The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [285]
CHAPTER FIVE
I
“Shall we go into the other room?” Loretta asked, arising.
“Nice supper, Marie,” Phil said with false joviality to the plump colored maid, who, with a surly frown on her face, had commenced removing the supper dishes.
“Phil, I’ll have to get rid of her. She’s entirely too surly for a nigger maid,” Loretta said in a low but exasperated voice as they led Studs through the French door into the parlor.
“All right, dear, as you wish, but can we get another as cheap?”
“Frances only pays hers seven dollars a week.”
Studs jammed his hands into his trouser pockets, glancing about the clean, bright parlor, his eyes resting on the blue and gray walls. Easy to look at, and a nifty, neat job of paperhanging, he thought.
“Say, I never saw a chair like this one, except in the store windows or the movies,” he said, pointing to his right at a low-lined, chromium-plated chair.
“That’s one of our recent acquisitions,” Phil said with pride.
“It’s modernistic,” Loretta said, seating herself on the divan whose maroon-red upholstering matched the wine-red cushioning of the chair.
“Sit in it, Studs,” Phil said.
“Say, it is comfortable,” Studs said after having sunk into it, and Phil beamed.
“Furniture like that is quite the vogue now. Frances telephoned me today, and she’s getting a modernistic bridge set that must be simply darling from the way she described it,” Loretta said.
“It’s nice, all right,” Studs said, feeling that he ought to say something.
Glancing to his left, he spotted the low, gray ash desk, and on it a terra cotta lamp with a silver parchment shade. “Say, that’s a nice desk,” he said.
“Isn’t it, though?” Loretta said, Studs wondering had she started to get high-hat. “Come here, Studs,” she added, rising.
“Honey, Studs doesn’t care about that,” Phil said, a whine creeping into his voice.
Studs got up and moved toward the desk, a supercilious smile on his face. Taking in Loretta, he wondered if she had cut the figure when she’d told him at the supper table that she’d only gained twenty pounds since their marriage. She was pretty wide. But then, she was small, and being so small maybe made her look fatter than she was.
“Everybody who comes here has to look at those drawers,” Phil said.
Loretta opened a desk drawer, withdrew some packs of playing cards and scratch pads, and pointed. Studs stared, puzzled at what he was supposed to notice.
“Isn’t it nice, with the insides painted blue?” Loretta said, proud.
“Yes, yes, it is. Catherine and I will have to figure on getting things like that when we get married.”
What would Catherine think of such furniture, and a place in a high-class apartment hotel like this one? And would they be able to afford it?
“In the daytime with the lake right below us, the view, too, is simply grand,” Loretta said as she and Studs sat down.
“Here, Studs, cigarette?” Phil said, holding a box containing cork-tipped Melachrinos before him.
Studs glanced up at Phil, observing that Phil was taking on the poundage now, his baby face padded, the cheeks full and shiny, the neck thickening, and the stomach expanding. He took a cigarette.
“Thanks,” he said as Phil offered him the flame from a nickel, initialed cigarette lighter.
“I’ll take one, Phil, dear,” Loretta said, and Phil walked toward her.
As Phil lit her cigarette, Studs caught them exchanging tender and knowing smiles.
His sister was changed, all right. She was a woman now, who got regular jazzing and knew what it was all about. Phil sank into a wicker chair with a blue cushion in the seat, and sighed in exuding comfort. Her man, Studs thought ironically. Far different from the virgin sister who used to squeak with embarrassment if he accidentally saw her in the hallway in her underthings. She