Studs lonigan, p.89
Studs Lonigan, page 89
“She looks horrible,” Catherine said as a blonde girl in a lacy black dress shyly stepped forward. She was blown and puffed, with her eyes sunken and circled with fatigue, and her face was hideously caked with powder. Loud cheering and a rat-tat-tat of hand-clapping greeted her.
“Hello, folks,” she began, sleepy-voiced. “I’m awful glad to be able to say hello to you tonight, and I wanna say hello to all my friends and admirers of Radioland. Now I’m going to sing my favorite song for you.”
She smiled self-consciously into the microphone and cleared her throat. Her tired mouth opened into an O shape, and tunelessly and without energy she dragged out monotonous sing-songed syllables.
In Old Wyoming . . .
“She may be a marvel or something but she can’t sing,” Studs whispered to Catherine.
“She sings worse than you do,” Catherine whispered back, squeezing his hand, smiling intimately.
“That’s no compliment.”
In Old Wyoming . . .
When Louise concluded, a shower of change spilled onto the floor and assisted by other contestants, she quickly picked up the money. A half dollar bounced, rolled into a corner. Squirmy made a nose dive for it and skidded on his stomach amid laughter. He cake-walked away from Louise Strang who pursued him, ogling and giggling, with an outstretched hand. The spectators laughed.
“Now I’ll call on another favorite, the inimitable Squirmy Stevens of team number four who scarcely needs an introduction. Squirmy.”
Applause again broke, and Squirmy, handing Louise Strang the silver piece he had retrieved, cake-walked to the microphone.
“Hello, everybody, I want to say that I thank you one and all for your interest in me and in our World’s Championship Super Dance Marathon out here at the Silver Eagle Ballroom and I’d like to say that I’d like to invite you, one and all, to come out here any time and see us do our stuff. And, folks, I wanna say this. A dance marathon is a fight, and the winner in a high-class field like the one we got here in our World’s Championship battle has got to be a fighter, and stick to it, and that’s what we’re all out here trying to do. Well, everybody, I thank you one and all. So long. Squirmy Stevens signing off.”
He cake-walked aside, a wide grin on his face. Money was thrown to him, and he made side-comedy grabbing it.
“You’ve just heard the inimitable Squirmy Stevens tell you what it takes to win a marathon dance like the World’s Championship Super Dance Marathon which we are staging here in the ballroom of the Silver Eagle. Now, there’s been a lot of letters asking for Georgia Ginger, the attractive and spirited little lady from the famous peach state, so I’m presenting to you, Miss Ginger, the Georgia Flash as she is known here among us. Come on, everybody, give this little girl a hand.”
Loud clapping accompanied a bobbed, sandy-haired, plump girl in dirty, greenish beach pyjamas, as she stepped forward, her coy, baby face a smothered picture of sleepiness.
“Hello, folks, I want to thank you all for wanting me to say hello to you all, and I want to say that we all here appreciate what you all think of us and the interest you all take in us, and, folks, I want to thank you all,” she drawled, rubbing her eyes as she stepped aside.
“You’ve just had a word from that spunky little girl, Miss Ginger, the Georgia Peach, who expressed a feeling that all of us connected with this World’s Championship Super Dance Marathon at the Silver Eagle Ballroom have. We all feel the same way toward the public for its interest. You know, it means a lot to these people here to know you’re interested in them and anxious to know how they’re coming along. Because they’re out here twenty-fours a day, battling for the coveted prize and honor. They’re here every day, rain or shine, the weather doesn’t mean much to them. Yes, sir, it means a lot to them when doggedly and persistently they fight sleep, it means a lot to them to know that you of the public are with them. Next, I’m going to present another favorite, Harold Morgan, one of our solos. Harold was coupled with Lilly Lewis, of team thirteen, and he thinks that his number is a jinx. Because a few days ago, after a game, game fight, his partner, Miss Lilly Lewis, was forced to retire. Well, Harold still has his heart set on the coveted honors, and his game solo fight here has been making dance marathon history. Harold Morgan.”
