Chapter 1 | 15
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mack into him, and we could see the four girls inside waving andstruggling and scrambling up off the floor. The man laughed and left us on the kerb and went back andhanded a bill to the driver in the middle of a great honking and someyelling, and then we saw the girls from the magazine moving off ina row, one cab after another, like a wedding party with nothing butbridesmaids. “Come on, Frankie? the man said to one of his friends in the group,and a short, scrunty fellow detached himself and came into the barwith us. He was the type of fellow I can’t stand. I’m five feet ten in mystocking feet, and when I am with little men I stoop over a bit andslouch my hips, one up and one down, so I'll look shorter, and I feelgawky and morbid as somebody in a side-show. For a minute I had a wild hope we might pair off according to size,which would line me up with the man who had spoken to us in thefirst place, and he cleared a good six feet, but he went ahead withDoreen and didn’t give me a second look. I tried to pretend I didn’tsee Frankie dogging along at my elbow and sat close by Doreen atthe table. It was so dark in the bar I could hardly make out anything exceptDoreen. With her white hair and white dress she was so white shelooked silver. I think she must have reflected the neons over the bar.I felt myself melting into the shadows like the negative of a personI'd never seen before in my life. “Well, what'll we have?” the man asked with a large smile. “I think I'll have an Old-Fashioned,” Doreen said to me. Ordering drinks always floored me. I didn’t know whisky fromgin and never managed to get anything I really liked the taste of.Buddy Willard and the other college boys I knew were usually toopoor to buy hard liquor or they scorned drinking altogether. It’samazing how many college boys don't drink or smoke. I seemed toknow them all. The farthest Buddy Willard ever went was buying usa bottle of Dubonnet, which he only did because he was trying toprove he could be esthetic in spite of being a medical student. 16 | The Bell Jar “T'll have a vodka.” I said. The man looked at me more closely. “With anything?” “Just plain?’ I said. “I always have it plain.” I thought I might make a fool of myself by saying I’d have it withice or soda or gin or anything. I’d seen a vodka ad once, just a glassfull of vodka standing in the middle of a snowdrift in a blue light, andthe vodka looked clear and pure as water, so I thought having vodkaplain must be all right. My dream was some day ordering a drink andfinding out it tasted wonderful. The waiter came up then, and the man ordered drinks for the fourof us. He looked so at home in that citified bar in his ranch outfit Ithought he might well be somebody famous. Doreen wasn't saying a word, she only toyed with her cork place-mat and eventually lit a cigarette, but the man didn’t seem to mind.He kept staring at her the way people stare at the great whitemacaw in the zoo, waiting for it to say something human. The drinks arrived, and mine looked clear and pure, just like thevodka ad. “What do you do?” I asked the man, to break the silence shootingup around me on all sides, thick as jungle grass. “I mean what do youdo here in New York?” Slowly and with what seemed a great effort, the man dragged hiseyes away from Doreen’s shoulder. “I’m a disc jockey, he said. “Youprob'ly must have heard of me. The name’s Lenny Shepherd.” “I know you,” Doreen said suddenly. “I’m glad about that, honey,’ the man said, and burst out laughing.“That'll come in handy. I’m famous as hell”
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