U.S.A_ - John Dos Passos [359]
They stood in a group under the marquee while the
doorman cal ed taxicabs. Doris Humphries in her long eveningwrap with fur at the bottom of it stood so close to
-15-Charley her shoulder touched his arm. In the lashing rainy wind off the street he could smel the warm perfume she wore and her furs and her hair. They stood back while the older people got into the cabs. For a second her hand was in his, very little and cool as he helped her into the cab. He handed out a half a dol ar to the doorman who had whispered " Shanley's" to the taxidriver in a serious careful flunkey's voice. The taxi was purring smoothly downtown between the
tal square buildings. Charley was a little dizzy. He didn't dare look at her for a moment but looked out at faces, cars, trafficcops, people in raincoats and umbrel as passing against drugstore windows.
"Now tel me how you got the palms."
"Oh, the frogs just threw those in now and then to keep the boys cheerful."
"How many Huns did you bring down?"
"Why bring that up?"
She stamped her foot on the floor of the taxi. "Oh, no-body'l ever tel me anything. . . . I don't believe you were ever at the front, any of you." Charley laughed. His throat was a little dry. "Wel , I was over it a couple of times."
Suddenly she turned to him. There were flecks of light in her eyes in the dark of the cab.
"Oh, I understand. . . . Lieutenant Anderson, I think you flyers are the finest people there are.""Miss Humphries, I think you're a
. . . humdinger. . . . I hope this taxi never gets to this dump . . . wherever it is we're goin'." She leaned her shoulder against his for a second. He found he was holding her hand.
"After al , my name is Doris," she said in a tiny babytalk voice.
"Doris," he said. "Mine's Charley."
" Charley, do you like to dance?" she asked in the same tiny voice. "Sure," Charley said, giving her hand a quick
-16-squeeze. Her voice melted like a little tiny piece of candy.
"Me too. . . . Oh, so much."
When they went in the orchestra was playing Darda-nel a. Charley left his trenchcoat and his hat in the check-room. The headwaiter's heavy grizzled eyebrows bowed over a white shirtfront. Charley was fol owing Doris's slender back, the hol ow between the shoulderblades where his hand would like to be, across the red carpet, between the white tables, the men's starched shirts, the women's shoulders, through the sizzly smel of champagne and welshrabbit and hot chafingdishes, across a corner of the dancefloor among the swaying couples to the round white table where the rest of them were already settled. The knives and forks shone among the stiff creases of the fresh tablecloth. Mrs. Benton was pul ing off her white kid gloves look-ing at Ol ie Taylor's purple face as he told a funny story.
"Let's dance," Charley whispered to Doris. "Let's dance al the time." Charley was scared of dancing too tough so he held her a little away from him. She had a way of dancing with her eyes closed. "Gee, Doris, you are a wonderful dancer." When the music stopped the tables and the cigarsmoke and the people went on reeling a little round their heads. Doris was looking up at him out of the corners of her eyes. "I bet you miss the French girls, Charley. How did you like the way the French girls danced, Charley?"
"Terrible."
At the table they were drinking champagne out of
breakfast coffeecups. Ol ie had had two bottles sent up from the club by a messenger. When the music Started again Charley had to dance with Mrs. Benton, and then with the other lady, the one with the diamonds and the spare tire round her waist. He and Doris only had two more dances together. Charley could see the others wanted to go home because Ol ie was getting too tight. He had a
-17-flask of rye on his hip and a couple of times had beckoned Charley out to have a swig in the cloakroom with him. Charley tongued the bottle each time because he was hop-ing he'd get a chance to take Doris home. When they got outside it turned out she lived in the same block as the Bentons did; Charley cruised around on the outside of the group while the ladies were getting their wraps on before going out to the taxicab, but he couldn't get a look from her. It was just, "Goodnight, Ol ie dear, goodnight, Lieutenant Anderson," and the doorman slam-ming the taxi door. He hardly knew which of the hands he had shaken had been hers.