Point of No Return (47 page)

“But you were just saying yesterday—” Jessica began, and she stopped.

“When we get back, Charles may be a partner at E. P. Rush, but I'm afraid it's dull for you, Charles, our talking over plans,” Mr. Lovell said.

It was clearly time to be leaving, but he did not want it to look as though he were hurrying away.

“I hope you have a good trip, sir,” he said.

“Don't go, Charles.” Mr. Lovell smiled at him, but Charles knew when it was time to go. He said good night to Miss Lovell and shook Mr. Lovell's hand.

“Good night, Jessica,” he said.

“Oh, Charley,” she said, quite loudly, when his hand touched hers, “don't forget tomorrow night,” and she turned away from him before she dropped his hand. “Charles is going to take me to the movies tomorrow night.”

He certainly had not asked her, but she said it so convincingly that he almost thought he had.

“Why,” Mr. Lovell said, “that's very nice of Charles to take you,” and his words rang with complete conviction. “Good night, Charles, and come in any time.”

“Yes,” Miss Lovell said, “any time. Good night.”

He must have been thinking more of the way he had behaved than of anything else in the first few minutes after he left. He hoped he had shown no surprise or resentment; he even found himself admiring the way in which Mr. Lovell, with his flat, agreeably modulated voice, had contrived to show him that he had stepped into a region where he did not belong, gently, delicately, and yet in a way you could not possibly mistake. What lay between him and Jessica was now an incontrovertible fact or it would not have occurred to Mr. Lovell that it might be nice to take her abroad that summer.

He had never asked her to the moving pictures and perhaps everyone had known it. Nothing had been as wonderful as the moment when Jessica had said, still holding his hand, “Don't forget tomorrow night,” for she might as well have said that she cared for him no matter what anyone thought. She might as well have stood beside him and have said that she would see him any time she pleased and that no one could prevent it. Perhaps Jessica actually did say so, after she had brushed her lips against his cheek in the dark front hall and had closed the door behind him.

When he returned to Spruce Street, his father was sitting alone downstairs openly reading the financial page of the
Boston Transcript.

“How was it at the Lovells', Charles?” he asked.

“It was all right,” Charles said.

“I suppose they were all sitting in that room with the wallpaper,” John Gray said. “How did Jessica look?”

“She had on a grayish-green dress,” Charles said, and he went on because he had to tell someone. “Miss Lovell was reading
Jane Eyre
aloud.”

“Oh dear me,” John Gray said, “the Brontes. Did you all read aloud?”

“No,” Charles said. “Miss Lovell asked whether Jessica and I wouldn't like to go out into the garden and see the tulips.”

“Oh my,” John Gray said, “what did Laurence say?”

“He said it was getting cold outside.”

“Well, well. How long were you in the garden?”

“Not long. Jessica thought we ought to get back.”

“Well, well,” John Gray said. “What happened when you got back?”

“Mr. Lovell said it had just come into his mind that he and Jessica might go abroad this summer.”

John Gray smiled and passed his hand over the back of his head.

“There's nothing like a small town, Charley. Of course, everyone is going to guess why the Lovells went abroad.”

Charles felt his face grow deep red, and his father leaned forward and put his hand gently on his knee before he could answer.

“I never did like Laurence Lovell, Charley.” The intensity of his dislike must have had its roots deep in some past of which Charles knew nothing.

“Charley,” John Gray continued, “this is a very small town, smaller than a smaller town, and someday you'll see what I mean.”

15

Laugh, Clown, Laugh

“You're always on time, aren't you,” Jessica said when he called for her the next evening in time for the late show. “Do I look all right for the movies?”

Naturally he told her that she did though it was obvious that she would not have been wearing a semi-evening dress and a short, dark velvet cloak if she had gone often to the movies in Clyde.

“I suppose you know that everyone will see us there,” he said.

She moved closer to him before she answered and put her arm through his.

“I want everyone to see us,” she said, and her hand was trembling. “You don't mind, do you?”

Of course, he said, he did not mind who saw them.

