Studs Lonigan (64 page)

“Dan's spoken so much of you.”

“We went to school together.”

“I know, he thinks a lot of you.”

“First down ten,” Dan said: Studs had bumped Catherine Marie into him and Lucy.

Studs smiled, but his confidence was severely shaken. He danced rottenly and had nothing to say. Different from Dan and Lucy, they were talking so naturally. Some guys were just built that way, and could break into any new place. He wasn't and couldn't. Hell, he didn't belong with all these broads. They were not his kind. He couldn't talk about dances, and didn't know the people they talked about and knew.

“Oh, there's Perc Byrnnes,” Catherine Marie said.

Studs said nothing, because after all, she was his old pal, Dan's girl, and he didn't want to make a snotty crack. They waited between pieces. A heavy but soft fellow with a thin girl in blue on his arm approached them. Catherine Marie greeted them effusively. Studs didn't like the way the punk seemed to have polish rubbed all over him, the way shoe polish was lathered on shoes. Catherine Marie introduced Studs to Perc Byrnnes and Vivian May Corrigan. Studs shook hands with the guy, feeling that he was holding a handful of crap.

“And how are you?” Perc Byrnnes said with a soft, solicitous voice, as if a negative answer would cause him irrevocable discomfort.

“I'm rarin', Perc.”

The Corrigan girl asked if he were Loretta Lonigan's brother. He nodded. She said she knew Loretta.

“I must congratulate you the way your sorority has put the dance over. It's the most successful dance of the year,” the Corrigan girl said to Catherine Marie.

Studs looked quickly at Byrnnes, and then back at the Corrigan girl.

“Isn't it gorgeous?” Catherine Marie Boylan said.

He was glad when the music started up again. All he wished now was that he was drunk with Slug and the boys and that they were all here. He had to smile at what they'd do.

‟Oh, I'm sorry,” he said, clutching her tightly. He had collided with a couple, and she'd almost been knocked off her pins.

“It was my fault,” she said, laughing.

Returning to the lounge, he unobtrusively wiped his perspiring face. He wondered how in the name of Jumping Jesus Christ a regular guy like Dan could stand all this crap. Dan excused himself and said he'd see Studs later. He and Catherine Marie walked off. Studs watched them pause to speak with that Byrnnes clown.

During the next dance, Lucy told him that Dan was going steady with Catherine Marie. Her father was a broker on La Salle Street, and she rated. She was awfully sweet, but young, and in Loretta's class at high school. Dan and she were awfully attached. It made him wish that people would be saying Studs Lonigan and Lucy Scanlan were awfully attached to each other. At the intermission between pieces, they were joined by Phil and Loretta. Phil adopted an air of equality in greeting Studs, and asking him how he liked the dance. Studs ignored Phil and told Fritzie she looked nice. The music saved Studs' patience. After the dance, Fran and Carroll Dowson joined them in the lounge. Harold Dowson came up. He introduced his girl, a pug-nosed thing named Gertrude O'Reilley. She was the niece of Joe O'Reilley, the lawyer whom Studs' old man admired so much. Fran stood watching him with studied approval. He didn't like it.

“You're comporting yourself fine. I'm proud of you. I never knew it was in you,” Fran said, dancing the next one with him.

“Yeah.”

“Now don't get nasty. I'm only telling you what's true. All the girls in my chapter have been saying nice things about you.”

They were noticing him! He hoped Fran would tell that to Lucy.

“And you're dancing well. Only there's one thing. Please be careful about the way you acknowledge introductions.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Now please don't get bull-headed,” she said.

He frowned sullenly. She accused him of trying to disgrace her on the floor.

“Cut it out,” he said.

“Won't you please speak more loudly. The orchestra leader didn't hear you,” she said.

“Well, I didn't ask you for any opinions.”

“You're simply incorrigible.”

In the lounge again he stood in a chattering crowd, feeling useless. Lucy whispered that she was having the next one with Frank Dolan, who was stagging it. He watched Lucy walk off with Frank Dolan, a big broad-shouldered guy. He might be big, but, well, Studs Lonigan wasn't afraid of him. He could see himself whittling the big fake down to his own size.

“Jesus, how come you're here?” asked Fat Malloy with contagious good fellowship.

“My sister talked me into it.”

“That's right. It's her sorority.”

“Say, do those bastards call this a good time?” asked Studs.

“Well, it is in a way. I mean there's all kinds of fine girls, and it's swell. Most of the broads rate high, and I don't mean maybe.”

“Well, Fat, I don't like most of the guys around here. They're fakes.”

“A lot of them are. There's one guy here named Perc Byrnnes, and he's the biggest fake in the joint. He's got dough and his old man lets him have a big Lincoln, so he thinks he's the reincarnation of Jesus Christ!”

“I met him.”

“Well, I'm gunning for that boy. The first time he cracks wise to me, I'm just going to up and let him have one. He's a foul ball! But say, Studs, come on in the can,” Fat said, smirking.

“By the way, what girl did you take?” Fat asked in the lavatory.

“Lucy Scanlan.”

“Say, she's a fine girl.”

“Yeah,” said Studs, proud.

“Drink,” Fat said, pulling out a bottle.

Studs drank.

“Your dose must be better?”

‟The doc says it's clearing up all right.”

“Say, how did you get it?”

“I got it from a sixteen-year-old bitch named Nellie Cullen. I picked her up at Louisa Nolan's. I've met plenty of lowdown whores but she's the filthiest bitch I ever came across, and she's only sixteen.”

“You ought to find her and crack her one in the teeth.”

