Chapter III: Part 3

Some days he would come in at twelve and other days at twelve-thirty, and then there had been certain days when he’d not come in at all and those were bad days for Marjorie Ventusa.

It was a few minutes after twelve when she saw him walking down the street, pushing through the crowd, a man different from all the others walking in the street. She frowned when she saw the pretty secretary with him. Marjorie hated this girl but she was helpless and could only hate all the others who seemed close to Robert Holton.

She pretended to be busy cleaning a table when they came in.

“Hello, Marjorie,” said Holton and he and Caroline came over to her table.

“Oh, hello, it’s you again.” She made herself sound matter-of-fact and bored, but her throat was suddenly full and she had to clear it before she could speak again. “What you going to eat today?”

“I don’t know,” said Holton and he and Caroline sat down at the table, across from each other. “What do you want, Caroline?”

“I’d like to see a menu, I think,” said Caroline in a voice that Marjorie Ventusa would like to have choked out of her.

“Here,” said Marjorie and she handed them two white menus.

They studied the menus.

Many people were coming in and going out of the restaurant. All the tables were full now and there were people standing and waiting for tables. Some of her customers were beginning to look at her, waiting for her to take their order. She hoped Mrs Merrin would not notice how long she was taking with Robert Holton.

“I think,” said Caroline, frowning a thin hair-wide frown, “I think I will have some tomato juice, and a lamb chop....”

“No more lamb chops,” said Marjorie, trying to keep the triumph from her voice.

The hair-wide frown became a scowl. “Then I’ll have the veal.”

“Any vegetables?”

“Yes, the spinach.”

“You can have one other.”

“That’s all.”

And Marjorie thought, “the” spinach indeed. Why was it that when these people wanted to sound elegant they would talk about everything as “the”?

“What do you want, Mr Holton?” She wished that she had the nerve to call him Bob, the right to call him that.

“Oh, I think I’ll take the same.”

“Coffee, tea, or milk?” She said the words as though they were one word.

They both asked for coffee and Marjorie went quickly out of the dining room and into the kitchen.

There was much more steam in the kitchen now than there had been at breakfast; as the day passed the kitchen got hotter, and steamier, and the cooks got more irritable and Mrs Merrin more nervous and Marjorie Ventusa would become tired and sad.

She called the new orders to the cook. Then she picked up two small glasses of tomato juice and put them on her tray. She fingered one of them a moment, thinking that soon he would be drinking from it. She enjoyed thinking of this, though it only made her desire stronger and her sadness greater.

She didn’t want to go back yet. She hoped Mrs Merrin would not come into the kitchen for a while.

But one of the swinging doors opened and Mrs Merrin walked into the kitchen. Quickly Marjorie picked up her tray and went back to the dining room.

Caroline and Robert Holton were talking seriously and Marjorie, because of the noise of voices in the dining room, couldn’t hear what they were saying.

They stopped talking as she came up to them.

“Here you are,” said Marjorie Ventusa brightly, putting the glasses of tomato juice on the table.

Robert Holton smiled at her, showing his white even teeth.

“Have you got a date for tonight?” asked Robert Holton.

“You know I always do.”

“A sailor maybe?”

“I’m not saying.”

“Get one who’ll take you to Italy.”

This was cruel but Marjorie smiled and forgave him. She had not been joking when they spoke of Italy. She did not think it fair of him to say this in front of the pretty girl, but Marjorie forgave him because he was young and because she felt about him in a certain way.

“Maybe we’ll go to Capri together,” she said. “Is it nice there?”

Holton nodded. “Beautiful.”

Caroline said, “I’m sure you don’t want to take up any more of her time, Bob. She’s got a lot of things to do.” Caroline gave Marjorie a brilliant smile. A man from the table next to theirs said loudly, “When are you bringing me my soup?”

“In just a minute, sir.” Marjorie looked at Robert Holton once again, tried to catch his eye but he was talking now to Caroline and Marjorie Ventusa had been put quietly from his mind. She went back to the kitchen.

* * * * *

Outside the restaurant Richard Kuppelton and the receptionist Ruth were wondering whether anybody they knew would be in the restaurant; otherwise they would have to wait for a table.

Kuppelton looked through the window. He blinked nearsightedly. Then he saw Robert Holton and Caroline.

“Caroline’s in there,” he said.

“With Bob?”

“Yes.”

“Well, let’s go on in.” Ruth liked Robert Holton.

“Hello, hello,” said Kuppelton heartily when they were inside.

Caroline and Robert Holton appeared glad to see them.

“My gracious, it certainly is crowded,” said Ruth, pointing to the people standing.

“Lucky you people were here,” said Kuppelton.

“I don’t,” said Ruth, “see how the town stays so crowded all the time. I could understand it during the war but now ... well, it’s just impossible to go anywhere or do anything.”

“I know,” said Holton. “Took me months to get a room.”

“Is it nice?” asked Caroline.

He shook his head. “It’s very depressing.”

“I guess I’m lucky to be living with my family,” said Kuppelton. “It’s real nice out where we are and there aren’t so many people. I’d hate to have to live in the city.”

They talked of the places where they lived and then they started to talk of the places where they would like to live.

Kuppelton watched Holton as he talked and he tried to learn, by concentrating intensely, what he was thinking; to learn if Mr Murphy had said he would promote him. Holton’s smooth forehead, however, was a wall and Kuppelton could not pierce it, could not discover the dreams behind it.

