Breakfast in the Ruins

10 Hitting the High Spots on W. Fifty-Six: 1929: Recognition

— You were bound to get depressed after all that excitement, says Karl's friend.—What about some coffee? Or would you rather I sent down for some more champagne?

He grins, making an expansive gesture.

— Name your poison!

Karl sighs and chews at his thumbnail. His eyes are hooded. He won't look at the black man.

— All right, then how can I cheer you up?

— You could fuck off, says Karl.

— Take it easy, Karl.

— You could fuck off.

— What good would that do?

— I didn't know you were interested in doing good.

— Where did you get that idea? Don't you feel more a person now than you felt before you came with me through the door? More real?

— Maybe that's the trouble.

— You don't like reality?

— Yes, maybe that's it.

— Well, that isn't my problem.

— No.

— It's your problem.

— Yes.

— Oh, come on now! You're starting a new life and you can't manage even a tiny smile!

— I'm not your slave, says Karl. I don't have to do everything you say.

— Who said you had to? Me? The black man laughs deridingly.—Did I say that?

-I thought that was the deal.

— Deal? Now you're being obscure. I thought you wanted some fun.

Karl is fifteen. Quite a little man now.

— Fuck off, he says.—Leave me alone.

— In my experience, the black man sits down beside him, that's what people always say when they think they're not getting enough attention. It's a challenge, in a way. 'Leave me alone.'

— Maybe you're right.

— Darling, I'm not often wrong. The black man once again puts his arm around Karl's shoulders. Karl is fifteen and in his own way pretty good looking. He's dating the sweetest little tomato in the school.

— Oh, Jesus!

Karl begins to weep.

— Now that's enough of that, says his friend.

Karl was fifteen. His Mom was forty. His Dad was forty-two. His Dad had done all right for himself in his business and just recently had become President of one of the biggest investment trusts in the nation. He had, to celebrate, increased Karl's allowance at his fifteenth birthday and turned a blind eye when Karl borrowed his mother's car when he went out on a date. Karl was a big boy for his age and looked older than fifteen.

In his new tuxedo and with his hair gleaming with oil, Karl could have passed for twenty easily. That was probably why Nancy Goldmann was so willing to let him take her out.

As they left the movie theatre (Gold Diggers of Broadway), he whistled one of the tunes from the film while he gathered his courage together to suggest to Nancy what he had been meaning to suggest all evening.

Nancy put her arm through his and saved him the worst part: "Where to now?" she asked.

"There's a speakeasy I know on West Fifty Six." He guided her across the street while the cars honked on all sides. It was getting dark and the lights were coming on all down Forty Second Street. "What do you say, Nancy?" They reached his car. It was a new Ford Coupe. His Dad had a Cadillac limousine which he hoped to borrow by the time he was sixteen. He opened the door for Nancy.

"A speakeasy, Karl? I don't know..." She hesitated before getting into the car. He glanced away from her calves. His eyes would keep going to them. It was the short, fluffy skirt. You could almost see through it.

"Aw, come on, Nancy. Are you bored with speakeasies? Is that it?"

She laughed. "No! Will it be dangerous? Gangsters and bootleggers and shooting and stuff?"

"It'll be the dullest place in the world. But we can get a drink there." He hoped she would have a drink, then she might do more than hold his hand and kiss him on the way home. He had only a vague idea of what "more" meant. "If you want one, of course."

"Well, maybe just one."

He could see that Nancy was excited.

All the way up to W.56th Street she chattered beside him, talking about the movie mostly. He could tell that she was unconsciously seeing herself as Ann Pennington. Well, he didn't mind that. He grinned to himself as he parked the car. Taking his hat and his evening coat from the back, he walked round and opened the door for Nancy. She really was beautiful. And she was warm.

They crossed Seventh Avenue and were nearly bowled over by a man in a straw hat who mumbled an apology and hurried on. Karl thought it was a bit late in the year to be wearing a straw hat. He shrugged and then, on impulse, leaned forward and kissed Nancy's cheek. Not only didn't she resist, she blew him a kiss back and laughed her lovely trilling laugh. "Did anyone ever tell you, you looked like Rudy Vallee?" she said.

"Lots of people." He smirked in a comic way and made her laugh again.

They came to a gaudy neon sign which flashed on and off. It showed a pink pyramid, a blue and green dancing girl, a white camel. It was called the Casa Blanca.

