U.S.A_ - John Dos Passos [483]
"You talk like a . . . like a genius.""That's what they cal me," said Margolies in a loud voice drawing his shoul-ders back and standing stiffly at attention to let her go past him through the large glass doors into the vestibule. The worst of it was going into the dressingroom to take off her wraps. The women who were doing their faces and
-407-giving a last pat to their hair al turned and gave her a quick onceover that started at her slippers, ran up her stockings, picked out every hook and eye of her dress, ran round her neck to see if it was wrinkled and up into her hair to see if it was dyed. At once she knew that she ought to have an ermine wrap. There was one old dame standing smoking a cigarette by the lavatory door in a dress al made of cracked ice who had xray eyes; Margo felt
her reading the pricetag on her stepins. The colored maid gave Margo a nice toothy grin as she laid Margo's coat over her arm that made her feel better. When she went out she felt the stares clash together on her back and hang there like a tin can on a dog's tail. Keep a stiff upper lip, they can't eat you, she was tel ing herself as the door of the ladies'
room closed behind her. She wished Agnes was there to tel her how lovely everybody was. Margolies was waiting for her in the vestibule ful of sparkly chandeliers. There was an orchestra playing and they were dancing in a big room. He took her to the fire-place at the end. Irwin Harris and Mr. Hardbein who looked as alike as a pair of eggs in their tight dress suits came up and said goodevening. Margolies gave them each a hand without looking at them and sat down by the fire-place with his back to the crowd in a big carved chair like the one he had in his office. Mr. Harris asked her to dance with him. After that it was like any other col ection of dressedup people. At least until she found herself dancing with Rodney Cathcart.
She recognized him at once from the pictures, but it was a shock to find that his face had color in it, and that there was warm blood and muscle under his rakish eveningdress. He was a tal tanned young man with goldfishyel ow hair and an English way of mumbling his words. She'd felt cold and shivery until she started to dance with him. After he'd danced with her once he asked her to dance with him again. Between dances he led her to the buffet at the end
-408-of the room and tried to get her to drink. She held a scotch and soda in a big blue glass each time and just sipped it while he drank down a couple of scotches straight and ate a large plate of chicken salad. He seemed a little drunk but he didn't seem to be getting any drunker. He didn't say anything so she didn't say anything either. She loved dancing with him.
Every now and then when they danced round the end of the room she caught sight of the whole room in the huge mirror over the fireplace. Once when she got just the right angle she thought she saw Margolies' face staring at her from out of the carved highbacked chair that faced the burning logs. He seemed to be staring at her attentively. The firelight playing on his face gave it a warm lively look she hadn't noticed on it before. Immediately blond heads, curly heads, bald heads, bare shoulders, black shoul-ders got in her way and she lost sight of that corner of the room.
It must have been about twelve o'clock when she found him standing beside the table where the scotch was. "Hel o, Sam," said Rodney Cathcart. "How's every little thing?"
"We must go now, the poor child is tired in al this noise. . . . Rodney, you must let Miss Dowling go now."
"O.K., pal," said Rodney Cathcart and turned his back to pour himself another glass of scotch.
When Margo came back from getting her wraps she
found Mr. Hardbein waiting for her in the vestibule. He bowed as he squeezed her hand.
"Wel , I don't mind tel -ing you, Miss Dowling, that you made a sensation. The girls are al asking what you use to dye your hair with." A laugh rumbled down into his broad vest.
"Would you come by my office? We might have a bite of lunch and talk things over a bit." Margo gave a little shudder. "It's sweet of you, Mr. Hardbein, but I never go to offices . . . I don't understand business. . . . You cal us up, won't you?"