The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [26]
He bent down and kissed her.
“Unhand me, you cur. Take your hands off!” she whispered. “Take your hands off there, or I’ll scream!”
He pulled her to him and kissed her. She became limp in his arms. He kissed her again, and she pressed to him. He loosed her. She called him a cur and demanded an apology.
“Shut up!”
She bit her lips, fought back tears, and said in a low, strained voice:
“Apologize!”
“Kiss me!”
She was a girl suddenly baffled by a woman’s impulses. She flung herself around him. Then he walked out.
Regaining her composure and rearranging herself, she called in Tim. In the parlor they looked at Weary, surprised and over-curious. There was a tight silence, which Bill broke by saying that Weary had received a delayed letter. They laughed, and Weary’s frown broke into a smile.
Jim, in the meantime, had called in Lucy; and she called Studs. She pursed her lips before she kissed him. It was so sudden, and her lips had such a sweet, candy taste that he was pleasantly surprised and stood there, not knowing what to do or say. He had never kissed sweet lips like that before. He faced her, and she was something beautiful and fair, with her white dress vivid in the dark room. She looked beautiful, like a flame. She pursed her lips, moved closer to him, flung her arms around him, kissed him, and said:
“I like you!”
She kissed away his surprise, looked dreamily into his eyes, kissed him again, long, and then dashed out.
Jesus Christ! he said to himself.
The game went on. Studs and Lucy, Helen and Weary kept calling each other into the post office. All the guys except TB and Tubby got their share of kisses. Tubby was called a few times for charity’s sake, but TB was left out in the cold. He sat in a corner, wisecracking as if he didn’t mind. He knew he didn’t belong there anyway. Probably he did have the con, as everybody said and believed.
XI
After all the guests had departed, the Lonigans sat in the parlor talking.
“Well, I’m tired,” Lonigan said, yawning.
“I’m dead tired,” said the mother.
“It was hard work,” said Lonigan.
“Isn’t Mrs. Reilley common, though?” yawned Mrs. Lonigan.
“But she’s a nice, good, wholesome, sincere woman,” said Lonigan.
“She’s green,” the wife said.
“She’s ignorant; she’s a greenhorn,” said Frances.
“Frances!” the mother said.
“Well, she is!”
“But you needn’t say so... so... crudely.”
“Anyway, she and her old man are pretty old-fashioned, but they are nice people. They are too nice for that boy of theirs. If he were my son, I’d lambast the stuffings out of him; he’s a real bad actor,” Lonigan said.
“I’m afraid no good will ever come out of him, and I’m so glad William here is not like he is. Did you hear the way he talked to his mother and father, so disrespectful, saying he’d do what he wanted to, and he wouldn’t go right home with them. William, I don’t want you to have anything to do with him. He’s a bad one. He’ll probably end up in the penitentiary,” she said.
Studs admired Weary, his enemy. Weary’s parents had told him to come home with them, and Weary had wanted to walk home with Helen Borax; there had been a row and he had walked off. Studs was almost impelled to defend Weary, but didn’t, because then his old man might have talked all night.
“Well, it’s a good thing he isn’t my son, or he’d get the stuffings lambasted out of him. I’d knock some good sense in his head,” Lonigan said with finality.
“Mrs. Reilley uses awfully bad grammar, too,” Mrs. Lonigan said.
“Well, I’d rather have people use bad grammar than have ‘em be smart alecks like Dinny Gorman. Why, I knew him when he didn’t have a sole on his shoe; and then him stickin’ up his nose and actin’ like he was highbrow, lace-curtain Irish, born to the purple. And all just because he’s got a little booklearnin’ and he bootlicked around until he became a ward committeeman. Why, he was nothin’ but a starvin’ lawyer hangin’ around police courts until Joe O’Reilley started sendin’ some business his way. What is he now... nothin’ but a shyster. Maybe