The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [187]
Johnny excused himself and shambled over to Big Nodalsky. Studs watched him give the college handshake, and thought what a heel O’Brien had turned into. He wondered if Lucy would hear about the society here, and come out to a meeting. He could see the other girl, himself with her, dancing, everybody taking it for granted that he and she were going together, and Lucy seeing it. Himself treating Lucy with cold formality. He’d dance with her once or twice, and talk about general things. That would be all. See how she’d like it. He wondered what her name was. He could find out from Larkin. He knew he wouldn’t ask that mush-face. She was dancing with Austin, and they seemed to be getting along all right. An old, not-belonging feeling came upon him. He felt like going. He felt that it was just nerve, expecting to make the grade with her. Let her go. If Austin and Larkin were her speed, well, she wasn’t his kind. He’d go. He watched them dance. He accidentally caught the eye of Martha Curley and she smiled. He turned towards the piano and saw that Dorothy Gorman was playing.
“Don’t you dance?” asked Phil.
“Why?” Studs asked, snottily.
“I just noticed that you hadn’t been dancing. I wondered because I heard you were a pretty good dancer.”
Studs guessed it must have been Loretta. They must have talked about him. He wondered what Loretta really thought of him. He didn’t really know her. He looked at her on the floor, young, pretty, lively. She had grown that way, into a pretty girl, without his even realizing it, as if one day she was just a kid, and then the next, she was the kind of girl he saw dancing.
“I suppose you’re selling dancing shoes,” Studs told Phil.
“Studs, I’ll bet the hebe is the kind that takes St. Patrick’s day off,” Red said, joining Studs.
“And Jewish Easter too,” Studs added.
Phil went off to dance. Studs saw that she was again alone. He ambled slowly towards her, hoping no one would spot him, because he became suddenly as shy and speechless as a boy. With a forced effort of courage, he asked her if she’d like to dance. She thanked him but said that she was very tired. He walked away, sore. He tried to whistle. He felt he had to do something. He motioned to Martha Curley. She came towards him. They danced. Martha had used to be a nice girl, and full of life. She seemed tired and faded, and she was only about a year older than he. Girls had to grab their husbands off quick, he guessed. Martha said well, well, and they asked how each other were. She said she hadn’t seen Studs in quite a long time. Studs said he hadn’t seen much of her either. She guessed they must attend different masses on Sunday. He asked her if she was working. She said no, she was just a home girl. He danced past the girl; she was dancing with Young Rocky. He couldn’t miss seeing how close their bodies were pressed against one another.
After the dance, he told Red he was going. Red was unable to persuade him to stick around. Walking along Indiana Avenue, he thought that if he had danced with her, she might have remembered him, remembered that she’d smiled at him at mass. If maybe she’d gotten a good look at him, she’d have remembered. But he never could have told her all that he’d thought of her since then. But maybe, maybe, if he had danced with her and things had gone right, maybe he might have, at that. He would maybe have said something like:
I never thought I’d find you here!
No, well, you never know what you can expect, she might have answered.
You’re more than I could hope to expect at a place like this, he might have added.
They would have talked, told their names, laughed at jokes he would have been able to think up, and he would have walked home with her. At her door, he would have said, how about a show tomorrow night, and tomorrow he’d be taking her to a„show. And they would, yes, go together. What the hell did he care if the gang would try and