Marjorie came over to their table and put two plates of veal in front of Caroline and Robert. The veal was a uniform tan color, floating in a sea of red sauce. Two saucers of dark-green spinach floating in water were put beside the plates of veal.

“Looks good, doesn’t it?” commented Marjorie.

“Sure, sure,” said Holton, looking at his plate with distaste.

Kuppelton ordered veal and Marjorie left.

Kuppelton looked at Ruth. She was dark, with a big nose and with self-pitying eyes. Her complexion was oily and she wore too much make-up. Ruth liked all men; she was sitting very close to Robert Holton now.

“Any interesting people come into the office?” asked Holton, turning to Ruth: as receptionist she was always able to tell them about celebrities.

Ruth nodded. “Laura Whitner was in to see Mr Heywood.”

Caroline was interested. “She’s the movie star, isn’t she?”

Ruth nodded again, a birdlike motion. “Why, she used to be one of the biggest stars. I used to go see all her pictures. My gracious, they were wonderful.”

Marjorie Ventusa returned with veal for Kuppelton and the ham and eggs for Ruth.

“Oh, thank you,” said Ruth. “I love ham,” she added.

Richard Kuppelton looked at Ruth with disapproval. She was an aggressive woman and he was tired of aggressive women. His mother was that way. Caroline was more what he wanted. She had spirit but was not aggressive. There was a difference between spirit and aggressiveness. He could not quite define it but still there was a difference. Caroline could act irritated with him and he would not mind. And she always smiled, even when she was angry; he could not feel that a woman who always smiled was aggressive. She had a mind of her own but then he could handle that. Eating veal, Richard Kuppelton felt he could handle anything.

Robert Holton finished eating. He sat back in his chair and yawned.

“Bored?” asked Caroline.

He shook his head. “No, not very. Just sleepy.”

“Well, I like that!” exclaimed Ruth. “You’d think we weren’t good enough for him.” She said this in a way to let him know she was being humorous.

Kuppelton decided, however, to develop what she’d said. “Sure, he’s a good friend of Mr Heywood.”

Ruth was impressed. “I certainly wish I had your contacts then. I sure wouldn’t be working in this lousy job.”

Robert Holton wanted to know what was wrong with her job.

“Oh, you know how it is. Doing the same thing day after day. It makes me sick. I’d like to do something exciting.”

“Like what?” asked Richard Kuppelton. These were his secret wishes, too, but he would never have put them into words. He was delighted to hear someone else say them.

Ruth was not sure just what she wanted. She decided she would like to travel. Richard Kuppelton admitted, then, that he would like to travel. Caroline thought a moment and agreed with them that to travel would be the best thing anyone could do, the thing she wanted to do.

Robert Holton, who had traveled, said that he didn’t care to leave New York again: not for many years at least.

“You’re not adventurous,” said Caroline sadly.

Ruth protected him. “After all, he’s had some adventures. He was in the war.”

Richard Kuppelton was glad that Holton did not talk about the war. It made too great a difference between them and the women might have called attention to this difference.

He disliked Robert Holton because he was afraid of him. It was more than the threat to his job, much more than that. Caroline, whom Kuppelton wanted, seemed interested in him. He flattered himself that she was no more interested in Holton than she was in himself; still he was a threat.

Ruth was moving closer to Robert Holton now. Her thick curved lips, heavily painted a dark red, looked unpleasantly moist. Kuppelton had a desire to dry her mouth. He was amused, though, at the way she was playing up to Holton. She liked him now because of his influence, not because he was good-looking. Although Kuppelton, for one, couldn’t see his handsomeness. Holton was well-built but not much better than he was; of course, Kuppelton had a slight stomach and Holton didn’t, but a few days of exercise and he could be as slim. He made a mental note to do some exercise.

* * * * *

Marjorie Ventusa arranged her hair in front of the steamy mirror. It didn’t look too bad when she wore it over her ears. She pinned it back carefully. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to get a snood after all.

She put some other people’s orders on her tray and left the kitchen. The crowd waiting to be seated was beginning to thin and soon the lunch rush would be over.

She waited on the customers whose orders she had and then she moved over to the table where Robert Holton was sitting. He was very handsome, she thought. She looked at the others with him and she envied them all. They didn’t understand what he was, how important he was.

The girl with the blue eyes and slim legs she could not like. This was her rival--one of her rivals, anyway. She was glad that he never seemed particularly interested in this girl and, for that matter, the girl didn’t seem interested in him. Still she was near, worked with him probably: she was a danger.

Then Marjorie Ventusa did not like the dark-haired girl with the big nose who sat so close to him, but at least she was not a danger. She almost pitied this girl who had moved her chair so close to his that their legs were touching.

The other man was dull-looking and obviously interested in the girl with the blue eyes. Marjorie Ventusa wished him luck. Then, having thought these things about her customers, she walked over to their table.

“Ready for dessert?” asked Marjorie Ventusa cheerfully, trying not to look at Robert Holton.

They were ready.

Everyone decided to have vanilla ice cream. Slowly she cleared the table. This was a hard thing to do, because she had to act as if she were in a hurry.

