Appointment in Samarra - John O'Hara [31]
What?
I ll come out in the car with you at intermission and stay with you, the way we used to.
I know, but that s what I d love. It would be fun.
We haven t done that since we ve been married.
Yes we did. At Lake Placid.
Yes, but we haven t here, at home, and I want to, don t you?
Yes, but what about, you know, business? he said. She hated to name the contraceptive devices. I won’t bother. We can start having a baby.
Do you mean it? he said. I never meant anything so much in my life, she said. And there s one way to prove it.
Yes, that s true. Just by being here. Just by coming out here. They had arrived at the club parking grounds. Uh-huh.
Oh, my sweet lovely Caroline, he said. Not now, she said. I said intermission.
They got out of the car. Ordinarily Julian would have stopped the car at the steps near the vestibule, where the women got out of chauffeur-driven and husband-driven and beau-driven cars, but tonight they had not thought of it. Julian drove the car in and out of lanes, twisting and maneuvering until he had got as close to the verandah as he could, to make as short as possible the walk through the snow. Arm in arm he and Caroline, their arctics flopping, went up to the verandah and around to the vestibule. Caroline said she would be right down, and Julian went out again to the verandah and all the way around the clubhouse to the men s locker room. It was a grand night for a party. It was cold, and the snow-covered golf course seemed not to be separate from the farmlands that bounded the course on the second, fourth, and seventh holes. In the summer the golf course was so neatly shaved that it made him think of a farmer in his Sunday suit surrounded by other farmers in overalls and straw hats. But now in the night there was no way of telling, if you did not know, where club property ended and real farmland began. As far as you could see the world was white and blue and purple and cold. You learn by living with your mother and father and people that it is bad to lie in the snow for a long time, but when all the world is covered with snow and moonlight it doesn’t look as if it would do you any harm. But it was just a picture now, so it doesn’t do you any harm. Julian took in a deep breath and felt very much like a healthy, clean-living person for so doing. I ought to get more of that, he said, and went in to the locker room. Many men said hello and hyuh to him, and he said hyuh and hello back at them six or seven times. He didn’t have an enemy in the place. Then he heard someone say, Hello, Socker. He looked to see who it was, although he knew who it was. It was Bobby Herrmann. Hello, Rum Dumb, he said. Yeah, Rum Dumb, said Bobby in his slow difficult way of speaking. Jesus Christ. You have a nerve calling me Rum Dumb, I ll say.
Nuts, said Julian. He was taking off his coat and hat and putting them in his locker. Everyone seemed to think that the job of kidding Julian was being taken over by Bobby. Jesus Christ, said Bobby. I ve done a whole lot of things in my life, but by Jesus if I ever sunk so low that I had to throw ice in a man s face and give him a black eye. My God.
Julian sat down at the table. Cocktail. Straight liquor. Highball. What ll you have, Ju? said Whit Hofman. Cocktail, I guess.
Martinis in this shaker, said Hofman. Fine, said Ju. Trying to ignore me, said Bobby. Trying to give me the old high hat. The old absent treatment. Well, all right. Go ahead. Ignore me. Give me the old high hat. I don t care. But the least you can do, English, the least you can do is go in there and pay for an extra subscription to the dance.
Huh? said Julian. You heard me. You’re responsible for there being one less man here tonight and the club needs the money, so don t forget, you sock out an extra five bucks when you pay your subscription.
Who is this man? said Julian to Whit. Whit smiled. Did he come here with