couple of ’em.”
Ouida did not answer. She began to undress. Earle watched as she pulled stockings off her dark legs and slipped out of her skirt. He continued watching dolefully until she stepped behind the closet door. In a moment she was back in view, wearing a gown. “I’m going to bed,” she told him again.
“Who’re you seeing currently?” Earle said.
Ouida giggled and rolled over in the bed, her face away from him. “George,” she said. “George Giffen. I see George nearly every night.”
“Who is it?” Earle said. “Who the hell is it? I know there’s someone special. I know you pretty well by now. I can read you like a goddam book, you’re so transparent.”
Ouida rolled back over and looked at him, her eyelashes wet, face trembling.
“Well who’s it been with you the last three months? Or the last year? Or half the time we were in Europe? Or the month in Cuernavaca? You started this libertine business, Earle. You started it — exulted in it. I didn’t. I never did.”
“All right,” Earle said. “I take full responsibility. I started it. I suppose it’s up to me to end it then. So let’s end it.”
“The way you’ve been wandering off and coming back again — I’d think you’d abandoned any right, any capacity even, for starting or ending anything.”
Earle was silent for a time. Finally he said: “Should I stay here tonight? You think it would be good for the boy for me to be here when he wakes up.”
“For a change. Sure. He might not recognize you … Stay anywhere you want … Goodnight.” She rolled over again, pulling the covers up over her head.
Earle sat on the edge of the bed several minutes, finishing his cigarette. He kicked off one shoe and debated with himself. He might, he thought, go sleep with the boy. Or make a bed on the front room couch. He thought about sleeping next to Ouida, wondering if everything could be miraculously resolved by morning. He thought about the others at the hotel suite and realized, with relief, that he was wide awake and nervous and in no condition for sleep. He slipped the shoe back on and walked through the apartment, rattling Alfred Rinemiller’s car keys in his pocket.
They were still talking politics in the hotel suite. Rinemiller, Huggins and Giffen sat together, attempting to work out the problems. Earle Fielding’s guests had gone through four of the whiskey fifths; Earle was still nowhere in sight, and they were all a little crazy drunk.
“What we really need,” Rinemiller was saying, “is some new faces at the state level. A young people’s ticket for Governor and Lieutenant Governor and on down the line. We do all right in the House — not too badly in the Senate — but we haven’t elected a single man at the state level … Same old hacks moving up every year.”
“Young man’s ticket,” Giffen put in.
“Might even run a nigger,” Huggins said. “Let’s run a young buck nigger.
“You ought to run for Governor, Alfred,” Giffen said.
“Not me — I had Earle Fielding in mind,” Rinemiller said.
“You ought to run,” Giffen repeated. Huggins was silent, thinking about running a colored man for Governor.
“Earle’s the natural for the race,” Rinemiller said. “He can afford to spend a hundred thousand, put on real campaign.”
“You run with him, then,” Giffen said. “You and Earle make perfect young man’s ticket. Governor ’n Lieutenant …”
“I wanna get a nigger in there somewhere,” Huggins said.
Harris brushed past, dancing with Ellen Streeter. Harris asked Ellen how about it. How about what? she wanted to know.
“ You know,” Harris said. “I could really lose my head a little over you, El, but you never give a man a chance.”
“What chance?” Ellen Streeter said. “You’ve got your chance.”
“I mean there’s got to be more … Got to be … I’m that kind of person. For a relationship to mean anything at all to me, it’s got to be adult …
Ouida did not answer. She began to undress. Earle watched as she pulled stockings off her dark legs and slipped out of her skirt. He continued watching dolefully until she stepped behind the closet door. In a moment she was back in view, wearing a gown. “I’m going to bed,” she told him again.
“Who’re you seeing currently?” Earle said.
Ouida giggled and rolled over in the bed, her face away from him. “George,” she said. “George Giffen. I see George nearly every night.”
“Who is it?” Earle said. “Who the hell is it? I know there’s someone special. I know you pretty well by now. I can read you like a goddam book, you’re so transparent.”
Ouida rolled back over and looked at him, her eyelashes wet, face trembling.
“Well who’s it been with you the last three months? Or the last year? Or half the time we were in Europe? Or the month in Cuernavaca? You started this libertine business, Earle. You started it — exulted in it. I didn’t. I never did.”
“All right,” Earle said. “I take full responsibility. I started it. I suppose it’s up to me to end it then. So let’s end it.”
“The way you’ve been wandering off and coming back again — I’d think you’d abandoned any right, any capacity even, for starting or ending anything.”
Earle was silent for a time. Finally he said: “Should I stay here tonight? You think it would be good for the boy for me to be here when he wakes up.”
“For a change. Sure. He might not recognize you … Stay anywhere you want … Goodnight.” She rolled over again, pulling the covers up over her head.
Earle sat on the edge of the bed several minutes, finishing his cigarette. He kicked off one shoe and debated with himself. He might, he thought, go sleep with the boy. Or make a bed on the front room couch. He thought about sleeping next to Ouida, wondering if everything could be miraculously resolved by morning. He thought about the others at the hotel suite and realized, with relief, that he was wide awake and nervous and in no condition for sleep. He slipped the shoe back on and walked through the apartment, rattling Alfred Rinemiller’s car keys in his pocket.
They were still talking politics in the hotel suite. Rinemiller, Huggins and Giffen sat together, attempting to work out the problems. Earle Fielding’s guests had gone through four of the whiskey fifths; Earle was still nowhere in sight, and they were all a little crazy drunk.
“What we really need,” Rinemiller was saying, “is some new faces at the state level. A young people’s ticket for Governor and Lieutenant Governor and on down the line. We do all right in the House — not too badly in the Senate — but we haven’t elected a single man at the state level … Same old hacks moving up every year.”
“Young man’s ticket,” Giffen put in.
“Might even run a nigger,” Huggins said. “Let’s run a young buck nigger.
“You ought to run for Governor, Alfred,” Giffen said.
“Not me — I had Earle Fielding in mind,” Rinemiller said.
“You ought to run,” Giffen repeated. Huggins was silent, thinking about running a colored man for Governor.
“Earle’s the natural for the race,” Rinemiller said. “He can afford to spend a hundred thousand, put on real campaign.”
“You run with him, then,” Giffen said. “You and Earle make perfect young man’s ticket. Governor ’n Lieutenant …”
“I wanna get a nigger in there somewhere,” Huggins said.
Harris brushed past, dancing with Ellen Streeter. Harris asked Ellen how about it. How about what? she wanted to know.
“ You know,” Harris said. “I could really lose my head a little over you, El, but you never give a man a chance.”
“What chance?” Ellen Streeter said. “You’ve got your chance.”
“I mean there’s got to be more … Got to be … I’m that kind of person. For a relationship to mean anything at all to me, it’s got to be adult …
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