They talked at the table as though she weren’t there. She was, naturally, used to that: she had been a waitress a long time, but today she was almost angry at being treated like a piece of furniture. She could do nothing about it, though. She picked up her tray and went into the kitchen.

Marjorie ordered the ice cream. As she waited she wondered if there was any way she could ever see Robert Holton in his other life: the mysterious important life he had in the brokerage firm. She tried to think of some way she could get to know him in this other life. She could think of nothing.

The ice cream was ready and she took it back to the dining room.

She gave them their dessert and only Holton said thank you. She tried to expand this one phrase into a conversation but it was too difficult. So she walked over to the next table which was now empty. Slowly she placed dishes on her tray. She was near enough to them to hear what they were saying.

Robert Holton was talking about his job: “I don’t mind being in an office all day. I can’t see why people mind that so much.”

The dark girl with the big nose disagreed: “It’s much more natural to be able to wander around like you want to do. It’s natural to travel, I think.”

He laughed. Marjorie liked his laugh. He said, “You should get married, that’s what you should do.”

The dark girl became coquettish. “But I haven’t had any offers yet. Of course, I’m open to any.”

The bitch, thought Marjorie Ventusa, disliking her now.

“You shouldn’t have any trouble,” said Holton gallantly and Marjorie liked him for saying this.

“You’re just saying that.”

Then the girl with the blue eyes and the dull man began to talk together and their voices blended into the ocean-like sound of many voices in the restaurant.

They finished the ice cream.

Marjorie walked over to the table. “Will there be anything else?” she asked officially.

There was nothing else.

“We’ll have our check, please, Marjorie,” said Robert Holton and she liked the way he said her name.

“Certainly.” She went to the cashier and had the four checks totalled. Then she came back.

They paid her.

“Back to work,” said the blue-eyed girl with a sigh.

_Chapter Seven_

“Here we are,” said Caroline.

Ruth went to her desk in the reception room. “I’ll see you all later,” she said and she sat down and took out a large gold compact. Caroline watched her a moment as she powdered her nose, watched her with a certain pity because she was ugly.

“Come on,” said Kuppelton and he and Robert Holton walked on either side of her through the office. She was conscious of the envious stares of the other girls and she smiled at them as nicely as she could, knowing that they hated her for her smile.

Mr Murphy was not in the Statistical office. Everyone else was back, though. As she entered the room Caroline was conscious of a difference in the atmosphere. The women were quieter than usual and the men were watching. She looked and saw, sitting at Holton’s desk, an army officer.

“Jim!” said Holton when he saw him; the other looked up.

“Hi,” he said and he got to his feet. They shook hands with Anglo-Saxon restraint, muttering monosyllables of greeting, each asking about the other’s health.

Kuppelton went to his own desk without speaking to the army officer. Caroline stood expectantly beside Robert Holton, waiting to be introduced.

“This,” said Holton finally, “is Caroline. Caroline, meet Jim Trebling.”

“How do you do,” said Trebling.

“How do you do,” said Caroline and they shook hands. His hand, she noticed, was rough and hard.

“You live in New York?” asked Caroline. This was always a good beginning because it could lead to all sorts of confessions.

He shook his head. “No, I’m from California. I’m from Los Angeles.”

She was impressed. “That’s where Hollywood is, isn’t it? You from Hollywood?”

No, he was not from Hollywood. He lived near by.

“I’d certainly like to visit out there.”

“It’s not as interesting as New York.”

She gave a little laugh to show her scorn for New York, her laugh leveling the buildings and cracking Grant’s Tomb. “It’s awful here,” she said. “We have an awful climate.”

He raised the buildings again. “Oh, I think it’s pretty exciting. You’ve got so many things. This is really the first time I’ve seen New York. Bob and I went overseas from here and we came back here but I never really saw the town.”

“Are you regular army?” she asked. Men in uniform were becoming rare.

“No, I’m getting out soon. I signed up for a little while longer.”

“Oh.”

He and Robert Holton began to talk then about the army and she felt shut out. She stood there wondering whether she should go or not. She rather liked this young man. He was a lieutenant, at least he had one bar on his shoulder and she thought that lieutenants wore a single bar: the war had been such a long time ago and she had forgotten so many things.

He had dark eyes and bleached-looking hair which Caroline had always found attractive in men. His skin was rather pale for a Californian; all Californians had brown skin in her imagination. He was not particularly handsome, though he looked rather distinguished, with sharp features and circles under his eyes.

“Are you in the East long?” she asked.

He looked at her as if he had forgotten she was there; still, he was very polite. “No, I’m only here for a week.”

“Looking around?”

“Yes, looking around.”

“Caroline,” said Robert Holton, as though explaining an important thing, “Caroline is the belle of the office.”

“I can see that,” said Trebling without too much effort, saying it almost naturally, a hard thing to do.

“Oh, thank you,” said Caroline. Now she didn’t know what to say. She looked at his ribbons. She counted them mechanically, the way she did before the war ended: five ribbons. “You must’ve been around quite a bit,” she said finally, speaking before the silence her last words had made became another conversation.

Trebling nodded seriously. “Yes, I saw quite a bit. No more than Bob did, though.”

“That must’ve been nice,” said Caroline, “your being able to serve together everywhere.”

“Yes, it was.”

She knew that they were waiting for her to go but she wasn’t ready yet. “Do you like being in the army in peacetime?”

“No, not particularly.”

