The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [254]
He turned the corner on to Randolph, the Loop noises bursting upon him with a sudden increase of volume, the elevated trains from Lake Street, the clanging of a street-car gong on Dearborn, the humming movement of the automobiles, the parade of people along the sidewalk, snatches of their talk, their feet scraping over the sidewalk. He felt as if he had left a place that was cold to come into one that was warm. He heard the jazz band of a nearby, second-floor Chinese dine-and-dance restaurant break into snappy music, and he glanced at the many and brilliant electric fronts of the shows along both sides of the street. Keyed up, he was glad to see people, he wanted to talk, to do something, to see Catherine, too. He felt that his body was now like some kind of a nervous instrument with strings like violin strings that had been plucked and tingled.
“Plenty of seats inside. No waiting. Follies of 1931 with all-star movie cast. No waiting, folks.”
Studs stopped to look at the six-foot, red-headed doorman of the Greater Artists Theater, who wore a long, purple, gold-braided coat and bluish-gray trousers with a wide purple stripe running down their sides. He saw a baby-faced girl, giving the fellow a come-on glance, and he thought that the lad was the kind to knock a girl’s heart six ways from Sunday, even if he had a flunkey’s job and was all dressed up in a monkey suit. He felt small, all right, looking at the fellow. And as he walked by him, he looked at the slender silken legs of a passing girl. He almost collided with a tall and haughty blond, and, mumbling an apology, he noticed that she had a long, grayish coat which made her look like the works. He turned to watch her disappear with her fellow, and to note the way she wriggled from behind. What did fellows have to do to make keen and classy broads like that one go nuts over them? Some guys did, too, and such broads would eat dirt for them. He had never had one gone like that on him, though, and he wished that he had. Catherine, he kind of felt that she would go nuts over him if he gave her the chance, only she wasn’t the type, and he felt kind of sorry for her. She just lacked the kind of class that such girls had.
He stared quickly from face to face as he walked, liking the sight of so many people, of so many girls. He realized how he had come to feel so differently just by turning off of Dear-born and coming onto Randolph, where there were lights and people, and where there were so many girls to look at, many of them walking as if they were movie actresses, hot babies, as he could see by just glancing at them as they passed by. On Dearborn, he had felt out of the picture and all alone, and now he didn’t. And there was something, mmm! He looked after the girl, a cold but desirable blond. He recalled Slug Mason’s philosophy, that all broads could be made by the right fellow, but that the right fellow always treated them rough. He spotted a pock-faced girl, very stout, who hung on the arm of a thin, weasel-faced lad, and he figured that maybe Catherine was not so bad. She was a little bit plump, but so had Lucy been, so were lots of girls, and she had some stuff, and had a nice handful to her. Sometimes when she was dressed up, she looked plenty worth the getting. Gazing around, seeing so many couples, he was anxious to meet her, to walk back this street with her, and be in this same picture so that other fellows could see him, see him as part of this picture of fellows going out with their girls.
He walked the last block between Wabash and Michigan impatiently, but again the doubt about proposing came to his mind. He determined that he would pop it. He decided that he would wait a little longer, get the lay of the land better, and then if he was absolutely sure that she would say yes, buy the ring, and have it to slip on her finger then and there. And if he did pop it, would he or wouldn’t he be putting his foot in for something that he wasn’t bargaining for? Often when he was with her, he didn’t have anything to talk about, and he had a queer tense feeling. It made him uncertain whether or not he was a sucker, wasting his time taking her around. And then, with business rotten for the old man, even though he had dough saved in the bank, mightn