Rules of Civility - Amor Towles [12]
—Most people make a go of it until the second week of January.
—Maybe I’m a slow starter?
—Maybe you need help.
—Oh, I definitely need help.
Wetied a navy blue kerchief over his eyes and led him west. A good sport, he didn’t put his hands out like the newly blind. He submitted to our control and we steered him through the crowds.
It began to snow again. They were those large individual flakes that drift slowly toward the ground and occasionally perch in your hair.
—Is it snowing? he asked.
—No questions.
We crossed Park Avenue, Madison, Fifth. Our fellow New Yorkers brushed past showing seasoned indifference. When we crossed Sixth Avenue, we could see the twenty-foot-high marquee of the Capitol Theatre shining over Thirty-fourth Street. It looked like the bow of an ocean liner had crashed through the building’s façade. The crowd from the early show was filtering into the cold. They were mirthful and at ease, exhibiting something of that tired self-satisfaction that’s typical of the first night of the year. He could hear their voices.
—Where are we going, girls?
—Quiet, we cautioned, turning up an alley.
Large gray rats fearful of the snow scurried among the tobacco tins. Overhead the fire escapes crawled up the sides of the buildings like spiders. The only light came from a small red lamp over the theater’s emergency exit. We passed it and took up our position behind a garbage bin.
I untied Tinker’s blindfold holding a finger to my lips.
Eve reached into her blouse and produced an old black brassiere. She smiled brightly and winked. Then she slinked back down the alley to where the drop steps of the fire escape hung in the air. On the tips of her toes she hooked the end of the bra onto the bottom rung.
She came back and we waited.
6:50.
7:00.
7:10.
The emergency exit opened with a creak.
A middle-aged usher in a red uniform stepped outside, taking refuge from the feature he’d already seen a thousand times. In the snow, he looked like a wooden soldier from the Nutcracker who’d lost his hat. While easing the door shut, he put a program in the crack so that it wouldn’t close completely. The snow fell through the fire escapes and settled on his fake epaulettes. Leaning against the door, he took a cigarette from behind his ear, lit it, and exhaled smoke with the smile of a well-fed philosopher.
It took him three drags to notice the bra. For a moment or two, he studied it from a safe distance; then he flicked his cigarette against the alley wall. He crossed over and tilted his head as if he wanted to read the label. He looked to his left and his right. He gingerly freed the garment from its snag and held it draped over his hands. Then he pressed it to his face.
We slipped through the exit making sure that the program went back in the door.
As usual, we ducked and crossed below the screen. We headed up the opposite aisle with the newsreel flickering behind us: Roosevelt and Hitler taking turns waving from long black convertibles. We went out into the lobby, up the stairs, back through the balcony door. In the dark, we made our way to the highest row.
Tinker and I began to giggle.
—Shhhh, said Eve.
When we had come onto the balcony, Tinker held open the door and Eve charged ahead. So we ended up sitting Eve on the inside, me in the middle, and Tinker on the aisle. When our eyes met, Eve gave me an irritated smirk, as if I had planned it that way.
—Do you do this often? Tinker whispered.
—Whenever we get the chance, said Eve.
—Sh! said a stranger, more emphatically, as the screen went black. Throughout the theater, lighters flickered on and off like fireflies. Then the screen lit up and the feature began.
It was A Day at the Races. In typical Marx Brothers fashion, the stiff and sophisticated made early appearances, establishing a sense of decorum, which the audience politely abided. But at the entrance of Groucho, the crowd sat up in their seats and applauded—like he was a Shakespearean giant returning to the stage after a premature retirement.
As the first reel ran I produced a box