Appointment in Samarra - John O'Hara [95]
friend of your family s for a good many years. Julian, I wish you wouldn’t call me so much. My father gets furious. You better leave me out at the corner, becuss if my old man. Listen, you, leave my sister alone. Oh, hello, sweetie, you want to wait for Ann she s busy now be down a little while. No liquor, no meat, no coffee, drink plenty of water, stay off your feet as much as possible, and we’ll have you in good shape in a year s time, maybe less. He had a drink. He had another and he got up and took off his coat and vest and tie. He had another and he brought the Scotch over and stood the bottle on the floor, and he got out his favorite records, which were in three albums. He put the albums on the floor. When he got drunk enough he would want to play them, but he wanted to have them near now. He lay down and then got up and brought the seltzer and the ice bucket and stood them beside the Scotch. He examined the Scotch bottle and saw there was not much more than a pint left, so he went to the dining-room and got another and opened it, then put the cork back. He drank while walking and this demonstrated the inadequacy of the glass. He had a smart idea. He took the flowers out of a vase and poured the water out, and made himself the biggest highball he ever had seen. It did not last very long. He got up again and got a plate of hors d oeuvres from the kitchen. They made him thirsty. He lowered his suspenders and felt much better. I think, if you don t mind, I think we shall play a little tune, he said aloud. He played Paul Whiteman s record of Stairway to Paradise, and when the record came to the patter he was screaming with jazz. The phonograph stopped itself but he was up and changing it to a much later record, Jean Goldkette s band playing Sunny Disposish. He laid a lot of records out on the floor without looking at their titles. He spun a spoon around, and when it stopped he would play the record to which it pointed. He played only three records in this way, because he was pounding his feet, keeping time, and he broke one of his most favorite, Whiteman s Lady of the Evening, valuable because it has the fanciest trick ending ever put on a record. He wanted to cry but he could not. He wanted to pick up the pieces. He reached over to pick them up, and lost his balance and sat down on another record, crushing it unmusically. He did not want to see what it was. All he knew was that it was a Brunswick, which meant it was one of the oldest and best. He had a drink out of the glass. He used the vase for resting-drinking, and the glass for moving-drinking. That way he did not disturb the main drink while moving around, and could fill the glass while getting up and sitting down. Unintentionally he lay back. I am now, he said, drunk. Drunk. Dronk. Drongk. He reached like a blind man for the fresh bottle and with eyes that he knew were sober he watched himself pour himself a drink. No ice I get drunk kicker. Quicker, he said that aloud. To himself he said: I bet I look like something nice now. He found he had two cigarettes burning, one in the ash tray on the floor, and the other getting stuck in the varnish on the edge of the phonograph. He half planned a lie to explain how the burn got there and then, for the first time, he knew it would not make any difference. He got to his feet and went to the stairs. Anybody in this house? he called. Anybody in this house? Any, body, in, this, house!
He shook his head. Nope. Nobody in this house. You could wake the dead with that noise, he said. He got a package of cigarettes from the table and took the new bottle of Scotch. He wished he had time to look around the room to see if everything was all right, no more cigarettes burning or anything like that, but there wasn’t time. There wasn’t time to put out the lights or pick up anything or straighten the rugs. Not even time to put on a coat, pull up his suspenders or anything. He went out on the porch and down the steps and opened the garage door and closed it behind him. He shivered a little from the bit of cold, and it was cold in the garage,