The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [71]
“But he’s his own boss.”
“But that’s all baloney. He’s going straight for the pen. You mark my word. Then a hell of a lot of bossing himself he’ll do,” she said.
Studs said he didn’t know.
They sat. Silence, and a feeling of artificiality for both of them.
Helen asked him if he had met that Iris that was around.
“I met her on the street with Paulie. That’s all,” he said.
Studs wanted to say he was going up there, but he didn’t know how she’d take it. He remembered the time Iris had given him and Paulie a lot of hot air because she wanted Weary alone. Reilley! He hissed to himself. But maybe Iris didn’t know he’d cleaned on Weary. Well, when she did, and she got to know him, she wouldn’t have nothing to do with Weary. When she got to know him, well, you just watch his dust. If he had to, he’d take a few more pokes at Reilley... only, well, he wasn’t afraid of another fight, but then, well, he’d licked the guy once, even if he did get the insides of his face all cut, and a shiner. Iris would... understand him. Now that was a discovery. The trouble that always bothered him was that nobody understood him. Well, maybe she would. Maybe that thing was so that fellows and girls could get to understand each other. Maybe there was more to it than just getting girls and doing it because you were curious, and because then you could brag before other guys about it. He wanted to tell Helen about his thought, but he guessed he hadn’t better.
“Say, did you find anything more out about that house on Fifty-seventh Street?” asked Studs.
“Lucy’s heard something about Iris, and asked me. Lucy still likes you,” Helen said.
“Yeh,” said Studs, getting quite misty.
A pause.
“Say, do you think there’d be anything doing at that place now? Maybe if we could climb on the porch,” said Studs. Helen shrugged her shoulders.
A pause.
“Is your mother or anybody home?” he asked.
“Why?” Helen asked.
She looked at him; she guessed what was in his mind. “No,” she said. She added, “Lucy really likes you.”
Lucy! She seemed quite far away from him now. At times he liked her, and at times he tried to pretend to himself that he didn’t. He wanted to tell it all to Helen, and the words choked in his throat. The time they sat in the tree! Helen said she could fix things up for him with Lucy. He wanted to say go ahead, but something stopped him, and he told her never mind. He could have kicked himself in the tail all the way around the block for it, but that was what he said and he didn’t know why. And it was all on account of that punk, Danny O’Neill. Well, things would turn out all right in the end. Lucy liked him, and it ht do her good if she did a little worrying because he acted like he didn’t like her. She would come around to him. After all he was STUDS LONIGAN. He tried to keep Helen talking about Lucy, and he sat there, as if he wasn’t interested, spitting tobacco juice like sixty. He told Helen that Lucy was all right, but he didn’t think he was interested in girls any more. Helen said “YEAH!” Silence. Studs tried to explain that he really wasn’t, and he got himself all mixed up. Helen didn’t answer him. They sat in silence.
“But say, didn’t any of the guys find out about that place?” he said.
He looked at her.
She glanced away.
“I don’t like to always be talking about those things. Guys always start to talk about them with me, and then, well, they get fresh and start asking me, or scratching the palm of my hand,” she said.
She talked to him as if she was talking to Andy Le Gare or somebody else.
Silence. Then she asked him was he going to school. He lied that he wasn’t. He guessed he couldn’t talk to Helen as he used to. They looked at each other, realizing that they were changed. They looked at each other.
She said he ought to go to high school, because he would be a football star. He said he didn’t know.
They sat. He got up, and she said she had to go in and take a bath. He said he’d come in and wait, as long as nobody was home. She gave him a dirty look and said he hadn’t better.
She walked out to the front with him. He limped, just like he had seen Barlowe limping. She asked him what was wrong. He said he