Read Online Marijuana Girl by N. R. De Mexico - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: N. R. De Mexico
Ads: Link
and he was thirty-one--and what the hell was he thinking about!
Janice said, "How do you feel about working on newspapers? Frank says you worked for the Courier last summer too, so I guess you must have made up your mind by now. Do you think you want to make a career of it?"
"I've been thinking about it," she said. "I guess I'm still a little young to get steamed up about it, but I'd like to work on newspapers for a while and then somehow get on a big magazine like Seventeen or Harper's Bazaar."
"I used to work for the Bazaar," Janice said. "I was an editorial assistant there. That's how I met Frank. We were both assigned to cover some demonstration of a new laundry machine. They always serve drinks at these press previews, and we both got a little tight and then he insisted on dragging me to some place in Harlem where he knew all the jazz musicians ..."
Good old Janice, Frank thought. Consciously or unconsciously. She knew what she had to do, and was doing it.
He tried to get some kind of conversation going with Tony, but soon gave up. There was such an undercurrent of hostility, at least on Tony's part, that nothing could get started.
Then he heard Janice beginning something else, and a sensation of apprehension threaded up into his mind.
"Frank has covered some pretty big stories. Once he even made a hero of himself. The firemen--this was in Brooklyn--had been working on a tenement blaze and all the reporters--they get fire-line cards so they can get close enough to see and take pictures--the reporters were pretty close up to the building. A wall was about to come down, and everyone was being ordered to stand back, when Frank saw this child standing in the doorway of the wall that was going to crash. He yelled, 'C'mere, kid,' and started to run toward the child, but the kid was too frightened to do anything, and he had to go all the way up under that dangerous wall and grab the kid out of the doorway and start running back. He had just gotten out of the danger zone when the wall crashed down. He wouldn't write the story about himself--but the other reporters did, and it was in all the papers. But let me tell you something--That was the phoniest false modesty I ever saw, because he bragged to me about it for a week afterward ..."
"I did not," Frank said. And everybody laughed. There was a sudden easing of the tension. Then Janice said, "Frank, why don't you show Joyce some of those stories. You've got them all in the scrapbooks upstairs, and I'll take Tony out in the garden. It's just beginning to be nice, Tony. I made Frank put the furniture out there while I was away, and you'll find it lovely and cool. I never saw a June like this. Why there are already fireflies in the yard, but no mosquitoes yet ..."
This was the apprehension. This was what Frank had been fearing. He said, "No, Janice. She doesn't want to see those scrapbooks."
"Oh, but I do, Fra--M--Frank."
"Oh, come off it, now," Janice said. "Don't be such a phoney. Everybody knows you're dying to show them."
"I'd like to see them, too." Tony said--for obvious reasons.
"No you don't, young man," Janice said. "Who's going to keep me company in the yard? Besides, they wouldn't mean anything to non-newspaper people. You come along with me."
It was clear, Frank thought, how Janice's mind was working. She had sensed the trouble, taken steps to treat it, and now wanted them to be together so that the last vestiges could be swept away. But she was hurrying things too much. He didn't want to be alone with Joyce. Just didn't want to be alone with her yet. But what could he do now?
"All right. Joyce, come upstairs with me so I can show you what a big shot I am."
Tony and Janice carried their drinks out through the dining room and kitchen into the back yard. Frank watched Joyce climbing the stairs ahead of him. She caught the full skirt of her light dress high on one thigh so that it would not interfere with her feet. The gesture charmingly shaped her figure
Janice said, "How do you feel about working on newspapers? Frank says you worked for the Courier last summer too, so I guess you must have made up your mind by now. Do you think you want to make a career of it?"
"I've been thinking about it," she said. "I guess I'm still a little young to get steamed up about it, but I'd like to work on newspapers for a while and then somehow get on a big magazine like Seventeen or Harper's Bazaar."
"I used to work for the Bazaar," Janice said. "I was an editorial assistant there. That's how I met Frank. We were both assigned to cover some demonstration of a new laundry machine. They always serve drinks at these press previews, and we both got a little tight and then he insisted on dragging me to some place in Harlem where he knew all the jazz musicians ..."
Good old Janice, Frank thought. Consciously or unconsciously. She knew what she had to do, and was doing it.
He tried to get some kind of conversation going with Tony, but soon gave up. There was such an undercurrent of hostility, at least on Tony's part, that nothing could get started.
Then he heard Janice beginning something else, and a sensation of apprehension threaded up into his mind.
"Frank has covered some pretty big stories. Once he even made a hero of himself. The firemen--this was in Brooklyn--had been working on a tenement blaze and all the reporters--they get fire-line cards so they can get close enough to see and take pictures--the reporters were pretty close up to the building. A wall was about to come down, and everyone was being ordered to stand back, when Frank saw this child standing in the doorway of the wall that was going to crash. He yelled, 'C'mere, kid,' and started to run toward the child, but the kid was too frightened to do anything, and he had to go all the way up under that dangerous wall and grab the kid out of the doorway and start running back. He had just gotten out of the danger zone when the wall crashed down. He wouldn't write the story about himself--but the other reporters did, and it was in all the papers. But let me tell you something--That was the phoniest false modesty I ever saw, because he bragged to me about it for a week afterward ..."
"I did not," Frank said. And everybody laughed. There was a sudden easing of the tension. Then Janice said, "Frank, why don't you show Joyce some of those stories. You've got them all in the scrapbooks upstairs, and I'll take Tony out in the garden. It's just beginning to be nice, Tony. I made Frank put the furniture out there while I was away, and you'll find it lovely and cool. I never saw a June like this. Why there are already fireflies in the yard, but no mosquitoes yet ..."
This was the apprehension. This was what Frank had been fearing. He said, "No, Janice. She doesn't want to see those scrapbooks."
"Oh, but I do, Fra--M--Frank."
"Oh, come off it, now," Janice said. "Don't be such a phoney. Everybody knows you're dying to show them."
"I'd like to see them, too." Tony said--for obvious reasons.
"No you don't, young man," Janice said. "Who's going to keep me company in the yard? Besides, they wouldn't mean anything to non-newspaper people. You come along with me."
It was clear, Frank thought, how Janice's mind was working. She had sensed the trouble, taken steps to treat it, and now wanted them to be together so that the last vestiges could be swept away. But she was hurrying things too much. He didn't want to be alone with Joyce. Just didn't want to be alone with her yet. But what could he do now?
"All right. Joyce, come upstairs with me so I can show you what a big shot I am."
Tony and Janice carried their drinks out through the dining room and kitchen into the back yard. Frank watched Joyce climbing the stairs ahead of him. She caught the full skirt of her light dress high on one thigh so that it would not interfere with her feet. The gesture charmingly shaped her figure
Similar Books
