Seed on the Wind

Pete did not start talking again. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him with his head back against the cushion, the breeze from the side window blowing his hair across his forehead and over his eyes; he paid no attention to it. She was reminded of another taxi ride they had taken together, that day in Chicago when she had insisted on going with him to the railroad station; now he was taking her. A minute ago his voice had annoyed her; now she wished he would talk. She wanted to talk to him, but couldn’t. She was full of things that must be told, and yet there was nothing to say. There was in her a compulsion that she knew she could not break, but the result was clearly insanity; no one but a crazy person would act the way she was acting. A safe and peaceful sort of insanity, the kind that makes you do things at once incredible and inevitable. She thought of the night before and the morning; and there he was, but he didn’t mean anything. Might she not touch him, put out her hand and touch his arm? Yes, she might, but definitely and finally she wouldn’t.

They made better time going downtown, and at Fifty-second Street the taxi drew up at the curb.

“I’m getting out here,” said Pete, gathering his legs together.

Lora was startled. All at once like this!

“I thought you were coming to the station,” she said.

“What’s the use? My favorite speakeasy is just around the corner. I’d just have to walk back.”

“But... I wanted to talk to you.”

“Then you’ve wasted a precious ten minutes.”

“Really, Pete.” She grabbed his coat sleeve and pulled him back into the seat. “I want to ask you about Lewis. He isn’t going to pay you?”

“He says he’d rather not.”

“And you aren’t going to—”

She stopped.

Pete grinned. “I suspect,” he said, “that we’ve reached the real business of this conference at last. I think I shall probably not disturb your sacred fireside. Tonight I’ll get drunk and then I’ll know more about it. — What’s that?”

Lora had taken something from her purse and was holding it towards him, thrusting it at him.

“Please,” she said. “I don’t need it.”

He took the roll of bills and flipped its edge.

“A goodly sum,” he said, brows lifted. “You’re sure you can spare it? I wouldn’t deprive any of those multi-fathered children. As a matter of fact, I’m broke. By god, you did have something to say; I might have known it.”

He stuffed the bills in his pocket and slid out of his seat towards the door.

“And Pete—” Lora began. He was on the sidewalk with his foot on the running-board.

“Well?”

“I’d hate to have you think what you said about reaching the real business of the day. I really did want to come to you, and I know one thing, I’ll never forget you — never — I don’t know why I’ve acted like this — you’re the only man—”

“Balls, my love,” he interrupted her, so loud that passersby at his elbow jumped; and slammed the door. “Grand Central,” he called to the taxi driver, and strode into the crowd.

The taxi started forward. Lora settled back against the cushion, and took off her glove and placed the palm of her hand on the seat where it was still warm from Pete’s body. She left it there a moment, then took it away and put her glove back on.

At Forty-ninth Street she looked at her watch and found that she just had time to catch the four-seventeen. At Forty-fifth Street she was thinking that the next day she could bring Roy to town and buy his overcoat.