“Well, you’ll be out soon, I suppose.”

“Quite soon.”

She had to go now. She couldn’t understand what kept her standing there foolishly trying to make a conversation by herself. It was not as if Lieutenant Trebling were handsome or unusual.

Caroline made her great effort. “Well,” she said, “I guess I’ll see you later, Mr Trebling.” Was that the right name? She wasn’t sure. She hoped she hadn’t said it wrong.

“Nice to have met you, Caroline.” She smiled at him, her face at a three-quarter angle: her most flattering angle. Then, with great nonchalance, she walked slowly back to her desk.

* * * * *

Trebling was surprised at the way Holton looked out of uniform.

To have lived several years with a person who looked always one way and then to see him later another way is startling. Jim Trebling had always thought of Holton as a soldier: he could not get used to him as a civilian in an office.

“Sit down, Jim.” Holton pointed to a chair beside his desk. They both sat down. Trebling felt a little awkward. The office was too formal for him and he was not at ease.

Jim looked at Holton, trying to get accustomed to him. “You’ve certainly changed. I don’t know if I’d have recognized you.”

Robert Holton laughed a little self-consciously. “These civilian clothes _are_ different. They make you feel different.”

“You’re really settling down, I guess.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I wish I could. Maybe I will when I get out ... I don’t know.”

“What do you think you’re going to do?”

Jim shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking of starting some kind of a business. You know, what we used to talk about before you got out.”

Holton nodded. “That’s a good idea, I guess. I thought of it, too, but of course the odds are against you.”

Trebling was surprised to hear Holton say this. “I know it,” he said.

Holton saw then that he hadn’t said the right thing. He tried to explain. “I don’t mean you shouldn’t start a business. I just mean something might go wrong.” He was saying worse things now; he stopped.

Jim changed the subject. “How do you like being out?”

“Oh, it’s pretty wonderful. Just to be able to stay in one place....”

“I guess it’s nice for a while.”

Holton sighed. “I don’t think I’ll ever travel again.”

Jim was surprised. “I thought you were going to go around the world. Don’t you remember when we used to talk about seeing more of Italy?”

“Well, maybe sometime. I hadn’t stopped moving for very long then.”

“No, that’s right, you hadn’t.” As they talked Jim Trebling became more uneasy. This was a person he had not met before and he was surprised and sorry. Robert Holton had been different as a soldier.

As they talked, the words forming conventional patterns and hiding their real thoughts, Jim thought of the war.

“You remember the time we were in Florence?”

Holton said that he remembered it very well.

They spoke then of Florence and as they talked Jim Trebling began to remember many things.

* * * * *

The city had been liberated for several months. The war was almost over and Holton and Trebling were able to take a week’s leave: they went to Florence.

Parts of the city had been badly damaged. The old buildings on the Arno had been leveled in many places but the Ponte Vecchio was still there. These things had not been very important, however, because they had not gone to see antiques. They had gone to rest, to meet women, and to try to find enough liquor to get drunk on.

They stayed with a family outside of the town; they stayed in a place called Fiesole.

Trebling remembered the house clearly: long and rambling, dirty-white stucco with small iron balconies beneath the larger windows. A rock garden, dusty gray-green olive trees and an unearthly view of the valley in which was Florence.

The house belonged to a family named Bruno, friends of Robert Holton’s mother. They had invited the two of them to stay as long as they liked: in those days it was a good policy to have American soldiers in one’s home.

Robert Holton had liked a girl named Carla. Trebling had liked her too, but not as much as Holton did. He remembered one night when the three had sat on the terrace, watching the city.

It was summer and the night was warm and vibrant. The city lights glittered in the valley-cup; the lights were golden and flickering and the river shone darkly.

They sat on a stone ledge, their feet dangling above the rock garden. Carla was between them; her hair was dark and her face pale. They sat like this, watching the lights of the city and listening to the sound of insects whirring in the night.

And Jim had said, embarrassed by the long silence, “It’s so peaceful here.”

The other two acted as if they had not heard him. Holton, sitting close beside Carla, touched her.

And then she had said, “It seems like such a long time ago.” They thought of this as they sat in the blue darkness.

Holton finally spoke, saying, “Isn’t it a shame that this has to change again?”

They had been surprised to hear him say this; Trebling was more surprised than Carla because, though he had known Holton longer, she knew him better. Trebling was surprised to hear Holton speak seriously: he was never serious at other times. He always tried to be funny.

“Why _should_ this change again?” asked Carla, looking at him, trying to tell his expression in the dark.

Holton only sighed and said, “Because everything changes when you go away.”

“You can come back,” said Carla and Jim remembered now the exact way she had said that and he was sorry for her.

Holton didn’t answer for a moment and then he had said, “Yes, I suppose you can.” They knew then that he would not come back and Trebling could sense her sadness as they watched the lights flickering below them.

* * * * *

“Do you remember Carla?” asked Jim suddenly, his mind adjusting to the present.

“The girl in Florence? Sure, I remember her. Was that her name ... Carla?”

“That’s right.”

“She was very nice looking, wasn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“Sure, I remember her.”

“I thought you liked her quite a bit,” said Trebling, not looking at Holton.

“I suppose I did. We ran into a lot of people, though. There were so many people.”

Trebling agreed that there had been a number of people in Europe, people they had known.

