A Treasury of Stories (Collection of novelettes and short stories)

Neither of us ever used our given names to one another any more than was strictly necessary: another sign of fondness.

“Are you coming?” she asked briefly.

“Yeah,” I answered. Then my voice took on an added degree of animation. “Listen,” I said.

“What?” she asked, as lifeless as ever.

“Can I bring somebody with me?”

“A boy?” she asked, and her voice perked up a little.

“Nah, not a boy,” I said disgustedly. Who’d ever heard of taking another fellow along with you to a party? “A girl.”

“Oh,” she said, and her voice deflated again. Then after a moment’s reflection she agreed, without any great show of enthusiasm. “I s’pose so. There was one girl short at the table, anyhow.”

I couldn’t wait to tell Vera about it. I came rushing up to the bench the following day, kissed her breathlessly and for once almost perfunctorily, and pulling her down onto the bench along with me, blurted out: “Know what? We’ve been invited to a party.”

But to my surprise, instead of being pleased, she acted appalled about it at first. "Where is it?” she asked, and when I’d told her, she kept repeating almost hypnotically, “But Riverside Drive! I can’t go there.”

“What’s so wonderful about Riverside Drive?” I said, shrugging uncomprehendingly. “I’ve been to their place lots of times. In the wintertime they get all the ice-cold wind blowing in from the river. And in the summer, when it would be cooler than other parts of town, they’re not there to enjoy it anyway.”

But temperature wasn’t the deterrent, some kind of monetary denominator — or differential — was. Her mind evidently magnified it and couldn’t rid itself of the fixed idea. I had never taken this into account myself, so I wasn’t in a position to see her point of view.

“That isn’t what I mean!” she said impatiently. “Only rich people live there.”

“What difference does it make?” I said. “You’re going with me. You’re not worried about me, are you? Then why worry about them?”

“But you’re different,” she said, groping to find the right words. “I never think about you in that way, maybe because I’m used to you. You’re friendly, and you never seem to dress up much. And besides, you’re a fellow, and it’s not the fellows that worry me as much as it is the girls.”

“What about them? They’re a bunch of drips. You’ve got more real personality than all of them put together,” I said loyally.

But I couldn’t seem to overcome her misgivings.

“And what about a dress? What kind are they going to wear?”

“I d’no,” I said vaguely. “Dresses for dancing in, I guess. Haven’t you got one of those?”

“When do I go dancing?” she said, almost resentfully.

When we separated that evening, I still hadn’t been able to bring her to the point of agreeing to come. The most I could get her to say was “I’ll think it over, and I’ll let you know.”

The next time we met it was the same thing, and the time after. As far as I could judge her attitude, it wasn’t coyness or wanting to be coaxed. She seemed attracted to the idea of going, and yet at the same time something seemed to keep holding her back. One time she even made the outrageous suggestion: “I’ll walk down there with you as far as the door, and then you go in by yourself. I could even meet you later, after you leave.” Then before I had time for the heated protest that I felt this deserved, she quickly recanted it, saying, “No, that would be foolish, wouldn’t it?”

I finally told her, another time, “Let’s forget about it. If you’re not going, then I’m not either. Who needs the party?”

But she wouldn’t hear of this either. “No, I’m not going to dish you out of the party. You’re expected there, and if you don’t show up, I’ll get the blame. You’ll have to go. I won’t meet you that night, I won’t come out at all, so if you don’t go, you’ll be all by yourself.”

“We go together, or we stay away together,” I insisted stubbornly, as I had right along.

This went on for nearly the whole week or eight days preceding the controversial little event. Then on the very night before, after I’d already just about given up all further hope of persuading her and was ready to quit trying once and for all, she suddenly said — not at the very first, but after we’d been sitting there together for quite some time — “I’m going to tell you something that’ll please you. Want to hear it?”

I told her sure, sure I did.

“I’m going with you tomorrow night.”

I bounced to my feet, took hold of her two hands in my two, and swung them vigorously in and out, to give vent to my elation.

“I made up my mind several days ago,” she admitted, smiling at my enthusiasm, “but I didn’t tell you until now because I wanted to keep it as a surprise.”