The Beautiful and the Damned | Page 7

of
brilliant color on the roof of a house farther down the alley.
It was a girl in a red negligé, silk surely, drying her hair by the still hot
sun of late afternoon. His whistle died upon the stiff air of the room; he
walked cautiously another step nearer the window with a sudden
impression that she was beautiful. Sitting on the stone parapet beside
her was a cushion the same color as her garment and she was leaning
both arms upon it as she looked down into the sunny areaway, where
Anthony could hear children playing.
He watched her for several minutes. Something was stirred in him,
something not accounted for by the warm smell of the afternoon or the
triumphant vividness of red. He felt persistently that the girl was
beautiful--then of a sudden he understood: it was her distance, not a
rare and precious distance of soul but still distance, if only in terrestrial
yards. The autumn air was between them, and the roofs and the blurred
voices. Yet for a not altogether explained second, posing perversely in
time, his emotion had been nearer to adoration than in the deepest kiss
he had ever known.
He finished his dressing, found a black bow tie and adjusted it carefully

by the three-sided mirror in the bathroom. Then yielding to an impulse
he walked quickly into the bedroom and again looked out the window.
The woman was standing up now; she had tossed her hair back and he
had a full view of her. She was fat, full thirty-five, utterly
undistinguished. Making a clicking noise with his mouth he returned to
the bathroom and reparted his hair.
"To ... you ... beaut-if-ul lady,"
he sang lightly,
"I raise ... my ... eyes--"
Then with a last soothing brush that left an iridescent surface of sheer
gloss he left his bathroom and his apartment and walked down Fifth
Avenue to the Ritz-Carlton.
THREE MEN
At seven Anthony and his friend Maury Noble are sitting at a corner
table on the cool roof. Maury Noble is like nothing so much as a large
slender and imposing cat. His eyes are narrow and full of incessant,
protracted blinks. His hair is smooth and flat, as though it has been
licked by a possible--and, if so, Herculean--mother-cat. During
Anthony's time at Harvard he had been considered the most unique
figure in his class, the most brilliant, the most original--smart, quiet and
among the saved.
This is the man whom Anthony considers his best friend. This is the
only man of all his acquaintance whom he admires and, to a bigger
extent than he likes to admit to himself, envies.
They are glad to see each other now--their eyes are full of kindness as
each feels the full effect of novelty after a short separation. They are
drawing a relaxation from each other's presence, a new serenity; Maury
Noble behind that fine and absurdly catlike face is all but purring. And
Anthony, nervous as a will-o'-the-wisp, restless--he is at rest now.

They are engaged in one of those easy short-speech conversations that
only men under thirty or men under great stress indulge in.
ANTHONY: Seven o'clock. Where's the Caramel? (Impatiently.) I wish
he'd finish that interminable novel. I've spent more time hungry----
MAURY: He's got a new name for it. "The Demon Lover "--not bad,
eh?
ANTHONY: (interested) "The Demon Lover"? Oh "woman
wailing"--No--not a bit bad! Not bad at all--d'you think?
MAURY: Rather good. What time did you say?
ANTHONY: Seven.
MAURY:(His eyes narrowing--not unpleasantly, but to express a faint
disapproval) Drove me crazy the other day.
ANTHONY: How?
MAURY: That habit of taking notes.
ANTHONY: Me, too. Seems I'd said something night before that he
considered material but he'd forgotten it--so he had at me. He'd say
"Can't you try to concentrate?" And I'd say "You bore me to tears. How
do I remember?"
(MAURY laughs noiselessly, by a sort of bland and appreciative
widening of his features.)
MAURY: Dick doesn't necessarily see more than any one else. He
merely can put down a larger proportion of what he sees.
ANTHONY: That rather impressive talent----
MAURY: Oh, yes. Impressive!
ANTHONY: And energy--ambitious, well-directed energy. He's so

entertaining--he's so tremendously stimulating and exciting. Often
there's something breathless in being with him.
MAURY: Oh, yes. (Silence, and then:)
ANTHONY: (With his thin, somewhat uncertain face at its most
convinced) But not indomitable energy. Some day, bit by bit, it'll blow
away, and his rather impressive talent with it, and leave only a wisp of
a man, fretful and egotistic and garrulous.
MAURY: (With laughter) Here we sit vowing to each other that little
Dick sees less deeply into things than we do. And I'll bet he feels a
measure of superiority on his side--creative mind over