Evening Star Newspaper, March 3, 1935, Page 75

——— THIS WEEK They Thought They Were HARDBOILED Until They Met Defeat — and Ulictory A Love Story of the Prize Ring HE announcer elevated the gloved hand of a slender, swarthy young man. He bellowed, ‘‘The winnah — and the new middleweight champeen of the woild -~ Tony Sarmetti.” Seventeen thousand leather lungs roared approval, seventeen thousand pairs of eyes focussed upon the trim, beautifully muscled figure of the youthful athlete. And no one in all that excited throng wasted a thought upon the battered ex-champion. Jimmy Driggs’ left eye was closed; there was a purplish lump on his forehead; the flesh which covered his ribs was red and ugly. His manager worked over the bad eye. He said, “Jeez, Jimmy — you was lousy tonight. What was eatin’ you?" Mr. Driggs shrugged. ‘1 hadda take it some day, Mike. A guy can't sit on top forever." He pulled himself together, congratulated his radiant young conqueror with a perfunc- tory handshake, clambered through the ropes and shoved up the aisle. A few boos marked his exit, but he paid them little heed. He had been in this game a long time and knew fairly well what to expect. He stretched out on the rubbing table in his dressing room. Mike cut the bandages from his hands and stripped off his trunks. He moved wearily under the shower and was grateful for the icy spray. He returned to the dressing room and said, ‘‘Mike, you better beat it. I got somethin’ on for tonight.” The manager protested, but only faintly. He was glad enough to escape. So he waved a fleshy paw and said, **‘Okay, Kid. I'll be seein’ yuh tomorrow mornin’."” A half hour later Jimmy Driggs, ex-middle- weight champion, walked out of the Garden and into a friendless street. To his right glittered Broadway — his Broadway. The Broadway which had hailed him as the Play- boy Champ, which had back-slapped and marvelled at his vitality. *“That guy, Driggs he’'s a wonder. He trains on the dance floor an' never gets no sleep. Must be made of steel.” Cabarets, night clubs, road houses. For years they had been making capital of him. Introducing him from the floor, using him as a free attraction. He was a good-time lad who knew how to earn dough and how to spend it. Perpetual champ. Perpetual until tonight. Jimmy stood at the curb. He felt low physically and mentally. He was thinking of Fay Warner and of the big party scheduled for that night. He had seen her at the ring- side. He knew that after he had gone to his dressing room she had taxied to her apartment to make ready for him. They were customary, these post-battle parties at Fay's apartment in the West Seventies. The whole gang would gather around the buffet and the piano, kidding Jimmy along, pounding him on the back, telling him what a great guy he was. And Fay would stand in the corner watching him with mocking eyes-—-and every once in awhile she'd say, *‘You can't get away with it for- ever, Jimmy. Night life an’ fightin’ only mix just so long. Some day somebody’'s gonna knock you off.” That was Fay. Wise. Always looking into the future. Always laughing at what was gonna happen. He could see her now, waiting for him. She was an elegant-lookin’ gal — no kiddin'. Tall and — well, built grand, see? Lotsa curves where they did the most good, and a complexion. Oh Momma! what a skin! That was why she held such a swell job. Head of the cosmetic department of one of them big Fifth Avenue stores. She was a good-time gal, too. Liked her night clubs and parties and dancing. Liked to kid Jimmy. Got under his skin, but he never let on. He could take it, he could. Well, tonight was her chance. Tonight she could say, “I told you so,” and he knew dog-gone good an' well that she would, too. Knocked out by a palooka that nobody ever heard much about. Not much. Except that he was a sharpshooter and could hit, and that lotsa wise money had been bet on him. Jimmy Driggs didn’'t want to go to Fay's party, but he didn’t see how he could avoid it. Not without bein’ yeller. Kinda habit, see. Always after a scrap in the metropolitan dis- trict, the gang would gather at Fay's. They'd be waitin’ for him when he come in, vellin’ congratulations and all set for a big night. B o OcTtAavus Roy COHEN Then there'd be a wait while Fay went in the kitchen and broiled him a thick, juicy steak: kinda charred on the outside and