Williston roused himself, or so it appeared to Leventhal. “I don’t think Kirby wants to see us now, dear,” he said. “He would have come before.”
“Too bad he hasn’t,” said Leventhal. He showed more feeling than he had intended, and Phoebe quickly took him up.
“I don’t think I understand that, Asa,” she said.
“You ought to see him. From the way you’re talking about him, I don’t think you’d recognize him. I know I don’t recognize the same man.”
“Well, that may not be my fault.” She stopped with a short release of breath. The red began to come out again under her eyes.
“I suppose he has changed,” said Williston slowly.
“Believe me, he’s not what Phoebe says. I’m telling you.” Leventhal tenaciously limited himself to this in order to control his mounting sense of wrong.
“You ought to be more charitable,” Phoebe said.
At this he almost lost his head, staring at her while the color spread to her cheeks. He pushed away his plate, muttering, “I can’t change myself over to suit you.”
“What?” said Williston.
“I said, if I’m not, I’m not!”
“I don’t think Phoebe meant what she said, exactly. Phoebe? I think Asa got the wrong impression.”
“I see that you misunderstood me,” she grudgingly said.
“Well, it doesn’t make any difference.”
“I didn’t mean anything except that Kirby was promising, and so on. I wasn’t saying anything but that.”
What did she know about him? Lcventhal thought bitterly. But he was silent.
“I phoned because I wanted to know if I could help out with a little money,” said Williston. “I haven’t been able to think of a job for him, but he must need things. I guess he can use a few dollars.”
“That’s right,” Leventhal said.
“I want to give you ten or so. You don’t have to tell him where it comes from. He might not want to accept money from me.”
“I’ll give it to him,” said Leventhal. “It’s very nice of you.”
The Willistons left. Leventhal watched them in the blue mirror of the bar above the massed forms of the bottles. Stan waited while Phoebe stopped to give a touch to her hat and they went up the stairs together, passing under the awning.
19
FROM the foyer he saw Mrs Nunez sitting cross-legged on the divan, putting up her freshly washed hair. She held her chin against her breast, and there were pins in her mouth and others strewn on the brown and white squares of her skirt. He rapped, and she drew her hair back from her eyes but did not change her position or cover her unsymmetrically gartered legs.
“I don’t want to disturb you,” he said, looking at them. “I was thinking — the flat’s pretty dirty. Could you give me a lead about a cleaning woman? Ours hasn’t been around.”
“Clean? I don’t know anybody. If it’s straighten, I’ll do it for you. I don’t do the heavy work.”
“Nothing heavy, I just want the place to look a little neater.”
“Sure, I’ll straighten it for you.”
“I’ll be much obliged. It’s getting to be too much for me.”
The look of his front room by lamplight disgusted him. It would have done Phoebe good to see it. He half regretted that he had not invited the Willistons home with him. He set to work gathering up the papers from the floor and spread clean sheets on his bed and laid out a pair of pajamas. In the bathroom he soaked and rinsed the robe and rubbed out the ink-stains with a brush and soap powder. Taking it to the roof he wrung it out and spread it on a line. There was a smell of approaching fall in the breeze. Leventhal walked over the pebbles and tar to the parapet. To the east the lights of the two shores joined in a long seam in midriver. Summer would end soon after the holiday and with the start of fall everything would change; Leventhal felt inexplicably convinced of this. The sky was overcast. He looked out awhile and then returned to the staircase, careful of lines and wires in the dark. He touched the robe in passing. It was drying rapidly in the breeze.
On the landing he heard someone coming and glanced below. It was Allbee. Regularly his hand clasped and released the banister as he made his way up. Catching sight of Leventhal at the last turn, he paused and raised his head and seemed to examine him. The low light crossed his face up to the brows and eyes and gave it an expression, most likely accidental, of naked malice. A stir of uneasiness went over Leventhal. He remembered immediately, however, that there were a few things Allbee had to answer to him for. And, to begin with, was he drunk? But he was already quite sure, he could sense that he was sober.
“Well?” he said.
Reaching the landing, Allbee gave him a restrained nod. His hair had been trimmed. Along the sides of his head and down his cheeks there was a conspicuous margin of shaven whiteness. His face shone. He had on a new shirt and a black tie and he carried a paper bag. When he saw Leventhal inspecting him he said, “I picked these up on Second Avenue, in a bargain store.”
“I didn’t ask you.”
“I owe you an accounting,” he said matter-of-factly. Leventhal listened for a provocative note in his answer; there was none. He looked at him suspiciously.
“I haven’t had a drink today,” said Allbee.
“Come in here. There’s something I want to find out.”
“What is it?”
“Not here; in the house.”
Allbee held back. “What’s the trouble?” he asked.
Leventhal seized his coat and pulled him forward. Allbee resisted, and he lay hold of him with both hands, and, with a sullen look of determination, his anger rekindled, dragged him into the house and flung the door shut with his foot. He twisted him around. Allbee tried to free himself anew, and Leventhal shouted, “What the hell do you think I’ll stand for!”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’ll answer me. You won’t duck out of it.”
He tore his coat out of Leventhal’s grasp and swung away. “What’s the idea?” he said with a trembling, short laugh, wonderingly. “Have you decided to beat me up?”
“How much do you think I’ll take from you!” Leventhal was panting. “Do you think you can get away with everything?”
“Don’t lose your head, now.” His laugh was gone and he looked at him gravely. “After all, I expect to be treated fairly. I’m in your house, and you have certain advantages over me… Anyway, you ought to tell me what this is all about.”
“This is what it’s about.” Leventhal snatched out the cards. “Going through my desk like a damned crook and blackmailer. That’s what it’s about.”
“Oh, is that it?” He swung his hand loosely toward them.