Larry walked West on Madison street, with no particular destination in mind. He was ready to go home, but he was not feeling the same remorse he had in the cab. The crowds and the music cheered him up a little, and he decided to have at least one drink.
He turned into a bar and ordered a straight bourbon. He found a foot of space between two sailors and a tired looking old man and lit a cigarette. He drank the drink and listened to the noise coming from a three-piece orchestra. The sailors were talking about a girl they had met that afternoon, and the old man just stared at himself in the mirror above the bar.
He stayed long enough to learn that the sailors thought the girl was a two-timing wench and then he picked up his change and left.
Outside again in the crowd he walked West. The drink settled comfortably on the dinner that had started all the trouble and he felt fairly complacent. One more drink, maybe two, and he’d look for a cab.
He crossed the bridge and continued past the gloomy bulk of Northwestern station. The opposite side of Canal street was honkey-tonk neighborhood. There were garishly lighted dance halls, burlesque shows and the men were too-well dressed and the women wore too much make-up.
He passed a bar called the Pink Giraffe and then his eye was caught by a blinking neon sign which simulated the antics of a balking donkey. Underneath was a bright, foot-high string of letters that spelled out the words, The Kicking Horse.
There was music coming from inside. It was loud blatant music, but Larry went in anyway. The door opened on a narrow, carpeted corridor. There were restrooms on one side, a hat-check booth on the other. The hat-check girl was a redhead and the mascara made her eyes look purple. She was wearing a jockey’s cap, a white silk blouse that was two sizes too small, and red silk shorts.
She took Larry’s hat and topcoat and gave him back a brass check and a bright, mechanical smile.
He followed the corridor to double glass doors, pushed them open and walked into the main room of the Kicking Horse.
The place was large and dimly lighted. A bar stretched half the length of the room on his right and beyond that there were booths and tables. At his left there was an orchestra and a tiny dance floor. Flanking the band were several dice tables operated by girls dressed in the same outfit the check girl wore — jockey caps, silk blouses, red shorts.
The place was only half-full. But the air was thick with smoke and the band played as if the SRO signs were out.
Larry found a place at the bar and ordered a bourbon. The bartender filled the shot glass with the careless dexterity of the professional. He said, “Do you want me to leave the bottle?”
Larry said, “No. I’ll call you when I want another.”
The bartender nodded, picked up the dollar bill that Larry had put on the bar, took it back to a cash register and brought back forty cents. He spread the coins on the bar so they could be counted at a glance.
“Some people like the bottle left,” he said. “Like to pour their own.” The bartender was a small dark man with lively brown eyes. His hair was combed straight back from his forehead and at the hairline there was a long thin scar that might have been made by a knife. “You all alone,” he said conversationally.
Larry nodded. “Just stopped in for a quick one.”
“You looking for something? A little company, maybe?”
Larry smiled and shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’ve got to be getting along pretty soon.”
“That’s okay,” the bartender said. “Just thought I’d ask. You look all right to me and if you was lonely I’d fix you up with something.”
Larry felt the need to talk to somebody and the bartender was still standing there with his hands on the bar so he said, “I’ve got to go home pretty soon. I had a fight with my wife tonight and I walked out. But I’m going back now. She’s an awfully nice kid.”
“Sure,” the bartender said. “But it won’t hurt her to worry about you a little while. She’ll be all love and kisses when you walk in. Take my word for it.”
“I guess you’re right,” Larry said. The bourbon was warm and smooth inside him and he felt fine. He was anxious to get home. He knew what would happen when he got home and the anticipation gave him a pleasant feeling.
He ordered another drink and then walked over to one of the dice tables. The girl behind the green felt table was a small brunette with a carefully made-up face and a bright, empty smile.
He put a quarter on the table and picked up the dice box. The game was twenty-six, and the odds were about seventy to thirty in favor of the house but no one seemed to care. He played three games and didn’t win. The girl kept score and glanced at him occasionally.
Finally she said, “My name’s Corinne. What’s yours?”
“Why?” Larry smiled.
“I just wondered. You don’t seem like the rest of the guys that come in here. Most of ’em ask my name before they start playing. Then they ask for a date before the first game is over. You seem different.”
“Maybe I should say thanks,” Larry said.
“I meant it for a compliment,” the girl said very seriously. She glanced at his shoulders and at the lock of black hair that hung over his forehead and gave a little sigh. “Just my luck. A guy comes along that I like and he don’t even ask my name. Fifty guys will be trying to go home with me tonight and they’ll all be lady-killers with padded shoulders and eyes like shoe buttons.”
Larry felt a little uncomfortable, but it was a vaguely pleasant sensation. He had always done all right with women but since he’d been married that was something he considered a part of his past. He grinned at the little brunette and said, “Thanks for all the kind words. If I ever need a shoulder to cry on I’ll look you up.”
“I got more than a soft shoulder,” the girl said, and she was stating a fact, not being coy. She took a match folder and scribbled a number on the back, then pushed it toward Larry. “You can reach me there if you ever get lonesome.”
Larry picked up the match folder and dropped it into his pocket. He smiled at the girl and made a mental note to get rid of the folder before he got home.
“Thanks,” he said.
The brunette sighed and shook her head. “You won’t get lonesome. I can tell. But thanks for acting so polite about it.”
After another game Larry went back to the bar. He ordered a final drink and drank it quickly.
He was ready to leave when the bartender came over and put another drink in front of him.
“On the house,” he said with a smile.
Larry hesitated. He didn’t want the drink, but he didn’t want to appear unfriendly, so he said, “Thanks,” and sat down again.
There was a blonde sitting two stools from him and the bartender gave her a drink too, and then he looked from her to Larry and said, “You two people ought to know each other. You’re both alone and I just bought you both a drink and that’s as good an introduction as you’ll ever get.”
Larry glanced at the blonde and nodded amiably. She looked at him and said, “Hello,” without any particular expression and went back to her drink.
Larry felt a little piqued. He looked at the girl again and he realized that once she had been quite lovely. She was about thirty-five now, he guessed, and she was still all right. Her features were finely chiseled and she wore enough make-up to make her look interesting but not cheap.
Her clothes looked like money. The steel gray suit she wore was a hundred dollar model and it fitted her slim body as if it enjoyed the job. She wore nylons and ankle strap sandals and her legs were the kind that would have looked good in anything. Even hip boots.