A Choice of Enemies by Mordecai Richler Read Free Book Online Page B

taxi. There were all those stars – she hated them for “twinkling” just the way they did in cheap novels – and below the endless noises of the night.
    At home, in Montreal, right now her father would be seated at his desk steeply and severe,
The Lusiads
opened at one elbow and an exercise book at the other. Mother in the parlour with knitting and Mozart and below the 3a streetcars and next door Mr. O’Meara calling, “Hurry, Ros, hurry. Ed Sullivan’s just beginning.…” and in the park the boys in blazers called hi,
bee
-utiful and smoked meats and Frankie Laine at Ma Heller’s and boning for Psych 103 and Sheldon saying, “If you
insist
on going to London I guess that’s it.…”
    But she missed them. Already she missed them.
    Sally lay down in the dark with a cigarette. I’ll never get to sleep tonight, she thought.
VII
    “If you want a script that’s nifty,” Charlie sang, “I’ll write it in a jiffy, Lawson but does nuttin’ for ya ‘olesale.”
    “Not so loud,” Joey called out from the bedroom.
    Sure, Charlie thought. Not so loud. The Chairlady of the Bitchers’ Club will now say a few words. Charlie stuck out his tongue. “You made lots of women in ’22,” he sang
sotto voce
, “you let other hacks make more gold than you, why doncha do right, and make me a movie to-ooo?”
    Charlie was going to get work. He had made a good impression. Invitations to dinners and parties from Winkleman, Landis, Jeremy, and Graves would soon come down on him like rain. They would please Joey so much. And once he was rich Charlie would be handsome with his money, not like some other guys he knew.
    Money, Charlie thought. Charlie required lots of money. Money to support his in-laws, the Wallaces, and money to pay Selma’s tuition at drama school. Joey’s sister Selma was cute but a weirdie, too. There was still that nose operation of hers to be paid off. And what if the Wallaces took it into their sinus-soaked heads that they needed Arizona again next winter? (Perish the thought, Charles.)
    “Maybe it’s because I’m a Torontonian,” Charlie sang, “that I love London so.” He raised his voice. “London’s going to be lucky-ducky. We’ve finally made it. I’ve got that certain feeling.”
    Charlie could hardly wait for Norman to get back. Meanwhile, sifting through the top drawer of his desk he came upon a thick airmail letter addressed to Norman Price, Esq.
    “As long as you can earn a living,” Joey said, entering the room, “I’ll be pleased. Remember what you said when you first came to New York?”
    “New York was different.”
    “Maybe, but all the same – What have you got there?”
    “A letter from you to guess whom?”
    “If I were you,” Joey said, “I wouldn’t read it.”
    “I was looking for a pencil. I can wait until he leaves before I go through his personal papers.”
    Joey took the letter into the kitchen, lit it, and then let the ashes fall into the sink.
    “Why did you do that?” Charlie asked.
    “Charlie, do you remember that Norman used to come round every night for weeks and then didn’t show up for months? You know why, don’t you?”
    Charlie didn’t answer.
    “Don’t you?”
    “Sure. Joey, sure. I mean I know you could have.…”
    “You should have seen the wild letters he wrote me, Charlie. But I wrote him no. Absolutely no. That was the letter I just burnt.”
    “I love you,” Charlie said. “I trust you completely.” He hugged her. “You know what I’m going to be?” he asked, lifting her off the floor. “An Irish Sean O’Casey.”
    Joey laughed. She kissed him.
    The door opened. “Hello,” Norman said cheerfully. “Still up?”
    Joey broke away from Charlie.
    “Ah,” Charlie said, “the satyr of Church Street returns. He’s abandoned his
soubrette
at last.”
    Norman grinned.
    “We didn’t expect you back until morning,” Joey said. “Wait, I’ll get you a drink.”
    “Thanks,” Norman said.
    “Feel free.” Charlie