Complete Stories (16 page)
Authors: Dorothy Parker,Colleen Bresse,Regina Barreca
“My, what a nice boy!” she cried. “I just love little boys like you, do you know it? Ooh, I could just eat you up! I could!”
She squeezed his arms. Curtis, in alarm, drew his head back from her face.
“And what’s
your
name?” she asked him. “Let’s see if you can tell me what your name is. I just
bet
you can’t!”
your
name?” she asked him. “Let’s see if you can tell me what your name is. I just
bet
you can’t!”
He looked at her.
“Can’t you tell the lady your name, Curtis?” demanded Mrs. Matson.
“Curtis,” he told the lady.
“Why, what a
pretty
name!” she cried. She looked up at Mrs. Matson. “Was that his real name?” she asked.
pretty
name!” she cried. She looked up at Mrs. Matson. “Was that his real name?” she asked.
“No,” Mrs. Matson said, “they had him called something else. But I named him as soon as I got him. My mother was a Curtis.”
Thus might one say, “My name was Guelph before I married.”
Mrs. Cook spoke sharply. “Lucky!” she said. “Pretty lucky, that young one!”
“Well, I should say so,” echoed Mrs. Swan. “Aren’t you a pretty lucky little boy? Aren’t you, aren’t you, aren’t you?” She rubbed her nose against his.
“Yes, Mrs. Swan.” Mrs. Matson pronounced and frowned at Curtis.
He murmured something.
“Ooh
—you
!” said Mrs. Swan. She rose from her squatting posture. “I’d like to
steal
you, in your little sailor-suit, and all!”
—you
!” said Mrs. Swan. She rose from her squatting posture. “I’d like to
steal
you, in your little sailor-suit, and all!”
“Mother bought that suit for you, didn’t she?” asked Mrs. Matson of Curtis. “Mother bought him all his nice things.”
“Oh, he calls you mother? Now, isn’t that sweet!” cried Mrs. Swan.
“Yes, I think it’s nice,” said Mrs. Matson.
There was a brisk, sure step on the porch; a key turned in the lock. Mr. Matson was among them.
“Well,” said Mrs. Matson upon seeing her mate. It was her invariable evening greeting to him.
“Ah,” said Mr. Matson. It was his to her.
Mrs. Kerley cooed. Mrs. Swan blinked vivaciously. Mrs. Cook applied her speaking-tube to her ear in the anticipation of hearing something good.
“I don’t think you’ve met Mrs. Swan, Albert,” remarked Mrs. Matson. He bowed.
“Oh, I’ve heard so much about Mr. Matson,” cried Mrs. Swan.
Again he bowed.
“We’ve been making friends with your dear little boy,” Mrs. Swan said. She pinched Curtis’s cheek. “You sweetie, you!”
“Well, Curtis,” said Mr. Matson, “haven’t you got a good-evening for me?”
Curtis gave his hand to his present father with a weak smile of po liteness. He looked modestly down.
“That’s more like it,” summarized Mr. Matson. His parental duties accomplished, he turned to fulfill his social obligations. Boldly he caught up Mrs. Cook’s speaking-tube. Curtis watched.
“Getting cooler out,” roared Mr. Matson. “I thought it would.”
Mrs. Cook nodded. “That’s good!” she shouted.
Mr. Matson pressed forward to open the door for her. He was of generous proportions, and the hall was narrow. One of the buttons-of-leisure on his coat-sleeve caught in Mrs. Cook’s speaking-tube. It fell, with a startling crash, to the floor, and writhed about.
Curtis’s control went. Peal upon peal of high, helpless laughter came from him. He laughed on, against Mrs. Matson’s cry of “Curtis!,” against Mr. Matson’s frown. He doubled over with his hands on his little brown knees, and laughed mad laughter.
“Curtis!” bellowed Mr. Matson. The laughter died. Curtis straightened himself, and one last little moan of enjoyment escaped him.
Mr. Matson pointed with a magnificent gesture. “Upstairs!” he boomed.
Curtis turned and climbed the stairs. He looked small beside the banister.
