The Movies.
It was February, seven days before her birthday, and the great snow that had filled up the cross-streets as dirt fills the cracks in a floor had turned to slush and was being escorted to the gutters by the hoses of the street-cleaning department. The wind, none the less bitter for being casual, whipped in through the open windows of the living room bearing with it the dismal secrets of the areaway and clearing the Patch apartment of stale smoke in its cheerless circulation.
Gloria, wrapped in a warm kimona, came into the chilly room and taking up the telephone receiver called Joseph Bloeckman.
“Do you mean Mr. Joseph Black ?” demanded the telephone girl at “Films Par Excellence.”
“Bloeckman, Joseph Bloeckman. B-l-o—”
“Mr. Joseph Bloeckman has changed his name to Black. Do
