Complete Stories (19 page)
Authors: Dorothy Parker,Colleen Bresse,Regina Barreca
“Ah, I know,” she said.
“That’s right, take your coat off,” he said. “It’s hot as hell in here. Wait a minute till I get mine off, and I’ll help you. There. You all right, sweet?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” she said. “Isn’t it funny, the way those drinks didn’t touch me?”
“That’s because we’ve all been drinking too much,” he said. “That’s the beauty about going on the wagon. When you fall off and have a couple of drinks, it gives you such a nice glow you don’t need any more. But if you’ve been drinking, see what I mean, you’ve got to keep it up before you can get anything. See? Oh, thanks, Gus. That’s fine. Well, here we go.”
“That’s a nice one,” she said.
“Sure,” he said. “It’s got something in it, for a change. They’ll gyp the life out of you in these places if you don’t watch them every minute. I’m through with them. I’m damn glad I’m going on the wagon. That’s the best idea I’ve had in a long while. Hey, don’t nurse it along like that, dear. Drink it quick. See, like this.”
“Like this?” she said.
“That’s more like it,” he said. “Now maybe you’ll hear from it. You’ll never get anywhere, sipping a drink. Come on, now, one more swallow. Good girl. Oh, Gus! Couple more, while you’re up.”
“Are you crazy?” she said. “We haven’t finished these ones yet.”
“We’ll be through by the time he brings the others,” he said. “Then we won’t have to sit around and wait. See? We’ve got to get along. Honestly, I’ve got to be in the office at crack o’ dawn, tomorrow. What a day!”
“Yes,” she said. “I know.”
“Do I know!” he said. “Hurry up, dear. Drink your drink. Finished? Oh, come on and finish it—stop stalling. That’s the way. Here’s Gus; pretty work, Gus. Gus is my friend, aren’t you Gus? Sure you are. Gus and I are old friends. Well, here we go, dear. Have a little nightcap. Make you sleep.”
“I usually always sleep pretty well,” she said.
“No use talking, I’ve got to get more sleep,” he said. “I look terrible. My mother worries her head off about me. Every time she writes me a letter, she says, ‘Take care of yourself.’ Yeah. I take fine care of myself. She’s got a right to worry. I’m a nice guy, I am. You know what? I haven’t written to my mother for three weeks. That’s nice, isn’t it?”
“You ought to write to her,” she said.
“Where the hell do I get time to write?” he said. “I haven’t got any time to write letters. God, I ought to write to my mother. I’ll write to her tomorrow. Oh, Judas, I can’t write tomorrow. I’ve got a terrible day tomorrow. Terrible!”
“Really?” she said.
“I’ve got so much to do tomorrow, I won’t even have time to write to my poor, sweet mother,” he said. “That’s only how busy I’m going to be. It’s no wonder my poor, sweet mother worries. She worries the head off herself about me. You don’t love me.”
“I do so!” she said.
“Yes, you do!” he said.
“I certainly do!” she said. “What do you want to say a thing like that for?”
“I know,” he said. “I know.”
“You know a lot, don’t you?” she said. “It must be great to know as much as you do. You make me sick.”
“I know I do,” he said. “I know I make you sick.”
“You do not!” she said.
“Oh, I know,” he said.
“What you know is, you know perfectly well I love you,” she said. “You don’t love me, that’s what’s the trouble.”
“Yes, I don’t!” he said.
“I suppose you don’t think I can tell,” she said. “Well, I can. I know you don’t love me. You never even think about me. All you think about’s yourself. You don’t think about anything but your old office. ‘Oh, I’ve got to get down to the office, oh, I’ve got to get down to the office. Oh, I’ve got to be at the dear, sweet, darling, precious office at crack o’ dawn.’ That’s all you ever say.”
“Well, I do,” he said. “I told you I’ve got to get down early tomorrow. I’ve got an awful day.”
“Oh, shut up!” she said.
“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you very much. That’s awfully sweet of you. I’m much obliged. Gus! Where the hell’ve you been? What’s the matter, can’t I get a drink here? Am I anigger, or something? Bring a couple of specials, and try and hurry up a little bit about it, will you? God’s sweet sake!”
“I thought you weren’t going to drink any more,” she said.
“What difference does it make to you?” he said. “What do you care whether I drink or not? I could drink myself stiff, for all you care. You don’t care about me.”
“You mustn’t talk like that,” she said. “You know I care, don’t you? Don’t you? Don’t you know I care?”
“Do you honestly care a little bit?” he said.
“Ah, darling,” she said.
