第46章
《THE CATCHER IN THE RYE(麦田里的守望者英文版)》章节:第46章,宠文网网友提供全文无弹窗免费在线阅读。!
and all, like as if he didn't even know people were looking at him.
Modest as hell. I got a big bang out of it. Old Sally didn't talk much, except to rave about
the Lunts, because she was busy rubbering and being charming. Then all of a sudden, she
saw some jerk she knew on the other side of the lobby. Some guy in one of those very
dark gray flannel suits and one of those checkered vests. Strictly Ivy League. Big deal.
He was standing next to the wall, smoking himself to death and looking bored as hell.
Old Sally kept saying, "I know that boy from somewhere." She always knew somebody,
any place you took her, or thought she did. She kept saying that till I got bored as hell,
and I said to her, "Why don't you go on over and give him a big soul kiss, if you know
him? He'll enjoy it." She got sore when I said that. Finally, though, the jerk noticed her
and came over and said hello. You should've seen the way they said hello. You'd have
thought they hadn't seen each other in twenty years. You'd have thought they'd taken
baths in the same bathtub or something when they were little kids. Old buddyroos. It was
nauseating. The funny part was, they probably met each other just once, at some phony
party. Finally, when they were all done slobbering around, old Sally introduced us. His
name was George something--I don't even remember--and he went to Andover. Big, big
deal. You should've seen him when old Sally asked him how he liked the play. He was
the kind of a phony that have to give themselves room when they answer somebody's
question. He stepped back, and stepped right on the lady's foot behind him. He probably
broke every toe in her body. He said the play itself was no masterpiece, but that the
Lunts, of course, were absolute angels. Angels. For Chrissake. Angels. That killed me.
Then he and old Sally started talking about a lot of people they both knew. It was the
phoniest conversation you ever heard in your life. They both kept thinking of places as
fast as they could, then they'd think of somebody that lived there and mention their name.
I was all set to puke when it was time to go sit down again. I really was. And then, when
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the next act was over, they continued their goddam boring conversation. They kept
thinking of more places and more names of people that lived there. The worst part was,
the jerk had one of those very phony, Ivy League voices, one of those very tired, snobby
voices. He sounded just like a girl. He didn't hesitate to horn in on my date, the bastard. I
even thought for a minute that he was going to get in the goddam cab with us when the
show was over, because he walked about two blocks with us, but he had to meet a bunch
of phonies for cocktails, he said. I could see them all sitting around in some bar, with
their goddam checkered vests, criticizing shows and books and women in those tired,
snobby voices. They kill me, those guys.
I sort of hated old Sally by the time we got in the cab, after listening to that phony
Andover bastard for about ten hours. I was all set to take her home and all--I really was--
but she said, "I have a marvelous idea!" She was always having a marvelous idea.
"Listen," she said. "What time do you have to be home for dinner? I mean are you in a
terrible hurry or anything? Do you have to be home any special time?"
"Me? No. No special time," I said. Truer word was never spoken, boy. "Why?"