House Party (25 page)

"Uh, Bryan," Joe said, "I wondered if I could have a word with you?"

"Surest thing you know," Bryan said with a smile. This would be relaxing. No problems here. He and Joe could talk about literature or tennis. "And why don't we pick up a couple of bottles of the foamy on our way out? It's too nice a day to sit indoors and it's too hot a day to sit outside without a beer. Come on!"

Feeling that the interview was off to a promising beginning, Joe followed Bryan to the kitchen.

John Burgess' swim hadn't done much for him. The tide had been depressingly low, the water much too warm. Back in his room, he wrapped himself in his dressing gown and lay on the bed smoking. He felt old and lonely and depressed. He wanted to be alone here in this big room, and yet he was so sick of being alone.

There was a tap on his door.

"Yes?" John called.

The door opened and there stood Felicia. "John, may I come in?" Without waiting for an answer, Felicia stepped into the room, closed the door and leaned back against it.

"I'm not dressed for callers," John said, leaping off the bed and gathering his robe around him. "And you're not dressed to go
calling,"
he added. Felicia was wearing a red negligee, very sheer and cut very low. She was powdered until her skin looked unnaturally white and her lips and nails were like drops of blood.

"What's the matter," she asked huskily, "don't you like the way I look?"

For the first time John realized that he didn't. "It's a very pretty kimono—whatever you call ‘em.”

"John, that's what I love about you! You're so quaint. Here I go out and spend a fortune on a negligee for my trousseau and then you call it a 'pretty kimono.'"

"I guess I'm just a home boy after all," he said, sulkily.

"Would you give me one of your cigarettes, darling?" Felicia undulated across the room and sat provocatively on the edge of his bed, conscious that a good bit of her skirt had fallen open.

"Sure. Here."

"Thank you, darling." Felicia looked languidly up at him as he lighted her cigarette. "John. I'm frightfully sorry about this afternoon."

"So am I, Felicia."

"It was just that I was so hot and so hideously bored and Fraulein was off and that old maniac, Nanny, was being so upsetting with the children . . ."

"Really, I thought she was kind of nice to take care of them for you."

"Oh she doesn't matter. She's nothing but an old English biddy they should have put out to pasture
years
ago. And then when Robin spilled that
awful lemonade
all over me—really, the dress will just have to be thrown out—well I—I suppose I shouldn't have slapped him."

"No, I don't think you should have."

"Oh,
of course
I shouldn't. But, darling, when you have two children crawling over you twenty-four hours a day . . ."

"Which day was this, Felicia?"

"Oh, John, you'll simply never
know
what it means to be a mother."

"You're right. It's a pretty safe bet that I won't."

"I have to give them
constant
attention."

"Yes, I've noticed."

"And, John, I've been through so much this summer that I . . .”

"Been through
what,
Felicia?"

"Well, you know, having to close the house in town and pack everything and drag Robin and Emily and Fraulein out here and put up with Mother and Aunt Lily."

"That must have been hell!"

"Well, it
has
been. And then playing hostess to a whole house full of the dreariest people imaginable . . .”

"And you certainly were the great little hostess today, Felicia. Real Southern hospitality—a kind word for everyone, put all the guests at their ease . . "

"Oh, John, go on. Scold me! I deserve it. I never should have called that tiresome little Claire a . . .”

"No, you never should have."

"It's probably true, though," she said with a sly smile.

"Then, of course,
that
makes it perfectly all right?"

"No, of course not. But she's such an irritating creature."

"What don't you like about her?"

"Well, she's so fancy! Always mincing around in a lot of glad rags. Her clothes are nice, but really awfully extreme."

"I see," Burgess said, staring at Felicia's negligee. "What else?"

"Well, and she's always sucking up to people . . ."

"I see. Anything more?"

"Oh, she's stupid. You couldn't get an hour's intelligent conversation out of her if you tried."

"And what else has she done to win your disfavor?"

"Well, she's a nobody who's constantly on the make."

"Probably hasn't any money, either?"

"Oh! Not a nickel."

"And you say she has no position?"

"Really, John,
Claire!
Common as dirt, although I will say she . . ."

"Then the only difference between her and you is money and position? But I'll bet that if she married Paul she'd have plenty of both and then there wouldn't be any difference at all!"

