Page:Levenson - Butterfly Man.djvu/283

Rh "I can afford to be very gay," Ken told Jules Monroe. "I've got nothing to lose. I'm ready for heaven or hell or both."

The dance director was cool and steady. His eyes bore into Ken's skin like gimlets. His bald head shone with sickly pallor.

"You talk like a fool, Gracey," he said, with a faint flavor of effeminacy in the inflection of his voice. "You overdo everything."

"Come, Julie, let's go places. Let's do plenty."

"I'm sorry," said Jules Monroe. "I'm working now and I must attend to business."

The hell of it was that Joe Durazzo had disappeared, Frankie was not to be found and Jean Pond was, as usual, broke. Others—there had been others, but he hated them. They had been his friends because he could pay for their entertainment and lend them money. In the old days, when life was easier, companions were a dime a dozen. Now he could find none. To drink alone was abominable and now that he had started, he intended to finish his drinking in a big way. Alcohol was cheap, water was free. Alcohol and water were ample substitutes for ham and eggs, coffee and toast. Alcohol, burning slowly, kept his fires of energy from diminishing. He must find someone who liked to drink.

On Fifth Avenue, in a white-tiled restaurant, wasp-waisted, narrow-shouldered youths gathered each night after midnight. The price of coffee and cakes purchased a cane-seated chair. Secure in the knowledge that they were among their fellows, they joyfully prattled, indulging in a penchant for flippant jokes and current tid-bits of gossip.