Gay Place (47 page)

The white people were very gay, full of loud and nervous laughter, but the Negroes stood quietly in the middle of the group, not at all sure of the situation.

“Hassah!” Kermit said. “We uz integrated! Ass raht!”

He saw Neil and Elsie as they passed and yelled after them. “Hey Neil. Hey you Good Doctor. Come back, gate. Meet my friends …”

Neil turned and waved and hurried on with the girl at his side. Inside the car, he fumbled in his pockets, frantic at the thought that he might have misplaced the keys. Then he found them and got the motor started, although he did not set the machine into motion immediately. Elsie had moved next to him and reached up to touch his face. Before he had half turned in the seat her lips were moving along the edge of his collar and then they kissed. She was directly against him and he had begun to wonder if they would ever succeed in getting to the bookshop when the sound of voices came to them from across the lawn. He peered out the car window and could see that Andrea and her friends had, indeed, finally arrived. They moved into the house, a great shout of approval greeting them. Almost immediately, the phonograph music rose in volume and the scene through the windows of the house was very like the one that had registered in his mind earlier that evening when he had come across the lawn and paused at the front steps. He put the car in gear and headed down the street with the girl next to him.

S
TANLEY CAME AWAKE GRADUALLY
. He lay on his back in what he felt might be a spreadeagle position, although it could have been closer to the attitude of crucifixion. It occurred to him suddenly that it was Easter Sunday — about 3
A.M.
on Easter Sunday but Easter all the same. The air was very bad in the small bedroom, and he got himself on one elbow, leaned over and raised a window. He inhaled deeply for about a minute.

Then he lay back on the bed. The party was still going on around him — that would be a small triumph — but Jay was nowhere to be seen. He remembered finding Jay asleep on one of the twin beds, and, failing to rouse him, lying down to rest for just a few minutes himself. He lay on the bed now, uncertain about his own capabilities. He did not think he would be able to stand on his feet for just a while yet. For no apparent reason he remembered the opening lines of a novel he had glanced at in a cut-rate bookstore in 1947. It had something to do with a rather fast young woman coming awake and feeling as if somebody’s band of soldiers had marched through her mouth during the night, relieved themselves, and marched right out again. He decided that was precisely the feeling inside his own mouth.

“You better, Stanley?”

“Umnpf.”

“Well I’m sorry to hear that.”

It was one of the hosts. He grinned at Stanley; he had managed to get a very satisfactory buzz on while avoiding the pitfalls that had victimized all others around him. He was awfully damned proud of himself, Stanley decided.

“Where’d Jay go?” He had succeeded in shaping this question in his head and speaking it aloud, but it had been an awful effort.

“Jay’s gone … Wandered out of here about a half hour ago. But don’t let that give you any ideas. You’ve got to hang on, wait for a second wind. We’ve got a whole new group of people coming in.”

“Ouuumn.”

The interloper turned and went back into the main part of the house. Stanley could hear him repeating his statement, loudly and clearly, in the other rooms. Within minutes, others had begun to repeat it and soon it had evolved into a catchphrase of spiritual uplift for late hangers-on. He raised himself halfway and sat on the edge of the bed. Someone showed a face through the door for just a moment and said: “Hey, don’t leave yet. Nobody leaves. There’s a whole new group of people coming in.”

“Yeah, yeah …” Stanley said.

He stood for a moment and then walked very carefully into the bathroom where he drew the lavatory full of water and washed his face. Then he dried himself and proceeded toward the main section of the house.

The crowd had thinned out some, but there were still twenty to thirty people composing the party, laughing, talking, standing and half lying down in states ranging from ebullience to despair. He looked from room to room for Jay and Stanley and the girl. He saw Andrea and her friends, dancing in the room with the phonograph. The Negroes stood along the wall, watching, and Kermit sat nearby, engaging someone in an impassioned and obviously one-sided conversation. He walked into the kitchen and washed out a glass, filling it with ice and water.

“Howze Washington?”

“Fine. Very pretty this time of year.”

He had never seen the person in his life; he was certain of it. The young man had sidled up next to him and begun picking up whiskey bottles scattered along the drainboard, holding them to the light, and setting them down again. “Dead soldiers,” he said, smiling, pleased with so apt an observation.

