Milford came to the table where Miss Alcott sat with his supposed friend Addison, along with Mrs. Stowe and that girl Emily and another woman dressed in Puritan attire. He had barely ever been able to abide being with even one other person, and now there were five? This was almost as bad as an AA meeting.
"Hello, Addison," he said. "How odd to find you here."
"How odd to find oneself in this universe," said Addison. He had an almost-full pitcher of what looked to be beer in front of him, as well as a glass with what Milford assumed was beer in it. "I wonder do you know these good ladies, Milford?"
"I know Miss Alcott," said Milford, "and I have met Mrs. Stowe and Miss Emily."
Milford took a drag from the reefer Jelly Roll had given him, of which there was still more than an inch left, thank God, in whom he did not believe.
"Allow me to introduce Mistress Bradstreet," said Addison.
"Call me Anne," said Mistress Bradstreet.
"Hello, Anne," said Milford.
"And may I call you Merkin?" said Mistress Bradstreet, not offering her hand, in which she held what looked like a reefer of her own.
"You may," said Milford. "But my actual name is Milford, if it matters."
"I thought it was Mervyn," said Emily. "I loved your performance, by the way."
"Thank you," said Milford.
"It was –" she said, and she paused. While she paused, Jelly Roll continued to sing and play on the stage.
I got a big bottomed mama,
she don't give me no big drama,
she throws me down on the bed
and loves me till I'm dead…
"It was – unique," said Emily, continuing her critique.
"Shall we get you a chair, old boy?" said Addison.
"Thank you, but no," said Milford. "I think it's time for me to go home."
"To go home?" said Addison. "But the night is young!"
Milford became aware that Miss Alcott was looking at him.
"I'm sorry," he said, addressing her.
"I am sorry, too," she said. "It has been – interesting."
Mrs. Stowe addressed Miss Alcott.
"So that's it, Lou?" she said. "You are just going to let him leave?"
"Perhaps it is best," said Miss Alcott. "Before we begin to bore each other."
"The romance in the turbid air is strong, and not unsweet," said Emily.
"I don't know why you don't let us get you a chair, Milford," said Addison. "We can squeeze you in. We'll get you a glass, too, and you can help me drink this fine pitcher of Rheingold."
"If I sit down and start drinking Rheingold," said Milford, "I can state with a 99% chance of certainty that I will wind up frozen and dead in an alleyway."
"But there is still that one percent, isn't there?" said Addison.
Suddenly Mr. Whitman loomed up beside Milford, and he put his great hand on the young man's narrow shoulder.
"Murford," said Mr. Whitman, "I just want to say that I thought your songs of the soul touched my own soul. If you will come back to our table I should like to give you my in-depth analysis of your effusions, with just a few notes for possible improvement."
"Thank you, Mr. Whitman," said Milford, "but I was just leaving."
"But you can't! Miss Blackbourne will be so disappointed. Look at her over there."
He gestured toward the table where Miss Blackbourne sat, smoking an ebony-colored cigarette and gazing toward the stage.
"I think she will survive the disappointment," said Milford.
Mr. Whitman ignored this response and addressed Addison.
"We have met, dear fellow, what seems more than a twelvemonth and a season ago, but which was in all truth only perhaps a few hours ago."
"Hi," said Addison.
"Turgison, is it not?"
"Well, actually, they call me Addison –"
"Call me Walt. Oh, some call me Mr. Whitman, but when I hear that term of address I can think only of my late lamented father. And so I beg of you, sir, call me not Mr. Whitman, nor even Walter, but simply Walt."
"Okay, uh, Walt," said Addison.
"Now, Atcherson," said Walt, "if I am not mistaken, are you not Mimphrey's friend, if not blood brother?"
"Do you mean Milford there?"
"Yes, this fine sample of young American manhood here."
He still had his great hand on Milford's shoulder, and he gave it a squeeze, causing Milford to flinch.
"Why, yes," said Addison, "I suppose you could say we're friends, if not quite blood brothers."
"Then speak to him as a 'friend', and all that entails, which we need not investigate just now, and implore him not to leave."
"Well, I don't think I can stop him if he wants to," said Addison.
"Okay, well, I'm going to shove off now," said Milford.
"Don't go," said Emily.
"I'm sorry," said Milford.
"How are you getting home?" said Mrs. Stowe.
"I'm walking," said Milford. "I don't live far."
"But I hear it's a blizzard out there."
"I'll manage," said Milford.
"Perhaps I should accompany you," said Mr. Whitman.
"No need," said Milford.
"But what if you are accosted by brigands?" said Mr. Whitman. "I don't know if I told you, but I am quite adept in the arts of bareknuckle pugilism and Greco-Roman wrestling, and thus would not be entirely useless were we to be accosted by some of the Hudson Dusters gang, out trolling the snow-choked streets for inebriates to pummel and rob."
"I'll take my chances," said Milford. "So, uh, if you'll let go of my shoulder, Mr. Whitman –"
"Walt," said Walt.
"If you'll let go of my shoulder, Walt, I think I'll just –
"Oh, dash it all," said Miss Alcott, and she stood up, taking her purse. "Milford, may I have a private word with you?"
"Uh-oh," said Mrs. Stowe.
Miss Alcott came around and took Milford by his arm, the one that wasn't holding his peacoat and sweater.
"Come with me," she said, and, addressing Mr. Whitman, "If you will unhand young Milford, Walt."
Mr. Whitman took his hand off of Milford's shoulder, and Miss Alcott pulled Milford away, in the direction of the bar.
"What the hell is up with those two?" said Mistress Bradstreet.
"It is a story that is as old as mankind," said Mr. Whitman. "Perhaps, if we are to believe Mr. Darwin, even older than mankind. Oh, well, I suppose I shall return to my table, in defeat, bloody, but unbowed."
"Yes," said Mistress Bradstreet, "Miss Blackbourne looks like she is missing you."
"Miss Blackbourne misses no one," said Walt, "and that is part and parcel of her sui generis charm. And now I bid you all au revoir."
He turned and headed back to the table where Miss Blackbourne sat, smoking, and staring in the direction of the stage.
Addison refilled his glass from the pitcher. To his left Mistress Bradstreet sipped her Scotch-and-soda through a straw and then took a dainty drag of her hand-rolled reefer.
To his right Mrs. Stowe sat smoking a Herbert Tareyton. Across from him, Emily watched Milford and Miss Alcott walking away.
It occurred to Addison that this was the happiest moment of his life. A pitcher of beer, three ladies at his table, a ten-dollar bill in his pocket. What more could he possibly want?
On the little stage Jelly Roll played and sang.
I got a big bottomed mama
and I ain't got no mañana,
I got a bottle of good whiskey
and I'm feeling mighty frisky…
Mr. Whitman came to his table and sat down. Miss Blackbourne looked at him with her dark eyes.
"Don't worry, Walt," she said. "There will be other young men."
"Yes, I suppose you're right, Margaret," he said. He took his pipe out of his pocket. "I wonder, would you care to share a bowl of my special blend with me?"
"Why not?" said Miss Blackbourne, and as Walt took out his pouch of "special blend" comprised of excellent Kentucky burley and Lebanese hashish, up on the little stage Jelly Roll continued to play and sing.
Yes, I got a big bottomed mama
and she rides me like a llama,
and when she bends down low,
you should see her go…
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