Rules of Civility - Amor Towles [36]
—Yes, it is.
—Do you think it’ll rain?
I looked over the East Side rooftops where the Evening Star shone as clear as the beacon of a plane.
—No, I said. Not tonight.
He smiled and looked relieved.
As I handed him a dollar, another customer approached and stopped a foot closer to me than was necessary. Before I had a chance to take him in, I noticed the newsman’s eyebrows droop.
—Hey sister, the customer said. You have a smoke or somethin?
I turned and met his gaze. Well on his way from unemployed to unemployable, his hair was much longer now and he had a poorly groomed goatee, but he had the same presumptuous smile and the wandering eye that he had had when we were fourteen.
—No, I said. Sorry.
He gave a shake. Then he tilted his head.
—Hey. I know you, right?
—I don’t think so.
—Sure, he said. I know you. Room 214. Sister Sally Salamone. I before E except after C . . .
He laughed at the thought of it.
—You’ve mistaken me for somebody else, I said.
—I aint mistaken, he said. And you aint somebody else.
—Here, I said, holding out my change.
He held up both hands in mild protest.
—I couldn’t presuppose.
Then he laughed at his own word choice and walked off toward Second Avenue.
—That’s the problem with being born in New York, the old newsman observed a little sadly. You’ve got no New York to run away to.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Lonesome Chandeliers
—This is Katey Kontent.
—This is Clarence Darrow.
The typewriters at Quiggin & Hale steamed full speed ahead, but not so loudly that I couldn’t hear the lilt back in Evey’s voice.
—When did you get in town, Miss Darrow?
—Four score and seven hours ago.
—How was Key West?
—Droll.
—No need for jealousy on my end?
—Not a smidgen. Listen. We’re having a few friends over tonight. We’d love it if you’d round out the table. Can we lure you away?
—From what?
—That’s the spirit.
I arrived at the Beresford forty minutes late.
As embarrassing as it is to admit, I was late because I was having trouble deciding what to wear. When Eve and I lived at the boardinghouse we shared our wardrobe with the other girls on the floor and we always looked smart on Saturday night. But when I moved out, I had something of a rude awakening—I discovered that all the fun clothes had been theirs. I apparently owned all the frumpy utilitarian numbers. Scanning my closet, the clothes looked as drab as the sheets outside my window. I settled on a navy blue dress that was four years out of date and spent half an hour with a sewing kit shortening the hem.
Manning the elevator was a big-shouldered sort whom I didn’t recognize.
—Hamilton isn’t on tonight? I asked as we ascended.
—That boy’s gone.
—That’s too bad.
—Not for me, it aint. I wouldn’t have no job if he still had it.
This time, it was Eve waiting for me in the foyer.
—Katey!
We kissed each other on the right cheeks and she took both of my hands in hers, just as Tinker liked to do. She stepped back and looked me over as if I was the one just returned from two months at the beach.
—You look great, she said.
—You’re kidding, right? You look great. I look like Moby Dick.
Evey squinted and smiled.
And she did look great. In Florida, her hair had turned flaxen and she had cut it back to her jaw, accentuating the fineness of her features. The sardonic lethargy of March had been exorcised and a teasing glint had returned to her eye. She was also wearing a spectacular pair of diamond chandeliers. They cascaded from her earlobes to her neck and sparkled over the evenly tanned surface of her skin. There was no question about it: Tinker’s Palm Beach prescription had been spot on.
Eve led the way into the living room. Tinker was standing beside one of the couches talking with another man about shares in a railroad. Eve interrupted him by taking his hand.
—Look who’s here, she said.
He was looking good too. While in Florida, he had lost his nursemaid pounds and his hangdog demeanor. He had taken to entertaining without a tie and his tanned sternum showed through his open collar. Without quite