Appointment in Samarra - John O'Hara [27]
Mrs. Gorman, you mean he won’t see me? said Julian. Well, he said to tell you he can t see you. It s the same difference.
I came here to apologize for last night, said Julian. I know you did, she said. I told him he was a fool to raise a stink about it, but you can t change him. He has a right to stay sore if he wants to.
Yes, I know.
I told him what he should of done was give you a puck in the mouth when you threw the drink at him, but he said there were other ways of fixing you. She was completely ruthless and honest, but Julian had a suspicion that she was a little on his side. You don t think it would do any good if I went upstairs?
Only make matters worse, if you want my opinion. He has a black eye.
Black eye?
Yes. It isn’t much of a one, but it s there. The ice from the drink. You must of slung it pretty hard. No, I guess the best thing you can do is go. You won’t get anywhere hanging around here now, and he s upstairs waiting till you go so he can curse you out once you get outside.
Julian smiled. Do you think if I leave and he curses me out, it d be all right if I came back then?
Her face became a little angry. Listen, Mr. English, I don t want to stick my two cents in this one way or the other. It s none of my affair. But I want to tell you this much. Harry Reilly is a sore pup, and there isn’t anything funny about it when he gets sore.
Okay. Well, thank you.
All right, she said. She did not go to the door with him. He did not look back, but he knew as well as he could know anything that Harry Reilly was watching him from an upstairs window, and probably Mrs. Gorman was watching with him. He drove home, parking the car in front of his house, and went inside. He took as long as he could with his hat and coat, scarf and arctics. He walked slowly up the stairs, letting each step have its own full value in sound. It was the only way he knew of preparing Caroline for the news of Reilly s refusal to see him, and he felt he owed her that. It would not be fair to her to come dashing in the house, to tell her by his footsteps that everything was all right and Reilly was not sore, only to let her down. He sensed that she had understood the slow steps. She was in bed, the dazzling light coming in the windows from the west, and she was reading a magazine. It was The New Yorker, and not the newest one. He recognized the cover. It was a Ralph Barton drawing; a lot of shoppers, all with horribly angry or stern faces, hating each other and themselves and their packages, and above the figures of the shoppers was a wreath and the legend: Merry Xmas. Caroline had her knees up under the bedclothes, with the magazine propped against her legs, but she was holding the cover and half of the magazine with her right hand. She slowly closed the magazine and laid it on the floor. Did you have a fight with him? she said. He wouldn’t see me. Julian lit a cigarette and walked over to the window. They were together and he knew it, but he felt like hell. She was wearing a black lace neglig?that he and she called her whoring gown. Suddenly she was standing beside him, and as always he thought how much smaller she was in her bare feet. She put her arm inside his arm, and her hand gripped the muscle of the arm. It s all right, she said. No, he said, gently. No, it isn t.
No, it isn t, she said. But let s not think of it now. She moved her arm so that it went around his back under the shoulder blades, and her hand moved slowly down his back, along his ribs, his hips and buttocks. He looked at her, doing all the things he wanted her to do. Her reddish brown hair was still fixed for the day. She was not by any means a small girl; her nose rubbed under his chin, and he was six feet tall. She let her eyes get tender in a way she had, starting a smile and then seeming to postpone it. She stood in front of him and kissed him. Without taking her mouth away she pulled his tie out of his vest and unbuttoned his vest, and then she let him go. Come on! she said, and lay with her face down in the pillow, shutting out