The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [249]
“I better go,” she said.
“Irene, come on. Don’t pull that stuff,” he said sharply.
“No. I’ve never drank. I’m not that kind of a girl.”
“Listen! Don’t kid me!”
“Please, I’m afraid of you,” she said, drawing back.
He took her in a corner, kissed her, pushed her head back, and poured the gin down her throat. She coughed.
“Please, take me home!”
“Come on, we’ll dance.”
He dragged her, half-twilling, to the Victrola. He put on a record and yelled for them to pipe down. They danced, and Weary shimmied. She stood in the center of the floor, an abandoned look on her face, her abdomen pressed forwards, her arms loose, her head flung backwards, shimmying.
XXI
Mickey Flannagan lay in a corner, still out.
XXII
“I got mine from that broad,” said Mahoney.
“I thought she was a virgin?” said Fluke.
“She was!”
“Well, how did you do it?”
“I got her blind. She’s out.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s in the second bedroom. She passed out, and I carried her there. She’s out like a light.”
“Mind if I try my luck?”
“Go to it, Fluke,” said Mahoney.
XXIII
“Come here, bitch!” Studs said to one of the pigs.
“After a while,” she said.
“Come on, bitch!” said Studs.
He pawed at her. She gave him a shove, and he was so drunk that he stumbled backwards. Taite laughed at him. The girl ran into the bathroom. Studs staggered to the door, and tried to open it. It was locked. He pounded the door.
XXIV
“Listen, Irene is my broad. Don’t you be monkeying around her,” Weary said to Dapper Dan O’Doul.
“I was only dancing with her.”
“Listen, rat, you’re all together. I you want to stay that way, don’t monkey around her,” said Weary.
“I’m sorry.”
“You heard me!”
XXV
Barney crawled on his hands and knees looking for his false teeth. Slug gave him a slight boot in the tail. They laughed. Barney cursed. Everybody laughed again.
XXVI
“Let’s drink this one for poor Shrimp Haggerty,” said Les.
“Yeah!” said Studs.
“Poor Shrimp is dying in Fort Wayne. I’ll be dead, too, maybe by next year,” said Les.
“Yeah!”
Les raised the bottle. Tommy Doyle grabbed it, and told Les he’d better lay off.
“All right, Tommy, but will you and Studs drink to poor Shrimp, our dying buddy?”
“To our buddy Shrimp, may he be guzzling with us next year,” said Tommy, drinking.
“Yeah,” muttered Studs, taking the bottle.
He raised the bottle and drank, most of the gin pouring down his chin and shirt.
“Studs is so drunk we’ll have to hold his head while he drinks,” said Tommy: he laughed.
XXVII
“Jesus, Joe, let’s get some of these guys out of here. This is getting to be too much of a goddamn mess. If we don’t, ‘something’s going to happen,” said Red.
“Yeah,” said Joe.
“Hey, punk,” Joe said.
“What’s the matter?” O’Doul asked.
“See the door? Blow!”
“But I ain’t doing nothing!”
Red told some other punks to blow.
“Some goddamn thing is gonna happen if we don’t get some of these drunks out,” Red said.
“Tommy, can you get Les out? He’s sick and needs air, and we want to cut it down. Then you and him come back,” said Joe.
“Sure. Les is my cousin. I stick by my cousin Les.”
“All right, do it, Tommy.”
XXVIII
Three of the girls staggered away drunk.
XXIX
Studs floundered over to Irene like a listing ship.
“Come on, bitch!” he muttered, clutching her arm. “All right, Lonigan, hands off!” Weary commanded.
“Aw, gimme the bitch!” Studs said.
Weary socked Studs in the eye with a right. Studs went back against the wall, and bounced off, his eye swelling. Weary caught him in the nose as he rebounded. He grabbed Studs, by the coat lapel with his left, smacked him in the eye with his right, and then gave him a last one on the button. Studs sagged to the floor, and lay there, his nose bleeding profusely.
XXX
“Please let’s go. Everybody else is gone,” Irene said.
“He’s here,” Weary said, pointing at unconscious Mickey Flannagan.
“Please?”
“Have another drink!”
“Then will we go?”
“Sure!”
“Promise me?”
He nodded. She sipped from his bottle.
“Now get my coat,” she said, shrinking, as she saw the expression on his face.
“Oh, please!