“That was a good town, Florence,” said Holton suddenly.

“It was.”

“We were there a week, weren’t we?”

“About that.”

Holton nodded, and Trebling watched him to see how he felt; Holton’s face told him nothing, though. He was only remembering.

“It’s certainly a nice feeling to be out,” said Holton finally.

“I guess it must be.”

“Not having to worry about being moved from place to place.”

* * * * *

They were standing in the Roman Forum. All around them were pieces of shattered marble, shattered in earlier wars. Trebling and Holton had looked at three slender columns of marble, all that was left of a temple.

Trebling had remarked, “I’ll bet those pillars are pretty old.”

Holton agreed, “Maybe a thousand years old.”

Together they had looked at the three columns of the ruined temple.

Trebling asked, “Do you think you would’ve ever gotten here except in the army?”

“No. I don’t guess so.”

“I probably wouldn’t have either.”

“It’s sort of interesting.”

And Trebling had said, “I like the traveling part of all this.”

Robert Holton agreed to this and then they began to complain about other things.

* * * * *

Trebling sat back in his chair and looked around the office. He didn’t like offices and he didn’t like this one at all. The clear constant light standardized the people in the room.

“How do you like it here?” he asked.

Holton shrugged. “O.K., I suppose. It’s something to do.”

“You think you’ll stay in this sort of work?”

“Probably, I don’t know yet.”

“I had thought you might go into this new thing with me.

“Well....”

Neither spoke for a moment.

Finally Trebling asked, “Can I smoke in here?”

“I’m sorry, Jim, but....”

“Sure, I know: rules.”

“I’m sorry. These people are awful stiff about a lot of things.”

Jim Trebling wished again that he hadn’t come. He had an impulse to run away. “What’re you doing tonight?” he asked finally.

“I’m going to a big cocktail party.”

“Being social, eh?”

“Well, you know you have to make contacts ...” he continued, explaining himself carefully.

Then Holton asked Jim about himself, and he listened as Jim talked. The cataloguing of army camps, the different duties in each, the girl he had decided to marry and then didn’t, his current leave of absence, the trip across the country, the pleasure of seeing Robert Holton again.

Trebling told this story automatically, as one always tells a much-told personal story and as he told this he wondered what had happened to Holton.

In the war he had been considered wild. He had spent most of the time laughing at things. He had been easily bored and now he was changed.

“It must be nice to be out,” Trebling repeated, not knowing what else to say.

And Robert Holton explained to him in detail why it was so nice to be free.

* * * * *

Paris had been the most interesting place of all. They had spent two days there. Trebling had been very conscientious and had insisted that they see palaces and landmarks and they had actually tried to see a few but then Holton decided that there was not enough time for that. They met two girls. Trebling could not remember their names; he could remember nothing about them except that they were rather pretty and claimed to be sisters.

The girls had suggested they go on a picnic. Holton had liked this idea and he managed to get some food from the mess officer of a near-by company. They took bicycles and drove out of Paris. They rode through Sèvres and some small towns on the outskirts. They approached Versailles but the girls didn’t care to go into the town and so they turned left from the main road. At a small town called Jouy-en-Josas they stopped, and on the dark green lawn of a bombed-out château they had their picnic.

The sky was overcast that day. And the woods that surrounded the château were blue and smoky and looked mysterious, like the pictures of enchanted forests in children’s books.

When they had finished lunch Holton wanted to go walk in the woods. Only one of the girls spoke English.

“Let’s take a walk in the woods,” Holton suggested.

The two girls giggled and talked together very quickly in French. The one who spoke English finally said, “Sure, we go walk in the woods with you.” They walked in the woods.

Hand in hand the two couples walked between the misty trees. There was no underbrush here and the trees came up out of the stony, grass-covered ground, free and straight.

The two girls understood what was expected of them. His most vivid memory was not of the one he had but of Holton’s: a stocky, pink-faced girl. He remembered clearly the way her head lolled against the tree, her eyes closed and her thick lips slightly ajar. He remembered that her hair was almost the same color as the bark of the tree.

“Say, Bob, do you remember those two girls from Paris?”

“When was that?”

“You know, the time we went on the picnic.”

“I’m afraid I’ve forgotten.” That was that.

A large important-looking man came into the office. When he saw Trebling with Holton he stopped in the middle of the room, changed his course with the unself-conscious dignity of a schooner under full sail, and walked straight over to them.

Holton got to his feet quickly and Trebling did the same, sensing that this was a person of importance.

“Jim Trebling, this is Mr Murphy, the Chief of our section.”

“Glad to meet you, Lieutenant.” They shook hands vigorously, Mr Murphy smiling with goodwill.

“Well, Lieutenant, I suppose you’ll be getting out soon?”

Mechanically Trebling explained what he was planning to do.

“Think you’ll go into Business?” asked Mr Murphy.

“Maybe, I don’t know.”

“Lot of openings now for a young man who wants to get ahead.”

“There probably are.”

They talked for a while of Business as though it were a state of being.

Trebling looked at Holton as Mr Murphy talked, looked at him, trying to find something familiar in his face. For a moment as he looked he thought he could see a tightness about the mouth, an effort at control but Jim Trebling could not tell what Holton was controlling and the mouth soon relaxed and he could tell nothing then.

Coming back on the boat together they had talked of what they were going to do when they got out.

