Chapter 10 Breakfast at Tiffany's-10

She patted a yawn. "But its nothing. Just messages I leave with the answeringservice so Mr. OShaughnessy will know for sure that Ive been up there. Sally tells me what to say, things like, oh, theres a hurricane in Cuba and its snowing inPalermo. Dont worry, darling," she said, moving to the bed, "Ive taken care of myself a long time." The morning light seemed refracted through her: as she pulled the bed covers up to my chin she gleamed like a transparent child; then she laydown beside me. "Do you mind? I only want to rest a moment. So lets dont sayanother word. Go to sleep."

I pretended to, I made my breathing heavy and regular. Bells in the tower of the next-door church rang the half-hour, the hour. It was six when she put her hand on my arm, a fragile touch careful not to waken." Poor Fred," she whispered, and itseemed she was speaking to me, but she was not. "Where are you, Fred? Because its cold. Theres snow in the wind." Her cheek came to rest against my shoulder, warm damp weight. "Why are you crying?" She sprang back, sat up. "Oh, for Gods sake," she said, starting for the window and the fire escape, "I hate snoops."

The next day, Friday, I came home to find outside my door a grand-luxe Charles &Co. basket with her card: Miss Holiday Golightly, Traveling: and scribbled on the back in a freakishly awkward, kindergarten hand: Bless you darling Fred. the other night. You were an angel about the whole thing. Mille tense --Holly. PS I wont bother you again. I replied, Please do, and left this note at herdoor with what I could afford, a bunch of street-vendor violets. But apparently shedmeant what she said; I neither saw nor heard from her, and I gathered shed gone so far as to obtain a downstairs key. At any rate she no longer rang my bell. Imissed that; to feel toward her certain far-fetched resentments, as if I were being neglected by my closest friend. A disquieting loneliness came into my life, but it induced no hunger for friends of longer acquaintance: they seemed now like a salt-free, sugarless diet. By Wednesdaythoughts of Holly, of Sing Sing and SallyTomato, of worlds where men forked overfifty dollars for the powder room, were so constant that I couldn't work. That night I left a message in her mailbox: Tomorrow is Thursday. The next morning rewarded me with a second note in the play-pen script: Bless you for reminding me. Can you stop for a drink tonight 6-ish?

I waited until ten past six, then made myself delay five minutes more. A creature answered the door. He smelled of cigars and Knize cologne. His shoesported elevated heels; without these added inches, one might have taken him for a Little Person. His bald freckled head was dwarf-big: attached to it were a pair of pointed, truly elfin ears. He had Pekingese eyes, unpitying and slightly bulged. Tufts of hair sprouted from his ears, from his nose; "Kids in the shower," he said, motioning a cigar toward a sound of water hissingin another room. The room in which we stood (we were standing because there was nothing to sit on) seemed as though it were being just moved into; expected tosmell wet paint. Suitcases and unpacked crates were the only furniture. The cratesserved as tables. One supported the mixings of a martini; another a lamp, a Libertyphone, Hollys red cat and a bowl of yellow roses. Bookcases, covering onewall, boasted a half-shelf of literature. I warmed to the room at once, I liked its flyby-night look.

The man cleared his throat. "You expected?" He found my nod uncertain. His cold eyes operated on me, made neat, exploratory incisions. "A lot of characters come here, they're not expected. You know the kid long?" "Not very." "So you don't know the kid long?" "I live upstairs." The answer seemed to explain enough to relax him. "You got the same layout?" "Much smaller." He tapped ash on the floor. "This is a dump. This is unbelievable. But the kid dont know how to live even when shes got the dough." His speech had a jerky metallicrhythm, like a teletype. "what do you think: is she or aint she?"

"Aint she what?" "A phony." "I wouldn't have thought so." "Youre wrong. She is a phony. But on the other hand youre right. She isnt aphony because shes a real phony. She believes all this crap she believes. You canttalk her out of it. Ive tried with tears running down my cheeks. Benny Polan, respected everywhere, Benny Polan tried. Benny had it on his mind to marry her, she dont go for it, Benny spent maybe thousands sending her to head-shrinkers.