye of Martha Curley and she smiled. He turned towards the piano and saw that Dorothy Gorman was playing.

“Don't you dance?” asked Phil.

“Why?” Studs asked, snottily.

“I just noticed that you hadn't been dancing. I wondered because I heard you were a pretty good dancer.”

Studs guessed it must have been Loretta. They must have talked about him. He wondered what Loretta really thought of him. He didn't really know her. He looked at her on the floor, young, pretty, lively. She had grown that way, into a pretty girl, without his even realizing it, as if one day she was just a kid, and then the next, she was the kind of girl he saw dancing.

“I suppose you're selling dancing shoes,” Studs told Phil.

“Studs, I'll bet the hebe is the kind that takes St. Patrick's day off,” Red said, joining Studs.

“And Jewish Easter too,” Studs added.

Phil went off to dance. Studs saw that she was again alone. He ambled slowly towards her, hoping no one would spot him, because he became suddenly as shy and speechless as a boy. With a forced effort of courage, he asked her if she'd like to dance. She thanked him but said that she was very tired. He walked away, sore. He tried to whistle. He felt he had to do something. He motioned to Martha Curley. She came towards him. They danced. Martha had used to be a nice girl, and full of life. She seemed tired and faded, and she was only about a year older than he. Girls had to grab their husbands off quick, he guessed. Martha said well, well, and they asked how each other was. She said she hadn't seen Studs in quite a long time. Studs said he hadn't seen much of her either. She guessed they must attend different masses on Sunday. He asked her if she was working. She said no, she was just a home girl. He danced past the girl; she was dancing with Young Rocky. He couldn't miss seeing how close their bodies were pressed against one another.

After the dance, he told Red he was going. Red was unable to persuade him to stick around. Walking along Indiana Avenue, he thought that if he had danced with her, she might have remembered him, remembered that she'd smiled at him at mass. If maybe she'd gotten a good look at him, she'd have remembered. But he never could have told her all that he'd thought of her since then. But maybe, maybe, if he had danced with her and things had gone right, maybe he might have, at that. He would maybe have said something like:

I never thought I'd find you here!

No, well, you never know what you can expect, she might have answered.

You're more than I could hope to expect at a place like this, he might have added.

They would have talked, told their names, laughed at jokes he would have been able to think up, and he would have walked home with her. At her door, he would have said, how about a show tomorrow night, and tomorrow he'd be taking her to a show. And they would, yes, go together. What the hell did he care if the gang would try and kid him. He wasn't just a hood, and just going to turn into another Barney Kelly, or Mickey Flannagan.

It was all a goddamn pipe-dream. He was just filling himself full of the stuff. Only if the thing had turned out different! He'd missed his chance. He thought of her in her green and red dress, and her cold aloof face and expression. Haughty jane. And he wanted her. He thought of going with her until finally she'd say yes and no one would be home, and he'd kiss her, and they'd. . . . All a goddamn pipe-dream!

“Jesus Christ, here comes the Fifty-eighth Street Alky Squad,” he said with a laugh as he met Slug, Mickey, Barney, Tommy Doyle, Les, and Shrimp at the corner of Fifty-eighth and Indiana.

“We need another recruit,” Slug said.

Studs chipped in with them. They bought paregoric in the drug store and drank it. They formed a drugged and stupefied line against the side of the drug store building. Studs was so helpless that Red Kelly had to take him home.

MARTIN HUSK
Lonigan poked Crabby Kentchy's books out of his arms.

“I'LL get you a girl if you want me to,” Fran said, taking the three bucks from Studs for the ticket he was buying to her sorority's dance.

“I'll get a girl.”

“All right. Only if you want me to, I'll arrange a nice date for you,” she said, sitting cross-legged on the piano bench.

“Yeah, I suppose with some fishface.”

“Why, William Lonigan!” she exclaimed, and he smiled so she wouldn't get sore.

“You'll have a good time. And if you don't think you can dance well enough, you can practice with me.”

“No, thanks.”

He left and went over towards the poolroom.

Christ, now he'd let himself in for it and where would he get a girl. Lucy? Hell with her. The girl from the parish. How could he? He didn't want her. Let the punks have her. If she wanted punks and guys like Larkin, let them have the bitch. To hell with her! To hell with them all! He didn't have to go because he gave Fran the three bucks for a ticket. He could get out of it by just not going.