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before giving out than any other girL
The heavy rain had left the sky a pale； quiet blue。 Dark was
coming。 Already the lights were turned on。 Automobile horns
honked in the street and the newsboys hollered out the
headlines in the papers。 She didn't want to go home。 If she
went home now she would lie down on the bed and bawl。 That
was how tired she was。 But if she went into the New York
Caf6 and ate some ice cream she might feel O。K。 And smoke
and be by herself a little while。
The front part of the caf6 was crowded； so she went to the
very last booth。 It was the small of her back and her face that
got so tired。 Their motto was supposed to be 'Keep on your
toes and smile。' Once she was out of the store she had to frown
a long time to get her face natural again。 Even her ears were
tired。 She took off the dangling green earrings and pinched the
lobes of her ears。 She had bought the earrings the week before
—and also a silver bangle bracelet。 At first she had worked in
Pots and Pans； but now they had changed her to Costume
Jewelry。
'Good evening； Mick；' Mister Brannon said。 He wiped300
the bottom of a glass of water with a napkin and set it on
the table。
'I want me a chocolate sundae and a nickel glass of draw
beer。'
'Together？' He put down a menu and pointed with Ms
little finger that wore a lady's gold ring。 'See—here's some
nice roast chicken or some veal stew。 Why don't you have
a little supper with me？'
'No； thanks。 All I want is the sundae and the beer。 Both
plenty cold。'
Mick raked her hair from her forehead。 Her mouth was
open so that her cheeks seemed hollow。 There were these
two things she could never believe。 That Mister Singer had
killed himself and was dead。 And that she was grown and
had to work at Woolworth's。
She was the one who found him。 They had thought the noise
was a backfire from a car； and it was not until the next day
that they knew。 She went in to play the radio。 The blood was
all over his neck and when her Dad came he pushed her out
of the room。 She had run into the dark and hit herself with her
fists。 And then the next night he was in a coffin in the living…
room。 The undertaker had put rouge and lipstick on his face
to make him look natural。 But he didn't look natural。 He was
very dead。 And mixed with the smell of flowers there was this
other smell so that she couldn't stay in the room。 But
through ail those days she held down the job。 She wrapped
packages and handed them across the counter and rung the
money in the till。 She walked when she was supposed to walk
and ate when she sat down to the table。 Only at first when she
went to bed at night she couldn't sleep。 But now she slept like
she was supposed to； also。
Mick turned sideways in the seat so that she could cross
her legs。 There was a run in her stocking。 It had started
while she was walking to work and she had spit on it Then
later the run had gone farther and she had stuck a little
piece of chewing…gum on the end。 But even that didn't
help。 Now she would have to go home and sew。 It was hard
to know what she could do about stockings。 She wore them
out so fast Unless she was the kind of common girl that
would wear cotton stockings。
301
She oughtn't to have come in here。 The bottoms of her shoes
were clean worn out。 She ought to have saved the twenty cents
toward a new half…sole。 Because if she kept on standing on a
shoe with a hole in it what would happen？ A blister would
come on her foot。 And she would have to pick it with a burnt
needle。 She would have to stay home from work and be fired。
And then what would happen？
'Here you are；' said Mister Brannon。 'But I never heard of such
a combination before。'
He put the sundae and the beer on the table。 She pretended to
clean her fingernails because if she noticd him he would start
talking。 He didn't have this grudge against her any more； so he
must have forgotten about the pack of gum。 Now he always
wanted to talk to her。 But she wanted to be quiet and by
herself。 The sundae was O。K。； covered all over with chocolate
and nuts and cherries。 And the beer was relaxing。 The beer
had a nice bitter taste after the ice cream and it made her
drunk。 Next to music beer was best。
But now no music was in her mind。 That was a funny thing。 It
was like she was shut out from the inside room。 Sometimes a
quick little tune would come and go—but she never went into
the inside room with music like she used to do。 It was like she
was too tense。 Or maybe because it was like the store took all
her energy and time。 Wool…worth's wasn't the same as school。
When she used to come home from school she felt good and
was ready to start working on the music。 But now she was
always tired。 At home she just ate supper and slept and then
ate breakfast and went off to the store again。 A song she had
started in her private notebook two months before was still not
finished。 And she wanted to stay in the inside room but she
didn't know how。 It was like the inside room was locked
somewhere away from her。 A very hard thing to understand。
Mick pushed her broken front tooth with her thumb。 But she
did have Mister Singer's radio。 All the installments hadn't been
paid and she took on the responsibility。 It was good to have
something that had belonged to him。 And maybe one of these
days she might be able to set aside a little for a second…hand
piano。 Say two bucks a week。 And she wouldn't let anybody
touch this private piano but her —only she might teach
George little pieces。 She would302
keep it in the back room and play on it every night。 And all
day Sunday。 But then suppose some week she couldn't make a
payment。 So then would they come to take it away like the
little red bicycle？ And suppose like she wouldn't let them。
Suppose she hid the piano under the house。 Or else she would
meet them at the front door。 And fight。 She would knock
down both the two men so they would have shiners and broke
noses and would be passed out on the hall floor。
Mick frowned and rubbed her fist hard across her forehead。
That was the way things were。 It was like she was mad all the
time。 Not how a kid gets mad quick so that soon it is all over
—but in another way。 Only there was nothing to be mad at。
Unless the store。 But the store hadn't asked her to take the job。
So there was nothing to be mad at。 It was like she was
cheated。 Only nobody had cheated her。 So there was nobody
to take it out on。 However； just the same she had that feeling。
Cheated。
But maybe it would be true about the piano and turn out O。K。
Maybe she would get a chance soon。 Else what the hell good
had it all been—the way she felt about music and the plans
she had made in the inside room？ It had to be some good if
anything made sense。 And it was too and it was too and it was
too and it was too。 It was some good。
All right！
O。K！
Some good。
Night
/LL was serene。 As Biff dried his face and hands a breeze
tinkled the glass pendants of the little Japanese pagoda on the
table。 He had just awakened from a nap and had smoked his