The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [189]
But last night on the back porch,
I loved her best of all.
“Where the hell you singing?”
“Sunday school.”
“You look it.”
“No kiddin’, Studs, is Fritzie ready yet?”
“I don’t know. She was dolling up. Why, you going out with her?”
“I’m taking her to the Tivoli.”
“Oh!” said Studs.
“Fritzie is a fine girl. She’s the nicest girl in the neighborhood. And don’t think I don’t appreciate it.”
“Should I pay you for that?” Studs asked.
“I’m serious. I mean it, Studs.”
“She must be stewed going out with you. You must have sold her the whole line.”
“Studs, I’m serious in saying I respect her, and I’d fight anybody who doesn’t.”
“Who the hell could you fight?” Studs asked, bursting into laughter.
“Say, Studs, what you got against me?” asked Phillip.
“No kiddin’, aren’t you going to sing in some Sunday school?”
“Honest, Studs, I want to be friends with you.”
“Sure, shake!” said Studs, a veiled note of sarcasm in his voice. They shook.
“Well, I better hurry. I don’t want to be late.”
“So long, Dopey Dan,” Studs called.
Loretta could find better pickings than that kike. Well ... he shrugged his shoulders.
He supposed Phil would be taking her to the. dance. He didn’t want to go to the goddamn thing. But he could see himself there, and surprising the whole damn bunch of them. Hell, he could do anything they could do.
He wondered how Lucy had turned out, and was she pretty and keen. She was a hell of a lot nicer than that blond. Christ, maybe that blond was only a bitch after all. Maybe she put out even to the punks. Come to think of it, she looked a little hard-boiled. The kind of a broad who knew a hell of a lot. She could probably be plenty hot all right. He thought of how funny it might be, say, in a couple of years, if he and the boys all went to a can house, and who should he see and pick, but her, the blond.
Lucy. He repeated the name, Lucy Scanlan. Lucy Lonigan. Mrs. Lucy Lonigan. Mrs. William Lonigan. He ought to call her up and see her, take her to the dance. He would telephone and act as if he thought, hell, he might as well see her again for old time’s sake, and if she wanted to, why they’d go to Fran’s sorority dance. Make it just natural.
He’d take her in a cab, and they’d walk through the hotel lobby, he in a new suit, she dressed up like the nuts, and people would spot him, and think there’s a guy who’s got a hot woman, and the punks with their seventeen- and eighteen-year-old broads, they’d all look at the woman Studs Lonigan rated. And he’d maybe see Dan Donoghue. Hadn’t seen Dan since Hector was a pup. And then let the guys around the poolroom give him the horse laugh for going to a swell dance. Slug would look queerly at him, and feel his head, wondering if it ought to be examined. He’d say they better get Studs a bottle and bring him to see a new whore to change his luck. Let them. He liked them, but they would never be anything but hoods. They were all right, but he was cut out for better stuff than being a hood. Damn tootin’ he was.
He bought a slug from the cashier in the chain drug store at Prairie and walked back to the telephone booths. He found her number in the directory. He dallied, turning the directory pages to figure out what he’d say. He felt as if everyone in the store were watching him, and knew what was going on in his mind.
He’d sure let himself in for something. He took a booth and was relieved when he got the busy signal and his slug came back.
“Wasn’t she home?” asked the pretty cashier, when he set his slug down.
She handed him a nickel and smiled.
“Better luck next time.”
He felt a sudden pride, because it was as if he did have a girl all his own, his. It gave him a feeling he’d never had before. She thought he had his girl, a girl who cared only for him, turned down other guys, waited for him to telephone her, went out only with him, his girl. Lucy would be his too. She’d always liked him. She still must. She knew what he really was, and she’d told him she did, and Helen Shires had said, after they’d quit speaking long ago, that Lucy still did