“It's been a dreadful day,” she said. “It isn't anything Father says. It's the way he looks. You might think I was going to run away with you because you're taking me to the movies—but he's really trying to be sweet. It isn't you, you know, it's me. Do you know what he said at supper?”

Charles wished that he did not have the helpless feeling of an innocent bystander.

“No,” he answered, “what did he say?”

“He said to be sure to ask you in when you took me home. He didn't want me to catch cold walking around outside. Oh, darling.” He heard her catch her breath. “It has to be all right. As long as he sees there's nothing he can do.”

They had turned down Dock Street and they were passing the Dock Street Bank.

“Do you remember the bank?” he asked her. “You had on your red hat.” It had only been that spring.

Two years before, the only moving picture house in Clyde had been called the Acme Theater. It had been built in the days when there had been vaudeville acts and illustrated songs between the pictures. It had been renovated at about the same time the new soda fountain and the uncomfortable little booths had been installed in Walters's Drugstore, around the corner from it on Dock Street. The Acme Theater was called the Savoy now and was equipped with new soft seats and Romanesque decorations and an electrically lit marquee which cast a harsh halo of bright light on the sidewalk. Lon Chaney in
Laugh, Clown, Laugh,
was on that night, and the customers for the late show were already entering, while the new manager, Mr. Dupree, who was soon to sell it to a theater chain, stood by the ticket booth watching an out-of-town blonde making change.

Though it was now the Savoy and not the Acme, and though its lights were brighter, the whole scene reminded Charles of high school days when he used to take Doris Wormser to the same late show. The faces were different but there were the same crowds of adolescent boys and girls. They must all have been in grammar school when Charles had taken Doris there. There were all sorts of familiar faces, too, faces of older people and old schoolmates. First he saw Earl Wilkins, who had been tackle when he had been left end on the high school team, and Earl was with Lizzie Jenkins, one of the Wright-Sherwin girls.

“Hi, Earl,” he said.

“Hi, Charley,” Earl answered, and looked at him as if he had not seen him for a long while.

Then he saw Doris Wormser with Willie Woodbury, who was working in the Clyde Grain and Implement Company. Both Charles and Doris must have looked startled, but they called out to each other, and then he saw Melville Meader and Jackie Mason and Priscilla Meader.

“There's Jackie Mason,” Jessica said.

He did not want it to seem unusual for him to be there with Jessica Lovell. He told himself that it was perfectly natural for him to be taking Jessica to
Laugh, Clown, Laugh,
and that it was only his imagination that made him feel that everyone was staring at them. At the same time, there was no reason why they should not have stared, because he would have been equally surprised to see a friend of his with Jessica in her velvet cape. It was a relief when he was in the dark theater, holding Jessica's hand, until he saw that Priscilla Meader was beside him and then he dropped her hand hastily.

“I thought you never went to the movies any more, Charley,” Priscilla said.

“I don't often,” Charles answered. “You know Jessica Lovell, don't you Priscilla?” It would have been much better if he had not asked, since it indicated that perhaps Priscilla did not know her.

“Oh, yes,” Priscilla said, and there was no need for Jessica's having been quite so cordial. There was a cloying effort at politeness as they both leaned across him to talk during the short comedy.

“I haven't seen you for a long while,” Jessica said.

“It was when the gardens were open, wasn't it?” Priscilla said. “I don't see how you ever got Charley to the movies.”

“I had to ask him. He wouldn't have thought of it,” Jessica said.

Tomorrow everyone would know that he had taken her to the movies and that she had asked him.

“How about going to Walters's after the show?” Charles asked. “How about it, Jack?” If he was going around with Jessica Lovell, they might as well go around to Walters's.

Everyone always went around to Walters's for ice cream after the pictures but Jessica looked foreign there in her velvet cape. They had divided decorously, like changing partners at a dance, so Charles looked across one of the little booths at Jessica sitting beside Jackie Mason. They were all speaking above the giggles and whistles of the high school crowd.

