Then October disappeared and it was November. It was a Sunday night, late, but neither Annie nor I felt like sleeping. We got the doorman to find the Lincoln for us and climbed into it. The first snow of the season was falling on us. It was scattered, skitterish snow, melting as it hit the pavement, but it was enough for me to keep the Lincoln’s top up.
I headed the car east and parked down the block from Noomie’s. It was as bad a neighborhood as ever and nobody with sense parked a decent car there. But the kids in the neighborhood knew whose car the Lincoln was. Nobody would hotwire it or break off the radio aerial or otherwise foul things up. We got out and walked through the falling snow to the doorway. The coffee-colored hostess passed us through with a smile. We found a table in front and ordered drinks.
Pete Moscato was there with a blonde I’d seen around before. Pete was Angie’s younger brother, a pretty sharp kid moving up fast. I think he admired me or something. Pete and his blonde came over and sat down at our table. We listened to the combo on stage go through a hard jazz arrangement of “Night in Tunisia.” Then the combo switched to a slow Cole Porter thing and the four of us got up to dance. After one number the combo worked on another slow one and we traded girls. Annie danced with Pete and I moved his blonde around the floor. It turned into a sort of vertical rape — either she was madly in love with me or she wanted to aid Pete’s progress in local crookdom, or that was the only way she knew to dance. Whatever, her hot little hips kept bouncing at me and her body wrapped itself around me like a second skin. By the time we got off the floor I needed the fresh drink that was waiting for me.
We talked some more. Then Pete remembered something he had to do and took his blonde bombshell away.
Annie raised her glass to me. “Have a nice time?”
“Wonderful.”
“I’m jealous as hell,” she said. “Nat, can I go to New York?”
“Huh?”
“I want to go on a buying spree,” she said. “I want to leave your money all over Fifth Avenue.”
“What prompted this?”
“I read an article on what the well-dressed whore is wearing this year. I’m out of style. Can I fly down for a few days?”
“I’ll get lonely.”
“Why should you? There are loads of blondes in this town. Hair color so natural only their druggist knows for sure.”
I lit cigarettes for us. She drew hard on hers and blew a little smoke across the table at me.
“New York,” she said. “Okay?”
“Sure,” I said.
“I’ll need money.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “A few hundred. Enough for plane fare and a room and meals and to buy clothes with. Not too much.”
“You learn fast, don’t you?”
“I’ve got the name,” she said. “I might as well have the fun.”
The next day I wrote her an impressive check and she scurried off to the bank to cash it. That night she called the airport and made her reservation. The following afternoon I drove her to the airport. It was ugly weather. A little snow had managed to pile up on the sidewalks and now a frigid rain was melting the snow and putting a raw edge to the air. The clouds were black. Annie was worried that her flight might be canceled but I told her they flew in everything nowadays, especially on shortie trips like the one she was taking. I dropped her at the terminal entrance while I found a place to park in the big open lot. She had one piece of light gray luggage. I parked the car and carried her bag inside.
She bought her ticket and checked her baggage. I followed her over to the newsstand where she picked out a few books to shorten the trip. Then we grabbed coffee and waited for her flight to be called.
When that happened I walked most of the way to the plane with her. Moments of parting are funny ones. I held her hand a little more tightly than usual. When she put her face up to be kissed I wanted to hold her very close, to say something sweet to her, something nice.
But I didn’t know how.
So I handed her a lopsided smile and chucked her under the chin. “Be good,” I told her. “Don’t stay away too long.”
“I won’t.”
“Here,” I said. I slipped her an extra bill, a big one. She palmed it and smiled ambiguously. Then she turned and walked away from me to the plane.
Anne was gone a week. It was a long week. She left on a Tuesday, in the afternoon, and she came back on a Monday, at night, and the days in the middle were curiously empty ones. It was a week when I would have gladly buried myself in work but there just wasn’t that much work to do. I spent all of Wednesday and most of Thursday at the free-form desk in my office writing meaningless numbers on sheets of memo paper, doodling mechanically and waiting for time to pass. It passed, but slowly.
Wednesday night I got moodily drunk at a quiet little bar not far from the Stennett. Finally I went home and slept.
Thursday night there was the poker game at Berman’s. Tony picked me up and ran me over. I held good cards and played them well and won around a hundred dollars. Our game went for higher stakes lately — all the players were Tony’s boys from a while back and all of them had been living better since Baron had left the scene. When dawn broke the game broke, too. I put my winnings in my wallet and let Tony run me home.
We stopped on the way for ham and eggs. Tony put down a cup of coffee and looked at me. “I got some advice,” he said. “But you don’t have to listen to it.”
“I always listen to your advice.”
“This is different. Personal advice. The kind you can ignore.”
“Go on.”
He drank more coffee. “When your woman comes back,” he said, “marry her.”
I took out a cigarette and tapped it on the smooth tabletop. I lighted it and looked at Tony.
“It’s not my business,” he said.
I blew out smoke.
“Just an idea,” he said. “You don’t play around, Nat. You’ve got a steady deal with one broad. A good girl, not just a walking, talking piece. I knew her a long time ago. She’s a good kid.”
“So?”
“So it’s not just a shack-up. Right?”
I didn’t answer. I drank my coffee. It wasn’t bad coffee. I signaled the waitress to bring me another cup.
“I’m not saying this right,” he said. “I talk fine when it’s business. This is different. So all I do is stick my foot down my throat. Want me to shut up, Nat?”
“You’re doing fine.”
Tony shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “Look, there are different kinds of racket people. Some like a good time and high living. Nothing tying them down. Maybe I’m like that. Others are like Berman. A house, a wife, kids and to hell with the excitement. Maybe you’re like that. I don’t mean a house in the suburbs, a country-club scene, any of that. You know what I mean?”
I nodded.
“You went nuts in Vegas,” he said. “Gambling isn’t your kick, chasing isn’t your kick, nightlife isn’t your kick. You can do those things, but they don’t send you to the moon. Hell, I’m preaching a sermon. Let’s let it lie.”
“Fine.”
“But it’s something to think about, Nat.”
“Sure,” I said. “It’s something to think about.”
I tipped the waitress and picked up our checks. Then we left the place and he drove me home.
It was a dull and thoughtful weekend. I did more drinking than usual but never quite managed to go over the edge. I drank and stayed strangely sober.
I thought about Tony Quince and his diagnosis and prescription. So Nat Crowley was nothing but a family man at heart. I tossed that one around and remembered another family man who used to sell insurance. Maybe he hadn’t changed so damned much after all. Maybe few things change.