The Oriental Wife by Evelyn Toynton Read Free Book Online Page B

at you,” Otto said in the hotel lobby that evening, holding her away from him so he could take her in. “You’re so glamorous.”
    “Wasn’t she always glamorous?” Phillip asked sourly.
    “But of course,” Otto said with a wink. “Even as a runny-nosed infant. But now she’s like a film star, don’t you think?” He was smaller than Louisa remembered, disconcertingly Peter Lorre-ish, in a Central European–looking suit with very wide shoulders.
    They walked to a smoky bar on Fifty-seventh Street that Phillip had read about, where a tired-looking black man was playing show tunes on a tinkly piano. “So you’re a journalist,” Otto said, after a pause, when they were seated.
    “In a manner of speaking.” Phillip snapped his fingers aggressively at the waiter, demanding Scotch. Louisa told Otto about the conference in Chicago; Otto adopted a serious expression and asked respectful questions, as all the passengers on the ship had failed to do. But Phillip’s answers were brief and surly; he jiggled his leg impatiently in time to the music. As soon as Otto turned his attention to Louisa, though, teasing her about things that had happened long ago, Phillip set down his glass.
    “What’s happening with the immigration quota for Jews? Is the Congress doing anything about it?”
    “Not that I know of,” Otto said politely, transferring his smile from Louisa to Phillip.
    “Oh, come now. You must have some rough idea.”
    “I’m afraid not.”
    “Well, how many applications are outstanding? Approximately.”
    Otto’s smile had turned wary. He gave a self-mocking little shrug, his ill-fitting jacket rising slightly from his shoulders. It struck Louisa that he was playing a part, an exaggerated version of himself, for Phillip’s benefit. “Rolf is the one you’d have to ask. He works for all the committees, he knows everything.”
    “What sort of committees? What do they do?”
    “Whatever is necessary. Find sponsors, jobs, lodgings, raise money, write letters to Congress. All of it.”
    “I’d like to talk to this chap Rolf,” Phillip said, in a clipped, commanding voice, like the ship’s captain’s. “Could you arrange that for me?”
    “He wasn’t terribly friendly when I spoke to him,” Louisa put in.
    “He said you were very charming,” Otto told her.
    “Well, he certainly didn’t seem charmed.”
    “I’m not sure he meant it as a compliment. He tends to be suspicious of charm.”
    “Perhaps I could interview some refugees,” Phillip said. “Do you think he’d help with that?”
    “I don’t see why not.”
    “Splendid. Try to set up a meeting, then.” He got to his feet. “Come and dance,” he said to Louisa, though on the ship he had never wanted to dance with her.
    Reluctantly, with an apologetic smile at Otto, she followed him onto the tiny dance floor, where three couples were moving uncertainly to the pianist’s rhythms. The music became slower and slower, until she and Phillip were simply standing there, clutching each other. A man in a black shirt appeared from the back and started shouting at the pianist, who stared at him with a look of intense dislike. “Play faster, goddamnit,” the man said, and the pianist stopped altogether, banging the piano shut.
    “Well done,” Phillip said, nodding with satisfaction, and went back to the table and ordered another Scotch. “What’s wrong with you two?” he asked, smiling at them for the first time that evening. “You were supposed to have so much to say to each other.”
    At eight the next morning, Otto phoned to report that Rolf would be glad to meet with them if they could comedowntown during his lunch hour. Otto himself could not make it—it was too far from the dry cleaner’s he worked at uptown, where his crazy old boss made his real money taking bets on the horses—but Rolf had given him the address of a coffee shop next to his office. Louisa wrote it down. Phillip, wakened by the phone, groaned and rolled