"You knock on the door and ask," Clair said severely. "The way you behave you'd imagine you'd never been to a joint before."
"Not in a tuxedo I haven't," I said, getting out of the car. "It makes me kind of shy." I rapped on the door, waited.
The door was opened by a thickset man with a tin ear, and a broken nose. He had squashed himself into a boiled shirt, and he looked no more comfortable in it than if he'd been wearing a hair shirt.
"Good evening," I said. "We have come to eat. Patrolman O'Brien recommended this place. How about it?"
"That jerk always recommends us," the thickset man said, spat past me into the street. "As if we want his lousy recommendations. Well, now you're here, you'd better come in."
"What do I do with the car?" I asked, a little startled.
He stared at the Buick, shrugged.
"I wouldn't know," he said. "Maybe you can trade it in for a fur coat, if you want a fur coat."
I tapped him on his chest. "Listen, my fine friend," I said, "I've taken bigger guys than you and made tomato juice out of them."
He looked interested, surprised.
"Who, for instance?"
Clair joined us.
"How are you going?" she asked me.
"Fine," I said. "I was just about to smack this punk's ears down. His manners come out of a zoo."
The thickset man regarded Clair with goggling eyes. He simpered at her.
"Would you please let us in ?" she said, smiling at him. "I've heard so much about Joe's."
"Sure," he said, standing aside, "come right in." He caught my eyes, said: "Put the heep down that alley. If a cop spots it here he'll have you for obstruction."
"Wait," I said to Clair, drove the Buick down the alley, walked back.
Together we mounted stairs.
The thickset man stared after us.
Clair whispered that he was looking at her ankles, and wasn't he a lamb!
I said if I thought he could see more than her ankles I'd turn him into mutton.
A check girl in peach-bloom Chinese pyjamas came over to take my hat. She gave me a faint leer when Clair wasn't looking. I leered back.
The lobby had the lush look of a drop curtain for a high-class musical comedy. It was all tinsel and glitter. Even the mirrors that hung on the walls were tinted pink to make you feel better than you looked. To the right of the lobby was the entrance to the dining-room. The captain of waiters stood in the doorway, menu in hand, and officiated like a well-fed Greek god.
On the other side of the lobby was the bar, luxurious under indirect lighting. The rattle of ice cubes in a shaker made sweet music.
"This is really something," I said, speaking out of the corner of my mouth. "I don't think there'll be much of our nine hundred bucks profit left by the time this joint's through with us."
"You can always order a glass of milk and tell them you belong to an obscure religious order," Clair murmured, and drifted away to the ladies' room.
I stood around, tried to look as if I spent my whole life in this kind of atmosphere, didn't succeed very well.
A girl who I assumed was out of the cabaret strutted across the lobby. Except for a G-string and two gold saucepan lids where they were most needed she was as bare as the back of my hand. When I gaped at her she sneered in disdain.
As she passed me, I said quietly, "Don't go sitting on a cane-bottomed chair."
Her long slinky stride faltered, but she kept on. I tried not to peep at her naked back, but I peeped just the same. I decided I was going to like this place.
Clair came out of the ladies' room. Her dress looked like sea-water sifted over with gold dust.
"Hello," she said.
"Hello," I said, leering at her. "My wife's left me. Shall we go off together and have fun?"
"Wouldn't she mind?" Clair asked gravely.
"She'd be wild," I returned, "but I'm infatuated with your dress. Let's go and neck in my car."
"You mean now—this very minute?"
"Why not?" I said.
She slipped her arm through mine. "Don't let's pretend I'm not your wife," she said. "I like being your wife."
"I'm glad and proud about that, Mrs. Cain," I said, and meant it. "Shall we talk to that important-looking gentleman with the menus and see what he would like us to eat?"
She nodded.
We presented ourselves to the captain of waiters. He bowed to Clair, bowed to me.
"This is our first visit," I explained. "We want a good time. Can we leave it to you?"
"Certainly, monsieur," he returned, his voice was as dry as sand. "Perhaps you would care to decide what you will eat first, and then perhaps you would like to visit our cocktail bar? The cabaret begins at eleven. I will arrange a table near the floor for you."
I wasn't kidding myself he was making a fuss of me. He was making a fuss of Clair.
We decided, after some thought and discussion, to have anti-pasto, steaks broiled over charcoal, hashed brown potatoes in cream, combination salads and a bottle of Liebfraumlich.
The captain of waiters wrote the order in a little gold-covered note-book, bowed, said it would be ready for us in half an hour. He personally conducted us to the cocktail bar, signalled to the barman, left us.
"Royal stuff," I said to Clair. "I believe they've all fallen in love with you."
She shook her head. "It's your determined chin and blue eyes."
I knew she was wrong.
The barman waited, admiring Clair without attempting to conceal the fact. He glanced at me; there was respectful envy in his eyes.
I ordered two large, very dry martinis.
We went over to a sofa seat, sat down, lit cigarettes. People looked at us, but we didn't worry. We were happy enough in our own company. After a while, the barman brought the drinks. I
paid him, tipped him, and he went away silently, as if drawn along on wheels.
We sipped the martinis. They were very good.
There was something about the hard standard of prettiness of the women at the bar that reminded me of Lydia Hamilton. I said as much to Clair.
"Don't let's talk about her," Clair said. "She was ghastly. I was so sorry for Hones. She hurt him terribly."
"Not half as much as the judge hurt her," I said with a grin. "Bones is a good lad. I think I'll give him a raise. Do you think it'd be an idea to give him a uniform as well; a red and white check overall or something? I think all the boys might wear a uniform. It'd give the joint tone."
She laughed. "Darling, I'm so glad you like your old gas station. There was a time—–"
"Forget it," I said, taking her hand. "It's fun, but it wouldn't be fun without you."
"Honest?"
I nodded. "If it wasn't for you, I'd be still kicking around as a bum."
"I have an idea," she said, looking at me out of the corners of her eyes. "Now, don't say no until I've explained. How would it be if we opened a restaurant ? We could use the waste ground by the house. It needn't be an elaborate building. We could serve meals out of doors. Barbecue cooking: chicken, steaks, spareribs, the way we know how to cook them, salad and things. I'd love to organize it all if you'd let me."