F. Scott Fitzgerald: Complete Works. F. Scott Fitzgerald
be trouble.”
“Be quiet!”
“If he’s gone, where did he go?”
“I don’t know.”
“If he isn’t at my apartment in half an hour I’ll know you’re lying and I’ll——”
Diana hung up the receiver and tumbled back on the bed—too weary of life to think or care. Out on the lawn the orchestra was singing and the words drifted in her window on the breeze.
“Lis -sen while I—get you tole :
Stop foolin’ ’roun’ sweet—Jelly-Roll ——”
She listened. The negro voices were wild and loud—life was in that key, so harsh a key. How abominably helpless she was! Her appeal was ghostly, impotent, absurd, before the barbaric urgency of this other girl’s desire.
“Just treat me pretty, just treat me sweet
Cause I possess a fo’ty-fo’ that don’t repeat .”
The music sank to a weird, threatening minor. It reminded her of something—some mood in her own childhood—and a new atmosphere seemed to open up around her. It was not so much a definite memory as it was a current, a tide setting through her whole body.
Diana jumped suddenly to her feet and groped for her slippers in the darkness. The song was beating in her head and her little teeth set together in a click. She could feel the tense golf-muscles rippling and tightening along her arms.
Running into the hall she opened the door to her father’s room, closed it cautiously behind her and went to the bureau. It was in the top drawer—black and shining among the pale anemic collars. Her hand closed around the grip and she drew out the bullet clip with steady fingers. There were five shots in it.
Back in her room she called the garage.
“I want my roadster at the side entrance right away!”
Wriggling hurriedly out of her evening dress to the sound of breaking snaps she let it drop in a soft pile on the floor, replacing it with a golf sweater, a checked sport-skirt and an old blue-and-white blazer which she pinned at the collar with a diamond bar. Then she pulled a tam-o’-shanter over her dark hair and looked once in the mirror before turning out the light.
“Come on, Diamond Dick!” she whispered aloud.
With a short exclamation she plunged the automatic into her blazer pocket and hurried from the room.
Diamond Dick! The name had jumped out at her once from a lurid cover, symbolizing her childish revolt against the softness of life. Diamond Dick was a law unto himself, making his own judgments with his back against the wall. If justice was slow he vaulted into his saddle and was off for the foothills, for in the unvarying rightness of his instincts he was higher and harder than the law. She had seen in him a sort of deity, infinitely resourceful, infinitely just. And the commandment he laid down for himself in the cheap, ill-written pages was first and foremost to keep what was his own.
An hour and a half from the time when she had left Greenwich, Diana pulled up her roadster in front of the Restaurant Mont Mihiel. The theaters were already dumping their crowds into Broadway and half a dozen couples in evening dress looked at her curiously as she slouched through the door. A moment later she was talking to the head-waiter.
“Do you know a girl named Elaine Russel?”
“Yes, Miss Dickey. She comes here quite often.”
“I wonder if you can tell me where she lives.”
The head-waiter considered.
“Find out,” she said sharply. “I’m in a hurry.”
He bowed. Diana had come here many times with many men. She had never asked him a favor before.
His eyes roved hurriedly around the room.
“Sit down,” he said.
“I’m all right. You hurry.”
He crossed the room and whispered to a man at a table—in a minute he was back with the address, an apartment on 49th Street.
In her car again she looked at her wrist watch—it was almost midnight, the appropriate hour. A feeling of romance, of desperate and dangerous adventure thrilled her, seemed to flow out of the electric signs and the rushing cabs and the high stars. Perhaps she was only one out of a hundred people bound on such an adventure tonight—for her there had been nothing like this since the war.
Skidding the corner into East 49th Street she scanned the apartments on both sides. There it was—“The Elkson”—a wide mouth of forbidding yellow light. In the hall a negro elevator boy asked her name.
“Tell her it’s a girl with a package from the moving-picture company.”
He worked a plug noisily.
“Miss Russel? There’s a lady here says she’s got a package from the moving-picture company.”
A pause.
“That’s what she says…. All right.” He turned to Diana. “She wasn’t expecting no package but you can bring it up.” He looked at her, frowned suddenly. “You ain’t got no package.”
Without answering she walked into the elevator and he followed, shoving the gate closed with maddening languor….
“First door to your right.”
She waited until the elevator had started down again. Then she knocked, her fingers tightening on the automatic in her blazer pocket.
Running foot-steps, a laugh; the door swung open and Diana stepped quickly into the room.
It was a small apartment, bedroom, bath and kitchenette, furnished in pink and white and heavy with last week’s smoke. Elaine Russel had opened the door herself. She was dressed to go out and a green evening cape was over her arm. Charley Abbot sipping at a highball was stretched out in the room’s only easy chair.
“What is it?” cried Elaine quickly.
With a sharp movement Diana slammed the door behind her and Elaine stepped back, her mouth falling ajar.
“Good evening,” said Diana coldly, and then a line from a forgotten nickel novel flashed into her head. “I hope I don’t intrude.”
“What do you want?” demanded Elaine. “You’ve got your nerve to come butting in here!”
Charley who had not said a word set down his glass heavily on the arm of the chair. The two girls looked at each other with unwavering eyes.
“Excuse me,” said Diana slowly, “but I think you’ve got my man.”
“I thought you were supposed to be a lady!” cried Elaine in rising anger. “What do you mean by forcing your way into this room?”
“I mean business. I’ve come for Charley Abbot.”
Elaine gasped.
“Why, you must be crazy!”
“On the contrary, I’ve never been so sane in my life. I came here to get something that belongs to me.”
Charley uttered an exclamation but with a simultaneous gesture the two women waved him silent.
“All right,” cried Elaine, “we’ll settle this right now.”
“I’ll settle it myself,” said Diana sharply. “There’s no question or argument about it. Under other circumstances I might feel a certain pity for you—in this case you happen to be in my way. What is there between you two? Has he promised to marry you?”
“That’s none of your business!”
“You’d better answer,” Diana warned her.
“I won’t answer.”
Diana