Street? Not me, I just came from there. Lucy thought the Pearl Necklace story much ado about nothing. Who is right? Right is—write! Handwriting is deceptive. Lucy's is prim. Mine, big and bold. That's me, shy, and act bold. That's no way to find a lover. Lucy is vice versa. Talk, talk, talk—that's me.
I wish I knew shorthand. I wish I could remember what Paul Vermillion said at the Chennonceaux. I like him. He talks in sentences. That's what I'm going to do. I'd really like to have a talk with him again. I wonder what his paintings are like? Which reminds me, I'd better watch the time so I don't miss Clem's train.
She put on her coat but dawdled over a pile of notebooks on Janine's trunk. Each, save for a few lines on the first page, was empty. One ought to write whatever came into one's head, or hand. That would be up-to-the-minute modern. Ouija-board Vida. Why not write all my thoughts about Lucy and what she says? Have her out of my head and between the covers of the notebooks or perhaps even one big notebook. I won't be really free to write something else until I do.
The thought was so compelling that she was almost late for Clem.
First sight of tall burly Clem standing, cane in hand, in the long grey overcoat, and one of those wide-brimmed black hats worn by Councilman Lauter and his rich grain and cattle rancher friends, made Vida wish he had worn something less, well, farmerish. Reproving herself, she greeted him effusively. He was obviously disappointed though that Lucy hadn't come.
"See who I brought along," he said, kissing her cheek awkwardly.
"Semy!"
Semanter Klug, sporting a rakish checked cap, grinned.
"You remember Herold Lauter."
Left of Clem was the Councilman's son in a pinchwaist suit, Oxford bags, a collegiate felt hat, and with a raccoon coat over his arm.
"What are you all doing here?"
"You haven't heard? Senator Lauter is in Washington. He came in with Coolidge last week," Semy said.
"Semy helped elect him. He wrote his speeches," Clem explained.
"I wouldn't put it that way," protested Semy with the self-deprecating smile Vida remembered. "It was kind of, well, collaboration. He was so busy campaigning I merely wrote, polished up, what the Senator wanted to say."
"Oh, then you've come to New York to celebrate?"