“Maybe you do,” he said. “Maybe you care a little bit. If you cared anything at all about me, you’d finish your drink, so we could have a little nightcap. That’s the way! Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, talking to me the way you did? Weren’t you a bad girl? You know you went for me like a regular bulldog? Do you know that? Bulldog, bulldog, bow, wow, wow, Eli Yale; for it’s a bulldog, bulldog, bow, wow, wow, our team will never fail; when the sons of Eli—Why, here’s Gus! Well, well, well, if it isn’t my old friend, Gus. And look what he’s got. Look what Gus brought us, dear. Well, here we go. That’s a nice little nightcap. Nightcap, nightcap, bow, wow, wow, Eli—”
“I love to hear you sing,” she said. “It sounds—oo, that is a nice drink. That’s the nicest one we’ve had.”
“Drink it!” he said. “Really, dear, you’ve got to get over that habit of sipping your drinks. That’s what keeps you up so late. If you’d learn to drink quickly, you could get home before crack o’ dawn. Crackodawn, crackodawn, bow, wow, wow, Eli Yale; for it’s a crackodawn, crackodawn, bow, wow, wow, our team will never—No, but seriously, sweet, I want to talk to you seriously about that. You know, you ought, seriously—what the hell was I going to say? Can you imagine that? I had something very important I wanted to talk to you about, and I can’t remember what it was. What did I start saying to you, anyway?”
“When?” she said.
“Nope, it’s gone,” he said. “Well, I guess it couldn’t have been anything very important. Let it ride. How’re you coming with your drink? Know what we’re going to do when you finish it? We’re going to have a little nightcap. Hurry up, won’t you, dear? Honestly, we haven’t got all night. I’ve got to get some sleep. I’ve got a terrible day, tomorrow. Terrible, terrible, bow, wow, wow, Eli Yale; for it’s a terrible, terrible, bow,—Oh Gus! Hey, Gus! Listen, Gus, you’re a friend of mine, aren’t you? Then how about getting us a couple more specials? Will you, Gus? Just for me and the girl friend—you know the girl friend, don’t you? Sure he does. All right, Gus, two more little specials.”
And so on.
The New Yorker
, February 11, 1928
, February 11, 1928
Just a Little One
I like this place, Fred. This is a nice place. How did you ever find it? I think you’re perfectly marvelous, discovering a speakeasy in the year 1928. And they let you right in, without asking you a single question. I bet you could get into the subway without using anybody’s name. Couldn’t you, Fred?
Oh, I like this place better and better, now that my eyes are getting accustomed to it. You mustn’t let them tell you this lighting system is original with them, Fred; they got the idea from the Mammoth Cave. This is you sitting next to me, isn’t it? Oh, you can’t fool me. I’d know that knee anywhere.
You know what I like about this place? It’s got atmosphere. That’s what it’s got. If you would ask the waiter to bring a fairly sharp knife, I could cut off a nice little block of the atmosphere, to take home with me. It would be interesting to have for my memory book. I’m going to start keeping a memory book tomorrow. Don’t let me forget.
Why, I don’t know, Fred—what are you going to have? Then I guess I’ll have a highball, too; please, just a little one. Is it really real Scotch? Well, that will be a new experience for me. You ought to see the Scotch I’ve got home in my cupboard; at least it was in the cupboard this morning—it’s probably eaten its way out by now. I got it for my birthday. Well, it was something. The birthday before, all I got was a year older.
This is a nice highball, isn’t it? Well, well, well, to think of me having real Scotch; I’m out of the bush leagues at last. Are you going to have another one? Well, I shouldn’t like to see you drinking all by yourself, Fred. Solitary drinking is what causes half the crime in the country. That’s what’s responsible for the failure of prohibition. But please, Fred, tell him to make mine just a little one. Make it awfully weak; just cambric Scotch.
It will be nice to see the effect of veritable whisky upon one who has been accustomed only to the simpler forms of entertainment. You’ll like that, Fred. You’ll stay by me if anything happens, won’t you? I don’t think there will be anything spectacular, but I want to ask you one thing, just in case. Don’t let me take any horses home with me. It doesn’t matter so much about stray dogs and kittens, but elevator boys get awfully stuffy when you try to bring in a horse. You might just as well know that about me now, Fred. You can always tell that the crash is coming when I start getting tender about Our Dumb Friends. Three highballs, and I think I’m St. Francis of Assisi.
