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while. Singing and
pantomime. But it was like this. There was this fellow. He used to go wherever
I was singing. And always trouble. That was him. Always making a stink about
something. You know the type guy. It got me fired a couple times, him and his
big mouth, so then the booking agent, he didn’t want to handle me anymore, and
that makes it tough, trying to get something on your own, so in between times
I’ve been working at waitress work. It’s hell on your feet. This last place I
was at, it’s the Tavern Chop House. They got good steaks and it’s I guess three
blocks from here. There’s a lot of college trade. You ever eat there?”
    “Twice. Maybe three times.”
    “Artie, he’s the manager, he’s a little louse, believe me. All the time
he’s got to get his hands on you. Well, brother, did I ever tell him off, so
here is Elise again. Unemployed as usual.”
    She made a face. She looked so small. It made him feel protective about
her. She talked sort of tough, but her voice had such a whispery husky quality
to it that it seemed to give everything she said a special meaning.
    “The hell of it is,” she said, “I got me a little studio apartment right
near the restaurant so it would be handy. What I ought to have is a car. You
got a car, Brock?”
    He had to say no and it made him feel inadequate. They sat a long time
and talked and he bought her quite a few beers. She said her name was really
Mrs. Archie Berris , but she used her maiden name
Elise Lewis on account of he was killed overseas. Brock said he was sorry about
that and then there were tears in her eyes and in his too, and they felt
closer. Yet not close in the way he could be close with someone from his own
background. She made him think of a girl he used to watch in high school, a
pretty Polish girl who wore cheap, tight dresses, who looked wise and knowing,
who was the entrancing subject of conversation of his friends. He had not dated
her. He sensed that this Elise was much the same sort of person. From a more
forthright world. Being with her like this made him feel both shy and
sophisticated.
    “ Brocky , you hurl a lot of big-sized words
around. You going to grow up and be a professor?”
    “I’ll probably go into the family business. It isn’t exactly exciting.
But that’s what I’ll probably do.”
    “What kind of a business?”
    “It’s a textile mill. My grandfather started it. It used to make a lot of
money. It hasn’t made so much for a long time. My father and my uncle run it.”
    “My God, I had a girl friend worked in one of those in Alabama. She quit it
on account of it drove her nuts not knowing what the weather was. It hadn’t any
windows. All air conditioning and artificial light and a coffee break in the
morning and a coffee break in the afternoon and they gave her uniforms and so
on and I said she was nuts but she said she had to work in a place where you
could look out and see if maybe it was raining—What’ll we do for food, Brocky ? I’m empty like a bass drum.”
    They left the place. Standing, she was a little taller than he had
expected her to be. Long-legged and a little broad across the hips. She held
his arm tightly and walked in stride with him, her dark hair bouncing against
her shoulders, red purse swinging. He thought of how the evening might end, and
it made him feel weak and dizzy. One moment her coarse vitality would make him
feel weak and trapped—caught in something beyond his depth. And the next moment
he would feel strong and possessive and excited.
    “Honey, I bet with those shoulders you play football, do you?”
    “Not at this place, Elise. I used to in high school, but they’ve got guys
they pay to play. Coal heavers. Gorillas.”
    “I had a boyfriend once used to play pro ball for a truck company. He was
real punchy. He was a tackle and they were for always hitting him on the head.”
    They ate in a small dark Chinese restaurant and she said, “I love this
gunk, but it don’t stay