"Innocent in Chicago Volume One" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jenkins Mary)

CHAPTER FIVE

Two days later the advertising agency called and told her that the job for which she had been interviewed was hers. Happy and eager, she began work the next morning, resolving to do her best on this, her first job. Although the work was routine – opening mail, delivering it, running copy and doing other errands, learning to handle the switchboard and receive clients in the reception room – the novelty of doing something and being paid for it, as well as the amiability of the staff, made her like the job and conscientiously try to do her best. And in turn, the employees liked her, her youthful air, her fresh beauty, her desire to please and her quick response to their wishes.

Several of the men asked her for dates. She liked, particularly, a young copy-writer named Bill who, although not much taller than she, had a ready wit and took delight in showing her the nightlife of Chicago, a new experience for Cynthia, whose night life heretofore had consisted of the movies and a few dances in the farming community in which she had been raised. So at first she was somewhat shocked by the more ragged side of life – the burlesque shows, nightclub shows, and the sight of prostitutes patrolling the sidewalks – but soon the novelty and shock wore off and she accepted it as only another aspect of her new and interesting life.

One Friday night after a late movie she and Bill stopped at a small all-night cafe on State Street for a hamburger and coffee. While they were dawdling over their second cup and deciding what to do next, a hand clapped Bill on the shoulder and a hearty voice said, "Well, if it isn't Bill Stevenson! Haven't seen you in months. What are you doing in this crummy section?"

Cynthia looked up and in the mirror behind the counter saw a tall, broad-shouldered young man with black hair, a tanned face, smiling dark eyes and a wide, friendly grin. "I'll he damned! Frankie Mahoney!" Bill exclaimed as he swirled around on his stool. "Where you've been all this time?"

"Oh, screwin' around. Makin' some dough. This and that. What about yourself?" he said. He sat down on the next seat to Bill and signaled the waiter for a cup of coffee.

"I'm downtown at the Shepherd Advertising Agency, making with the words and trying to persuade frazzled housewives to shell out $1.25 for hand lotion which costs a manufacturer ten cents to make. Great stuff. Most ennobling for the soul."

"Sounds like a real drag, man," Frankie said. He glanced at Cynthia's bare left hand. "Hey who's your chick? Or have you got her patented?"

He craned his head around Bill and grinned at Cynthia who smiled back.

"Oh, sorry," Bill said, "Cynthia, this is Frankie Mahoney. Cynthia Holiday. Frankie and I grew up in the same neighborhood."

"Glad to meet you, Cynthia," Frankie said and reached over to shake her hand. "You're from Chicago? You don't have that Loop pallor."

"No, I'm fresh from the country. I've only been here about four or five weeks," Cynthia said.

"Frightened in with the other heifers, huh? You'd better leave before you get slaughtered, too," Frankie said with a laugh. "Chi's a real crazy town, baby."

"But I like it – at least so far. Bill's been showing me some of the night life."

"Not like life down on the farm, I bet. Do you dig it?"

"What?"

"Do you dig it?"

"Dig it? What do you mean?" Puzzled, she looked at him and then at Bill. "My God," Frankie said. "A real square. I thought they weren't grown anymore."

Cynthia flushed. But when he grinned at her she realized he was only teasing her.

"So I'm a square," Cynthia said. "So I need some education. So what does 'dig it' mean?"

"He wants to know if you like it," Bill said.

"Oh, sure I do," she said, smiling at them. "Give me a few more weeks and I'll even dig digging." She sat up straighter, her pointed breasts swelling softly out under the tight sweater and brushed her heavy hair back with her hand.

Frankie was still looking at her, a half-smile on his face, frankly caressing with his eyes her moist, red lips and the firm upsweep of her breasts. She gazed back at him, coolly and openly. She felt nude under his stare. She liked the feeling.

Tom cleared his throat and said, "Do you live around here, Frankie?"

Frankie dragged his gaze away from Cynthia. "Yeah, not far," he said. He lifted his cup, cradling it with his hands and sipped slowly. Cynthia glanced in the mirror and caught him looking at her again over the rim of his cup.

"Well Cynthia," Bill said, "we'd better be going. Nice to have seen you, Frankie." His voice was brisk and commanding.

"Yeah, I gotta split, too," Frankie said. "Here I'll pay." He threw some coins on the counter.

As they got up and started out the door he took Cynthia's arm, holding her hack momentarily and whispered quickly, "Where can I reach you, baby?"

"I work at the Shepherd Agency, too," she said softly.

"Okay," he said and released her.

"Well, so long, kids," he said. "I'm going the other way. See you later."

They shook hands and parted.

The next morning, while cleaning the small apartment into which she had just moved, Cynthia was thinking of Frankie. She was angry at herself, not only having failed to give him her home telephone number, but also for not having indicated more clearly that she would like to see him again. After they had parted the night before, she had asked Bill about him; he had replied that although he didn't know what Frankie was doing now, he had always been somewhat of a worthless bum and had tangled with the police several times and, furthermore, he added, he was someone whom Cynthia should steer clear of. But this, of course, together with her immediate attraction to him, only tantalized her curiosity and made her all the more eager to see him again.

When the telephone rang, she dropped the dust mop and ran to the phone, hoping it would be Frankie, but realizing at the same time that her new number wasn't listed.

It was Frankie.

"Hello?" she said.

"Cynthia? This is Frankie, the cat you met last night."

"Oh, yes. Hello, Frankie. How are you?" Her heart was beating rapidly.

"Fine baby. Had a hell of a time getting you. Called that slave joint of yours, but the operator said you didn't work on Saturdays. Didn't want to give me your number and address, but I finally conned her into it – told her I was your brother and just got in town. So how are you?"

"Fine, Frankie. Busy cleaning my new apartment."

"Yeah? Like to see it. I don't dig phones. Look, baby, you got anything on tonight?"

"Well, no, I guess not." She had a date with Bill, but knew she could break it by telling him her aunt was ill and she had to go over to see her.

"Swell. I'm tied up 'til about nine, but I'll pick you up at your pad right after. Okay?"

"Where?"

"At your place. Okay?"

"Yes, that's fine, Frankie."

"Okay, baby. See you then. Keep cool."

"Bye, Frankie. See you tonight."