seemed queer in Louise’s tone, but Marion couldn’t stay on it, couldn’t focus. Her thoughts kept caroming back to Joe. When she declined him the night before, she had pictured him wandering despondently in the sickly hallways of his sick house, not here, not here like this. Was it possible he was not her tortured swain?
“Mrs. Seeley is not that sort of woman,” Joe Lanigan said, moving toward them, leaving his perch by the kitchenette. His speaking, moving, broke some awful pressure, scissored it clean. But it also tied new knots.
“Marion likes to have fun,” Louise asserted, straightening up slightly. “She’s always ready for high times.”
“There is a difference, Louise, that may be subtle for you but is actually legions wide and fathoms deep,” Joe said. “Mrs. Seeley may be alone in these parts, left to fend in our wilderness, but she retains her proper bearing, her breeding, her fine womanly ways. She does not degenerate, she is evolved. She does not come here and let herself be transformed into a backward thing. She is Mrs. Seeley from a good family, good and proper still.”
Ginny plucked one of Floyd’s banjo strings with her outstretched finger. “Well,” she said, feigning to scratch her underarm, “guess I’d better twist myself a banana.”
Louise’s face was tight, but Marion was too distracted to pause over it. Instead, Marion felt herself unspool inside and it was lovely and she wanted to touch Joe Lanigan’s arm, lightly, as she wanted to smile to him and even curl herself at his feet.
He knew her, he knew her, he knew even as he dallied and caroused and sauntered through red rooms everywhere. He might let spangles and sin cover his upturned face so handsome, but in his heart…In his heart…
“What are Ginny and I, then, Joe?” said Louise, mouth just a shade hard. “Some Friday-night taxi dancers?”
“I wasn’t speaking of you, Louise. Nor Virginia. I was speaking of Mrs. Seeley, whom we have made uncomfortable, which is the last thing I would want.” He reached for his jacket slung over the back of a chair and put it on.
“Aren’t we talking high tone,” Louise started.
“Don’t fluster, Louise,” Ginny piped. “Gent Joe is just brushing his boots clean on our bosoms to flatter our lady. What’s the harm? Sing us some more, Floyd. Sing us out of our hungover blues.”
“This one’s dedicated to my stalwart former employer, KingCopper,” Floyd said, “for whom I toiled the smelter, 1924 until they took my breath away.” With great flourish, he raised his arm and dropped it down fast like a jackhammer on the strings, peeling into a frenzied jazz number.
“That’s the stuff,” Ginny said, and she leapt up from the sofa as if the picture of health and commenced dancing. Marion had never seen her move a hundredth as fast. Her legs kept twisting around each other and kicking backward as she spun so fast, Marion was sure she’d collapse, but Floyd only played faster and faster and Louise was finally laughing. Looking over at Marion, she said, “Get a load of that jig trot. She made us four bits on that once when we were broke outside Albuquerque.”
And Marion looked up at Ginny’s face, steaming red, and stone-cold ecstatic, like Saint Bernadette.
M ARION STAYED and Joe Lanigan kept his suit jacket on, even as Floyd, three slugs into the new round of drinking, stripped down to his undershirt and suspenders and threw Ginny round the room.
Louise dragged out a big punch bowl and filled it with gin, black pepper and a can of consommé.
Marion could feel Joe Lanigan standing behind her chair, but she did not look back.
“Lou-Lou, don’t we got some tomato juice to toss in there?” Ginny said, breathless, still dancing.
“Mrs. Seeley, would you like a glass?” Joe Lanigan was saying, and he set one hand on Marion’s shoulder and the tremble through her body, well, she felt the floorboards might crack.
“No thank you,” she
“Mrs. Seeley is not that sort of woman,” Joe Lanigan said, moving toward them, leaving his perch by the kitchenette. His speaking, moving, broke some awful pressure, scissored it clean. But it also tied new knots.
“Marion likes to have fun,” Louise asserted, straightening up slightly. “She’s always ready for high times.”
“There is a difference, Louise, that may be subtle for you but is actually legions wide and fathoms deep,” Joe said. “Mrs. Seeley may be alone in these parts, left to fend in our wilderness, but she retains her proper bearing, her breeding, her fine womanly ways. She does not degenerate, she is evolved. She does not come here and let herself be transformed into a backward thing. She is Mrs. Seeley from a good family, good and proper still.”
Ginny plucked one of Floyd’s banjo strings with her outstretched finger. “Well,” she said, feigning to scratch her underarm, “guess I’d better twist myself a banana.”
Louise’s face was tight, but Marion was too distracted to pause over it. Instead, Marion felt herself unspool inside and it was lovely and she wanted to touch Joe Lanigan’s arm, lightly, as she wanted to smile to him and even curl herself at his feet.
He knew her, he knew her, he knew even as he dallied and caroused and sauntered through red rooms everywhere. He might let spangles and sin cover his upturned face so handsome, but in his heart…In his heart…
“What are Ginny and I, then, Joe?” said Louise, mouth just a shade hard. “Some Friday-night taxi dancers?”
“I wasn’t speaking of you, Louise. Nor Virginia. I was speaking of Mrs. Seeley, whom we have made uncomfortable, which is the last thing I would want.” He reached for his jacket slung over the back of a chair and put it on.
“Aren’t we talking high tone,” Louise started.
“Don’t fluster, Louise,” Ginny piped. “Gent Joe is just brushing his boots clean on our bosoms to flatter our lady. What’s the harm? Sing us some more, Floyd. Sing us out of our hungover blues.”
“This one’s dedicated to my stalwart former employer, KingCopper,” Floyd said, “for whom I toiled the smelter, 1924 until they took my breath away.” With great flourish, he raised his arm and dropped it down fast like a jackhammer on the strings, peeling into a frenzied jazz number.
“That’s the stuff,” Ginny said, and she leapt up from the sofa as if the picture of health and commenced dancing. Marion had never seen her move a hundredth as fast. Her legs kept twisting around each other and kicking backward as she spun so fast, Marion was sure she’d collapse, but Floyd only played faster and faster and Louise was finally laughing. Looking over at Marion, she said, “Get a load of that jig trot. She made us four bits on that once when we were broke outside Albuquerque.”
And Marion looked up at Ginny’s face, steaming red, and stone-cold ecstatic, like Saint Bernadette.
M ARION STAYED and Joe Lanigan kept his suit jacket on, even as Floyd, three slugs into the new round of drinking, stripped down to his undershirt and suspenders and threw Ginny round the room.
Louise dragged out a big punch bowl and filled it with gin, black pepper and a can of consommé.
Marion could feel Joe Lanigan standing behind her chair, but she did not look back.
“Lou-Lou, don’t we got some tomato juice to toss in there?” Ginny said, breathless, still dancing.
“Mrs. Seeley, would you like a glass?” Joe Lanigan was saying, and he set one hand on Marion’s shoulder and the tremble through her body, well, she felt the floorboards might crack.
“No thank you,” she
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