"Honestly, John,
Paul.
He won't have a sou! If she thinks she's getting any world-beater there, she's sadly mis . . .
What did you say?'

"You heard me," he said getting up. "Listen, Felicia, I think that you and I had better forget about that little talk we had in the garden. I'm afraid you're not quite the wife I had in mind. Maybe you'd better find somebody with more money and more position and . . ."

"John!” Felicia cried. Her face had turned chalky and her eyes were wide. "John," she said, throwing her arms around his neck, "you've
got
to marry me. You
said
you would. John, I'll do whatever you want! We'll live any place you like! Here, in Europe, down South—whatever you say. John, do you
hear
me?"

"Yes, Felicia," he said wearily, "I hear you."

"And John, I don't care at all about your money. I have tons. Plenty. More than I'll ever need. I have half of what my father left—it's millions—and as soon as Mother dies, I'll get all of hers. And John, I can get you in
any
place. I have connections all over. After all, I'm a Pruitt, and . . ."

"What else can you do for me?"

Felicia was gibbering. Her arms were tight and hot around his neck. He felt the lace of her gown crushing into his bare chest "John," she said, clawing at him. "If you want me you can have me now. Right here! No one would know. No one's
up
here. John, why didn't you say you . . ." Still speaking, she pressed her lips tight against his. Her lipstick tasted of perfume and chemicals, it felt hot and greasy. "John," she said, drawing back and looking desperately at him. I'll be just the kind of wife you want. Whatever you say you can . . ."

"What about children?"

"Don't worry about them, They're
no
trouble. I'll put them in a school someplace. Maybe their father can have custody. John . . .
John!"
Before she knew what was happening, Felicia found herself over John's knee, her elegant rump high in the air.

"John! Stop it! You beast. You sadist! I'll scream the place down."

"Nobody's up here, you said, Felicia. These Fuller hairbrushes are wonderful things."

"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" she screamed. John began calmly and systematically applying the hairbrush.

"Stop it! How
dare
you! You're hurting me!”

"Felicia, I wish I could say that this hurts me as much as it hurts you. It doesn't."

"Salad dressing is perfectly simple, Elly," Kathy was saying, "if you just remember the basic proportions. Three parts oil to one part vinegar."

"Mm-hmm," Elly said anxiously. Joe and Bryan had been gone for more than an hour.

"Now you can vary the other seasonings indefinitely—garlic, herbs, onion, anything you like but the basic proportions of oil and vinegar remain the same. You'll get the knack of it very quickly."

"My little girls," Mrs. Ames said proudly. "If I hadn't been raised so idiotically, I suppose
you
wouldn't have been raised so idiotically and you would have been
taught
how to cook and take care of a house, when you were children. Now
you'll
have to teach
me."

"Oh, Mother, you'll get another cook soon. And besides this isn't so hard," Kathy said. "Now Elly, I’ll show you how to set a table. You remember. Knives on the right, forks on the left."

"Fourteen places, darling," Mrs. Ames said. "Felicia's children will just have to eat with Nanny."

"Okay," Elly said. With a clatter she opened the silver drawer and banged out to the dining room. A full century had gone by since she had seen Joe and Bryan strolling out into the garden. My God, how long did it take to ask for a girl's hand? Impatiently she started circling the table, dealing out silver. "Hey, Kathy," she yelled, "where do you put a . . ." She looked up and saw Joe standing in the hall, his back turned to her. He was dressed in his crumpled seersucker suit and his Val-Pak was on the floor beside him.

"Gosh, Joe, I thought you two were never . . . Hey, where do you think
you're
going?"

"I'm going back to town, Elly. Back to the Y." Joe looked pale and sick. Elly could hardly hear his voice he spoke so feebly.

"Are you
nuts?"

"I hoped we wouldn't run into each other. I left a note for you on the hall table."

"Listen, what kind of a gag is this? Where's Bryan?"

"He's getting his car. He's going to run me to the station. There's a train at . . ."

Elly was becoming annoyed. "See here, Joe Sullivan, fun's fun but . . ."

"So long, Elly. Please thank your mother for me." Joe swallowed painfully and turned his head away.

Elly felt herself growing cold. "What have you and Bryan been up to?"

