Crossroads of Desire by Amos Hatter — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

CROSSROADS OF DESIRE the main floor. Connie swept through the lobby, her firm chin high, A chauffeured limousine awaited her at the curb under the canopied entrance. Ten minutes later she got out at the Penthouse Club where Philip was anxiously awaiting her. He was a heavy-set individual of medium height and expen- sive tailoring. His hair was sandy and his small brown eyes were covered by shell-rimmed glasses. Philip had been born to the manor thirty-six years ago, as free and equal as any other infant American. With traditional Hathaway acumen he had, seven years ago, inherited the presidency of the Hathaway Lock and Bolt Company of New England and succeeded in making himself even more free and equal. “I’m deucedly sorry about this afternoon, Connie,” he apolo- gized instantly. “You should be.’ She gave him a Jook of supreme disfavor that sent chills of apprehension down his back. “Tt just couldn’t be helped—”’ “That’s what you said,” she snapped. Philip opened his mouth to say something more. But on second thought he decided there was nothing to be gained by - further verbal apology. He took Connie’s arm and piloted her to the elevator. Five minutes later they sat at a table high above Central Park. “What mood was Mrs. Switzer in today?” he asked, when the waiter had departed with their orders. “As dreary as ever.” “She shouldn’t have been. Do you Know the show turned in a profit last week for the first time? I’ve already mailed out checks to the other backers.” “Tf that’s the case I want an increase. It’s worth double what I’m making, having that bunch of toads in for cocktails when- | ever you take a notion.” “Tm afraid an increase is impossible for a while, Connie,” he said disturbed. Philip, in addition to other things, was a patron of the arts. Specifically he was interested in promoting the ballet. Actually —and he had never admitted this even to himself—it was not so much the ballet as it was the glamorous Connie who had attracted him to the terpsichorean art. As chairman, and heaviest contributor, to the Ballet du 10 CROSSROADS OF DESIRE Roi Association, Philip wielded considerable influence. It was he who had suggested Connie as the premiere danseuse. And after the first week even the dubious Hoke had agreed that Philip knew a talented dancer when he saw one. If this came as a surprise to Philip he did not let on. All he knew was that Connie’s legs were the prettiest he had ever beheld and that she was, at the same time, an ambitious ballerina. With last week’s newly earned surplus of nine hundred dol- lars, Philip was now only twenty-one thousand in the hole as a result of his ballet venture. He had hopes of recouping that in due time. It was exclusive, of course, of the rent of Connie’s apartment which he hoped to get back in ways other than cash. “Well,” said Connie, after a few moments, “I’m through with cocktail parties. That’s final. If the backers can’t buy them- selves some drinks, they oughtn’t be in on the deal.” “You were a dear to carry the load this afternoon, Connie. Believe me, I’ll never leave you in the lurch again.” He reached across the table and patted her hand. Presently their food was brought in. Connie always ate spar- ingly before a performance. While Philip busied himself with a medium rare steak, she daintily partook of a shrimp salad. Tonight, after the show, she’d eat like a farm hand during a harvest. “We're getting ready to expand our facilities up at the fac- tory,’ Philip explained, ‘‘and the fellow I had to seq this after- noon sells equipment...” He talked on, as they ate, about his plans for expansion. Connie listened for a while but soon lost interest in what he was saying. Fifteen minutes later Philip finished his steak and sat back. «|, And so you can see,” he concluded, ‘that I’ve got a job cut out for me this year. The whole project will run well over three quarters of a million dollars.” i Connie had been staring out over the lights of Central Park that twinkled brilliantly in the cold, clear night. She looked at Philip, who was pleased that the mention of such large sums had impressed her. “Have you ever heard of O’Brien’s saloon?” she asked. Philip gaped at her. ‘“Why—why no. I don’t believe I have.” “Tt’s somewhere on Third Avenue.” : 11 : comichooksscom