Fo'castle Waltz

Joe and I both dragged out those sticky tissuepaper pesos. We insisted on paying. Perry was out. He'd paid for the lunch with that mysterious deal. Joe took care of that check. I am not a consistent check fumbler. I just couldn't get those damn papers separated quick enough and read their denominations before he'd already paid off that round. I isolated one peso from the mass of others so I'd be prepared for the next round of drinks. I shoved it into my vest expecting to snap it out quick. I never saw that peso again. It just crumbled up and disappeared. That's the kind of money it was.

Joe and Perry gulped half of their ponies of cognac, then floated the remainder from their narrow glasses on top of the black coffee. I followed suit. Then they delicately sipped the mixture. So did I.

Perry smacked his lips. "Get dat—some cognac, huh? Mar-tel, d'best dere is—and d'essence of d'coffee."

Joe was happy. "Yes, sair—heh, keed?"

"You bet," I added.

And we didn't hog the rest of that drink. We took it easy.

"Now, lissen." Perry recrossed his legs and gestured wide with his cigarette. "Here's d'way we ought to do—see? Now I sez I know d'best houses in dis port. What we'll do is dis. Let's finish just dis one drink—take your time—an' den . . ."

"Hey, lemme buy a round," I interrupted. I had my pesos out ready.

"All right—just one, see." We gulped the dregs from the bottom of our coffee cups. Perry called the waiter, ordered the same all around, and then he went on.

"So we'll make the rounds of d'houses, see. We'll just look d'girls over—go to anudder house—look 'em over— Ya see, we'll pick 'em out—we'll be choosy—"

Joe smiled, winked at me, said yeah, you betcha.

"Den, after we look dem over, we go back to d'goil we decided on—see what I mean?"

The waiter had brought our drinks and I paid for them. Our second drink went down quicker than the first. Perry crossed and recrossed his legs a number of times. Then he rose, stretched a bit, straightened his necktie, and rubbed his chin.

"Well, what d'ya say, fellas, we take a look around—huh? Dere's no hurry—we'll jes' look around."

Big Joe stood up, tapped out his cigarette, took a few extra hitches in his belt, and said he thought we ought to, too.

It seemed to me for some guys not in a hurry, we were walking rather fast. Perry led us down a dark side alley and we turned into a narrow unpaved street lined on either side by one-story stucco buildings each lit up by red and white electric signs over their high doorways. New York Bar, Boston Bar, Paris Bar, etc. These were the houses. It seemed to me that town was one main street on which there were a few cafes, a few stores, and a couple of other nondescript buildings, and the rest of the town on either side of the main street and branching out from it were those narrow streets with their stucco-faced, one-storied buildings with an electric sign over their doorways.

I don't remember which one Peny decided we should try first, whether over the door it said the Philadelphia Bar, Boston, or the High-Class Bar—the interior had nothing to do with any of those names. It was not a bar. There was no sign of one. We had been walking faster and faster as we came along the street, until by the time we reached that door I was puffing, keeping up with the pace Perry set. He opened the big door and we all walked in slowly like gentlemen who have all the time in the world—we were in no hurry. Anyone could see that. We intended to choose very carefully the girls whom we intended to honor with our virile masculinity and our pesos.

It was a large room somewhat like a high-ceilinged hotel lobby. There were many small round tables placed in rows around the room. The place was quiet. There were no men there at all. At the further end of the large unheated room a group of women in bright-colored bathrobes and kimonos sat around talking and smoking. They all looked up as we came through the door and sat ourselves down carefully. There was a stir among them and a number of the women came toward our table.

Perry gave us his last warning. "Remember what I sez—we don't pick 'em now—we jes' looks 'em over."

They swarmed down on us chirping and chattering like a cloud of varicolored locusts. Perry carried on what must have been a brilliant repartee from the backslaps and chin-chucks the girls showered on him.

Joe gurgled and made some crack. A few of the girls who could understand his French broke away from the group around Perry. One of them tried to sit on Joe's lap. He laughed and warded her off with a gentle tap on her saggy quivery bottom—touche. Both Joe and Perry leered at me and gave me a quick wink.