“Tomorrow’s my day off,” Verne said slowly. “I probably won’t be getting up before eleven.”
She was watching him, waiting for him to continue. He kept his eyes on the road, gripping the wheel. He was beginning to feel badgered. “Do you want to go by the Walker Club?” he said finally.
She laughed. “Not very much.”
“Where, then?”
“Wherever you want.”
They drove in silence. At last they came to a well-lit intersection. Verne turned. They drove along a short distance and then came to a stop at the curb. The car was in front of the Lazy Wren Club.
“Do we get out here?” Teddy asked.
Verne nodded. They got out and went inside, passing down a flight of dark stairs. The place was filled with people. They were almost all Negroes. Packed in tight against each other, they were watching a three-piece group playing on a small bandstand. The Club was shabby and old-fashioned. Drab and smoky, and very hot.
A thin bald Negro pushed his way up to them. He smiled widely. “Hello, Mister Tildon.” He nodded to Teddy. “I’m very glad to welcome you folks here tonight.”
“Frank, this is Teddy.”
“I’m quite happy to meet you, Miss Teddy. This is the first time you’ve been here?”
“Yes. Verne has said some awfully nice things about... about the band.”
Frank smiled more. “He likes our music, I think.”
“Do you want to sit at the bar or at a table?” Verne said to Teddy.
“A table.”
“I think I have one for you.” Frank pushed a way for them through the people, to a table almost at the edge of the bandstand. “How is this, Mister Tildon?”
“All right. Bring us a couple of scotch and waters.”
Frank left. Teddy began to struggle with her coat. Verne helped her fold it over the back of a chair. They sat down, facing each other across the table.
“It’s awfully warm in here,” Teddy said. She watched the three men playing. Their music was quiet, and very strange. It seemed to start off in one direction, only to wander away the next moment on a completely different path. The music seemed to be lost, bewildered, but calm, with a faith that everything would turn out all right in the end. And so it did— suddenly, with a few neatly turned chords. Everyone relaxed, and a mute, appreciative murmur rushed through the room.
Teddy turned to Verne, eyes shining. “I liked it.”
“It’s better than ‘Ace in the Hole,’ at least.”
They stayed, listening to the music and drinking for several hours. Teddy was quiet, paying close attention to the sounds from the bandstand. Finally, when the three men were taking a break, she turned suddenly to Verne.
“Verne, do you want to take me home? I’m getting so tired!”
They got up, and he helped her put on her coat. He paid the bill and they went upstairs and outside. The air was cold and brittle.
Teddy took a deep breath. “What a sensation.”
They got into the car and began to drive. Verne was silent. Presently he slowed down. “Maybe you better tell me which direction to go. I don’t know where you live.”
“Can’t we drive around? The air is so good.”
“If you like air, roll down the window.”
She rolled it down and leaned out, her mouth half open, the wind blowing her braids up.
At last she expressed a desire to go home. He took her there and let her off in front of the apartment building, driving away with a feeling of mixed annoyance and curiosity. He wanted to categorize women; this one was hard to figure out. She seemed after something. A sort of determination gripped her. But for what? She had gone around with Don Field. What could she have found in him?
He considered the matter for a while, and then gave it up. It was not worth the trouble. He snapped the car radio on and caught an all-night concert. They were playing the Beethoven A Major Quartet. Listening to the music, he drove slowly home.
The following evening as he was entering his apartment building the manager suddenly came out and stopped him.
“Can I speak to you, Mister Tildon?”
Verne eyed him. “Sure. What is it? The rent can’t be due again already.”
“A young woman came here today, looking for you. I told her you weren’t in, but she insisted on going upstairs to your apartment. She was very persuasive. She got me to let her in. I had never seen this girl before—”
“You let her in?”
“As you know, it’s against the policy of the owners to allow someone into a tenant’s apartment, but her condition was such that I—”
Verne went quickly upstairs. His door was unlocked, standing half open. He switched on the light. In the living room he found a woman’s purse on the floor. A coat and hat on the sofa.
He hurried into the bedroom. Lying on the bed was Teddy. She was snoring dully. Her clothes were rumpled and messy. He walked over and bent down.
“Drunk as an owl.” She did not stir.
If he thought this was something—
Four
Carl walked quickly away from the office, through the gloomy darkness, toward the women’s dormitory. The Company grounds were deserted and silent. It made him feel strangely sad. He increased his pace. At last he came to the great square building where Barbara Mahler was supposed to be.
He stopped, peering up, his hands on his hips. The stark side of the dormitory building showed no light, no sign of habitation. He stood for a while, letting the cold wind blow around him. Was nobody there? A shade began to flap, lost and dismal in the darkness. Everything was desolate. Most of the windows were boarded up.
Carl shivered. He began to walk along the path, still gazing up at the building hopefully. Suddenly he stopped. A faint streak of light glowed, half way along. He halted. The light came again, yellow, a slender strip in the expanse of darkness.
Presently he made his way to the porch steps that led up into the building. For a moment he hesitated, a sudden shyness overpowering him. Maybe it would be better for Verne to get her; Verne had known her, once. Maybe she wouldn’t like to see a strange person coming around. He tried to think what she might be like. Had he ever seen her? Perhaps. In passing.
He reached the porch. The air was cold around him. There was no sound. Everything was still. What would she say? What would she be like? Would she be glad to see him? Would she like him?
He entered the building and began to climb the stairs slowly, up to the second floor.
The second floor was dimly lit by a few light-bulbs, spaced far apart along the corridor. Could anyone really be nearby? He felt so completely alone, standing at the end of the hall, by the stairs, looking down the long gloomy passage with its shadows and closed doors, the walls stained and pitted.
But presently, as he stood listening and waiting, he heard a faint sound. The sound of a board creaking, not too far away. Perhaps half the length of the corridor.
He picked up a little courage and began to walk slowly along, listening and peering, looking for—for what? A sign of some sort. A sound, or a light. Something to tell him where he would find her. What would she be like? Would she be pretty? How pretty?
He stopped suddenly, by one of the doors. He held his breath, his head cocked on one side. Someone was on the other side of the door. He could hear someone moving around. A board creaked. Rustling sounds, clothes. A squeak, as if something were moved. And then the unmistakable sound of bed springs groaning and sagging.
Carl waited by the door. Now he could see a lean crack of light underneath it, shining from the other side, from inside the room. He raised his hand, starting to knock, but then he changed his mind. He withdrew his hand, putting it into his pocket.