Kitty’s cousin Lurleen had always been jealous of her. Lurleen envied Kitty’s superior good looks, her early success as a model, her talent as a pianist, and her ability to attract handsome and wealthy suitors without trying. Lurleen’s marriage to a man who worked without complaint for her father in his jewelry business did nothing to assuage her envy of Kitty, even though both of her cousin’s marriages ended in divorce before she was thirty. She also disliked Kitty’s six-year-old son, Roy, for no reason other than that he paid no attention to her.
The women lived in the same apartment building on Chicago’s west side, which afforded Lurleen ample opportunity to observe the comings and goings of Kitty’s visitors. Lurleen was two years older and felt entitled to criticize and reprimand Kitty for what Lurleen considered her younger cousin’s improper behavior, most often involving men.
During a party in Kitty’s apartment, Lurleen’s husband, Herbert, got into an argument with Morgan Barnes, one of Kitty’s boyfriends. Herbert, a short, pudgy man, accused Morgan, who was six inches taller and in decidedly better physical condition than himself, of having insulted Lurleen by suggesting that she take it easy on her drinking. At the moment, she was holding glasses in both of her hands.
“Finish one cocktail before taking another,” Morgan told her, “and quit talking trash.”
“Mind your own business,” Herbert said. “Who do you think you are to order my wife what to do or say?”
“Her remarks about Kitty’s choice of men are out of line. She’s talking too loud and, in case you haven’t noticed, is about to fall down.”
Herbert attempted to slap Morgan’s face but the larger man grasped Herbert’s wrist before he could make contact.
“Unhand my husband, you brute!” shouted Lurleen.
Kitty came over and told her to quiet down.
“You’re ruining my party,” she said.
Morgan Barnes released Lurleen’s husband’s hand and spoke to her.
“Both of you had better get out of here before he gets hurt and you’re flat on your face.”
Kitty could see that her cousin was about to throw one of her drinks at Morgan but before she did Lurleen stopped herself, quickly knocked back what remained of the cocktail in her left hand, and dropped the glass.
“Finish the other one, too,” said Kitty, “and go back upstairs.”
Lurleen stared at her for a few seconds before staggering toward the door and disappeared, still holding the glass in her right hand. Herbert followed her out of the apartment.
“What’s her problem?” Morgan asked Kitty.
“The trouble with women is the feeling of control. They resent it when men automatically take control of a situation, or try to, and they despise what they perceive as weakness when men don’t.”
Morgan laughed.
“So what’s the solution?”
“God didn’t intend there to be one. Men and women are not meant to be friends.”
“I thought we were friends,” said Morgan.
Kitty looked at him.
“I’ve always hated parties,” she said.