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J.D.SalingerTheHeartofaBrokenStoryEsquireXVI,September1941,Page32,131-133EVERYdayJustinHorgenschlag,thirty-dollar-a-weekprinter’sassistant,sawatclosequartersapproximatelysixtywomenwhomhehadneverseenbefore.ThusinthefewyearshehadlivedinNewYork,Horgenschlaghadseenatclosequartersabout75,120differentwomen.Ofthese75,120women,roughly25,000wereunderthirtyyearsofageandoverfifteenyearsofage.Ofthe25,000only5,000weighedbetweenonehundredfiveandonehundredtwenty-fivepounds.Ofthese5,000only1,000werenotugly.Only500werereasonablyattractive;only100ofthesewerequiteattractive;only25couldhaveinspiredalong,slowwhistle.Andwithonly1didHorgenschlagfallinloveatfirstsight.Now,therearetwokindsoffemmefatale.Thereisthefemmefatalewhoisafemmefataleineverysenseoftheword,andthereisthefemmefatalewhoisnotafemmefataleineverysenseoftheword.HernamewasShirleyLester.Shewastwentyyearsold(elevenyearsyoungerthanHorgenschlag),wasfive-foot-four(bringingherheadtothelevelofHorgenschlag’seyes),weighed117pounds(lightasafeathertocarry).Shirleywasastenographer,livedwithandsupportedhermother,AgnesLester,anoldNelsonEddyfan.InreferencetoShirley’slookspeopleoftenputitthisway:“Shirley’sasprettyasapicture.”AndintheThirdAvenuebusearlyonemorning,HorgenschlagstoodoverShirleyLester,andwasadeadduck.AllbecauseShirley’smouthwasopeninapeculiarway.Shirleywasreadingacosmeticadvertisementinthewallpanelofthebus;andwhenShirleyread,Shirleyrelaxedslightlyatthejaw.AndinthatshortmomentwhileShirley’smouthwasopen,lipswereparted,ShirleywasprobablythemostfataloneinallManhattan.Horgenschlagsawinherapositivecure-allforagiganticmonsteroflonelinesswhichhadbeenstalkingaroundhisheartsincehehadcometoNewYork.Oh,theagonyofit!TheagonyofstandingoverShirleyLesterandnotbeingabletobenddownandkissShirley’spartedlips.Theinexpressibleagonyofit!***ThatwasthebeginningofthestoryIstartedtowriteforCollier’s.Iwasgoingtowritealovelytenderboy-meets-girlstory.Whatcouldbefiner,Ithought.Theworldneedsboy-meets-girlstories.Buttowriteone,unfortunately,thewritermustgoaboutthebusinessofhavingtheboymeetthegirl.Icouldn’tdoitwiththisone.Notandhaveitmakesense.Icouldn’tgetHorgenschlagandShirleytogetherproperly.Andherearethereasons:CertainlyitwasimpossibleforHorgenschlagtobendoverandsayinallsincerity:“Ibegyourpardon.Iloveyouverymuch.I’mnutsaboutyou.Iknowit.Icouldloveyouallmylife.I’maprinter’sassistantandImakethirtydollarsaweek.Gosh,howIloveyou.Areyoubusytonight?”ThisHorgenschlagmaybeagoof,butnotthatbigagoof.Hemayhavebeenbornyesterday,butnottoday.Youcan’texpectCollier’sreaderstoswallowthatkindofbilge.Anickel’sanickel,afterall.Icouldn’t,ofcourse,allofasuddengiveHorgenschlagasuaveserum,mixedfromWilliamPowell’soldcigarettecaseandFredAstaire’soldtophat.“Pleasedon’tmisunderstandme,Miss.I’mamagazineillustrator.Mycard.I’dliketosketchyoumorethanI’veeverwantedtosketchanyoneinmylife.Perhapssuchanundertakingwouldbetoamutualadvantage.MayItelephoneyouthisevening,orintheverynearfuture?(Short,debonairlaugh.)IhopeIdon’tsoundtoodesperate.(Anotherone.)IsupposeIam,really.”Oh,boy.Thoselinesdeliveredwithaweary,yetgay,yetrecklesssmile.IfonlyHorgenschlaghaddeliveredthem.Shirley,ofcourse,wasanoldNelsonEddyfanherself,andanactivememberoftheKeystoneCirculatingLibrary.Maybeyou’rebeginningtoseewhatIwasupagainst.True,Horgenschlagmighthavesaidthefollowing:“Excuseme,butaren’tyouWilmaPritchard?”TowhichShirleywouldhaverepliedcoldly,andseekinganeutralpointontheothersideofthebus:“No.”“That’sfunny,”Horgenschlagcouldhavegoneon,“IwaswillingtoswearyouwereWilmaPritchard.Uh.Youdon’tbyanychancecomefromSeattle?”“No.”—Moreicewherethatcamefrom.“Seattle’smyhometown.”Neutralpoint.“Greatlittletown,Seattle.Imeanit’sreallyagreatlittletown.I’veonlybeenhere—ImeaninNewYork—fouryears.I’maprinter’sassistant.JustinHorgenschlagismyname.”“I’mreallynotinter-ested.”Oh,Horgenschlagwouldn’thavegotanywherewiththatkindofline.Hehadneitherthelooks,personality,orgoodclothestogainShirley’sinterestunderthecircumstances.Hedidn’thaveachance.And,asIsaidbefore,towriteareallygoodboy-meets-girlstoryit’swisetohavetheboymeetthegirl.MaybeHorgenschlagmighthavefainted,andindoingsograbbedforsupport:thesupportbeingShirley’sankle.Hecouldhavetornthestockingthatway,orsucceededinornamentingitwithafinelongrun.PeoplewouldhavemaderoomforthestrickenHorgenschlag,andhewouldhavegottohisfeet,mumbling:“I’mallright,thanks,”then,“Oh,say!I’mterriblysorry,Miss.I’vetornyourstocking.Youmustletmepayforit.I’mshortofcashrightnow,butjustgivemeyouraddress.”Shirleywouldn’thavegivenhimheraddress.Shejustwouldhavebecomeembarrassedandinarticulate.“It’sallright,”shewouldhavesaid,wishingHorgenschlaghadn’tbeenborn.Andbesides,thewholeideaisillogical.Horgenschlag,aSeattleboy,wouldn’thavedreamedofclutchingatShirley’sankle.NotintheThirdAvenueBus.ButwhatismorelogicalisthepossibilitythatHorgenschlagmighthavegotdesperate.Therearestillafewmenwholovedesperately.MaybeHorgenschlagwasone.HemighthavesnatchedShirley’shandbagandrunwithittowardtherearexitdoor.Shirleywouldhavescreamed.Menwouldhaveheardher,andrememberedtheAlamoorsomething.Horgenschlag’sfl