mashing Betty Simon, one of the nurses on duty. Madone, the lungs on that broad! His name is not Sidney Marsden.
At a quarter to seven Lois Lane arrives at the hospital. Because her pocketbook holds a little zippered manicure kit containing a metal nail file and cuticle scissors, she has to leave it with the posted guard, this evening a young blond-haired policeman-in-tunic named Ben Jaeger. He apologizes when he divests Lois of her bag. She thinks he’s cute.
Eighteen months ago, Officer Jaeger, still a rookie on traffic detail, arrested Spider Sandglass outside of McSorley’s Old Ale House, 15 East Seventh Street, for assaulting an acquaintance Spider claimed owed him a small amount of money.
Clearly, Spider’s father doesn’t hold that against Officer Jaeger. On the contrary.
When Lois comes into Willi’s room, she discovers him standing at the window, looking down nine stories to the street. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”
“They’re sending me to Riker’s tomorrow!.”
“Get under the covers—please?”
“I can’t go to jail! I’ll go nuts!”
“What about Detective Sandglass,” she says in a measured, patient tone, “can’t he—?”
“Feh! He still thinks I’m lying. Everybody does!” Willi hammers the crown of his head against the window frame. “ You don’t think I’m lying, do you? Lois?”
“Willi, I don’t think you cut anyone’s throat, of course not.”
“ But?”
“I think maybe you saw somebody who just looked like the alderman.”
“I should just stick my tongue in a light socket and be done with it.” He looks around for a lamp, follows the cord to a wall, the plug—there! He might as well do it now! Save everybody a lot of trouble.
“Willi, you need to calm down. Now listen. I did some calling around today and I think I may’ve found you a lawyer. His name—”
“I can’t afford a lawyer.”
“I can help.”
“Oh sure, now you can. Now you can loan me some money! Thanks a whole heap.”
“Don’t start.”
“If you’d loaned me thirty bucks when I asked you for it . . .”
“So this is my fault?”
She expects another explosion of Willi’s pique and a fresh fusillade of blame-laying, name-calling. Instead, his shoulders sag. “I’m scared, Lois.”
“I know,” she says, “I know.” She’s eager to hug him, but also reluctant: she doesn’t want him to cry out in physical pain. But suddenly Willi hugs her. “It’s going to be okay,” she murmurs. “It’s all going to be just fine.”
But with the situation the way it looks, Lois has no idea how.
At ten minutes to eleven, a tall and buxom middle-aged nurse that Skinny Simon has never seen before briskly passes her by, absorbed, it seems, in making chart notations on the run. For a moment Skinny considers chasing after the woman to remind her it’s against hospital regulations for nurses to wear perfume on the job. She is going off duty, however, and besides, she’s not the shift supervisor. So instead she goes to check on Willi, not knowing what she could say to him; do you wish someone well when they’re heading off to jail?
But she needn’t have worried: when she peeks in, he’s pretending to sleep (an R.N. can always tell). Skinny shuts the door, bids good night to Officer Jaeger (he’s adorable), clocks out, rides an elevator down to the lobby, and leaves the building.
Out in the muggy summer night, she feels blue all of a sudden. Her live-in boyfriend, Charlie Brunner, is in California and won’t return till God knows when. Maybe September, but maybe not. He’s a trumpeter with Benny Goodman’s orchestra, which was on the verge of disbanding as recently as two months ago when the boys and their canary, Helen Ward, left New York on a last-ditch cross-country tour. Now they’re packing in audiences night after night at the Palomar Ballroom in Los Angeles. Lucky Charlie! Poor Willi. Poor guy, she thinks, recalling the two or three, three or four, certainly less
At a quarter to seven Lois Lane arrives at the hospital. Because her pocketbook holds a little zippered manicure kit containing a metal nail file and cuticle scissors, she has to leave it with the posted guard, this evening a young blond-haired policeman-in-tunic named Ben Jaeger. He apologizes when he divests Lois of her bag. She thinks he’s cute.
Eighteen months ago, Officer Jaeger, still a rookie on traffic detail, arrested Spider Sandglass outside of McSorley’s Old Ale House, 15 East Seventh Street, for assaulting an acquaintance Spider claimed owed him a small amount of money.
Clearly, Spider’s father doesn’t hold that against Officer Jaeger. On the contrary.
When Lois comes into Willi’s room, she discovers him standing at the window, looking down nine stories to the street. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”
“They’re sending me to Riker’s tomorrow!.”
“Get under the covers—please?”
“I can’t go to jail! I’ll go nuts!”
“What about Detective Sandglass,” she says in a measured, patient tone, “can’t he—?”
“Feh! He still thinks I’m lying. Everybody does!” Willi hammers the crown of his head against the window frame. “ You don’t think I’m lying, do you? Lois?”
“Willi, I don’t think you cut anyone’s throat, of course not.”
“ But?”
“I think maybe you saw somebody who just looked like the alderman.”
“I should just stick my tongue in a light socket and be done with it.” He looks around for a lamp, follows the cord to a wall, the plug—there! He might as well do it now! Save everybody a lot of trouble.
“Willi, you need to calm down. Now listen. I did some calling around today and I think I may’ve found you a lawyer. His name—”
“I can’t afford a lawyer.”
“I can help.”
“Oh sure, now you can. Now you can loan me some money! Thanks a whole heap.”
“Don’t start.”
“If you’d loaned me thirty bucks when I asked you for it . . .”
“So this is my fault?”
She expects another explosion of Willi’s pique and a fresh fusillade of blame-laying, name-calling. Instead, his shoulders sag. “I’m scared, Lois.”
“I know,” she says, “I know.” She’s eager to hug him, but also reluctant: she doesn’t want him to cry out in physical pain. But suddenly Willi hugs her. “It’s going to be okay,” she murmurs. “It’s all going to be just fine.”
But with the situation the way it looks, Lois has no idea how.
At ten minutes to eleven, a tall and buxom middle-aged nurse that Skinny Simon has never seen before briskly passes her by, absorbed, it seems, in making chart notations on the run. For a moment Skinny considers chasing after the woman to remind her it’s against hospital regulations for nurses to wear perfume on the job. She is going off duty, however, and besides, she’s not the shift supervisor. So instead she goes to check on Willi, not knowing what she could say to him; do you wish someone well when they’re heading off to jail?
But she needn’t have worried: when she peeks in, he’s pretending to sleep (an R.N. can always tell). Skinny shuts the door, bids good night to Officer Jaeger (he’s adorable), clocks out, rides an elevator down to the lobby, and leaves the building.
Out in the muggy summer night, she feels blue all of a sudden. Her live-in boyfriend, Charlie Brunner, is in California and won’t return till God knows when. Maybe September, but maybe not. He’s a trumpeter with Benny Goodman’s orchestra, which was on the verge of disbanding as recently as two months ago when the boys and their canary, Helen Ward, left New York on a last-ditch cross-country tour. Now they’re packing in audiences night after night at the Palomar Ballroom in Los Angeles. Lucky Charlie! Poor Willi. Poor guy, she thinks, recalling the two or three, three or four, certainly less
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