“Yes,” Stanley said. “Lots and lots.” They had surely never met before. The fellow was a perfect stranger.

“Goddammit. The Scotch is gone.”

“There’s bourbon,” Stanley said. “I see a bottle there.” He pointed to where it was, still in its pasteboard carton. “And there’s gin in the refrigerator.”

“It’ll get cloudy,” the young man said.

“Perhaps they keep it cold for martinis. It’s probably part of their own stock.”

“Whattaya mean?”

“This other here is — was — the lobby’s.”

“Who’s the Lobbys?

“What?”

“Who are they? The Lobbys.”

“I don’t know,” Stanley said. He was suddenly very bored with this young man. He stood there drinking his water, hoping the visitor would get himself some whiskey as quickly as possible and leave the kitchen.

Another young man appeared.

“Any Scotch?”

“No,” the first one said. “There’s bourbon here, and some gin in the refrigerator —”

“Getting cloudy,” Stanley put in.

“And this other here was the Lobbys’. All of it.”

“I know,” the second one said. “But you shouldn’t talk about it.”

“Who are they? Why shouldn’t you talk about it?”

“What?”

Oh Jesus, Stanley thought. He turned to leave, but the first young man caught his arm. “Stanley — do you know Jake?”

“I know Stanley. I’ve heard a lot about him,” the fellow named Jake said.

Stanley searched his mind for something other to say than that he hoped it was all good. He thought of nothing, but only stood there with his glass of water, smiling at Jake and Mr. X.

“Is your boss here tonight?” Jake said.

“He was,” Stanley said. “He seems to have given it up and gone home.” He wondered about Neil and Elsie in a casual way — about whether he had taken her straight home, for example. He thought of calling at Elsie’s but then he knew he might wake her, and that would not be good at all. A foreign girl might not understand or be in any mood to indulge even the best intentioned drunk, and he wanted very much to get started right with Elsie. He had a picture of Neil and Elsie looking in on him and finding him resting comfortably in the bed. They would not have wanted to disturb him. Neil had simply driven her home.

“He must be a great guy,” Jake said.

“He
is,
he
is,
” said the Unknown. He turned to Stanley. “I envy you. I envy the
hell
out of you.”

“Why?”

“Working for Neil. He’s a great guy, great guy, just a prince of a guy …” The appearance of Andrea in the kitchen temporarily ended that train of thought for the young man. He stood with his mouth open, staring at her. “Jesus,” he said under his breath.

“Hello, Stanley. Have you seen Neil?”

“He was here earlier.”

“I know.”

“I took a nap and when I woke up he was gone.”

“When was that?”

“I’m not sure. Around two.”

“He must have gone home to bed.”

“He must have …”

Mr. X turned his back on Andrea and made as if he were mixing a new drink. He looked at Stanley and mumbled something inaudible. Then he hissed through his teeth: “Who-is-she?
Who’s she
?” Stanley ignored him.

“Have you met Jake? Jake, do you know Stanley?” Andrea said. Jake and Stanley said they did, indeed, know each other. The other stood off and watched the three of them.

Andrea said: “Was he all right?”

“Who?”

“Neil. He was awfully tired when I saw him earlier.”

“He was drunk,” Stanley said, smiling. “He was awfully drunk when I saw him earlier.”

“Well I suppose —”

Kermit appeared in the kitchen with two Negro girls, one on each arm. They were both a little terrified, and Kermit made an extra-serious effort to introduce them in a civilized way. Everyone was polite. But no one knew quite what ought to be said. It would take years, Stanley thought; years and years. They had grown so used to seeing these people — and not seeing them — behind counters and at the back sections of public conveyances, sullen faces peering from tumbled shacks; unseen, unaware of them even in college classrooms, that it would take years to get any contact established. Even for the young people here who were desperately striving to learn one another.

“These two,” Kermit said, “are my models. My first two models for the Renaissance Gallery. We’ll have life drawing classes. They have absolutely
exquisite
figures.” He turned to his frightened charges. “We’ll make a mint, won’t we girls?”