“Well, of all the—” said Mrs. Matson. “I never knew him to do a thing like that since he’s been here. I never heard him do such a thing!”
“That young man,” pronounced Mr. Matson, “needs a good talking to.”
“He needs more than that,” his spouse said.
Mr. Matson stooped with a faint creaking, retrieved the speaking-tube, and presented it to Mrs. Cook. “Not at all,” he said in anticipation of the thanks which she left unspoken. He bowed.
“Pardon me,” he ordered, and mounted the stairs.
Mrs. Matson moved to the door in the wake of her guests. She was bewildered and, it seemed, grieved.
“I never,” she affirmed, “never knew that child to go on that way.”
“Oh, children,” Mrs. Kerley assured her, “they’re funny sometimes —especially a little boy like that. You can’t expect so much. My goodness, you’ll fix all that! I always say I don’t know any child that’s getting any better bringing up than that young one—just as if he was your own.”
Peace returned to the breast of Mrs. Matson. “Oh—goodness!” she said. There was almost a coyness in her smile as she closed the door on the departing.
Pictorial Review
, February 1927
, February 1927
The Sexes
The young man with the scenic cravat glanced nervously down the sofa at the girl in the fringed dress. She was examining her handkerchief; it might have been the first one of its kind she had seen, so deep was her interest in its material, form, and possibilities. The young man cleared his throat, without necessity or success, producing a small, syncopated noise.
“Want a cigarette?” he said.
“No, thank you,” she said. “Thank you ever so much just the same.”
“Sorry I’ve only got these kind,” he said. “You got any of your own?”
“I really don’t know,” she said. “I probably have, thank you.”
“Because if you haven’t,” he said, “it wouldn’t take me a minute to go up to the corner and get you some.”
“Oh, thank you, but I wouldn’t have you go to all that trouble for anything,” she said. “It’s awfully sweet of you to think of it. Thank you ever so much.”
“Will you for God’s sakes stop thanking me?” he said.
“Really,” she said, “I didn’t know I was saying anything out of the way. I’m awfully sorry if I hurt your feelings. I know what it feels like to get your feelings hurt. I’m sure I didn’t realize it was an insult to say ‘thank you’ to a person. I’m not exactly in the habit of having people swear at me because I say ‘thank you’ to them.”
“I did not swear at you!” he said.
“Oh, you didn’t?” she said. “I see.”
“My God,” he said, “all I said, I simply asked you if I couldn’t go out and get you some cigarettes. Is there anything in that to get up in the air about?”
“Who’s up in the air?” she said. “I’m sure I didn’t know it was a criminal offense to say I wouldn’t dream of giving you all that trouble. I’m afraid I must be awfully stupid, or something.”
“Do you want me to go out and get you some cigarettes; or don’t you?” he said.
“Goodness,” she said, “if you want to go so much, please don’t feel you have to stay here. I wouldn’t have you feel you had to stay for anything.”
“Ah, don’t be that way, will you?” he said.
“Be what way?” she said. “I’m not being any way.”
“What’s the matter?” he said.
“Why, nothing,” she said. “Why?”
“You’ve been funny all evening,” he said. “Hardly said a word to me, ever since I came in.”
“I’m terribly sorry you haven’t been having a good time,” she said. “For goodness’ sakes, don’t feel you have to stay here and be bored. I’m sure there are millions of places you could be having a lot more fun. The only thing, I’m a little bit sorry I didn’t know before, that’s all. When you said you were coming over tonight, I broke a lot of dates to go to the theater and everything. But it doesn’t make a bit of difference. I’d much rather have you go and have a good time. It isn’t very pleasant to sit here and feel you’re boring a person to death.”
“I’m not bored!” he said. “I don’t want to go any place! Ah, honey, won’t you tell me what’s the matter? Ah, please.”
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” she said. “There isn’t a thing on earth the matter. I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do,” he said. “There’s something the trouble. Is it anything I’ve done, or anything?”
“Goodness,” she said, “I’m sure it isn’t any of my business, anything you do. I certainly wouldn’t feel I had any right to criticize.”
“Will you stop talking like that?” he said. “Will you, please?”