“Hello, folks,” Harold Morgan, tall, lanky and bucolic, began in a twangy voice, “I want to thank you all for the interest you have taken in my fight against odds in this here contest. Well, sirs, now my partner she put up a hard fight, a great fight, but, well, sirs, she got her feet blistered on the soles. She walked on those blistered soles of hers when nobody would have thought that she could have walked on such blistered feet. My partner, Lilly Lewis, she put up a ha-ard fight. So Lilly had to give up and here I am, and of course I don’t wish bad luck to any of the boys here. They’re one and all a fine fighting bunch of boys, and I don’t wish them bad luck, but I am just wishing that somebody drops out and gives me a girl for a partner, because you can’t win this here World’s Championship Super Dance Marathon if you’re a solo. And if any of the folks back home in Coonville, Missouri, are listening in, I want to say to them to tell everybody that Harold Morgan is agonna stick right in here until hades freezes over to bring home the bacon to Coonville, and also I want to say hello to Thad Shelden, and Ruth Allen, and to tell my ma and pa and tell them Harold is fine. Well, sirs, I thank you one and all for your kind interest and attention.”
“Say, I’ll bet he grows hay in his nose,” Studs said to Catherine while there was laughter and applause.
“If any of the folks of Coonville, Missouri, are listening in, let me tell you Harold is one boy that Coonville can be mighty proud of. I’ve watched him sticking it out here solo, and I tell you, Harold is one boy who shows all the earmarks of making good here in the city. He’s showing the real spirit of the hardy old pioneers who made America what it is today.”
“That’s putting it on thick,” Studs whispered.
“Since the time for this broadcast is getting short, we’ll only have time to put one more of our contestants on the mike, and I’ll now call on Katy Jones of team number two. Katy is another girl who has thrilled marathon fans out here at the World Championship Super Dance Marathon now in progress at the Silver Eagle Ballroom. You know, a week ago it looked like we were going to lose our Katy. She had already taken some bad tumbles, and then one night an abscessed tooth began to trouble her. If most of us had as painful a toothache as Katy’s, we would have howled all night in bed. But not Katy. Holding ice packs to her swollen face, she stuck it out through the dog hours of the night, and took the pain philosophically. I remember how she said to me, The tooth makes it easier for me to stay awake.’ And the next morning she refused to leave the floor, even to have it pulled, and then she marched gamely forward. Was that a thrill! Seeing this brave little girl join the marathon dancers here a few moments after that painful extraction of that abscessed tooth. Was it a thrill. . . . Now, here’s Katy Jones, and she’ll sing one of her favorite songs.”
Katy Jones, built to barrel-like proportions, stepped forward in a short brown dress and sweater, her legs stockingless, her ripe-sized breasts bobbling. Her thick black bobbed hair was uncombed, and her face, white with powder, almost resembled a clown’s mask. She sang Rose of Picardy, her voice whiny and monotonous in its even accenting.
“Now, folks, I am closing our regular evening broadcast for the World’s Championship Super Dance Marathon at the Silver Eagle Ballroom which is now in its three hundred and sixty-seventh hour with eighteen couples and two solos still in the running. And let me say, in farewell, to all you radio ears, that the Silver Eagle Ballroom is one place these days that is always open, always interesting, always exciting, with thrills and humor and pathos galore. Make it a place to meet your friends and have your parties, the place to come when you want to see something new and exciting in the way of sport and entertainment. This dance marathon of ours and the contestants are the talk of the town, and if you haven’t yet seen Squirmy Stevens, Takiss Filios, the Greek boy who sings Yes, We Have No Bananas in his native tongue, Harold Morgan, Katy Jones, Georgia Ginger, and all the other thirty-eight headliners competing in the World’s Championship Super Dance Marathon at the Silver Eagle Ballroom, you’ve got something, and I mean something, in store for you. Thank you, and good evening.”
