The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [286]
“It’s too bad that Catherine couldn’t come with you,” she said, her arm languidly extended with the cigarette smoking between her fingers.
“She had her bridge club again tonight,” Studs said.
“That reminds me, Phil. The Kavanaughs invited us to a bridge party next Sunday night.”
Studs smoked self-consciously. He wondered had marriage done to Fritzie what it was supposed to do with most women, made her an easy lay for guys. But it couldn’t. She’d always been top decent a girl. And she was keen on Phil. But she was sure different from what she’d been four or five years ago.
“Studs, you play bridge?” Phil asked, and Studs shook his head negatively.
“That’s too bad. We could have such pleasant foursomes if you did,” she exclaimed.
“I learned the game since our marriage and I like it. Once you get your teeth into the game, Studs, it’s really keen. It’s good for you, too, because it makes you think. You got to think harder when you’re playing a good stiff game of bridge than you do reading a book,” Phil said.
“It wouldn’t be hard to teach him, Phil.”
“Is it a go, Studs?”
Studs smiled, deciding that it wasn’t much use arguing. Better let it pass, let them think he agreed, and just stall off any definite dates.
“Sometime it might be all right,” he said.
“How about next Monday night?” Loretta asked.
“I’ll have to wait and see Catherine.”
“Well, don’t just say you will and then forget about it.” He nodded his head, squashed his cigarette in a tray.
“Any pickup in business, Phil?” Studs asked.
“No complaints, Studs,” Phil said, stretching his legs. “In a way, hard times are playing right into my hands. There’s lots of people these days who’ve got to live on less than they used to. And, of course, the races give them a chance to pick up some extra change. For instance, every day I get a lot of women coming in to play the ponies. Married women, trying to win pin money or a few extra pennies for the household budget. And you should see how they take to the races. Just like a duck to water.”
“That’s a new angle,” said Studs, smiling.
“Most of them make piker bets of fifty cents, but that all adds up in the end. In fact, I’m thinking of lowering my limit to a quarter minimum bet on week days. If I do that, I won’t only be helping myself, I’ll be giving plenty of people who’ve been socked by the depression a chance to keep their heads a little above water by winning on the races.”
“Studs, have you set a date for your marriage yet?” Loretta asked, looking at him. Studs, glanced away from her scrutinizing eyes, thinking that maybe both of them were thinking of when he and Catherine would be living together just as she and Phil were: the possibility of his kid sister thinking of such things in connection with him made him feel kind of queer.
“Oh, sometime early next year, I guess,” he said.
“Catherine’s a sweet kid. And, Studs, I consider this a real compliment when I say that I think you’re getting as good a wife as I got.”
“Go on with you,” Loretta said, blushing, and then throwing a smile at Phil.
“She is so natural and spontaneous, too. I like her,” Loretta said.
“Yes, I like her,” Studs said in his clipped manner, but he wasn’t sure if Loretta really meant what she said and wasn’t just sugaring over a catty feeling about Catherine; he felt that maybe Fritzie thought her kind of common.
“Studs, let me give you some advice. Don’t go up in an airplane on your honeymoon. I did. I got dizzy and sick as a dog,” Phil said, a smile of reminiscence on his fat, contented face.
“I got so afraid. I screamed outlandishly when we went up, I saw the ground getting farther and farther away, and all the time I kept thinking suppose we fall,” Loretta added.
“It might be fun,” Studs said, succumbing to the temptation of acting devil-may-care.
“You can try. Never again for me, though. When we were landing, I said to myself, `Phil, you’re a lad who was born to strut your stuff with your feet solid on the ground, and not with the clouds mussing your hair.