“Talking like what?” she said.
“You know,” he said. “That’s the way you were talking over the telephone today, too. You were so snotty when I called you up, I was afraid to talk to you.”
“I beg your pardon,” she said. “What did you say I was?”
“Well, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to say that. You get me so balled up.”
“You see,” she said, “I’m really not in the habit of hearing language like that. I’ve never had a thing like that said to me in my life.”
“I told you I was sorry, didn’t I?” he said. “Honest, honey, I didn’t mean it. I don’t know how I came to say a thing like that. Will you excuse me? Please?”
“Oh, certainly,” she said. “Goodness, don’t feel you have to apologize to me. It doesn’t make any difference at all. It just seems a little bit funny to have somebody you were in the habit of thinking was a gentleman come to your home and use language like that to you, that’s all. But it doesn’t make the slightest bit of difference.”
“I guess nothing I say makes any difference to you,” he said. “You seem to be sore at me.”
“I’m sore at you?” she said. “I can’t understand what put that idea in your head. Why should I be sore at you?”
“That’s what I’m asking you,” he said. “Won’t you tell me what I’ve done? Have I done something to hurt your feelings, honey? The way you were, over the phone, you had me worried all day. I couldn’t do a lick of work.”
“I certainly wouldn’t like to feel,” she said, “that I was interfering with your work. I know there are lots of girls that don’t think anything of doing things like that, but I think it’s terrible. It certainly isn’t very nice to sit here and have someone tell you you interfere with his business.”
“I didn’t say that!” he said. “I didn’t say it!”
“Oh, didn’t you?” she said. “Well, that was the impression I got. It must be my stupidity.”
“I guess maybe I better go,” he said. “I can’t get right. Everything I say seems to make you sorer and sorer. Would you rather I’d go?”
“Please do just exactly whatever you like,” she said. “I’m sure the last thing I want to do is have you stay here when you’d rather be some place else. Why don’t you go some place where you won’t be bored? Why don’t you go up to Florence Leaming’s? I know she’d love to have you.”
“I don’t want to go up to Florence Leaming’s!” he said. “What would I want to go up to Florence Leaming’s for? She gives me a pain.”
“Oh, really?” she said. “She didn’t seem to be giving you so much of a pain at Elsie’s party last night, I notice. I notice you couldn’t even talk to anybody else, that’s how much of a pain she gave you.”
“Yeah, and you know why I was talking to her?” he said.
“Why, I suppose you think she’s attractive,” she said. “I suppose some people do. It’s perfectly natural. Some people think she’s quite pretty.”
“I don’t know whether she’s pretty or not,” he said. “I wouldn’t know her if I saw her again. Why I was talking to her was you wouldn’t even give me a tumble, last night. I came up and tried to talk to you, and you just said, ‘Oh, how do you do’—just like that, ‘Oh, how do you do’—and you turned right away and wouldn’t look at me.”
“I wouldn’t look at you?” she said. “Oh, that’s awfully funny. Oh, that’s marvelous. You don’t mind if I laugh, do you?”
“Go ahead and laugh your head off,” he said. “But you wouldn’t.”
“Well, the minute you came in the room,” she said, “you started making such a fuss over Florence Leaming, I thought you never wanted to see anybody else. You two seemed to be having such a wonderful time together, goodness knows I wouldn’t have butted in for anything.”
“My God,” he said, “this what’s-her-name girl came up and began talking to me before I even saw anybody else, and what could I do? I couldn’t sock her in the nose, could I?”
“I certainly didn’t see you try,” she said.
“You saw me try to talk to you, didn’t you?” he said. “And what did you do? ‘Oh, how do you do.’ Then this what’s-her-name came up again, and there I was, stuck. Florence Leaming! I think she’s terrible. Know what I think of her? I think she’s a damn little fool. That’s what I think of her.”
“Well, of course,” she said, “that’s the impression she always gave me, but I don’t know. I’ve heard people say she’s pretty. Honestly I have.”
“Why, she can’t be pretty in the same room with you,” he said.
“She has got an awfully funny nose,” she said. “I really feel sorry for a girl with a nose like that.”
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