The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [203]
“By the way, what girl did you take?” Fat asked in the lavatory.
“Lucy Scanlan.”
“Say, she’s a fine girl.”
“Yeah,” said Studs, proud.
“Drink,” Fat said, pulling out a bottle.
Studs drank.
“Your dose must be better?”
“The doc says it’s clearing up all right.”
“Say, how did you get it?”
“I got it from a sixteen-year-old bitch named Nellie Cullen. I picked her up at Louisa Nolan’s. I’ve met plenty of lowdown whores but she’s the filthiest bitch I ever came across, and she’s only sixteen.”
“You ought to find her and crack her one in the teeth.”
“I tried, but she never went back there while I was looking for her.”
“Say, I heard about the scrap you got into at Nolan’s.”
“Yeah.”
“You know, those lads around Sixty-third and Stony are plenty tough. Plenty. And I hear you made a hit with them.”
“They’re all white. I was around with them a couple of times. But you know, I’m not yellow, but hell, I don’t go around inviting trouble. Christ, when they get drunk, they see a guy they don’t like, and they walk up and clout him, or else if it’s in a restaurant, they just toss a sugar bowl at his head. And Buddy Coen...”
“I know Buddy.”
“I like him, but, Jesus, he gets drunk all the time, and then picks out the biggest cop or dick he can find and pokes him. If I have to fight, I will, but that’s too much,” said Studs.
“They’re tough hoods.”
“Say, know a guy named Frank Dolan?”
“He’s another one of these flannel-mouth Irish who thinks he’s society stuff.”
“Can he go?”
“A fart in a windstorm would blow him over.”
“I didn’t like his looks.”
“We’ll drink on that,” said Fat.
They killed the bottle.
Studs and Fat walked back. Fat was only a punk, and he acted like an equal and old-time buddy of Studs. But Studs liked him. He was a godsend now.
Dolan walked up and thanked Studs, calling him old man. He nodded to Fat. Fat frowned. Studs was introduced to several couples but missed the names. He almost had to laugh when Fat Malloy acknowledged introductions the same way Byrnnes did. The dance suddenly seemed to Studs like a bunch of ten-year-old kids playing they were in a secret society. He looked at Lucy. Goddamn it, she’d got him. He looked at her hair, black curly hair, her face, round, young, always breaking into a laugh and a smile. They could talk and make up for all these years. He felt like a bum and a louse too. She was too damn good for him, with a dose, all that stuff. But with her, well, she’d got him. Guys said love was all the crap. When a girl like Lucy got you, it was different. He wished, Jesus Christ, that things had turned out different after that day in the park, and all these years hadn’t been wasted. He wanted to say something to her. Maybe in the cab, the time would be set, and the right thing would just come to him. He felt goofy, not at all like the Studs Lonigan everybody knew. He wanted the next dance to begin. He wanted to be just alone with Lucy. Lucy said that her old friend Morris Smith wanted the next dance. Smith smiled fatuously. Studs said all right. He watched them disappear, thinking how he’d like to take Smith and Dolan on together and lay them out cold. He didn’t hear while Malloy talked half drunkenly. He watched a punk cooing with a little flapper. Silly. Goddamn it. Lucy had got him. When the dance ended, he anxiously watched the couples coming out. Fran Reilley bowed to him. Dan winked. Byrnnes gave a silly grin. Phil and Fritzie waved. They came, walking slowly, talking as if they were sincerely interested in each other. Studs’ fists clenched. He was surly when Smith thanked him for the dance. Lucy seemed to notice it.
“You know, Studs, a girl likes to dance with different fellows. Variety is the spice of life,” she said, during the next dance.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I know that old dark look of yours.”
He tried to smile. He wanted it to be over, and him and Lucy to be alone. He wanted to kiss her and love her. Waltz music and colored lights made him sentimental like a mooncalf