Big Money by John Dos Passos

dressedup woman who gave him a searching look that he felt went right through him into the wallet in his back pocket.
    They had tea and cakes, and Charley wasn’t sure if he ought to smoke or not. They said Ollie Taylor had gone abroad again, to the south of France, and as Ollie Taylor was the only thing he had in common with them to talk about, that pretty well dried up the conversation. Dressed in civies it wasn’t so easy talking to rich women as it had been in the uniform. Still Doris smiled at him nicely and talked in a friendly confidential way about how sick she was of this society whirl and everything, that she was going out and get her a job. That’s not so easy, thought Charley. She complained she never met any interesting men. She said Charley and Ollie Taylor—of course Ollie was an old dear—were the only men she knew she could stand talking to. “I guess it’s the war and going overseas that’s done something to you,” she said, looking up at him. “When you’ve seen things like that you can’t take yourself so seriously as these miserable loungelizards I have to meet. They are nothing but clotheshangers.”
    When Charley left the big apartmenthouse his head was swimming so he was almost bagged by a taxicab crossing the street. He walked down the broad avenue humming with traffic in the early dark. She’d promised to go to a show with him one of these nights.
    When he went to get Doris to take her out to dinner one evening in early May, after the engagement had been put off from week to week—she was so terribly busy, she always complained over the phone, she’d love to come but she was so terribly busy—he only had twenty bucks left in his wallet. He waited for her some time alone in the drawingroom of the Humphries’ apartment. White covers had been hung on the piano and the chairs and curtains and the big white room smelt of mothballs. It all gave him a feeling he’d come too late. Doris came in at last looking so pale and silky and golden in a lowcut eveningdress it made him catch his breath. “Hello, Charley, I hope you’re not starved,” she said in that intimate way that always made
him feel he’d known her a long time. “You know I never could keep track of the time.”
    â€œGosh, Doris, you look wonderful.” He caught her looking at his grey business suit. “Oh, forgive me,” she said. “I’ll run and change my clothes.” Something chilly came into her voice and left it at once. “It’ll take only a minute.” He felt himself getting red. “I guess I oughta have worn eveningclothes,” he said. “But I’ve been so busy. I haven’t had my trunk sent out from Minnesota yet.” “Of course not. It’s almost summer. I don’t know what I was thinking about. Wits woolgathering again.”
    â€œCouldn’t you go like that, you look lovely.”
    â€œBut it looks so silly to see a girl dressed up like a plush horse with a man in a business suit. It’ll be more fun anyway . . . less the social engagement, you know. . . . Honestly I’ll be only five minutes by the clock.”
    Doris went out and half an hour later came back in a pearl-grey streetdress. A maid followed her in with a tray with a cocktailshaker and glasses. “I thought we might have a drink before we go out. Then we’ll be sure to know what we are getting,” she said.
    He took her to the McAlpin for supper; he didn’t know anyplace else. It was already eight o’clock. The theatertickets were burning his pocket, but she didn’t seem in any hurry. It was halfpast nine when he put her in a taxi to go to the show. The taxi filled up with the light crazy smell of her perfume and her hair. “Doris, lemme say what I want to say for a minute,” he blurted out suddenly. “I don’t know whether you like anybody else very