From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [142]
“You people look happy,” Angelo said, sensing it himself. “Are you people happy? I’m happy. Do I look happy?”
“Happy as can be expected,” Lorene smiled, answering both at once, and Prew felt her hand under the quilt creep to him and then the fine-boned, woman’s fingers resting on the inside of his thigh.
“Watch that!” Angelo grinned. “I seen you. Well for Christ’s sake, look at her, Prew. She’s blushing.”
Lorene, blushing, turned to Prew and winked and he found her fingers with his own hand secretly and pressed them into him hard.
“If you want any more of this whiskey, buddy,” Angelo said, “you better get it now. Because it wont be there long, once old Sandra gets aholt of it again.”
“Stark had his share yet?”
“Stark aint getting any share,” Angelo said. “I went down to his room before I come here. I listened at the door and couldnt hear a sound, and knocked and couldnt raise a soul, and looked through the keyhole and couldnt see a thing. (I think there was a shirt hung on the knob, by God.) I even climbed up on the doorknob to look through the transom to see if he had died and the son of a bitch had hung a towel over it. I call that plain goddam bad manners.”
“What you mean is,” Prew grinned, “you think he’s a suspicious bastard.”
“Yeah,” Angelo said. “As if anybody would look through his goddam old transom.”
He frowned at them so indignantly so long that Lorene giggled and finally had to laugh out loud.
“Hell, honey,” Angelo said to her, “that’s nothing. When I was takin basic us guys use to do that for a hobby.”
“What,” she laughed, “look through whorehouse transoms?”
“Sure,” he said. “Why once over to the Pacific Rooms, they was three of us, and this one old boy, a long, thin drink a water from Georgia, regular old Georgia nigger lyncher Klansman like his Daddy, he use to brag how they cut their nuts out for just lookin at a white girl, well this old Georgia boy took some big fat dame to the room and me and this other boy climb each other’s shoulders to peek through the transom on him. Well, that old fat gal was layin back all stretched out chewin gum and readin a Western Love Story Magazine and that big long son of a bitch was down there eatin it. Man, I mean he was really goin to town on it, too. And there she was, chewin gum and readin, just as unconcerned one way or the other as if she was home in bed. Me and this other boy like to fell off each other’s shoulders laughin.
“That Georgia stringbean never did hear the last of that, man. We razzed him so much he finally transferred to the Quartermaster to get away from it.”
“Well,” Lorene said, “you meet all kinds. In this business.”
“In any business,” Angelo said profoundly. That’s Life. And I don’t mean the magazine. Ony, I’m sure glad I aint a Georgia nigger, and I hope I never have to meet that boy and his compatriots on some deserted street at night in Atlanta, G A. I love my cods too well.
“Well,” he said, getting up. “I’m a kind of guy can tell when he’s overstayed his welcome. I can tell when I aint wanted. I leave you people to your lovin.”
“Aw, stick around,” Prew grinned. “Please dont rush off.”
“Yas,” Angelo said, “I like you too, you bastard. I will just leave you some of this whiskey and then I wont feel so guilty. I put it