“I think I’d like to make money,” said Holton, looking at the white wake of the ship.

“That’s not a bad idea. How?”

“Damned if I know.”

“We could always start that pottery business I was telling you about, back in California.”

“That’s a thought.”

“Of course there’re a lot of other things we could do.”

“I suppose it’s all a matter of picking the right one.”

They looked at the gray water and thought of new things, of works not yet begun. Pensively Holton leaned out over the railing and spat. Trebling, interested, did the same. For several moments they were in serious contest to determine who could spit the farthest. Holton won, although Trebling claimed he had been helped by a gust of wind.

Then they walked about the decks of the transport. Soldiers were everywhere. They sat in groups on the covered hatches, they leaned over the railing to look at the sea and, also, to be sick.

“I guess all these people are going to be trying the same thing,” said Holton suddenly.

“Try what? Starting a business?”

Sure.

“I don’t think so.”

“A lot of them will.”

“So what?”

“I guess it could work.” They stopped amidships and looked out to sea again. “I’d certainly like to have a lot of money,” said Holton sincerely.

“So would I,” said Trebling with casual sincerity.

They had decided then to start in together when they got out of the army. Holton had been discharged first, however, and he had immediately joined Heywood and Golden. In his occasional letters Holton never mentioned the business again. Trebling remembered that now and was sorry so much had changed.

* * * * *

Mr Murphy was talking about Business.

Holton was listening to him with what appeared to be interest. Trebling shook himself and tried to act as if he had been following the lesson Mr Murphy had been giving him.

“Very nice to have met you, Lieutenant,” said Mr Murphy at last.

“Nice to meet you.” They shook hands. Mr Murphy turned to Holton. “I’d like to see you for a moment if your friend doesn’t mind.”

“Certainly.” Holton gestured to Trebling to stay where he was. Then Mr Murphy and Holton went over to the other end of the office where the windows were.

Jim Trebling sat in his uncomfortable chair beneath the fluorescent lights. He wanted to leave this office, leave it now and not come back. He couldn’t understand Holton any longer. He no longer knew him.

Trebling was aware of someone standing beside him. He looked up: it was the blue-eyed girl. He started to get to his feet.

“Don’t move,” she said. “I’m just passing by. Mr Murphy and Bob seem to be having some sort of conference. I thought I’d wait outside the gate till they were through.”

“Sit down,” said Trebling.

“Thank you.” She sat down in the chair beside him. He wondered what to say to her, what to talk about.

“Have you been here long?” he asked.

She told him that she had been there for several years.

“It must be interesting working in a place like this.”

She laughed. “It’s pretty awful, I think. As jobs go, of course, it’s not bad.”

“But you’d rather not work at all.”

“That’s right.”

“Well, you’ll probably be married soon.” This was a leading question. There was a simple ritual to conversation with pretty girls who might be had.

She recognized this and answered according to the ritual, “Oh, maybe someday, when I meet the right person.”

This could mean a lot. He was interested now. “That’s important, meeting the right person.”

They were both silent, thinking how important it was to meet the right person.

Trebling began to think of this girl (was her name Caroline?) quite seriously. It was such an important thing to discover: if she could be had or not. For one night she might be very pleasant. He liked the way she looked. But then he thought of certain other one-night stands and of the phone calls and letters and emotion that often came of them. He would be very careful about this. He resumed.

“I suppose you can have a pretty good time in New York if you know the right places to go.”

“Yes, there are some nice places. You have to be very careful, though.”

“A lot of them are clip joints, I guess.”

She laughed. “I’ll say they are.”

“Depends, I guess, on who you go out with.”

“Well, you should know your way around.”

They were drawing nearer and nearer to the act. Everything was going well. She was returning all his signals. He began to breathe a little hard as they approached the gateway.

“I know so few people in New York,” he said. “Bob’s really the only person I know well. I don’t know any girls.”

“Well, there’re a lot of them around.”

“I know.” He paused and then he began to speak carefully but casually. “I was going out tonight but I don’t think I will now.”

“Why?”

“It’s not much fun alone.” This was said almost pathetically.

“What about Bob?”

“He’s going to that cocktail party.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot.” A pause now, a silence with great meaning in it.

“Maybe,” and he was saying it at last, “maybe _you_ might go out with me tonight.”

“Me!” Surprise, pleasure, a certain asperity, all these emotions splendidly portrayed in that one word. “Well....”

“Of course if you’re busy....”

“Oh, no....” She spoke almost too quickly. “I’m not really certain,” she added, regaining her dignity. “Perhaps you might call me back around five. I’ll know then.” At that moment both of them knew.

“That would be fine. I hope you don’t think it’s ...”

“Certainly not.” Then she said that any friend of Bob’s was a friend of hers.

Trebling felt pleased with himself for having managed so well. It might take a week but it would still be pleasant. He looked forward to the final moment of yielding. He sighed and started to think of other things.

Caroline, seeing that Holton was on his way back, got up from her chair. “Nice to have seen you, Lieutenant. I’ll be looking forward to your call.”

He also stood up. “I hope you can make it.” She said that she did, too, and they both knew what was going to happen. Robert Holton came back and Caroline left.

“That’s a pretty girl,” said Trebling.

“Caroline? Yes, she’s pretty nice.”

