Fundvogel

Tex Durham had nothing to laugh about that afternoon at Central Trust. He was not allowed one minute of peace. It was five o-clock before Briscoe released him.

It was completely clear what he had to do. He certainly didn’t understand Briscoe’s motive; there had been no time to think about it. But he understood very well that there would be no problem with her father. He bought a large bouquet of orchids and drove down Park Avenue to Gwinnie’s house.

Jerry, the housemaster, saw him coming and started a fight with the nurse so she wouldn’t know he was there and try to stop him from going into her room. But Tex Durham’s courage had defeated worse enemies today. Soon he was standing in front of Gwinnie’s bed radiantly smiling.

“Hi Tex,” she cried in greeting. “It’s good that you could come! And you brought flowers too. Lay them there on the table.”

He thought she meant to lay his orchids on the nightstand, but she quickly corrected him.

“Can’t you see there is no room there? Put them in the back there.”

He obeyed, went through the large room and came back. He stood in front of her, looking at her and savoring this moment to the fullest.

Pageboy locks curled around her head and fanned out sharply on the pillows. He saw her naked neck and arms, her fine and delicate collarbones. Her face looked like it had been carved out of ivory with blooming red cheeks and lips.

The thumb of her left hand must have had something sweet on it, it was stuck in her mouth and she was sucking and nursing enthusiastically on it.

“You don’t look sick, Gwendolin,” he said admiringly. “Completely healthy, and your color-“

“You are an idiot, Texie,” she laughed. “Give me the lipstick.”

He took the lipstick from the nightstand, held it tightly.

“First take your thumb out of your mouth,” he demanded. “You know I can’t stand that. You’re not a baby anymore!”

She obeyed. There was a red ring around her thumb. She wiped it carelessly on the pillow, took the lipstick and put a bit more on to make her look healthier. Then her body spasmed, she pressed both hands against her stomach, turned this way and that groaning out loud.

He was frightened. “Are you in pain? He asked.

She came back at him, “Don’t ask dumb questions. Naturally I am in pain-here! In my stomach, my throat and in my mouth too. Bring the bowl with the ice, Tex, it’s back there on the vanity.”

He took her hand, which she quickly pulled away.

“How often have I told you not to touch me! Get the ice.”

Durham sighed, “How can a person’s hands be so ticklish! I will certainly not bring you any ice. Gwendolin, your entire illness comes from eating too much ice and drinking too much ice water. No wonder you have a belly ache!”

She pursed her lips, whistled softly, then said, “All the same, bring me the ice that I asked for.”

He went there and got the dish.

“Put a piece in my mouth,” she commanded. “And when it’s gone put in another and another, do you hear me? Just so you know, it is very good for me. Dr. Nisbett specifically prescribed it! It burns everywhere inside and the ice is cool.”

He would have sat on the chair but it was covered with clothes.

“Sit on the bed,” she said. “Would you like a piece of ice?”

“No,” he said. “But you could get me a cup of tea and a few butter bread. I haven’t had anything to eat today.”

She rang and ordered tea for him. Meanwhile, she gave him no minute of peace, always had a new command. He had to turn the heat off because it was to hot for her, right after that- another-must get her cigarettes, then chocolates. He didn’t know what to do with the bowl of ice so he carried it around with him. He was glad when the nurse finally rolled the tea table in. He could set the dish down on it for a bit.

He looked mournfully at the thin sandwiches with a little lettuce and mayonnaise on them. He turned to the nurse.

“Would you ask the butler to bring me some sandwiches?”

“He should bring tongue, ham, crab and chicken salad,” commanded Gwinnie. “He should bring everything he has. You see, Tex, I won’t let you go hungry like my father.”

“Don’t say anything against your father,” he answered chewing. “He has a very good heart.”

She nodded, then said thoughtfully. “I do believe he must have, otherwise he would have gotten rid of you a long time ago.”

The tall youth took the bread out of his mouth.

“Why would he fire me, Gwendolin?”

She laughed, “Because you are so terribly silly, Texie, that’s why!”

He laughed with her, “Then perhaps he doesn’t know yet. But you are right, Gwendolin, I would like to do something serious…“

He interrupted himself. Jerry brought in a large tray that was piled high and set it in front of him.

“Eat, Texie, eat,” Gwinnie reminded him.

“Don’t you want any?” He asked.

“No,” she said. “It doesn’t go well-inside! Give me another piece of ice instead.”

Tex obeyed, pushed some ice into her mouth.

“Gwendolin,” he said. “What’s with this dreadful ‘alas’ that you keep saying?”

“Ah,” she said. “You find it dreadful? Believe me Tex, it is very noble and classical. The heroines say it in all the classical pieces of French literature. Furthermore, I can do it so well. Would you like to see?”

She shut her eyelids, opened them slowly, pushed out a long sigh, pursed her lips, pulled herself together, inhaled deeply, and breathed out a languishing “A-las!”

“Well, Texie?” She asked.

She was quite good. Tex Durham had to give her that.

He ate quietly thinking things over. Yes, it was really the best to speak with her now. Free-open-straight from the heart. Then he noticed how quiet she was. He looked at her and saw that she was holding a small photo in her hand and staring at it.

“Who is that?” He asked.

She startled, then held the photo out to him. “Do you know her?”

“Oh, a woman,” he said, completely relieved. “I was afraid for a moment that it might have been Ralph Webster or one of the other idiots that always flocks around you. Only a girl friend-you can have dozens of them around you!”

“Do you know her?” Gwinnie asked again.

He took a closer look at the photo. Her? He considered.

“I think I saw her once with you at Carnegie Hall at one of those ridiculous concerts, and weren’t you riding with her at Central Park another time? By the way, she is a beautiful woman, a very pretty woman,” he finished pointedly.

“Well, what do you think?” Gwinnie asked. Then in a dreamy voice, “She is beautiful, so very beautiful. Her name is Andrea!”

Her glance lovingly kissed the photo that her narrow hand so carefully and lovingly held like a rare jewel.

Her hair is brown, she thought, but it glows, has a red shimmer when the light falls on it. It’s very long. What woman in New York or in the entire world wears long hair anymore? She does, Andrea Woyland does, pinned up in plaits. When she lets it down, it covers her like a coat.

Oh, Gwinnie shivered as she thought about it. Her eyes are gray, large and gray and glistening. They are so deep you can look into them and look into them and get lost forever. Her features are regular, lips strongly curved.

Gwinnie closed her eyes so she could see all the details more clearly, cheeks, ears, eyebrows, eyelashes, brow and chin. Everything so well formed, so beautiful, as if they were fashioned by a great artist. The entire effect was a proud symmetry with no missing parts. Her slender neck, how graceful it was from the start at the nape of her head down to her back. What shoulders, what arms, oh, and her breasts-