IV
“Folks, we now have one final surprise for you by way of entertainment before I call it a night,” the announcer addressed the spectators through the microphone. “Some of the boys have been practicing here on a little playlet called The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere, so please give them your kind attention. And oh, yes, the author of this skit is Squirmy Stevens.”
Applauded, Squirmy Stevens bowed, grinned clownishly, and stepped to the microphone.
“I suppose you bozos didn’t know that I wrote plays. Well, I does.”
Studs looked on curiously while Squirmy stationed Katy Jones at a corner in the arena. Facing the same direction as Studs, he scratched and shook his head, studying the unselected girls on the floor. Katy Jones joined them and he drew a laugh returning her to the spot he had placed her.
“Oh,” he loudly exclaimed, pointing to a tall brunette who wore a green sweater.
He led her by the arm toward a corner of the floor below and to the right of Studs. Her partner suddenly grabbed the girl’s free wrist.
“Le’ go,” he called at Squirmy. Squirmy held to the other hand and both pulled, the girl’s head and shoulders bobbing first in one way, then in the other.
“Seems like Ted Delancy of team twenty-two doesn’t trust Doris Davis with Squirmy. I don’t blame you, either, Ted,” the announcer said through the microphone, the crowd licking it all in.
“Look, Squirmy,” someone in the box-seat section called as Ted Delancy led Doris Davis away.
“I’ll settle with you later,” Squirmy shouted at the announcer. “Come on, baby,” he coaxed, grabbing Doris Davis’ left wrist.
“Get another girl,” Ted Delancy said.
“Come on, baby. Doncha want to be an actress?”
“Yes, if I can be the leading man,” Ted Delancy shouted.
“Looks like a case of where the eternal triangle bumps its isosceles angle against the artistic temperament,” the announcer said into the microphone, and the amused crowd laughed.
“The announcer is witty, but that guy Squirmy is dumb,” Studs said to Catherine.
“He’s funny, though. Watch.”
“Let go of her,” Ted challenged.
“You . . .”
“I ain’t afraid of you,” Ted Delancy yelled, letting go of Doris Davis and sneering at Squirmy.
“I ain’t afraid of your mother-in-law,” Squirmy said.
“Not?”
“No.”
“No!”
“Say, you guys, what’s the idea?” the announcer said like a vaudeville stooge, while the crowd roared.
“He’s jealous because he’s not in my play and Doris is. I didn’t put him in because I couldn’t think up a part dopey enough.”
“I wouldn’t act in his play. He wrote it so he could steal my partner.”
“Well, I don’t care about all that, but listen to me, you mugs, this isn’t a prize ring, it’s a dance marathon.”
“All right, tell him to go dance in a corner with his head in a sack,” Squirmy said.
“Well, are we or aren’t we going to have this play?” the announcer asked.
“Yes, yes, yes, that’s right, clear the floor,” Squirmy shouted, excitedly running around in circles, drawing fresh laughs from the crowd.
“But he can’t have my partner.”
“But she won’t be out of your sight,” the announcer persuaded.
Ted Delancy sulked aside. Squirmy again stationed the girls about the floor. He stepped to the microphone.
“Ladies, gentlemen and others, this is going to be the performance of a play of which I am the one and only author, and also the hero. You didn’t know that I could write a play, did you? Well, I fooled you that time.” He waited while the crowd laughed. “This play by Squirmy Stevens is called The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere. I am Paul Revere, and these girls are in houses.”
He walked to one of the benches along the side of the dance floor and fetched a cap and broom from under it. He put the cap on with the peak backward, and stood holding the broom between his legs in the fashion of a small boy playing that the broom was a horse.
“Giddyap. Clop! Clop! Clop! Giddyyap!”
He stamped to Katy Jones.
“Rap, Rap, Rap. This is Paul Revere. The British are coming. Is your husband home?”
“Yes, he is.”
“Well, tell him to shake his tomato out of bed and get out and fight the British.”
The audience laughed.
“I saw this pulled in a vaudeville show once,” Studs said to Catherine, while Squirmy repeated this scene. He lit a cigarette, and was beginning to feel stiff. “Shall we blow?”