"Elly, please. It's all there in the note. Read it after I've gone."

"Like hell I will. You're not going anyplace. Not without me, you're not." She rushed to the table and ripped open the note. " 'Dearest Elly, Bryan is right, it would never work out. I'll always love you. Good-bye, Joe.' What . . . did . . . Bryan . . .
say?"

"Nothing. He was very nice, very understanding, but he made me realize that . . ."

Elly heard the sound of Bryan's car on the gravel and raced out of the door.

"Elly," Bryan said. He didn't seem pleased to see her.

"You get out of that car this minute, Bryan Ames, I want to
talk
to you!"

"Can't right now, Elly. I've got to catch the five-fifteen."

"I'm ready, Bryan," Joe said coming out with his Val-Pak.

"You're not catching any five-fifteen, and as for you, Joe Sullivan, you're going right back upstairs and unpack that silly satchel." She leaped into the car next to Bryan.

"Please, Elly," Joe said miserably, "can't we just call this thing off now and forget it."

"No we can't. If you think I'm going to sit here quietly and watch my man driving out of my life forever, you've just got another think coming. We're going to get at the bottom of this right now and . .
."

"Forget about it, Elly," Joe said, throwing his bag into the back of the car. "Come on, Bryan, I'm ready."

"You two will be ready when I'm ready and not before," Elly said. She snatched the keys out of the ignition and popped them down the front of her dress.

"Elly!” Bryan said. "You're making a scene!”

"You think
this
is a scene? Well, it's nothing compared to what I'm going to . . ."

"Elly!" Mrs. Ames said from the door. "Darling,
what's
the matter? I could hear you all the way back to the kitchen."

"Mother," Elly said. "Mother, Bryan said something to Joe and now Joe doesn't want to . . . Oh, Mother!" She rushed into her mother's arms and burst into tears.

"Mrs. Ames, Bryan's right. I have no business marrying Elly. Now, please let me telephone for a taxi. I've got to go."

"I'm afraid you can't. The telephone company shut it off," Mrs. Ames said.

Joe shot Bryan a curious glance and Bryan flushed hotly.

"Mother," Elly sobbed, "m-make Bryan tell me what he said. Make him . . ."

"I think we'd all better go inside," Mrs. Ames said, "where it's a little more private."

"Now,
listen,
Mother," Bryan began.

"Shall we all go in?"

"Listen, Mrs. Ames " Joe said, "I really can't stand any more of . . .”

"Come in, please, Come, Elly, darling."

The morning room was hot and airless with all the doors and windows closed. Elly huddled tearful and sniffling on the sofa next to her mother. Joe sat miserably on a rickety chair and Bryan sat at the desk, fidgeting with the ornaments and looking annoyed.

"Now, Bryan, I believe that you have refused to allow Joe to marry Elly. Why?"

Bryan smiled. "That's ridiculous Mother. Elly's of age. Naturally I can't
refuse
to allow her to do anything. The word 'no' never passed my lips, did it Joe, fellah?"

"No, it didn't," Joe said dully.

"It's simply that I don't give this marriage my blessing and . . ."

"Give it your
blessing?"
Elly cried. "Who do you think you are, the
Pope?"

"That's just an expression, sweetheart," Bryan said, smiling warmly at Elly. "I don't think this marriage is a good idea for reasons which I told Joe frankly and squarely. He agrees now. He also wants to go and we're holding him here against his will."

"He wasn't so damned anxious to go before
you
got hold of him!" Elly said.

"Bryan, dear," Mrs. Ames said. "Just what are these reasons of yours? I think it would only be fair for Elly to know them. After all, this concerns her, too."

"You're damned right it concerns me!"

"Hush, darling."

"Very well, I’ll be perfectly happy to give you my reasons. First there is the question of money. Joe, you make how much a week?"

"Seventy-five a week."

"And what are your prospects for the future in your job?"

"Eighty a week."

"Bryan," Mrs. Ames started,
"I
don't see why Joe's salary is
that
vital. There are other jobs. He's young. He . . ."

"My God, Bryan," Elly cried, "if it's only money,
I
know what Joe makes. That's plenty for us—with my salary. Besides there's the book and more books after that and . . ."