“This place is dreadfully crowded, isn't it?” Priscilla said. “But at the same time, I can't count how often I've been here. Can you, Charley? Do you remember Saturday nights at high school?” She beamed across the table. “You ought to have been with our crowd at high school, Jessica. You don't mind my calling you Jessica, do you?”

“I don't see what else you could call me,” Jessica answered.

Jackie Mason was looking at his ice cream. It was a strawberry nut sundae and Priscilla was speaking again.

“We've seen each other around enough to be on a first-name basis, I guess. You honestly ought to have been with us at high school, Jessica. We used to have more fun. Gosh, it seems like a long time ago. Jackie, didn't we have fun?”

Jackie Mason looked up hastily from his plate.

“It was quite a long while ago, wasn't it?” Jackie said, and he smiled feebly.

“Everybody sort of drifts apart, don't they?” Priscilla said. “It doesn't seem like we could ever have been like all those kids over by the fountain. I don't think we ever behaved like those kids.”

“They're just having a good time,” Jessica said. “I wish I had gone to high school. Charley, have you any cigarettes?”

“Here, let me,” said Jackie Mason.

“Look, Jackie's got a silver case,” Priscilla said. “Who gave you the silver case, Jackie?”

“The family,” Jack Mason said. “Just the family.”

“Oh,” Priscilla said, “it wasn't you-know-who? We had more fun in high school. We all paired off. There was Jackie and you-know-who—”

“There's Earl Wilkins over there now,” Charles said.

“Oh, Earl,” Priscilla said. “Just because Earl used to take me to the movies … What about you and Doris Wormser, Charley?”

Charles laughed. He had almost forgotten Jessica. He was back with the old crowd again.

“What about you and Wilkins in the physics laboratory?” he said, and then he remembered Jessica. “You ought to have been in high school, Jessica. If you'd been there, I wouldn't have worried about Doris Wormser.”

“He never did worry about her much and I ought to know,” Jackie Mason said.

“You don't want to believe him,” Priscilla said. “Jackie's always sticking up for Charley. I'm just being funny. I never meant it was anything serious at all. Why, Charley and I played post office. Do you want a letter, Charley?”

Charles wondered what it would have been like if Jessica had been there, playing tag in the Meaders' back yard. He felt almost sorry for her because he knew she had missed a lot although he had moved a long way from it himself.

“I wish Priscilla hadn't talked so much,” Jackie murmured, after they had paid the check at the cigar counter. “I'm afraid she gave a wrong impression.” Jackie always worried about impressions. Priscilla and Jessica were waiting for them on the sidewalk.

“There's nobody like Charley,” he heard Priscilla saying. “I've always been crazy about Charley, Jessica.”

When he and Jessica were walking up Dock Street, he remembered thinking that he must not apologize for any of it—that she was the one who had asked to go.

“Priscilla Meader,” she said, and obviously she had no previous recollection of Priscilla Meader at all. “Is her father the one who has the real estate and insurance office?”

“Yes,” Charles answered, “that's the one.”

Then they were silent again.

“I wish I'd been to high school,” she said. “I wouldn't feel so far away and I wouldn't have worn this damn dress.”

Charles at this time did not understand that there was a purpose behind many social gestures. As long as Mr. Lovell had especially asked that Jessica invite him in afterwards, Charles believed that Mr. Lovell might end by liking him after all. As early as a year later, however, Charles was able to appreciate Mr. Lovell's motives.

It happened that Mr. Rush had called Charles into his office to explain some details concerning the bond issue of the King Wassoit Textile Company to a trustee named Mr. Garvin, but when Charles entered they were talking, in that informal way they did in Boston, about their children and especially about Mr. Rush's daughter Ruth, whom Charles had never met but whose picture in riding clothes stood on Mr. Rush's desk.

“She met him somewhere,” Mr. Rush was saying. “I never saw him until she brought him out to Brookline for Sunday dinner. God knows where girls pick up men nowadays.”

“It's a phase that girls go through,” Mr. Garvin said. “You've got to put up with it. Just don't let her see you don't like him, Moulton. That's the worst mistake you can make, you know.”