Dancers in the Dark. Dorothy Speare
while. You know I have had no one since Miss Bessie—and I do think it would be nice to polish off my singing with some real Boston teachers—don’t you? I could just go down when you went away—and then decide what to do, when you came back.”
It was out; and now her fever was mingled with chills. Why had she even proposed such a thing? Her father with bent brows was looking through his egg—beyond.
“Your mother studied singing in Boston,” he said at last, in a voice so calm that Joy’s mouth hung open, emotion suspended; “she lived at a Students’ Club. I suppose that is what you would do.”
“I suppose—I suppose it is!” Joy echoed, while the New Englander within her whispered: “Of course it is!” and the venturesome French blood sang: “See how far you’ve come with him—go a little farther and tell him about Jerry!”
But, lost in the marvel of his consideration of her project, she dared not venture further.
As far as Mr. Nelson was concerned, the subject was settled. Joy was to go down to Boston for a month or two, and he wrote to the Students’ Club where her mother had stayed, for a room for her. Her mother’s old teacher could not be located, and nothing daunted by this nor the fact that it was late in the season to find any teacher, he procured a name and address from “Miss Bessie,” Joy’s old teacher at the school.
And so suddenly, mechanically, things had been decided, from a fragment of ragtime whistled on the street. Joy was to leave Foxhollow Corners, New England—arrangements went forward without her aid or volition. Her father received notice from the Students’ Club that it was crowded, but that she would be well taken care of at one of their annexes. It was a letter that left him calm in the assurance that Joy would be well chaperoned; a letter that plunged Joy into gloom. The days leaped ahead with preparation to the day of her scheduled departure. It was early in June; she did not want to leave Foxhollow Corners, when she came right down to it. A little while longer, and the boys would be home from college, the gay season of Foxhollow Corners would be ushered in—but her ticket had been bought, her father superintending every detail; and he even rode with her as far as Boston.
She arrived at the Students’ Club Annex late in the afternoon. She thought it was rather a dingy looking place, as she established her things in the faded green room which the lady-who-ran-things informed her she was very lucky to get—and the girls she passed in the none-too-fragrant hallway, certainly lacked tang.
Then when she was left alone in the room, adventure suddenly pricked her. At last she was in Boston—all by herself—responsible to no one—well, practically to no one——. And she had Jerry’s address in her bag.
She was tired after her journey—but the fever of enterprise was burning high within her now. And while it burned—she’d better act!
She left the Students’ Club Annex with footsteps that repudiated the ground in their swift urge. What she had been fitfully dreaming of for so long, was now close at hand.
Jerry’s address was on the other side of the town. After a struggle with the street-car system, she landed in front of a Beacon Street apartment house near the city limits, and was informed by the elevator boy that Jerry lived on the sixth floor. Details of a strange journey lower one from fever pitch, and as Joy stood staring at the door of the apartment, after she had pressed the bell, she was tempted to turn and run. She was certainly a fool—yes, a fool, to come here. Why, Jerry would have forgotten all about her by now. Why hadn’t she considered that before?
Just as she was turning to make a dash for the stairway, the door opened a crack and a tossed head peered cautiously around it. “Who—Joy Nelson!” The door swung open to reveal Jerry in purple satin kimono and pink mules. “Joy Nelson! My God, I’m glad to see you! Come in here!” She pulled her inside, and banged the door. “How long have you been in Boston? You don’t know how I’ve kicked myself that I let you go off without getting your address—just like me——” She was leading her through the long, narrow hall, and they now came into a tiny little reception room, daintily furnished in rose and gilt, but without the fragile, uncomfortable chairs that usually go with such a setting. Jerry installed Joy on the luxurious sofa, and then switched on the lights, as rose silk curtains were lowered over all the windows.
“I’m glad you remembered me,” said Joy.
“Remember you? Didn’t I tell you you were the only girl I ever liked. That’s quite a declaration of devotion, if you know me——But now tell me everything. How long have you been down here, etc.?”
“I came to-day. Father had to go to California—and he let me come down here to study singing. I felt lonely over at the Students’ Club place, so I thought I’d come and see you.”
“Come and see me!” Jerry echoed. “I asked you to come and stay with us! You mean to say you’ve eased yourself down as far as Boston and then are planning to stay at some Students’ dive? What did I tell you to think over?”
Adventure was knocking at Joy’s pulses. “Oh—why—I never thought you were serious,” she faltered. “Because we don’t know each other very well—and everything——”
“What’s and everything?” Jerry asked. “Why board at a bum place where you can have only certain hours to practice and have to live by rules with a lot of lame ducks—I know the kind of girls in those places, their idea of jazz is Drink to Me Only With Thine Eyes—when you can come here with us?”
There was a silence. Joy had not told her real reason. Of course, Jerry had not said so, but Joy felt certain that there was no chaperone in this apartment. And that was what would make it impossible for her father ever to give his consent to her staying there. …
“Of course I’m selfish in this,” said Jerry, “even if it seems to sound that I’m just looking at it from your side. But just Sal alone here with me is getting on my nerves. Not to slam her unnecessarily, but—three is a lot better than two.”
Joy thought: Father was en route to California. And suddenly she knew she had been thinking about this, beneath everything else, all along. Not that she meant to deceive father. But he was on his way to California, and it would take about six days for a letter to reach him, and how could he forbid at long distance, anyway—especially when things might be represented quite nicely? The New Englander in her had left in disgust. And the Southerner in her was laughing—she had been thinking this out all along!!!
“I—I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Jerry,” she said. “I’ll stay here with you a little while—if you really want me—just a little while—and I’ll pay you the money that father gives me for my board.”
“Sal and I get pretty rocky sometimes,” said Jerry reflectively; “a regular income will fit in O. K. But a little while has got to stretch out, Joy.”
Before she realized that things had been decided, she was being transported down the hall, with Jerry telling her that she could send for her luggage. “You don’t mind having the maid’s room, do you? It’s just called the maid’s room—we never have been known to have a maid—we chew on delicatessen delicacies when we don’t bum our meals.”
The maid’s room was striking to incoherency. It had started out with some uncompromising black walnut furniture which had certainly been compromised. The room had been recklessly done over in swift black and white effects, behind which the solid furniture pieces lurked and frowned. Just as Jerry dashed over to lift the black and white striped shades, a bell rang loudly and she struck a despairing pose: “And me not fully out of bed yet!” she wailed.
“Where’s Sarah?” Joy questioned.
“Sal? Asleep—this is one of the days when we stoke up energy for the times to come.” The bell rang again. “Oh, what periwinkle has the nerve at this hour——”
“I’ll go,” and Joy started through the hall again. But Jerry pushed her aside as they reached the reception room.
“I might as well slide it open first as last,” she said,