Read The Young Lions for Free Online Page A

Don't tell Felice." Michael took Laura's arm and started to leave. "Don't go, Whitacre," Arney said. "I know I'm boring you, but don't go. I want to talk to you. What do you want to talk about? Want to talk about Art?"
    "Some other time," Michael said.
    "I understand you're a very serious young man," Arney said doggedly. "Let's talk about Art. How did my play go tonight?"
    "All right," said Michael.
    "No," said Arney, "I won't talk about my play. I said Art and I know what you think of my play. Everybody in New York knows what you think about my play. You shoot your mouth off too goddamn much and if it was up to me I'd fire you. I am being friendly at the moment, but I'd fire you."
    "Listen, Pal…" the man in the blue-serge suit began.
    "You talk to him," Arney said to Parrish. "He's a Communist, too. That's why I'm not profound enough for him. All you have to do to be profound these days is pay fifteen cents a week for the New Masses." He put his arm around Parrish lovingly. "This is the kind of Communist I like, Whitacre," he said. "Mr Parrish, Mr Sunburned Parrish. He got sunburned in sunny Spain. He went to Spain and he got shot at in Madrid and he's going back to Spain and he's going to get killed there. Aren't you, Mr Parrish?"
    "Sure, Pal," Parrish said.
    "That's the kind of Communist I like," Arney said loudly.
    "Mr Parrish is here to get some money and some volunteers to go back and get shot with him in sunny Spain. Instead of being so goddamn profound at these fairy parties in New York, Whitacre, why don't you go be profound in Spain with Mr Parrish?"
    "If you don't keep quiet," Michael started to say, but a tall, white-haired woman with a regal, dark face swept between him and Arney and calmly and without a word knocked the teacup out of Arney's hand. It broke on the floor in a small, china tinkle. Arney looked at her angrily for a moment, then grinned sheepishly, ducking his head, looking shiftily at the floor.
    "Hello, Felice," he said.
    "Get away from the bar," Felice said.
    "Just drinking a little tea," Arney said. He turned and shuffled off, fat and ageing, his grey hair lank and sweating against his large head.
    "Mr Arney does not drink," Felice said to the bartender.
    "Yes, Ma'am," said the bartender.
    "Christ," said Felice to Michael, "I could kill him. He's driving me crazy. And fundamentally he's such a sweet man."
    "A darling man," Michael said.
    "Was he awful?" Felice asked anxiously.
    "Darling," Michael said.
    "Nobody'll invite him any place any more and everyone ducks him…" Felice said.
    "I can't imagine why," said Michael.
    "Even so," said Felice sadly, "it's awful for him. He sits in his room brooding, telling everyone who'll listen to him that he's a has-been. I thought this would be good for him and I could keep an eye on him." She shrugged, looking after Arney's rumpled, retreating figure. "Some men ought to have their hands cut off at the wrist when they reach for their first drink." She picked up her skirts in a courtly, old-fashioned gesture, and went off after the playwright in a rustle of taffeta.
    "I think," Michael said, "I could stand a drink."
    "Me, too," said Laura.
    "Pal," said Mr Parrish.
    They stood silently at the bar, watching the bartender fill their glasses.
    "The abuse of alcohol," Mr Parrish said in a solemn, preacher-like voice, as he reached for his glass, "is the one thing that puts Man above the animal."
    They all laughed and Michael raised his glass to Mr Parrish before he drank.
    "To Madrid," Parrish said, in an offhand, everyday way, and Laura said, "To Madrid," in a hushed, breathy voice. Michael hesitated, feeling the old uneasiness, before he, too, said, "To Madrid."
    They drank.
    "When did you get back?" Michael asked. He felt uncomfortable, talking about it.
    "Four days ago," Parrish said. He lifted the glass to his lips again. "You have very good liquor in this country," he said, grinning. He drank steadily, refilling his glass every five minutes, getting a