Read Online Flash and Filigree by Terry Southern - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Terry Southern
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speak a word to his companion who raised her hand briefly and smiled before pulling away, Babs believed for an instant that he was Tyrone Power, and a drop or two melted from her heart. In the next moment the young man, having apparently seen Barbara at the window when he turned to bound up the Clinic steps, slowed his pace and, looking that way, was waving and smiling, unmistakably at her. And it was only then, of course, that she realized, though not without a shocking ambivalence that ricocheted between discovery and insult that it was Mr. Edwards the pharmacist’s nephew, Ralph, from the University. And she saw too clearly now that what had been his weary, decadent smile, was, after all, simply a boyish grin. She wanted to be furious with him for this, and for the moment, almost was, for where her mouth had dropped slightly open when he first waved, she snapped it shut now and twisted away with a really offended toss of her head, as though he had again, for the second time in as many days, tried to look up her dress.
Chapter VI
B ABS M INTNER OWNED a pair of sun-glasses, but she never wore them except when she went swimming, which she occasionally did on Saturday afternoon, when she was off duty from the Clinic. To wear them otherwise, not being a movie-star, she would have felt too self-conscious, or even “silly.” And though the glare of the sun could be troublesome during her lunch time away from the Clinic, it was a luxury, indeed a pretense, that had never occurred to her. Besides, she had great, beautiful, blue eyes.
Nonetheless, to see others wearing these glasses, except at the beach, never failed to distract her, for she always assumed they were stars, or the President, and so would scrutinize them.
Once she had taken a de luxe tour of Hollywood that included having lunch at the Brown Derby, and the most impressive thing she had yet seen in her life was, in that already tomb-gray, the dark and isolate forms hunched silently over strange plates, and so sinister behind their smoked glass that the poor girl had failed to recognize a single soul.
“That is the famous director, Buñuel,” the guide had said of one serious man who sat alone to eat and drink without once raising his eyes past a pair of glasses that were death black; and for a long time afterward Babs had felt, at the movies, an anticipation over the screen-credits, looking for the name, Buñuel. Later she began to regret that it had not been Hitchcock, or Cecil B. DeMille, she had seen at the Brown Derby. But she had never even for a moment, doubted the dangerous importance of the men in black glasses, nor above all, their right to wear them.
So, standing at the Dispensary counter and seeing that Ralph Edwards, even now, had his dark glasses on, made her so cross she could have snatched them away and pinched his nose.
“Hello,” he said, almost absently. He was just hanging up his jacket, although it had been fully ten minutes since Babs saw him enter the Clinic. And haying taken this tack, he forced her into changing her lines completely, though, even so, they had only been half-planned.
“Oh, hello,” she said coolly, even as if she hadn’t expected to see him here, nor, certainly, could care less.
For some reason this caused him to laugh, and when he came to the counter he was all boyish again and smiling. Below the dark glasses, his teeth were like pieces of beveled ivory. They were so straight and even they looked false, and the awareness that they were actually alive came as a very disturbing threat to the girl.
“Where is Mr. Edwards?” she said, trying to recover, looking around the hall and then at her watch, which, without even having made it out, she began to wind, so tight that it almost burst then and there.
“The pharmacist,” she added quickly, in a tone that would make it certain she did not wish a repetition of the young man’s last performance.
“Do you like music?” he asked, undeceived, and suddenly bold
Chapter VI
B ABS M INTNER OWNED a pair of sun-glasses, but she never wore them except when she went swimming, which she occasionally did on Saturday afternoon, when she was off duty from the Clinic. To wear them otherwise, not being a movie-star, she would have felt too self-conscious, or even “silly.” And though the glare of the sun could be troublesome during her lunch time away from the Clinic, it was a luxury, indeed a pretense, that had never occurred to her. Besides, she had great, beautiful, blue eyes.
Nonetheless, to see others wearing these glasses, except at the beach, never failed to distract her, for she always assumed they were stars, or the President, and so would scrutinize them.
Once she had taken a de luxe tour of Hollywood that included having lunch at the Brown Derby, and the most impressive thing she had yet seen in her life was, in that already tomb-gray, the dark and isolate forms hunched silently over strange plates, and so sinister behind their smoked glass that the poor girl had failed to recognize a single soul.
“That is the famous director, Buñuel,” the guide had said of one serious man who sat alone to eat and drink without once raising his eyes past a pair of glasses that were death black; and for a long time afterward Babs had felt, at the movies, an anticipation over the screen-credits, looking for the name, Buñuel. Later she began to regret that it had not been Hitchcock, or Cecil B. DeMille, she had seen at the Brown Derby. But she had never even for a moment, doubted the dangerous importance of the men in black glasses, nor above all, their right to wear them.
So, standing at the Dispensary counter and seeing that Ralph Edwards, even now, had his dark glasses on, made her so cross she could have snatched them away and pinched his nose.
“Hello,” he said, almost absently. He was just hanging up his jacket, although it had been fully ten minutes since Babs saw him enter the Clinic. And haying taken this tack, he forced her into changing her lines completely, though, even so, they had only been half-planned.
“Oh, hello,” she said coolly, even as if she hadn’t expected to see him here, nor, certainly, could care less.
For some reason this caused him to laugh, and when he came to the counter he was all boyish again and smiling. Below the dark glasses, his teeth were like pieces of beveled ivory. They were so straight and even they looked false, and the awareness that they were actually alive came as a very disturbing threat to the girl.
“Where is Mr. Edwards?” she said, trying to recover, looking around the hall and then at her watch, which, without even having made it out, she began to wind, so tight that it almost burst then and there.
“The pharmacist,” she added quickly, in a tone that would make it certain she did not wish a repetition of the young man’s last performance.
“Do you like music?” he asked, undeceived, and suddenly bold
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