U.S.A_ - John Dos Passos [442]
. Say, you don't know how I miss you when you're not with me.""Do you? Oh, Charley, you're a dear." She rang off.
Charley put the receiver down and let himself slump back in his chair. He couldn't help feeling al of a tremble when he talked to her on the telephone. "Hey, Taki, bring me that bottle of scotch. . . . Say, tel me, Taki," Charley went on, pouring himself a stiff drink, "in your country
. . . is it so damn difficult for a guy to get married?" The Jap smiled and made a little bow.
"In my country every-thing much more difficult." Next day when Charley got back from the plant he
found a wire from Doris saying Saturday absolutely im-possible. "Damn the bitch," he said aloud. Al evening he kept cal ing up on the phone and leaving messages, but she was never in. He got to hate the feel of the damn mouth-piece against his lips. Saturday he couldn't get any word to her either. Sunday morning he got Mrs. Humphries on the phone. The cold creaky oldwoman's voice shrieked that Doris had suddenly gone to Southampton for the week-end. "I know she'l come back with a dreadful cold," Mrs. Humphries added. "Weekends in this weather.""Wel , goodby, Mrs. Humphries," said Charley and rang off. Monday morning when Taki brought him a letter in Doris's hand, a big blue envelope that smelt of her per--231-fume, the minute he opened it he knew before he read it what it would say.
CHARLEY DEAR,
You are such a dear and I'm so fond of you and do so want you for a friend [underlined]. You know the sil y life I lead, right now I'm on the most preposterous week-end and I've told everybody I have a splitting headache and have gone to bed just to write to you. But, Charley, please forget al about weddings and things like that. The very idea makes me physical y sick and besides I've prom-ised George I'd marry him in June and the Duquesnes have a publicrelations counsel --isn't it just too sil y --but his business is to keep the Duquesnes popular with the public and he's given the whole story to the press, how I was courted among the Scotch moors and in the old medi-eval abbey and everything. And that's why I'm in such a hurry to write to you, Charley darling, because you're the best friend [twice underlined] I've got and the only one who lives in the real world of business and production and labor and everything like that, which I'd so love to belong to, and I wanted you to know first thing. Oh, Charley darling, please don't think horrid things about me. Your loving friend [three times underlined]
D
Be a good boy and burn up this letter, won't you?
The buzzer was rattling. It was the boy from the ga-rage with his car. Charley got on his hat and coat and went downstairs. He got in and drove out to Long Island City, walked up the rubbertreaded steps to his office, sat down at his desk, rustled papers, talked to Stauch over the phone, lunched in the employees' lunchroom with Joe Askew, dictated letters to the new towhaired stenographer and suddenly it was six o'clock and he was jockeying his way through the traffic home.
Crossing the bridge he had an impulse to give a wrench
-232-to the wheel and step on the gas, but the damn car wouldn't clear the rail anyway, it would just make a nasty scrapheap of piledup traffic and trucks.
He didn't want to go