They stood looking at each other awkwardly. “Shall we get together tomorrow evening?” suggested Holton.

“Sure, that’d be fine.”

“Well, listen, Jim, it’s been wonderful seeing you....”

“And I’ve enjoyed it....” Their voices intermingled into a single sound. Neither of them listened to the words of the other.

“See you tomorrow then, Bob?”

“See you then.” They said good-bye and Jim Trebling left the office. As he stood in the reception room waiting for the elevator he felt sad at the way Holton had changed. It was such a shame because they had once been very close. Then Jim Trebling thought of Caroline and he felt happier. The Carolines were the important things.

The elevator door opened and he stepped inside.

_Chapter Eight_

At five-thirty the world ceased to be official and became private.

Happily Robert Holton put away his books and figures and prepared to leave. Monday was over and he wouldn’t let himself think of the other days of his week.

Caroline was putting on her hat and Mr Murphy sat at his desk behind her, dreaming, his eyes fixed shrewdly upon nothing.

Robert Holton walked over to Caroline.

“Ready to go?”

She nodded. “All ready.” Together they walked through the emptying offices, rode down the crowded elevator, and stepped out into the more crowded street.

The sky was gray now and the sun had vanished behind buildings. The air was cool and the smell of exhaust was strong as cars moved slowly in the streets, trying to escape to less crowded places. They walked with the stream of people toward the subway opening. They talked.

“Guess what?” said Caroline.

“What?”

“I’m going out tonight.”

“Well?”

“I’m going out with Lieutenant Trebling.”

He was surprised. “That was fast work. Did he do that while he was in the office?”

“We talked about it. He called me back later and I told him I’d go out with him.”

“Well, well.” Holton was admiring but Caroline was not sure whether he was admiring her or Trebling.

“I think he’s nice,” she said, not committing herself.

“Yes, he’s a good guy.”

They crossed a street nervously and in silence. On the other side they went on talking.

“Tell me something about him?” she asked.

“There’s not much to tell. He’s from the West Coast. He went to UCLA, I think, and his old man’s in the insurance business. He went into the army about the same time I did and he’s still in.”

“That’s not what I want to know.”

“Well, what do you want to know?”

She had trouble saying this. “Oh, you know ... the sort of person he is. All that sort of thing.”

Robert Holton, who hadn’t thought much about it, had a hard time answering. “I guess he’s what you’d call a dreamer. He’s not very practical. He always wants to start things ... businesses, you know. In the war he was pretty good and other people liked him. He wasn’t very wild then.”

“Is he now?”

“Just his ideas. In those days I used to be the wild one.”

She laughed and thought he was joking with her and this made him angry and sad but there was nothing he could do about it because he had assumed a certain identity with her and it had to be maintained.

“I’ll bet you were wild!”

“We all change,” he said.

She wasn’t interested in how he’d changed, though: she was interested in Jim Trebling. “I don’t suppose he’s engaged or anything like that?” She was casual.

Holton laughed. “No, you can get him if you want to.”

“I didn’t mean that at all. What do you mean by saying that?”

“Not a thing.”

She went on talking for several moments, trying to be indignant. Then they crossed another street and she stopped talking.

They walked with the current of people, walked uncomfortably but deliberately over the sidewalk ventilators of the subway beneath. As they walked they could feel the thunder of a subway train under their feet, vibrating upward, like a great emotion, into their stomachs.

Then they came to the opening of the subway. With a deep breath they descended into the pit. Like lemmings dashing seaward the people pushed down the steps and into already crowded trains.

Caroline and Holton were separated. A sudden push of the crowd threw her into the train just before the door closed. He caught a last glimpse of her serene beauty being crushed between a large Negress and a tall white man. The train gave a rumble and pulled away.

Holton stood on the concrete platform with a hundred others who had missed this train and were waiting for the next.

He walked up and down between the concrete pillars, looking at the broken machines which were supposed to sell gum and peanuts and, from habit, he put his finger into one of the slots to see if anything was there: nothing was there however.

He admired the advertisements. His favorite one, the girl advertising beer, was not in this station but there were others. Two very excellent ones of movie actresses, young women hauntingly attractive with red lips. He admired these even though the most beautiful actress of all had had her front teeth blacked out and a crude phallic image drawn over her passionate face. There were people in the world who would do those things, of course, and he was not annoyed.

The other advertisements were less interesting and he didn’t look at them very long.

Another train roared through the tunnel, stopping with great noise; the doors opened and people flowed out; then another rush to get on the train. Robert Holton allowed himself to be carried into the hot stale car.

* * * * *

He liked to walk in the Park. In the evenings the Park was the most peaceful place in the city. A few people would be sitting on the benches and a few couples would be walking between trees but there were never many people here in the early evening and the ones that were there were always quiet.

As Robert Holton walked the miracle of the street lamps took place, white light filling the bulbs and changing the early evening, the twilight period, to a premature night.

He walked quickly now because it was almost six o’clock. Mrs Raymond Stevanson’s cocktail parties often went on until nine or ten o’clock and occasionally they lasted all night but he couldn’t know this for certain and he didn’t want to be late.

Robert Holton thought sadly about Jim Trebling as he walked, breathing the cool air. A short time had made a lot of difference and he was aware of this difference.

Trebling was apt to be impractical. It was a likeable quality in the army; he himself hadn’t made much sense in those days, but things had changed now. This was the time to be practical and Jim Trebling was not.

