 | Tales of the jazz age |  |
VII
The over-rouged young lady followed her with a brief,
bitter glance—then turned again to the weak-chinned
waiter and took up her argument.
"You better go up and tell him I'm here," she said
defiantly, "or I'll go up myself."
"No, you don't!" said George sternly.
The girl smiled sardonically.
"Oh, I don't, don't I? Well, let me tell you I know
glad to take me out on a party, than you ever saw in
your whole life."
"Maybe so—"
"Maybe so," she interrupted. "Oh, it's all right for
any of 'em like that one that just ran out—God knows
where she went—it's all right for them that are asked
here to come or go as they like—but when I want to see
a friend they have some cheap, ham-slinging, bring-me-a-doughnut
waiter to stand here and keep me out."
"See here," said the elder Key indignantly, "I can't
lose my job. Maybe this fella you're talkin' about
doesn't want to see you."
"Oh, he wants to see me all right."
"Anyways, how could I find him in all that crowd?"
"Oh, he'll be there," she asserted confidently. "You
just ask anybody for Gordon Sterrett and they'll point
him out to you. They all know each other, those fellas."
She produced a mesh bag, and taking out a dollar
bill handed it to George.
"Here," she said, "here's a bribe. You find him and
give him my message. You tell him if he isn't here in
five minutes I'm coming up."
George shook his head pessimistically, considered
the question for a moment, wavered violently, and then
withdrew.
In less than the allotted time Gordon came down-stairs.
He was drunker than he had been earlier in the evening
and in a different way. The liquor seemed to have
hardened on him like a crust. He was heavy and lurching—almost
incoherent when he talked.
"'Lo, Jewel," he said thickly. "Came right away.
Jewel, I couldn't get that money. Tried my best."
"Money nothing!" she snapped. "You haven't been
near me for ten days. What's the matter?"
He shook his head slowly.
"Been very low, Jewel. Been sick."
"Why didn't you tell me if you were sick. I don't
care about the money that bad. I didn't start bothering
you about it at all until you began neglecting me."
Again he shook his head.
"Haven't been neglecting you. Not at all."
"Haven't! You haven't been near me for three
weeks, unless you been so drunk you didn't know what
you were doing."
"Been sick, Jewel," he repeated, turning his eyes
upon her wearily.
"You're well enough to come and play with your
society friends here all right. You told me you'd meet
me for dinner, and you said you'd have some money for
me. You didn't even bother to ring me up."
"I couldn't get any money."
"Haven't I just been saying that doesn't matter?
I wanted to see you, Gordon, but you seem to prefer
your somebody else."
He denied this bitterly.
"Then get your hat and come along," she suggested.
Gordon hesitated—and she came suddenly close to
him and slipped her arms around his neck.
"Come on with me, Gordon," she said in a half whisper.
"We'll go over to Devineries' and have a drink,
and then we can go up to my apartment."
"I can't, Jewel,—"
"You can," she said intensely.
"I'm sick as a dog!"
"Well, then, you oughtn't to stay here and dance."
With a glance around him in which relief and despair
were mingled, Gordon hesitated; then she suddenly
pulled him to her and kissed him with soft, pulpy lips.
"All right," he said heavily. "I'll get my hat.
| Tales of the jazz age | |