BUtterfield 8 Read Online Free Page A

got to stop saying things like that to me. I’m not your mistress, and I’m not a girl off the streets, and I’m not accustomed to being talked to that way. It isn’t funny, and no one else talks that way to me. Do you talk that way to the women on newspapers? Even if you do I’m sure they don’t really like it all the time. You can’t admire my dress without going into details about my figure, and—”
    “Why in the name of Christ should I? Isn’t the whole idea of the dress to show off your figure? Why does it look well on you? Because you have nice breasts and everything else. Now God damn it, why shouldn’t I say so?”
    “I think you’d better go.” She took off her hat and sat down.
    “All right, I’ll go.” He picked up his hat and walked heavily down the short hall to the door of the apartment. But he did not open the door. He put his hand on the knob, and then turned around and came back.
    “I didn’t say anything,” she said.
    “I know. And you didn’t move. I know. You know I could no more walk out that door than I could walk out those windows. Will you please forgive me?”
    “It will happen all over again, the same thing, the same way, same reason. And then you’ll come back and ask me to forgive you, and I will. And every time I do, Jimmy, I hate myself. Not because I forgive you, but because I hate those words, I hate to be talked to that way, and I know, I
know
the only reason you do talk to me like that is because I
am
the kind of girl you talk to that way, and that’s what I hate. Knowing that.”
    “Darling, that’s not true. You’re not any kind of girl. You’re you, Isabel. And won’t you ever believe me when I tell you what I’ve told you so often? That no matter what we do, whenever I see you like this, in the morning, in the daytime, when there are other people—I can’t believe that you’re my girl. Or that you ever were. And you’re so lovely in that dress, and hat. I’m sorry I’m the way I am.”
    “You wouldn’t talk to Lib that way. Or Caroline.”
    “I wouldn’t talk to them
any
way. I couldn’t be annoyed. Let’s go before I say something else wrong.”
    “All right. Kiss me. Not hard.” She put out her hand and he pulled her out of the chair until she stood close to him.
    “I
have
to kiss you hard. Me not kiss you hard? Impossible.” He laughed.
    “Not quite impossible,” she said. “There are times.” She laughed.
    “Now I don’t want to go,” he said.
    “We’re going. See if I have my key.” She rummaged in her bag. “Yep. Lipstick, Jimmy. Here, I’ll do it. Me your handkerchief. There.”
    He held the door open for her and with his free hand he made as if to take a whack at her behind, but he did not touch her. She rang for the elevator and after it groaned and whirred a while the door opened.
    “Good morning, Miss Stannard,” said the elevator man.
    “Good morning,” she said. They got in and the car began its descent, but stopped one floor below, and a man and woman got in. The man was precisely the same height as the woman, which made him seem smaller.
    “Good morning, Mr. Farley, Mrs. Farley,” said the elevator man.
    “Good morning,” said the Farleys.
    None of the passengers looked at one another. They looked at the elevator man’s shoulders. No one spoke until the ground floor was reached, then Isabel smiled and allowed Mrs. Farley to leave the car first, then she followed, then Farley nodded to the open door and indicated with his eyes that Jimmy should go first—and was obviously surprised when Jimmy did go first. But the Farleys beat them to the door and the doorman was standing there with the large door of their car open for them. The car, a Packard four-passenger convertible, sounded like some kind of challenge of power, and not unlike the exhaust of a speedboat gurgling into the water.
    “And to think we walk while punks like those people ride in a wagon like that. Never mind, all that will be changed, all