"Harry was the other guy. Im Sid. Sid Arbuck. You like me."
"The next time a girl wants a little powder-room change," she called, not teasingat all, "take my advice, darling: dont give her twenty-cents!"
She kept her promise to Mr. Yunioshi; or I assume she did not ring his bell again,for in the next days she started ringing mine, sometimes at two in the morning,three and four: she had no qualms at what hour she got me out of bed to push thebuzzer that released the downstairs door. As I had few friends, and none who wouldcome around so late, I always knew that it was her. But on the first occasions of itshappening, I went to my door, half-expecting bad news, a telegram; and MissGolightly would call up: "Sorry, darling -- I forgot my key."
"I worship you, Mr. Arbuck. But good night, Mr. Arbuck."
I went out into the hall and leaned over the banister, just enough to see withoutbeing seen. She was still on the stairs, now she reached the landing, and the ragbagcolors of her boys hair, tawny streaks, strands of albino-blond and yellow, caughtthe hall light. It was a warm evening, nearly summer, and she wore a slim cool blackdress, black sandals, a pearl choker. For allher chic thinness, she had an almostbreakfast-cereal air of health, a soap and lemon cleanness, a rough pink darkeningin the cheeks. Her mouth was large, her nose upturned. A pair of dark glassesblotted out her eyes. It was a face beyond childhood, yet this side of belonging to awoman. I thought her anywhere between sixteen and thirty; as it turned out, shewas shy two months of her nineteenth birthday.
He turned back, a smile of relief oiling his face: shed only been teasing.
"Any time," he said, and closed his door.
He tapped on the door gently, then louder; finally he took several steps back, hisbody hunched and lowering, as though he meant to charge it, crash it down. Instead,he plunged down the stairs,slamming a fist against the wall. Just as he reached thebottom, the door of the girls apartment opened and she poked out her head.
"Oh, Mr. Arbuck ... "
She was not alone. There was a man following behind her. The way his plumphand clutched at her hip seemed somehow improper; not morally, aesthetically. Hewas short and vast, sun-lamped and pomaded, a man in a buttressed pin-stripe suitwith a red carnation withering in the lapel. When they reached her door sherummaged her purse in search of a key, and took no notice of the fact that his thicklips were nuzzling the nape of her neck. At last, though, finding the key and openingher door, she turned to him cordially: "Bless you, darling -- you were sweet to seeme home."
"Im a liked guy. Didnt I pick up the check, five people, your friends, I never seenthem before? Dont that give me the right you should like me? You like me, baby."
"Yes, Harry?"
"Hey, baby!" he said, for the door was closing in his face.
Mr. Arbuck stared with disbelief as the door shut firmly. "Hey, baby, let me inbaby. You like mebaby.