"Shall we?" said Karl, opening the door for her.

"This is a restaurant."

"Just wait and see!"

They checked their hats and coats and were shown by an ingratiating little waiter to a table some distance from the stand where a band was backing someone who looked and sounded almost exactly like Janet Gaynor. She was even singing Keep Your Sunny Side Up.

"What happens next?" said Nancy. She was beginning to look disappointed.

The waiter brought the menus and bowed. Karl had been told what to say by his friend Paul who had recommended the place. "Could we have some soft drinks, please?" he said.

"Certainly, sir. What kind? "

"Uh—the strong kind, please." Karl looked significantly at the waiter.

"Yes, sir." The waiter went away again.

Karl held Nancy's hand. She responded with a funny little spasm and grinned at him. "What are you going to eat?"

"Oh, anything. Steak Diane. I'm mad about Steak Diane."

"Me too." Under the table, his knee touched Nancy's and she didn't move away. Of course, there was always the chance that she thought his knee was a table leg or something. Then, when she looked at him, she moved her chin up in a way that told him she knew it was his knee. He swallowed hard. The waiter arrived with the drinks, He ordered two Steak Dianes "and all the trimmings". He lifted his glass and toasted Nancy. They sipped together.

"They've put a lot of lemon in it," said Nancy. "I guess they have to. In case of a raid or something."

"That's it," said Karl, fingering his bow tie.

He saw his father just as his father saw him. He wondered if his father would take the whole thing in good part. The band struck up and a couple of thinly dressed lady dancers began to Charleston. He saw that the lady dining with his father was not his mother. In fact she looked too young to be anybody's mother, in spite of the make-up. Karl's father left his place and came over to Karl's table. Mr. Glogauer nodded at Nancy and glared at Karl. "Get out of here at once and don't tell your mother you saw me here tonight. Who told you about this place?" He had to speak loudly because the band was now in full swing. A lot of people were clapping in time to the music.

"I just knew about it, Dad."

"Did you. Do you come here often, then? Do you know what kind of a place this is? It's a haunt of gangsters, unmoral women, all kinds of riffraff!"

Karl looked at his father's young friend.

"That young lady is the daughter of a business associate," said Mr. Glogauer. "I brought her here because she said she wanted to see some New York nightlife. It is not the place for a boy of fifteen!"

Nancy got up. "I think I'll get somebody to call me a cab," she said. She paused, then took her drink and swallowed it all down. Karl ran after her and caught her at the checking desk. "There's another place I know, Nancy," he said.

She stopped, pulling on her hat and giving him a calculating look. Then her expression softened. "We could go back to my place? My Mom and Pop are out."

"Oh, great!"

On the way back to Nancy's place in the car she put her arms round his neck and nibbled his ear and ruffled his hair.

"You're just a little boy at heart, aren't you?" she said.

His knees shook. He had heard that line earlier tonight and he could guess what it meant.

He knew he would always remember this day in September.

— Thanks. Karl accepts the cup of coffee his friend hands him.—How long have I been asleep?

— Not long.

Karl remembers their scene. He wishes it hadn't happened. He was behaving like some little fairy, all temperament and flounce. Homosexual relationships didn't have to be like that now. It was normal, after all. Between normal people, he thought. That was the difference. He looked at his friend. The man was sitting naked on the edge of a chest of drawers, swinging his leg lazily as he smoked a cigarette. His body really was beautiful. It was attractive, in itself. It was very masculine. Oddly, it made Karl feel more masculine, too. That was what he found strange. He had thought things would be different. He kept being reminded of some quality he had always felt in his father when his father had been at home.

— Did you dream anything? asked the black man.

— I don't remember.

You are married with a family and you live in a small apartment in the city, reasonably close to your work.

You learn that your mother has become very ill and can no longer look after herself.

You hate the idea of her coming to live with you in your already cramped conditions, particularly since she is not a very nice old woman and tends to make the children nervous and your wife tense. Your mother's house is larger, but in a part of the world which depresses you and which is also a long way from your work. Yet you have always sworn that you will not let her go into an Old People's Home. You know it would cause her considerable misery. Any other decision, however, would mean you changing your way of life quite radically.

Would you sell your mother's house and use the money to buy a larger flat in your own area? Or would you move away to a completely different area, perhaps somewhere in the country, and look for a new job?

Or would you decide, after all, that it would be best for everyone if she did go into a Retirement Home?