A couple were embracing beside a large rock. He watched them with interest as he went by.

He had tried to pretend to be the same but the effort, or the change, had been too great. It made him unhappy to think that he and Trebling had really been so different, had always been so different, even in those days. He was shocked to think that Trebling remembered the army as a pleasant period of his life. There had been times, of course....

Another couple came out of the woods, walked to the pathway and looked uncertainly about them, as though unsure of themselves. When he glanced at them they looked at him angrily, as if he had been spying. He walked away.

Robert Holton was not sure why he had changed toward Trebling. He wanted to be the same. He wanted to take up the friendship where it had been broken but he could not. He was not going to change again.

A nurse with a baby carriage was hurrying streetward. It was late, probably much too late for her to be out with the baby. As she passed him he caught a glimpse of the child and saw that it was staring vacantly ahead, concentrating upon growth.

He followed the nurse and the carriage toward the street. Robert Holton smiled to himself when he thought of Caroline and Jim Trebling going out together. It was always interesting when people out of different periods of his life came to know each other. He had never associated Trebling with Caroline before.

He took a last deep breath of air before he left the Park. He wished vaguely that he might have more time to walk in the Park and straighten out certain things.

The uptown streets were not crowded. A few people were coming home from work; most of the people were already home by now. Children played together in the streets, shouting at one another in sharp hoarse voices. A smell of cooking was in the streets.

* * * * *

There was no mail for him.

This was not a good day. On the good days there was mail; days could be bad when there wasn’t any. Not that there was anyone Robert Holton wanted to hear from in particular but he was less alone when he had letters to read.

“Been a nice day,” said the person behind the desk.

“It certainly has,” said Robert Holton.

“Won’t be long until it’s winter,” said the person behind the desk.

“It won’t be long,” said Holton. He turned then and walked through the dingy lobby to the elevator.

He and the elevator boy discussed the kind of day it had been. They also decided that it would be winter soon.

His room looked no more cheerful than usual. Robert Holton sat down on the bed, leaving the room dark. It gave him a feeling of power to think that, when he chose, he could turn on a light and dispel the darkness.

He started to think of Trebling but stopped himself. There was nothing to be done now. The old friendship was gone.

Trebling had mentioned a girl named Carla. He remembered her well. She had been pretty and intense and wealthy. He had not thought about her for a long time. She had been a strange girl, gentle and understanding. He had been greatly attracted to her and she to him.

They had walked around Florence and Fiesole. She had taken him to old palaces and churches although he hadn’t wanted to go. When he had objected she told him that she was trying to show him something. He never knew what it was she wanted to show him. When he left Florence he told her that he would write: he didn’t, though, and he had not thought of her again until today.

The thing he had liked most about Carla, the thing he could remember now, was her way of understanding him. She once told him that it wasn’t necessary to finish sentences when they talked; that she knew what he would say and that he should know what she would say.

Sitting in the dark of his hotel room, Robert Holton thought of all the women he had known and liked; some he had slept with and some he hadn’t. Most of them he had forgotten. Now he only thought of them when someone else recalled them to him.

And he did remember about Paris. He remembered the picnic outside Versailles, although he could not remember the faces of the two girls.

In Europe there had been so many women. He often was surprised now when he thought of how many he had known. There were periods when he had been never satisfied. Both Trebling and he had gone about it like hunters. Trebling was probably still hunting, thought Holton suddenly, and he wondered if he was, too. No, that was behind him. He had to live and act in a different way now. He had to be a different person.

Robert Holton turned on the light beside his bed. He blinked in the yellow light and suddenly he was dissatisfied with the room. He wished for the first time that he were somewhere else; it didn’t matter where, just somewhere else. He was a person of great logic, though, and he asked himself what he would rather be doing and he couldn’t think of anything else to do. He didn’t want to travel. He had no desire to escape. There was no place to escape to anyway and Robert Holton who had a kind of wisdom knew that.

Then he took his clothes off and got under the shower. This was usually the happiest part of his day. The warm water gave him a feeling of security, relaxing him; the world fell into a genial perspective. He finished bathing reluctantly and dressed quickly.

Finally he stood in front of the mirror again and combed his hair. He was glad to see that he wasn’t losing his hair. Sometimes he thought he was; at other times he knew he wasn’t.

He wasn’t displeased with himself. He wasn’t pleased either but he knew that he was acceptable. There was no use in worrying, anyway. He wished sometimes that his nose could have been more aquiline. He would like to look more impressive. Perhaps his face would get that way as he grew older. He turned away from the mirror.

He looked at the picture on the wall and wondered for the hundredth time why the painter had made everything look so blue. The painter had made one of the apples almost sky-blue and Robert Holton had never seen an apple that color before and he found it hard to believe that there was much advantage in so misrepresenting things. Perhaps in certain parts of France the apples were blue.

He was dressed and ready now. He looked at his watch and saw that it was a quarter to seven: he would have to hurry. Robert Holton looked around the room to see if there was anything he wanted to take with him. There wasn’t. He put on his trench coat, turned out the light, and left the room.

The elevator boy wanted to know if he was going to a party.

“Sure, I’m going to a big party.”

“Lots of girls, I bet.” The pale thin elevator boy was interested.

“A whole lot of them.”