>> >>
>> Selena delivered the incomplete sentence with all possible aplomb.
Ginnie was, in fact, slightly put off by this information, whatever its degree of truth, but not to the point of sentimentality.
When Selena had rung her apartment bell, the girls were admitted--or rather, the door was drawn in and left ajar--by a colored maid with whom Selena didn't seem to be on speaking terms. Ginnie dropped her tennis things on a chair in the foyer and followed Selena. In the living room, Selena turned and said,
I may have to wake Mother up and everything.>>>
>> but not quite brave enough to emphasize it.
She looked around the room, mentally rearranging furniture, throwing out table lamps, removing artificial flowers. In her opinion, it was an altogether hideous room--expensive but cheesy.
Suddenly, a male voice shouted from another part of the apartment, >> Ginnie guessed it was Selena's brother, whom she had never seen. She crossed her long legs, arranged the hem of her polo coat over her knees, and waited.
A young man wearing glasses and pajamas and no slippers lunged into the room with his mouth open. >> he asked. There was a real appeal in his noisy voice, as if Ginnie, by her answer, could save him from some particularly isolating form of pioneering.
Ginnie stared at him. >> He was the funniest-looking boy, or man--it was hard to tell which he was--she had ever seen. His hair was bed-dishevelled. He had a couple of days' growth of sparse, blond beard. And he looked-well, goofy. >> she asked.
He was staring down, with his slack mouth ajar, at his injured finger. >> he said.
>>
>> >> Ginnie asked.
>> >>
Selena's brother carried his wound slightly forward from his chest and unveiled it for Ginnie's benefit. >> He looked at Ginnie again. >> he asked. >> >>
>>
>>
>> he said, squinting at her through his glasses. >>
Selena's brother turned back to his finger, obviously for him the true and only focal point in the room. >> Ginnie arched her back.
>>
>>
>>
>>
>> Ginnie watched him left up and peer under the thick folds of toilet paper on his finger.
>>
>>
>> Ginnie demanded.
>>
Ginnie was silent. >> she asked suddenly.
No answer.
>> Ginnie repeated.
Selena's brother said. This had the stature of an interesting answer, in Ginnie's secret opinion.
>>
>> >> he asked, looking up.
Ginnie took full advantage of his having looked up. >> He resumed picking at his own first-aid work.
Ginnie snorted.
>> >> >>
>> He looked at Ginnie. >> he asked. >> >> Apparently without resenting Ginnie's tone, Selena's brother turned back to his finger.
>>
He nodded in agreement.
Ginnie watched him for a minute.
As though responding to an electric shock, Selena's brother pulled back his uninjured hand. He sat up a trifle straighter--or rather, slumped a trifle less. He looked at some object on the other side of the room. An almost dreamy expression came over his disorderly features. He inserted the nail of his uninjured index finger into the crevice between two front teeth and, removing a food particle, turned to Ginnie. >> he asked.
>>
>>
Ginnie shook her head. >> >> >>
>>
>> Selena's brother seemed to accept this explanation. At least, he nodded and looked away. But he turned back suddenly. >> he said.
>>
Absently, he bent over and scratched his bare ankle. >> he asked.
>> said Ginnie. >> Selena's brother went on scratching his ankle.
>>
Ginnie giggled. She watched him scratch his ankle till it was red. When he began to scratch off a minor skin eruption on his calf with his fingernail, she stopped watching.
>> she asked. >> >>
Ginnie waited, but nothing led away from this statement. >> she asked.
>>
>> From his breast pajama pocket he two-fingered out a cigarette that looked as tho
ugh it had been slept on. >> he said. Ginnie handed him a box of matches from the table beside her. He lit his cigarette without straightening out its curvature, then replaced the used match in the box. Tilting his head back, he slowly released an enormous quantity of smoke from his mouth and drew it up through his nostrils. He continued to smoke in this >> style. Very probably, it was not part of the sofa vaudeville of a showoff but, rather, the private, exposed achievement of a young man who, at one time or another, might have tried shaving himself lefthanded.
>> Ginnie asked.
>>
>>
He turned to her wearily. >> Ginnie hesitated. >>
>>
>> Ginnie asked.
>>
Ginnie giggled. >> she asked.
>>
>> >>
>>
>>
>> said Ginnie.
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>> With his cigarette hand, Selena's brother tapped the left side of his chest.
>> Ginnie said. >> >> >>
Ginnie briefly held her fire. Very briefly. >> she asked.
>>
>> said Ginnie. >> "'Did you like it?'" he mimicked. >> Ginnie was much too involved now to feel affronted. >> >> He stood up and walked over to the window. He looked down at the street, scratching his spine with his thumb. >> >> said Ginnie.
>>
He heard her. He put his left foot up on the window seat and rested his injured hand on the horizontal thigh. He continued to look down at the street. >> >> said Ginnie.
>>
>>
>>
>> Ginnie nodded.
>> >> Selena's brother nodded. Then he took a last, long look at his injured finger, as if to see whether it was in condition to make the trip back to his room.
>> >> He wandered out of the room.
In a few seconds, he was back, bringing the sandwich half.
>>
>>
>>
Ginnie accepted the sandwich half.
>> >>
>>
Ginnie took a bite.
>>
Ginnie swallowed with difficulty.
Selena's brother nodded. He looked absently around the room, scratching the pit of his chest. >> He was gone.
Left alone, Ginnie looked around, without getting up, for a good place to throw out or hide the sandwich. She heard someone coming through the foyer. She put the sandwich into her polo-coat pocket.
A young man in his early thirties, neither short nor tall, came into the room. His regular features, his short haircut, the cut of his suit, the pattern of his foulard necktie gave out no really final information. He might have been on the staff, or trying to get on the staff, of a news magazine. He might have just been in a play that closed in Philadelphia. He might have been with a law firm.
>> >> he asked.
>> >> The young man looked at his wristwatch. He then sat down in a red damask chair, crossed his legs, and put his hands to his face. As if he were generally weary, or had just undergone some form of eyestrain, he rubbed his closed eyes with the tips of his extended fingers.
>> Ginnie asked, looking at him.
>> He stared vaguely, discontentedly, in the direction of the windows.
>> >> Ginnie repeated.
>>
Yet he used them as if they had some not easily controllable aesthetic drive of their own. th from the laundry. And on top of it all-->>> The young man broke off. >> He paused to drag on his cigarette, and exhaled the smoke in a thin, sibilant stream from his mouth. >> He looked over at Ginnie. >> >>
The young man nodded thoughtfully and backed off toward his chair. >> He sat down. >> >> said Ginnie.
And part of January. Usually I go down with her, but this has been such a messy year I simply couldn't get away.>>>
>>
>>
He nodded. >>
>>
The young man suddenly began brushing the cuffs of his trousers with the flat of his hand. >> >>
>> He stopped brushing, sat back, and looked at his wristwatch again. >> >>
>> He shook his head hopelessly.
During the war, we both worked at the same horrible place, and that boy would insist on dragging me to the most impossible pictures in the world. We saw gangster pictures, Western pictures, musicals-->