“You may have to wait for a fire sale,” said Vivaldo.
Cass turned to Rufus and put her hand on his arm. “It’s nice to have you back,” she said. Her large brown eyes looked directly into his. “Are you all right? We’ve all missed you.”
He shrank involuntarily from her touch and her tone. He wanted to thank her; he said, nodding and trying to smile, “I’m fine, Cass.” And then: “It’s kind of nice to be back.”
She grinned. “Do you know what I realize every time I see you? That we’re very much alike.” She turned back to Vivaldo. “I don’t see your aging mistress anywhere. Are you looking for a new woman? If so, you too have come to the wrong store.”
“I haven’t seen Jane for a hell of a long time,” said Vivaldo, “and it might be a good idea for us never to see each other again.” But he looked troubled.
“Poor Vivaldo,” Cass said. After a moment they both laughed. “Come on in the back with me. Richard’s there. He’ll be very glad to see you.”
“I didn’t know you people ever set foot in this joint. Can’t you bear domestic bliss any longer?”
“We’re celebrating tonight. Richard just sold his novel.”
“No!”
“Yes. Yes. Isn’t that marvelous?”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Vivaldo, looking a little dazed.
“Come on,” Cass said. She took Rufus by the hand and, with Vivaldo ahead of them, they began pushing their way to the back. They stumbled down the steps into the back room. Richard sat alone at a table, smoking his pipe. “Richard,” Cass cried, “look what I brought back from the dead!”
“You should have let them rot there,” Richard grinned. “Come on in, sit down. I’m glad to see you.”
“I’m glad to see you,” said Vivaldo, and sat down. He and Richard grinned at each other. Then Richard looked at Rufus, briefly and sharply, and looked away. Perhaps Richard had never liked Rufus as much as the others had and now, perhaps, he was blaming him for Leona.
The air in the back room was close, he was aware of his odor, he wished he had taken a shower at Vivaldo’s house. He sat down.
“So!” said Vivaldo, “you sold it!” He threw back his head and gave a high, whinnying laugh. “You sold it. That’s just great, baby. How does it feel?”
“I held off as long as I could,” Richard said. “I kept telling them that my good friend, Vivaldo, was going to come by and look it over for me. They said, ‘That Vivaldo? He’s a poet, man, he’s bohemian! He wouldn’t read a murder novel, not if it was written by God almighty.’ So, when you didn’t come by, baby, I figured they were right and I just had to let them have it.”
“Shit, Richard, I’m sorry about that. I’ve just been so hung up—”
“Yeah, I know. Let’s have a drink. You, Rufus. What’re you doing with yourself these days?”
“I’m just pulling myself together,” said Rufus, with a smile. Richard was being kind, he told himself, but in his heart he accused him of cowardice.
“Don’t be self-conscious,” Cass said. “We’ve been trying to pull ourselves together for years. You can see what progress we’ve made. You’re in very good company.” She leaned her head against Richard’s shoulder. Richard stroked her hair and picked up his pipe from the ashtray.
“I don’t think it’s just a murder story,” he said, gesturing with the pipe. “I mean, I don’t see why you can’t do something fairly serious within the limits of the form. I’ve always been fascinated by it, really.”
“You didn’t think much of them when you were teaching me English in high school,” said Vivaldo, with a smile.
“Well, I was younger then than you are now. We change, boy, we grow—!” The waiter entered the room, looking as though he wondered where on earth he could be, and Richard called him. “Hey! We’re dying of thirst over here!” He turned to Cass. “You want another drink?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, “now that our friends are here. I might as well make the most of my night out. Except I’m a kind of dreamy drunk. Do you mind my head on your shoulder?”
“Mind?” He laughed. He looked at Vivaldo. “Mind! Why do you think I’ve been knocking myself out, trying to be a success?” He bent down and kissed her and something appeared in his boyish face, a singlemindedness of tenderness and passion, which made him very gallant. “You can put your head on my shoulder anytime. Anytime, baby. That’s what my shoulders are for.” And he stroked her hair again, proudly, as the waiter vanished with the empty glasses.
Vivaldo turned to Richard. “When can I read your book? I’m jealous. I want to find out if I should be.”
“Well, if you take that tone, you bastard, you can buy it at the bookstore when it comes out.”
“Or borrow it from the library,” Cass suggested.
“No, really, when can I read it? Tonight? Tomorrow? How long is it?”
“It’s over three hundred pages,” Richard said. “Come by tomorrow, you can look at it then.” He said to Cass, “It’s one way of getting him to the house.” Then: “You really don’t come to see us like you used to — is anything the matter? Because we still love you.”
“No, nothing’s the matter,” Vivaldo said. He hesitated. “I had this thing with Jane and then we broke up — and oh, I don’t know. Work wasn’t going well, and”—he looked at Rufus—“all kinds of things. I was drinking too much and running around whoring when I should have been — being serious, like you, and getting my novel finished.”
“How’s it coming — your novel?”
“Oh”—he looked down and sipped his drink—“slow. I’m really not a very good writer.”
“Bullshit,” said Richard, cheerfully.
He almost looked again like the English instructor Vivaldo had idolized, who had been the first person to tell him things he needed to hear, the first person to take Vivaldo seriously.
“I’m very glad,” Vivaldo said, “seriously, very glad that you got the damn thing done and that it worked so well. And I hope you make a fortune.”
Rufus thought of afternoons and evenings on the stand when people had come up to him to bawl their appreciation and to prophesy that he would do great things. They had bugged him then. Yet how he wished now to be back there, to have someone looking at him as Vivaldo now looked at Richard. And he looked at Vivaldo’s face, in which affection and something coldly speculative battled. He was happy for Richard’s triumph but perhaps he wished it were his own; and at the same time he wondered what order of triumph it was. And the way the people had looked at Rufus was not unlike this look. They wondered where it came from, this force that they admired. Dimly, they wondered how he stood it, wondered if perhaps it would not kill him soon.
Vivaldo looked away, down into his drink, and lit a cigarette. Richard suddenly looked very tired.
A tall girl, very pretty, carefully dressed — she looked like an uptown model — came into the room, looked about her, peered sharply at their table. She paused, then started out.
“I wish you were looking for me?” Vivaldo called.
She turned and laughed. “You’re lucky I’m not looking for you!” She had a very attractive laugh and a slight Southern accent. Rufus turned to watch her move daintily up the steps and disappear into the crowded bar.
“Well, you scored, old buddy,” Rufus said, “go get her.”
“No,” said Vivaldo, smiling, “better leave well enough alone.” He stared at the door where the girl had vanished. “She’s pretty, isn’t she?” he said partly to himself, partly to the table. He looked at the door again, shifting slightly in his seat, then threw down the last of his drink.