- cid
- bafkreibkrd7xtseijsrufyiz5ub7zypislkdkdtog4dirdnxtlhojhe2mi
- content_type
- image/jpeg
- filename
- Rye_page_0033.jpg
- key
- pdf-page-1768924405797-25z5ch4s3c4
- page_number
- 33
- pdf_type
- born_digital
- size
- 309304
- text
- calling up this guy that went to the Whooton School when I was there, Carl Luce, but I
didn't like him much. So I ended up not calling anybody. I came out of the booth, after
about twenty minutes or so, and got my bags and walked over to that tunnel where the
cabs are and got a cab.
I'm so damn absent-minded, I gave the driver my regular address, just out of habit
and all--I mean I completely forgot I was going to shack up in a hotel for a couple of days
and not go home till vacation started. I didn't think of it till we were halfway through the
park. Then I said, "Hey, do you mind turning around when you get a chance? I gave you
the wrong address. I want to go back downtown."
The driver was sort of a wise guy. "I can't turn around here, Mac. This here's a
one-way. I'll have to go all the way to Ninedieth Street now."
I didn't want to start an argument. "Okay," I said. Then I thought of something, all
of a sudden. "Hey, listen," I said. "You know those ducks in that lagoon right near
Central Park South? That little lake? By any chance, do you happen to know where they
go, the ducks, when it gets all frozen over? Do you happen to know, by any chance?" I
realized it was only one chance in a million.
He turned around and looked at me like I was a madman. "What're ya tryna do,
bud?" he said. "Kid me?"
"No--I was just interested, that's all."
He didn't say anything more, so I didn't either. Until we came out of the park at
Ninetieth Street. Then he said, "All right, buddy. Where to?"
"Well, the thing is, I don't want to stay at any hotels on the East Side where I
might run into some acquaintances of mine. I'm traveling incognito," I said. I hate saying
corny things like "traveling incognito." But when I'm with somebody that's corny, I
always act corny too. "Do you happen to know whose band's at the Taft or the New
Yorker, by any chance?"
"No idear, Mac."
"Well--take me to the Edmont then," I said. "Would you care to stop on the way
and join me for a cocktail? On me. I'm loaded."
"Can't do it, Mac. Sorry." He certainly was good company. Terrific personality.
We got to the Edmont Hotel, and I checked in. I'd put on my red hunting cap
when I was in the cab, just for the hell of it, but I took it off before I checked in. I didn't
want to look like a screwball or something. Which is really ironic. I didn't know then that
the goddam hotel was full of perverts and morons. Screwballs all over the place.
They gave me this very crumby room, with nothing to look out of the window at
except the other side of the hotel. I didn't care much. I was too depressed to care whether
I had a good view or not. The bellboy that showed me to the room was this very old guy
around sixty-five. He was even more depressing than the room was. He was one of those
bald guys that comb all their hair over from the side to cover up the baldness. I'd rather be
bald than do that. Anyway, what a gorgeous job for a guy around sixty-five years old.
Carrying people's suitcases and waiting around for a tip. I suppose he wasn't too
intelligent or anything, but it was terrible anyway.
After he left, I looked out the window for a while, with my coat on and all. I didn't
have anything else to do. You'd be surprised what was going on on the other side of the
hotel. They didn't even bother to pull their shades down. I saw one guy, a gray-haired,
very distinguished-looking guy with only his shorts on, do something you wouldn't
- text_extracted_at
- 2026-01-20T15:53:25.797Z
- text_extracted_by
- pdf-processor
- text_has_content
- true
- text_source
- born_digital
- uploaded
- true