In another hour he fell into a deep sleep.
Nevertheless, though, as the days passed, the glory of her hair dimmed perceptibly for him and in a year of separation might have departed completely. He didn’t want to see Dick and Maury, imagining that they knew all – but when they met it was Richard Caramel and not Anthony who was the centre of attention. “The Demon Lover” had been accepted for immediate publication. Anthony felt that from now on he moved apart. He needed no more Maury’s society. Only Gloria could give him everything and no one else ever again. So Dick’s success rejoiced him and worried him. It meant that the world was going ahead – writing and reading and publishing – and living. And he wanted the world to wait motionless and breathless for six weeks – while Gloria forgot.
Two Encounters
His greatest satisfaction was in Geraldine’s company. He took her once to dinner and the theatre and entertained her several times in his apartment. When he was with her she absorbed him. It didn’t matter how he kissed Geraldine. A kiss was a kiss. A kiss was one thing, anything further was quite another; a kiss was all right; the other things were “bad.”
One day he saw Gloria. It was a short meeting. Both bowed. Both spoke, yet neither heard the other.
Once he went around the corner one morning to be shaved, and while waiting his turn he took off coat and vest, and stood near the front of the shop. Two strollers caught his eye casually, a man and a girl – then the girl resolved herself into Gloria. He stood here powerless; they came nearer and Gloria, glancing in, saw him. Her eyes widened and she smiled politely. Her lips moved. She was less than five feet away.
“How do you do?” he muttered.
Gloria, happy, beautiful, and young – with a man he had never seen before!
The second incident took place the next day. Going into the Manhattan bar about seven he met Bloeckman[21]. Bloeckman was a movie producer who was a friend of Gloria’s family.
“Hello, Mr. Patch,” said Bloeckman amiably enough. “Do you come in here much?”
“No, very seldom.” He omitted to add that the Plaza bar had, until lately, been his favorite.
“Nice bar. One of the best bars in town.”
Anthony nodded. Bloeckman emptied his glass and picked up his cane. He was in evening dress.
“Well, I’ll be hurrying on. I’m going to dinner with Miss Gilbert.”
It was a vital blow at Anthony. With tremendous effort he mustered a rigid smile, and said a conventional good-bye. But that night he lay awake until after four, wild with grief and fear.
And one day in the fifth week he called her up. With suddenly quickened breath he walked to the telephone. Mrs. Gilbert’s voice said,
“Hello-o-ah? Miss Gloria’s not feeling well. She’s lying down, asleep. Who shall I say called?”
“Nobody!” he shouted.
In a wild panic he slammed down the receiver.
Serenade
The first thing he said to her was: “Why, you’ve cut your hair!” and she answered: “Yes, isn’t it gorgeous?”
It was not fashionable then. At that time it was considered extremely daring.
“It’s a sunny day,” he said gravely. “Don’t you want to take a walk?”
She put on a light coat and they walked along the Avenue and into the Zoo, where they admired the grandeur of the elephant and the giraffe, but did not visit the monkey house because Gloria said that monkeys smelt so bad.
Then they returned toward the Plaza, talking about nothing, but glad for the spring. Gloria walked ahead of him.
“Oh!” she cried, “I want to go south! I want to get out in the air and just roll around on the new grass and forget there’s ever been any winter.”
“Don’t you, though!”
“I want to hear a million robins. I like birds.”
“All women are birds,” he ventured.
“What kind am I?”
“A swallow, I think, and sometimes a bird of paradise. Most girls are sparrows, of course. And of course you’ve met canary girls – and robin girls.”
“And swan girls and parrot girls. All grown women are hawks, I think, or owls.”
“What am I – a buzzard?”
She laughed and shook her head.
“Oh, no, you’re not a bird at all. You’re a Russian wolfhound. Dick’s a fox terrier, a trick fox terrier,” she continued.
“And Maury’s a cat.”
Later, as they parted, Anthony asked when he might see her again. She thought for a moment. “Maybe next Sunday.”
“All right.”
And when the day came they sat upon the lounge. After a while Anthony kissed her. And he had told her gently, almost in the middle of a kiss, that he loved her, and she had smiled and held him closer and murmured, “I’m glad,” looking into his eyes.
He had felt nearer to her than ever before. In a rare delight he cried aloud to the room that he loved her.
He phoned next morning:
“Good morning, Gloria.”
“Good morning.”
“I just called to say that.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“I wish I could see you.”
“You will, tomorrow night.”
“That’s a long time, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Her voice was reluctant.
“Couldn’t I come tonight?”
“I have a date.”
“Oh.”
“But I might – I might be able to break it.”
“Oh! Gloria?”
“What?”
“I love you.”
Another pause and then:
“I–I’m glad.”
When Anthony walked down the tenth-floor corridor of the Plaza that night, his dark eyes were gleaming. He knocked and entered. Gloria, dressed in pink, was across the room, standing very still, and looking at him. As he closed the door behind him she gave a little cry and moved.
Book Two
Chapter I
The Radiant Hour
After a fortnight Anthony and Gloria began talk about marriage.
“Tell me all the reasons why you’re going to marry me in June,” said Anthony.
“Well, because you’re so clean, like I am. There are two sorts, you know. One’s like Dick: he’s clean like polished pans. You and I are clean like streams and winds. I can tell whenever I see a person whether he is clean, and if so, which kind of clean he is.”
“We’re twins.”
“Mother says” – she hesitated uncertainly – “mother says that two souls are sometimes created together and – and in love before they’re born.”
He lifted up his head and laughed soundlessly toward the ceiling. When his eyes came back to her he saw that she was angry.
“Why did you laugh?” she cried, “you’ve done that twice before. There’s nothing funny about our relation to each other.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh, don’t say you’re sorry! If you can’t think of anything better than that, just keep quiet!”
“I love you.”
“I don’t care.”
There was a pause. Anthony was depressed. At length Gloria murmured:
“I’m sorry I was rude.”
“You weren’t. I was the one.”
Peace was restored: the passion of their pretense created the actuality. But Anthony felt often like a scarcely tolerated guest at a party she was giving.
Mrs. Gilbert must have known everything – for three weeks Gloria had seen no one else – and she must have noticed that this time there was a difference in her daughter’s attitude. So she declared herself immensely pleased; she doubtless was.
But between kisses Anthony and this golden girl quarrelled incessantly.
“Now, Gloria,” he would cry, “please let me explain!”
“Don’t explain. Kiss me.”
“I don’t think that’s right. If I hurt your feelings we ought to discuss it. I don’t like this kiss-and-forget.”
“But I don’t want to argue. I think it’s wonderful that we can kiss and forget, and when we can’t it’ll be time to argue.”
Meanwhile they knew each other, unwillingly, by curious reactions, by distastes and prejudices. The girl was proudly incapable of jealousy and, because he was extremely jealous, this virtue piqued him.
“Oh, Anthony,” she would say, “always when I’m mean to you I’m sorry afterward.”
Yet Anthony knew that there were days when they hurt each other purposely.
“Why do you like Muriel?” he demanded one day.
“I don’t very much.”
“Then why do you go with her?”
“Just for some one to go with. But I rather like Rachael. I think she’s cute – and so clean and slick. I used to have other friends – in Kansas City and at school – casual, all of them. Now they’re mostly married. What does it matter – they were all just people.”
“You like men better, don’t you?”