The End of a Primitive Read Online Free Page B

here it was so rich and luxurious with a quiet, expensive exclusiveness. Rich in tradition, also. She loved it here. She loved New York. But she loved it here far more than any other place she had ever lived in New York. It made her feel confident and exclusive. Her telephone exchange was Gramercy —“Right up the street, a few doors from Gramercy Park,” she always said when directing friends to her address; never, “Right down the street a few doors from Third Avenue.” But she liked that part of Third Avenue, too; there were wonderful stores in that section.
    The street had emptied since the eight-thirty rush; only the service people and executives hailing taxis from the stand facing Lexington were about at this late hour. A few nurses already had their charges in the park. “I must remember to get a key,” she reminded herself. It was a private park enclosed by a high, iron fence, and the gates were kept locked. But the neighbourhood residents could rent a key for twelve dollars annually—or was it twenty?—by applying to the Gramercy Park Association. The trees were already beginning to green, and red and yellow tulips were blooming in the well-tended plots. Although what she’d do with a key, frankly she didn’t know. No one she knew would be found dead spooning on a hard bench in a dark chilly park when there was her beautifully furnished apartment so near, equipped with television and bed. After a moment she thought, “ Spooning? What an ancient word for it!”
    She walked erectly, with long quick steps, but it was a feminine walk and very attractive. Most of the service people along the way knew her by sight. She always looked at them directly. “You’re late again. Miss,” a taxi driver said. She grinned. Another said, “Maybe she knows the boss.” The first one Replied, “Maybe she is the boss.” She passed on without commenting. “Probably means I sleep with the boss,” she thought; then, smiling sensually, “Wouldn’t mind if I did.” Across the street the doorman of the Gramercy Park Hotel saluted briskly. She gave him a smile. Dave had taken her there to dinner several times, and at other times she had dropped in the bar alone. It was a pleasant bar, dark and intimate, but with that complete safety of high-class American bars. A woman was as safe there as at home in bed—safer, really. New York being what it is.
    She continued down 21st Street to Fourth Avenue, turned north to the subway entrance at 22nd Street. There was a smile on her lips. She felt very happy. Passers-by, even the surly printers and warehousemen of the neighbourhood, noticed her happiness and smiled at her. She smiled in return, suddenly recalling the Harlem saying she’d often heard at Maud’s:

    I’d rather be a doggy lamp post in New York City
    Than Governor General of the state of Mississippi .

Chapter 2
    H e had dreamed fitfully.
    At first he had dreamed he was skating somewhere in a crowd and had broken through the ice. “Help! Help!” he had called as the icy current tugged at him. He had a thin grip on the broken edge of ice but he couldn’t swim and the cold water tore at him, trying to pull him under. “Help! Help!” he had called again, desperately, as he felt his grip loosen. But none of the other skaters, all of whom were couples, boys and girls, men and women, looked in his direction or gave any indication that they had heard his cries. They skated about the hole, smiling and chatting, engrossed in each other. “Jesus Christ! They don’t even see me!” he thought as his grip broke and he went down beneath the icy water, clutched in an ice cold fear.
    He awakened and went to the dresser and poured a water glass full of gin. The faint glow of the city night came through the two side windows, silhouetting his nude body in the dim mirror. His hand trembled and his teeth chattered against the glass as he forced the gin down his throat. He held his mouth open, gasping until he got his breath, then