Crossroads of Desire by Amos Hatter — page 10: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

CROSSROADS OF DESIRE was a long narrow room with a bar along one side and booths lining the opposite wall. Farther back were some tables with red checkered cloths. A few of the tables and booths were occupied and three men and one girl sat at the bar. “Good evening,” said O’Brien, recovering from his surprise at the sight of such well-dressed patrons. He was a slender man with a pale brown mustache and watery blue eyes. “May we have a table for four, please,” Philip requested, taking charge. “And I trust we can depend on getting some decent food here.” “Yes, sir. Most assuredly.” O’Brien led them back to a table. When they were seated he began issuing orders to a waitress and a bus boy. He snapped his fingers at the bartender, calling him to attention. The help hurried to do his bidding for they too realized that this was a party of guests superior to the sort who usually came here. Connie didn’t even look at the menu that was handed to her. Instead she looked around curiously, at the old upright piano in the back of the room. She glanced at the people who sat at the other tables and searched the faces of those at the bar. Larry Brooks was nowhere in sight. A wave of disappointment passed through her, “What looks good to you, my dear?” Philip asked. “The usual, I guess,” she said tonelessly. “Bring her the finest steak you’ve got and champagne cock~ tails all around while we’re waiting,’ Philip ordered. “T’d rather have a beer,” said Connie. Philip stared at her in disbelief. Something had gotten into her. He was sure of it now. But he rightly figured that this was not the time to get it out of her. He nodded to O’Brien who was personally taking their orders. “One glass of beer and three champagne cocktails.” A few moments later the orders were completed and O’Brien hurried off. The four of them sat at the table looking around, then presently their eyes came back to their own group. “Will someone please explain what we're doing in this fly trap?” Ginger demanded. “T think it’s rather quaint,’ Walker smiled quickly. His eyes travelled around the table but when they reached the blonde they changed almost imperceptibly from brightness 18 CROSSROADS OF DESIRE to a level intent. It was as if he were giving her a silent warn- ing to shut up. “As Rob says, the food may be fine,” said Philip, a highly dubious expression on his face. “I hope it will be, for your sake, Connie,” he added solicitously. Connie was about to make it clear that anyone who wanted to could leave. Nobody would hold them here. But at that instant the front door opened and Larry Brooks came in. He didn’t have on a hat and his attitude seemed to indicate that he had just stepped out a few minutes before. “Tt will be,” she said, smiling suddenly. And to the surprise of her three companions she began talk- ing interestingly about her performance that night. Connie was an artful raconteur when she" put her mind to it and she proceeded now to make both Philip and Walker glad they had come. Ginger Doss was not deceived. She knew the dancer had something in her craw but was at a total loss as to what it might be. “Well, upon my word! Look who’s here,” exclaimed a mas- culine voice a couple of minutes later. They all looked up at Larry Brooks who was standing by the table smiling down at Connie. She smiled back pleasantly and informally, then introduced him to the others. “He plays the piano here,” she added, by way of explanation. “So that’s the attraction,’ Ginger commented, a slow smile forming on her lips. Larry chose to answer her remark himself. With a deprecat- ing smile he said, “There are some doubts among the customers as to whether it’s an attraction or not. But some folks seem to like it. We’re honored to have you all here tonight. If you have any requests—ragtime that is—just let me know.” He walked over to the piano and sat down. A few seconds later he began to play. It was immediately apparent that Larry was a master of the instrument. Furthermore, he knew his ragtime rhythm. He rendered ‘Mapleleaf Rag” with such a melodious beat that nearly all the patrons in O’Brien’s were tapping their feet before he had finished. He played on, pausing for only a brief moment between num- bers. Connie ate her steak with zest. An hour later Philip elanced at his watch and suggested that it was time they go. Gomichbooksscom