But I don’t believe anything is going to happen to me on these. That’s because they’re made of real stuff. That’s what the difference is. This just makes you feel fine. Oh, I feel swell, Fred. You do too, don’t you? I knew you did, because you look better. I love that tie you have on. Oh, did Edith give it to you? Ah, wasn’t that nice of her? You know, Fred, most people are really awfully nice. There are darn few that aren’t pretty fine at heart. You’ve got a beautiful heart, Fred. You’d be the first person I’d go to if I were in trouble. I guess you are just about the best friend I’ve got in the world. But I worry about you, Fred. I do so, too. I don’t think you take enough care of yourself. You ought to take care of yourself for your friends’ sake. You oughtn’t to drink all this terrible stuff that’s around; you owe it to your friends to be careful. You don’t mind my talking to you like this, do you? You see, dear, it’s because I’m your friend that I hate to see you not taking care of yourself. It hurts me to see you batting around the way you’ve been doing. You ought to stick to this place, where they have real Scotch that can’t do you any harm. Oh, darling, do you really think I ought to? Well, you tell him just a little bit of a one. Tell him, sweet.
Do you come here often, Fred? I shouldn’t worry about you so much if I knew you were in a safe place like this. Oh, is this where you were Thursday night? I see. Why, no, it didn’t make a bit of difference, only you told me to call you up, and like a fool I broke a date I had, just because I thought I was going to see you. I just sort of naturally thought so, when you said to call you up. Oh, good Lord, don’t make all that fuss about it. It really didn’t make the slightest difference. It just didn’t seem a very friendly way to behave, that’s all. I don’t know—I’d been believing we were such good friends. I’m an awful idiot about people, Fred. There aren’t many who are really your friend at heart. Practically anybody would play you dirt for a nickel. Oh, yes, they would.
Was Edith here with you, Thursday night? This place must be very becoming to her. Next to being in a coal mine, I can’t think of anywhere she could go that the light would be more flattering to that pan of hers. Do you really know a lot of people that say she’s good-looking? You must have a wide acquaintance among the astigmatic, haven’t you, Freddie, dear? Why, I’m not being any way at all—it’s simply one of those things, either you can see it or you can’t. Now to me, Edith looks like something that would eat her young. Dresses well?
Edith
dresses well? Are you trying to kid me, Fred, at my age? You mean you mean it? Oh, my God. You mean those clothes of hers are
intentional
? My heavens, I always thought she was on her way out of a burning building.
Edith
dresses well? Are you trying to kid me, Fred, at my age? You mean you mean it? Oh, my God. You mean those clothes of hers are
intentional
? My heavens, I always thought she was on her way out of a burning building.
Well, we live and learn. Edith dresses well! Edith’s got good taste! Yes, she’s got sweet taste in neckties. I don’t suppose I ought to say it about such a dear friend of yours, Fred, but she is the lousiest necktie-picker-out I ever saw. I never saw anything could touch that thing you have around your neck. All right, suppose I did say I liked it. I just said that because I felt sorry for you. I’d feel sorry for anybody with a thing like that on. I just wanted to try to make you feel good, because I thought you were my friend. My friend! I haven’t got a friend in the world. Do you know that, Fred? Not one single friend in this world.
All right, what do you care if I’m crying, I can cry if I want to, can’t I? I guess you’d cry, too, if you didn’t have a friend in the world. Is my face very bad? I suppose that damned mascara has run all over it. I’ve got to give up using mascara, Fred; life’s too sad. Isn’t life terrible? Oh, my God, isn’t life awful? Ah, don’t cry, Fred. Please don’t. Don’t you care, baby. Life’s terrible, but don’t you care. You’ve got friends. I’m the one that hasn’t got any friends. I am so. No, it’s me. I’m the one.
I don’t think another drink would make me feel any better. I don’t know whether I want to feel any better. What’s the sense of feeling good, when life’s so terrible? Oh, all right, then. But please tell him just a little one, if it isn’t too much trouble. I don’t want to stay here much longer. I don’t like this place. It’s all dark and stuffy. It’s the kind of place Edith would be crazy about—that’s all I can say about this place. I know I oughtn’t to talk about your best friend, Fred, but that’s a terrible woman. That woman is the louse of this world. It makes me feel just awful that you trust that woman, Fred. I hate to see anybody play you dirt. I’d hate to see you get hurt. That’s what makes me feel so terrible. That’s why I’m getting mascara all over my face. No, please don’t, Fred. You mustn’t hold my hand. It wouldn’t be fair to Edith. We’ve got to play fair with the big louse. After all, she’s your best friend, isn’t she?
Other books
Doom Star: Book 02 - Bio-Weapon by Vaughn Heppner
Angel Train by Gilbert Morris
The Cork Contingency by R.J. Griffith
Unsuitable by Ainslie Paton
Full Moon in Florence by MARTIN, KC
Forgiving Ararat by Gita Nazareth
AHealingCaress by Viola Grace
Left Behind: Left Behind Series #1 by D. J. Pierson, Kim Young
Damned If You Do by Gordon Houghton
Billionaire Blend (A Coffeehouse Mystery) by Coyle, Cleo