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.Clerks, typists, lawyers, bank tellers, stockbrokers packed the narrow sidewalks between the tall grey buildings.A thousand windows burned with the spring sun, the skyscrapers held the sky far above, it seemed a million miles above the people on the pavements.He saw Suzy standing in front of her office building.Familiar and unfamiliar, she appeared to Sam, pretty and not pretty, loved and not loved.He waved at her and dodged through the hustle.His eyes took her in: the tailored brown suit, spotted with red specks that matched the maroon feather in her brown suede hat.She held a brown suede pocketbook under one arm.Trim and small and neat, her neck was white and fragile-looking above the dazzling white of her secretary’s blouse.Her red lips curved in a wide smile, her teeth showing in an even pale white line.For seconds, he was only aware of her smile; this livingness and joy were for him.Gratefully, he stepped over to her.“Where do you Wall Streeters eat around here? How are you, kid? Is your mother sore at me?”“What’d you do to her?”“Last night on the phone, she asked me how I was and I didn’t ask her.”“Since when are you so polite? Where’s your uniform?”“I’m on sick leave.”She clattered back on her high heels and squinted like a child at him.Her big grey eyes narrowed.“You don’t look sick to me.Sam, your jaw — ”Tight-lipped, he nodded.“You don’t play around with psychopaths just like that.Gee, Suzy, it’s been a hell of a time and it isn’t over yet.”She squeezed his hand and they walked in silence among the chattering lunch-time throngs.On the corner of Cortlandt and Broadway, a flower wagon was hawking the bright flowers of spring.The big black nag stood in its shaft and contemplated everybody with the indifference of a city horse.Sam had an impulse to buy Suzy some violets but he felt so gloomy he did nothing about it.She began to gossip about her office, her boss, and although he appreciated the succession of brittle little stories, his eyes showed no spark.The problem was his, his alone.Almost, he forgot that she loved him.She belonged to this Wall Street world, one of all these spinning faces who revolved around the corporations and the banks.He belonged where? One self walked with Suzy, the other was lost in a ghostly Harlem that floated across his brain even in the splashing sunlight.“Sam, there’s nothing wrong with you, is there?” he heard her saying.“You’re not listening to me, honey.Don’t be such a wise guy.Are you all right?”“I’m fine, Suzy.The jaw’s nothing.I had it X-rayed this morning.The Police Surgeon says it’s okay.Some morning.I haven’t told you.But I’ve had a second hearing this morning, the Assistant D.A.in charge.I was cleared.Did you see the papers last night?”“No.If I had, I’d’ve taken a cab over to your house.I read the Times, coming to work this morning.Sam, I don’t know where to begin.There are just about a million things I want to ask you.If you don’t want me to pester you, just say so honey.I’m still your sweetheart and not your wife.” She smiled.“Sam,” she said, her voice thinning.“It was awful, wasn’t it? Sam, if you don’t want me to pester you — ”He circled his arms about her and smacked a big kiss on her cheek.He released her and grinned.Blushing, she cast little cat-like side glances at the crowd.“What’s the idea?” she said.“Why didn’t you wait until we got to Times Square?”“That makes me feel better.”She laughed a full throaty laugh as hearty as his kiss had been.“Now I know for sure.”“What do you know for sure?”“You couldn’t help what happened.”“Suzy, honest, the official police version is the straight dope.”“Whew.” Suzy sighed.“I couldn’t take dictation or anything, Sam.Mr.Hunter, that piece of sponge cake, noticed it.He asked me if my boy friend was being drafted.I told him you were deferred since they were grooming you for Police Commissioner.” The corners of her eyelids crinkled and her grey eyes asked him what he thought of her joke.“Yep, Police Commissioner.”“I’m not hungry.Or to be truthful, I am hungry but I’d rather — Sam, I’ve read all the papers.I had the twelve o’clock sandwich brigade bring me the afternoon sheets.I’ve seen the Post, the Sun, the Telly.Have you seen them? Have you seen PM?”“No.What do they say?”“Sam, is it all right with you if we eat later? You haven’t seen PM?”“No, I said.What have you got on your mind, kid? Out with it.”“Who do you think you are? Charley Chan? I haven’t a thing on my mind.” And quickly, lightly, she added, “Except your welfare.”“You don’t have to worry about my feelings — ”“But I do, darling,” she cried passionately, clutching his arm.He felt the rounded edge of her small breast against his elbow and his heart tumbled and her love whirled his head empty of the hearings.They slanted down into Nassau Street, into a hurdy-gurdy of pineapple drink stands, tobacco stores and bargain emporiums; they walked by the stamp marts; hinged on the insides of the plate-glass windows, the stamps of all the nations rainbowed in Sam’s sight.“Darling,” he whispered.“What?”“Nothing.”“Sam, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking this morning.I’ve been thinking how close you were to getting — ” she shuddered, pressing her cheek against his sleeve — ”killed.Golly, that’s a funny word when you say it.Killed.”“They were all against me.They’d lynch me if they could.In all that crowd — What’s the use beefing? But it hurts.Talk of race propaganda.If white prejudice is rotten so is black prejudice
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