The Young Lions Read Online Free PDF Page B

was the beginning of a new year, a wonderful time to go on the wagon. It would be a good test of character. Tonight, at the party. Unobtrusively. Just not drinking. And in the house in the country no liquor closet at all. He felt much better now, resolved and powerful, although his dress trousers still felt uncomfortably tight as he strode past the rich windows towards 67th Street.
     
    When he came into the crowded room, it was just past twelve. People were singing and embracing and that girl who passed out at all the parties was doing it again in the corner. Whitacre saw his wife in the crowd kissing a little man who looked like Hollywood. Somebody put a drink in his hand and a tall girl spilled some potato salad on his shoulder and said, "Excellent salad." She brushed vaguely at his lapel with a long, exquisite hand with crimson nails an inch and a half in length. Katherine came over with enough bosom showing to power a frigate in a mild breeze and said, "Mike, darling." She kissed him behind the ear, and said, "What are you doing tonight?" Michael said, "My wife arrived yesterday from the Coast." And Katherine said, "Ooops. Sorry. Happy New Year."
    Michael lifted his glass and drank half of its contents. It seemed to be Scotch into which someone had poured lemon soda. Tomorrow, he thought, will be time enough for the wagon. After all, he had had three already, so this night was lost anyhow. Michael waited until he saw his wife finish kissing the bald little man, who wore a swooping Russian cavalryman's moustache.
    Michael made his way across the room and came up behind his wife. She was holding the little man's hand, and saying, "Don't tell anyone, Harry, but the script stinks."
    "You know me, Laura," the bald man said. "Do I ever tell anyone?"
    "Happy New Year, darling." Michael kissed Laura's cheek.
    Laura turned round, still holding the bald man's hand. She smiled. Even with the din of celebration all around her, and the drunks and commotion, there was tenderness and melting, that lovely welcome that always surprised and shook Michael, no matter how many times he saw it. She put up her free arm and drew Michael closer to her to kiss him. There was a single, hesitating moment when his cheek was next to hers, before she kissed him, when he could sense her sniffing inquisitively. He felt himself grow stolid and sullen, even as they kissed. She always does it, he thought. New Year, old year, makes no difference.
    "I doused myself, before leaving the theatre," he said, pulling away and standing straight, "with two bottles of Chanel Number 5."
    He saw Laura's eyelids quiver a little, hurt. "Don't be mean to me," she said, "in 1938. Why're you so late?"
    "I stopped and had a couple."
    "With whom?" The suspicious, pinched look that always came over Laura's face when she questioned him corrupted its usual delicate, candid expression.
    "Some of the boys," he said.
    "That's all?" Her voice was light and playful, in the accepted tone in which you quizzed your husband in public in her circle.
    "No," said Michael. "I forgot to tell you. There were six Polynesian dancing girls with walnuts in their navels, but we left them at the Stork."
    "Isn't he funny?" Laura said to the bald man. "Isn't he terribly funny?"
    "This is getting domestic," the bald man said. "This is when I leave. When it gets domestic." He waved his fingers at the Whitacres. "Love you, Laura, darling," he said, and burrowed into the crowd.
    "I have a great idea," Laura said. "Let's not be mean to wives tonight."
    Michael drained his drink, and put the glass down. "Who's the moustache?" he asked.
    "Oh, Harry?"
    "The one you were kissing."
    "Harry. I've known him for years. He's always at parties." Laura touched her hair tenderly. "Here. On the Coast. I don't know what he does. Maybe he's an agent. He came over and said he thought I was enchanting in my last picture."
    "Did he really say enchanting?"
    "Uhuh."
    "Is that how they talk in Hollywood these days?"
    "I guess