The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [185]
Austin McAuliffe, smiling and polite, asked for the floor, and said that if he may, he would like to say a few things.
“We know, in general, what we want in a constitution. There must be provision for the way to conduct meetings, elect officers, the payment of dues, the minimum number of meetings each month, the organization and conduct of social affairs and such things.”
“How much will we have to pay?” Vine Curley interrupted.
Austin concluded his suggestion by proposing that there be a committee appointed to draft a constitution, and a time limit be set upon them so that they could get going. Red asked that the floor be left open for a brief period to solicit suggestions on the constitution before the chairman appointed a committee. Studs saw through Kelly, realizing that Red just wanted to shoot his mouth off. There was a debate on whether dues should be twenty-five or fifty cents a month. Studs tried to think of something to say so he could pitch right in and impress her. His mind empty of ideas, he watched her from the corner of his eye. He hoped he would be put on the committee. Finally, the committee was appointed. Red was on it, but not he. He was sorry, and yet glad, because he didn’t want to be bothering with a lot of crap, and having to meet Larkin and McAuliffe and draw up a damn constitution. But an appointment might have made her realize who Studs Lonigan was.
III
“Let’s go!” Studs said to Red, while chairs were being folded up and piled along the walls, amidst confusion and a pretentiously affected masculine show of energy. Studs wanted to hang around, but he was losing his nerve.
“Hell, Studs, there’s no hurry. And there’s a lot of nice girls here. We might as well dance.”
Martha Curley played Frivolous Sal on the out-of-tune piano. Studs watched the dancers spread over the large floor. He saw her standing alone. He took a step to go over and ask her to dance. He decided he wouldn’t be too much in a hurry. Making them wait was a good technique. He was interested only in her, dancing with her, so he acted as if he was interested in everything. He moved from spot to spot and watched Larkin waltz with Dorothy Gorman. Larkin kept almost a yard between them and acted as if he were being reckless. And Dorothy had always been plain, almost homely. Her face looked muddy. He guessed that because of her old man she had forgotten how to laugh, and only smiled in a half-interested way. He wondered if Larkin was too thick to realize that any regular guy would be laughing at him. He saw Phil Rolfe and Loretta going as if they were dancing slow-motion. The kike could dance, though, and he guessed that was what pleased young kids like Loretta. He didn’t like her dancing with the Jew, felt like telling her. But after all it wasn’t his business. He minded his business, and felt it was the place of everybody else in the family to mind theirs about him. Austin came by with Lillian Stone, taking short, choppy, graceless steps, keeping over a foot away from her. All church ushers danced alike; if a broad just danced close to them, they’d die of stage fright. Danny O’Neill whirled past him with one of the wild Dolan girls. Both of them were good dancers; it was nice to watch them. But Christ, any guy could waste his time learning how to dance.
She was still standing alone. Funnyface Duffy approached her. He got turned down. Hell, she wasn’t a wet nurse to punks. He felt as if her refusal of the goof established a bond between them. He wanted this dance to end, because he knew that he’d dance the next one with her. Fran Reilley was a hot girl. Aggravating. Just like his own sister. Whatever you said about them, the two of them could get about anybody they wanted and wind him around their fingers like a piece of old string. And