Mr. X stood close to one of them, looking as if he would like to take a bite of her. Kermit turned toward him suddenly.

“You dig, man?”

“Wh-at?” He seemed entirely out of breath.

“You dig? This is Rose. She’s a real swingin’ chick. Earns her bread for college as a dancer. And a model. Take her in there and dance with her, man. It’s like … It’s like, well, like
scorin’,
man.”

“Kermit!”
Andrea said.

“That’s all right, Andy. They’re used to me, these girls. They know me a lot better than
My Own People.
” He laughed and bent down and kissed one of the girls on the throat.

The unknown young man took one of the girls into the other room to dance. Kermit said: “Why’d you let that Good Doctor cut out of here?”

“What?”

“Neil — how come you let him split with that Middle East cunt —”

“Kermit!”

“I mean that girl. Hey, Stanley, you know that girl? She’s nearly as dark as this one right here.”

“
Who
did he leave with?” Andrea said.

“With Elsie,” Stanley said. “He took Elsie home. I brought her, but I was too passed out at the time to assume my responsibilities.”

“Oh.”

They began to move into the other rooms.

Stanley stood in a corner and talked with one of the Negro girls. The other was dancing. Stanley and the girl talked about books. The folk singer appeared; she had got rid of her guitar somewhere. She listened for a moment and then said: “Do you like Langston Hughes? I like him very much.”

“No,” said the girl.

“I don’t either,” Stanley said.

“You’re a white supremist,” Kermit said.

“I like Baldwin,” Stanley said. “Won’t liking Baldwin clear me, for Chrissake?”

“I like Orval Faubus,” someone said. All of them who had been listening roared with laughter.

Kermit talked with Andrea.

“He’s a Good Doctor. Neil’s a Good one. And John Tom, too. The best.”

“Did you know John Tom very well?” Andrea said.

“Oyez. We dug each other right off.”

Andrea was silent. Then, half to herself, she said. “I wish I had caught Neil before he left. I was wornout when we got here.”

“I’ll take you home.”

“No, no. There’s still a party. And you’ve got your friends.”

“Take my car then. There’re plenty cars. Take mine.”

“Well …” She looked around as if making a decision about something.

“Come on. It’s right out front. You know it? It’s that green heap. Here the keys.”

He dangled them in front of her.

“How would you get it back?”

“I’ll be out that way tomorrow. Or tonight sometime, before dawn at least. Just leave the keys in the car. Nobody’d take that machine. Somebody’ll drop me off out that way later.”

“You sure it’s all right, Kermit?”

“Oyez.”

Years before, in a more lucid stage in his development, he had once served as Clerk of the State Supreme Court. Andrea remembered seeing him during his first year out of college, standing and announcing the sessions at the top of his voice as the black-robed Justices filed into the chamber:
Oyez, Oyez, Oyez! All persons having business before the Honorable, the Supreme Court of this State; are admonished to draw near and give their attention, for the Court is now sitting. God save this State and this Honorable Court
… She wondered if Kermit remembered; she rather doubted it.

“I’ll find the car — that’s all right.”

She got her wrap and started for the door. Jake moved over and held it open for her.

“Where you going?”

“Home. I’m exhausted.”

“I’ll take you. I’ll get a car.”

“I’ve got a car.”

“I’ll drive.”

“No … Really …”

“Why not?”

“I’m fine. And I just don’t think you ought to …”

“All right.” He walked outside with her. Kermit’s car was an ancient sedan with ruptured seat cushions and flaking paint and a terrible interior smell.

“You sure you can drive this thing?”

“Yes … Wait … Can you get it started for me?”

He slid in beside her, switched on the ignition and found the starter on the floorboard. The engine groaned horribly until the oil began to circulate. Then he reached over and put his arms out.

“No. No, Jake …”

“Why not?”

“I can’t. I’ve got to go, really. Dammit …”

She finally let him kiss her and then pulled away, but then he was coming at her again and she relaxed and they thrashed around convulsively in the front seat of the old car for a period of time.

“Enough …”

“No.”

“Get out of the car, Jake, or
I’ll
get out and start walking …”

He opened the door and stepped outside.