“Yes, but wait until this is over.”
“No, my husband isn’t home,” Doris Davis answered in response to Squirmy’s question.
“Well, hurry up and open the door. I want to get in.”
“Funny, even if I did hear it sprung before,” Studs said, laughing.
“I don’t think it’s so funny,” Catherine said.
The crowd laughed and applauded, and a shower of coins poured down onto the dance floor.
V
“This looks funny. He’s asleep on his feet,” Studs laughed.
“Play ball,” Harold Morgan bawled from the center of the floor while the other contestants trudged slowly around and around.
Harold wound up to pitch, swaying as his arm circled over his head, half turned his left foot, rising, and performed the motions for an overhand pitch. Losing his balance, he fell on his face, and Studs roared.
“Don’t laugh, he might be hurt.”
“He ought to be.”
“You’re cruel.”
“No. It’s just funny.”
Harold arose with a dazed expression on his face and a streak of dirt splotching his right cheek. He shook his head, opened his eyes like a man awakening, grinned sheepishly, joined the line which wound around and around and around the floor with a deadening slowness and a steady dragging of feet.
“Gee, it’s late,” Catherine said.
“Twelve-twenty,” Studs said, yawning.
“The time certainly does pass here, doesn’t it?”
He shook his head and looked sidewise at her. She leaned forward, watching, her dimpled chin resting in her left hand. She looked cute, pretty, and he wished he could keep her in that pose, just that way. And she looked no different, either, from what she had before she’d been made. He guessed he liked her.
“They made me feel kind of sorry for them, some of them look so tired. And that poor partner of Squirmy Stevens, poor girl, having to hold him up when he’s in such a dead sleep.”
“Well, that’s their racket and they get dough for it. Look at all the dough that was thrown into them. And then after that little play, they came through the stands here selling their pictures. It’s tough, but they’re getting something.”
“You’re heartless. I bet you would feel a lot different if you were going through what they are down there.”
“I know that.”
“But I wouldn’t let you, Bill, not if it was for a ten-thousand-dollar prize. The things they go through! Look at that poor Greek boy falling all over that girl.”
“It’s a dumb stunt in one way, because they got to go through so much, but they must be making a lot of dough. Still, your health is worth more to you than all the dough in the world.”
“You bet it is.”
“And say, they get a crowd. People are still coming in.”
“Shall we leave, Bill?”
“All right.”
“The air gets so bad and there’s so much cigarette smoke. I bet this dance does no good for their lungs.”
“Me, too.”
The contestants silently circled the floor, marched around and around almost in slow-motion.
“Shall we just wait until the next rest period and see if anything else happens?”
“All right,” Studs said.
“Katy Jones is a brave girl. And that partner of hers, Honks Oliver, he’s the deadest old thing. He’s always asleep, falling all over her. And Katy, she’s such a brave girl.”
“Yes, look at her. She’s having a time with him, isn’t she?” Studs watched Katy Jones shift the strain her partner placed on her, his arms flung around her, his head lodged against her stomach, her large breasts wobbling. She shook his head and talked at him.
“If I was Katy, I’d just give him a good kick in his ask-me no-questions,” the woman below them said.
“Say, the Romans were more humane. They fed their people to the lions and didn’t leave them suffer,” a fellow above them said.
“Yes, it makes me ill to look at them,” a girl answered the fellow.
“They look worse than a chain gang walking around the floor,” the fellow said.
Studs saw Katy hold her partner under the arms, again speaking. She locked his hands in back of her neck and dragged him, lightly slapping his face.
“That Jones dame is a tough gal. She’s always fighting with Honks Oliver,” a fellow to Studs’ right said.
“He’s an old no-good, always sleeping, and the poor girl has to carry him around,” the woman below said, flashing an angry glance at the fellow.
“My, some of the people who come here take it awfully seriously,” Catherine said very low, and Studs smiled, watching Katy Jones.
“Ouch,” Honks Oliver yelled as Katy suddenly bit his ear.