rare inside. She could sure broil a steak, she could. And he was always hungry for it, on account he wouldn’'t of et anything since noon. Only tonight he wasn’t hungry. His ribs was sore and he felt lousy. But hell! he wasn't gonna let the gang think he was a quitter. He hadn’t quit when he knew Tony Sarmetti was cutting him down. He stood up and took his lacing. Well, he'd see what the gang had to say to- night. He'd beat Fay to the punch, so's her wise cracks wouldn't cut too deep, never lettin’ on that he was kinda curled up inside. He knew Fay wouldn't lay off him tonight. She’d been tellin’ him all along this was gonna happen. Kinda like all she gave a darn about was stringin’ along with a champ, havin’ everybody stare at her when he got introduced from the floor of some night club, hearin’ folks say: ‘“Look at the blonde, willya? Jimmy Driggs sure knows how to pick his wimmin.” Well, they wouldn’t be introducing him no more in the night clubs. Ex-champ. No more use than the spare tire you left home in the garage. Something you remember, but can't do nothing about. Fay came to the door when he rang the bell. Hllustration by l Karl Godwin He was forcin’ himself to grin, though his lips was a little puffed. He had his punch ready, and he let fly before she could lift her guard. He said, “‘I wanted to bring Tony Sarmetti over. Figured you wouldn’t be happy unless you had a top guy to run around with.” Her gray eyes narrowed, just a little. She said, *‘Still a smart guy, ain’t you, Jimmy?"’ He followed her into a big empty room. The buffet supper was all ready: delicatessen stuff and all such as that, and a lot of good drinks. The room was ghastly empty, and Jimmy understood. But he wouldn’t let her see how he felt. “Right again, Fay. You told me they'd drop off the first time I got licked.” She said, “What should a guy like you expect?”’ ‘She didn't say anything more. Not then. Just swayed into the kitchen and tied on a funny little rubber apron — a green one that kinda went with her dress and her yellow hair --and in a few minutes he could hear the steak sizzlin'. Only he wasn't hungry. It was rotten, everybody walkin’ out on him. Of course he could understand it. They was just kinda embarrassed. They wouldn't of known what to say to him. He struggled valiantly with the steak, pre- tending like it tasted as good as it always had when he'd won. She sat opposite; cool, irritat- ing gray eyes fixed on his face. “You don't have to say it, Fay. I know it already. I was too smart. I wouldn't train. If I'd listened to you an’ quit bein’ a good- time Charley, 1 wouldn’t be the only guest at my own party . . . and you wouldn’t be havin’ the swell laugh you're havin' now. Well, that's why I'm here —so you can have your fun.” “What do you want me to do? Weep?"' ‘‘Hell, no! You're just like all these others. You play the winners — after they win. 1 ain’t kidded. So go ahead. Let's have it.” “Have what?" “All the things you're thinkin'. Let’s hear about me bein’ a has-been. Let's hear you ask what I'm gonna do now.” *“All right. What are you gonna do?”’ ‘“What do you think?" She spoke coolly. “I suppose you're kiddin’ yourself that you can come back.” “Nope. I ain’t that dumb. I know when I've got mine. I ain't gonna stand up to get knocked down by every ham-and-egger who wants to say he whipped an ex-champ. I’'m through. Through with the ring, through with all these swell friends who run out on me the first time somebody hangs one on my jaw. And I'm through with expensive dames like you.” ‘‘Maybe expensive dames like me ain't so sad at bein’ rid of you, either.” “Did 1 say they would be? I know what you was scared of: that maybe 1'd keep on hangin’ around and bothering you. Well, get this: I never kidded myself about you. 1 was good when I had it. You liked running around with me because everybody was asking who was that Garbo I was trailing with. It ain't up . your alley to hear the gang say, ‘Look at that swell blonde sittin' with a poor palooka that used to be a scrapper.’ "’ “You sure are making it easy for me, Jimmy."” “That’s the best little thing I do, Sister. Nobody has to tell me when the welcome sign gets wore off the doormat.” “If I had your brains,” she said, “I'd put 'em to some good use.” ( Continued on page 15) There Was Fay - at the Ringside. She Was an Elegant-Lookin’ Gal — No Kiddin’.