The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [374]
“Sometimes you hear people say funny things on the street,” Catherine said.
“Yeh.”
They entered a crowded chain drug store, and sat down at a vacant tile-topped table. Waiting for their chocolate malted milks, Studs looked around, gathering a general sense of noise and well-being, seeing the crowd lined along the soda fountain, the fountain men frantically working to fill orders, the white-aproned waitresses scurrying with trays among the tables where there were many couples and groups, and other customers around the drug counters on the opposite side of the store.
He began wishing that he was like some of the other fellows in the store who were at soda tables with girls, so carefree. Like the fellow in a palm beach suit several tables down who talked to a blond girl and then laughed so loudly. A couple laughing like that couldn’t have a problem like he and Catherine had.
“It’s crowded here, isn’t it?” Catherine said after the malted milks had been set before them.
“Yes. These stores must be making money, depression or no depression,” Studs said, thinking that it might have been a much sounder investment to get stock in a chain drug outfit like this one.
“Yes, they do a lot of business at a store like this one,” she said, breaking open the small paper package of wafers that came with the malted milk.
“I’d be willing to bet they make money,” Studs said, drawing the malted milk through two straws.
He finished it quickly, and while Catherine continued sip-ping he again stared around at random, and he began to think how all these fellows with their girls, they were guys just like himself. And maybe they had their problems, too. Fellows and girls when they went together always had that one problem. If they really felt about each other, they wanted to go the limit, and then there was the girl holding back because she was afraid, or thought that it was wrong, or if they did jazz, there was that worrying about getting knocked up, or else there was worrying over how they could get alone and not be seen and spoiling it by hurrying up so no one might catch them in the park or a hallway. Jesus Christ, life was one god-damn trial and tribulation, and love made it more of a trial and a tribulation. He wondered how many fellows there were in Chicago at this very minute who were in the same pickle as he was, with girls they’d knocked up. And yet, no matter if there were thousands of them, that didn’t help him. Misery loves company, but what the hell good does company do?
“Bill, I want you to promise me now that you’re not going to worry,” she said, observing the set expression on his face.
“I’m not worrying.”
“You are, too. You’ve furrowed up your face, and I can tell that you are.”
He forced a smile as they arose. They proceeded southward along Stony Island, and Studs looked at the many strolling people, asking himself how many of them were better off than he was. He took a covert glance at Catherine. She seemed pretty enough. And she was showing him that she had guts. It was something to have guts.
But he wished, Jesus Christ, he wished for something, some-thing!
IV
In the hallway, she was very troubled and worried, and she looked up at him with eyes of desire and anxiety.
“Darling, we’re always going to be together,” she said.
He nodded, kissed her.
“And we’re not going to worry over this thing, either.”
He nodded again, pleased with the sudden thought that this was a fight where he would have to overcome obstacles. But the idea of fighting and overcoming obstacles was one thing, and doing it was another, and tomorrow morning he had to start the doing. He’d realized all along that some day they would just stop being engaged, and marry, but now, with Catherine in his arms kissing him as if each kiss were their last one, he began to realize that he’d been kind of glad to have the marriage in the future. And it wasn