“I tried, but she never went back there while I was looking for her.”

“Say, I heard about the scrap you got into at Nolan's.”

‟Yeah.”

“You know, those lads around Sixty-third and Stony are plenty tough. Plenty. And I hear you made a hit with them.”

“They're all white. I was around with them a couple of times. But you know, I'm not yellow, but hell, I don't go around inviting trouble. Christ, when they get drunk, they see a guy they don't like, and they walk up and clout him, or else if it's in a restaurant, they just toss a sugar bowl at his head. And Buddy Coen. . . .”

“I know Buddy.”

“I like him, but, Jesus, he gets drunk all the time, and then picks out the biggest cop or dick he can find and pokes him. If I have to fight, I will, but that's too much,” said Studs.

“They're tough hoods.”

“Say, know a guy named Frank Dolan?”

“He's another one of these flannel-mouth Irish who thinks he's society stuff.”

“Can he go?”

“A fart in a windstorm would blow him over.”

“I didn't like his looks.”

“We'll drink on that,” said Fat.

They killed the bottle.

Studs and Fat walked back. Fat was only a punk, and he acted like an equal and old-time buddy of Studs. But Studs liked him. He was a godsend now.

Dolan walked up and thanked Studs, calling him old man. He nodded to Fat. Fat frowned. Studs was introduced to several couples but missed the names. He almost had to laugh when Fat Malloy acknowledged introductions the same way Byrnnes did. The dance suddenly seemed to Studs like a bunch of ten-year-old kids playing they were in a secret society. He looked at Lucy. Goddamn it, she'd got him. He looked at her hair, black curly hair, her face, round, young, always breaking into a laugh and a smile. They could talk and make up for all these years. He felt like a bum and a louse too. She was too damn good for him, him with a dose, all that stuff. But with her, well, she'd got him. Guys said love was all the crap. When a girl like Lucy got you, it was different. He wished, Jesus Christ, that things had turned out different after that day in the park, and all these years hadn't been wasted. He wanted to say something to her. Maybe in the cab, the time would be set, and the right thing would just come to him. He felt goofy, not at all like the Studs Lonigan everybody knew. He wanted the next dance to begin. He wanted to be just alone with Lucy. Lucy said that her old friend Morris Smith wanted the next dance. Smith smiled fatuously. Studs said all right. He watched them disappear, thinking how he'd like to take Smith and Dolan on together and lay them out cold. He didn't hear while Malloy talked half drunkenly. He watched a punk cooing with a little flapper. Silly. Goddamn it. Lucy had got him. When the dance ended, he anxiously watched the couples coming out. Fran Reilley bowed to him. Dan winked. Byrnnes gave a silly grin. Phil and Fritzie waved. They came, walking slowly, talking as if they were sincerely interested in each other. Studs' fists clenched. He was surly when Smith thanked him for the dance. Lucy seemed to notice it.

“You know, Studs, a girl likes to dance with different fellows. Variety is the spice of life,” she said, during the next dance.

“I didn't say anything.”

“I know that old dark look of yours.”

He tried to smile. He wanted it to be over, and him and Lucy to be alone. He wanted to kiss her and love her. Waltz music and colored lights made him sentimental like a moon-calf punk. He could hardly wait to be alone with her.

Studs was glad when he and Lucy left a large group in front of the College Inn and got into a cab. He didn't mind the nine bucks he'd forked out at the place, but the people weren't his kind, and he was glad to be away and alone with Lucy at last. She babbled about how successful a dance it had been.

“I guess it made money,” he said without interest.

“Didn't you enjoy it?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“You certainly sound awfully enthusiastic.”

‟There were a lot of mopes there.”

“Why, they were all nice fellows.”

“Nice mopes, I say.”

“I see that you're still a . . . tough guy.”

He wanted to expand his chest and say yes, he was, and he was going to be tougher after seeing those dingbats at the dance. But he said nothing. He felt as if she were slipping through his fingers, and that he ought to say something to catch and stop her before it was too late. He looked at her, wanting her, all of her, and she was like something beautiful in a mist. She smiled at him. Maybe no, he wasn't losing her.

“You're just the same Studs. . . just like a little boy.”

She edged towards him, patted his cheek, took off his hat, ran her hands through his hair. She kissed him. She was in his arms. Suddenly, he was french-kissing her. He dug through her dress and touched her breast. She froze up, turned her face away.

“I'm not that kind of a girl.”

He tried, crudely, determined, unthinking, to pull her to him again.

‟Please be careful,” she said cuttingly.

He looked out the window. He saw the lake. He grabbed her hand. He kissed her. She opened her mouth on the next kiss. He felt under her dress.

“I won't hurt you. Come on,” he said huskily. He didn't even think of his dose, all he had in mind was Lucy.

“I can't. . . no . . . not here. If mother isn't home, maybe. . . .”

“Why not?” he said.

“I can't . . . it'll be awful . . . I'll ruin my clothes . . . please wait till we get home,” she begged.

He believed her. They kissed, and he felt her all the way home. She got out of the car rumpled, and rushed into the hallway. He paid the bill.

She opened the inside door, and stood holding it, blocking his entrance. She pursed her lips for him. They kissed. He tried to push open the door.

“No,” she said.

She pushed his hat off, and when he turned, closed the door on him. He watched her go upstairs. She didn't look back.

He walked slowly out and away.

“That goddamn teaser!”

He felt that he'd been a goddamn chump, but realized what a bastard he'd been, trying to make her. He couldn't get her out of his mind.

DEAR
Danny: