Page:Levenson - Butterfly Man.djvu/175

Rh "Well, I'll be damned," he heard Howard say. "How did you get here?"

"Flew. Harry Berg told me you were registered here."

"I might have gone on to Quebec. Why didn't you wire me?"

Ken felt the necessity of breaking the restraint which, as they spoke, dulled their voices as cotton deadens a footfall. "I had to see you, Howard. I wanted you to know—"

"I'm here to compose songs for the new revue."

"Then I shan't disturb you. I'll go, if you prefer."

Howard's eyes darkened. A frown creased his forehead. "I want you to stay, Ken."

Over a bottle of champagne, they talked. Distantly, tram cars climbed the mountain. The afternoon sun declined in the dull orange of northern summer skies.

"I'm celebrating the lyric quality of love," Howard was saying. "My new theme song will speak more eloquently than I ever hope to." He rose and went to the piano. "Listen, Ken," he said. "This is dedicated to you."

Love is a pretense Love is a mask Worn at a Cinderella ball. Love has no tomorrow Why, love, do I ask You to be All to me You to give me all? Love is a pretense Love is a clown Torn by a mad desire to cry Love has no future