Breakfast was over, and Lillian was clearing the table. Roy and Panther and Morris had departed for school. Ordinarily, at this juncture, Lora went upstairs to make the beds in her room and Morris’s and Julian’s, for Lillian couldn’t do everything, and Lora preferred to take a share of the work for herself rather than bother with a second maid. Roy and Panther made up their own beds and tidied up their rooms before coming down to breakfast. After the bed-making and a few miscellaneous chores Lora would usually select one room, downstairs or up, for a thorough going-over; she had no schedule for this, but followed her fancy and the pressure of circumstances. The living room and the kitchen were the only ones left to Lillian. Lora didn’t mind her household tasks; quite the contrary; she went about them rapidly and methodically and effectively and was always finished by the time the children arrived for lunch. Julian would usually help her with the beds, standing on one side and smoothing and straightening each cover as she manipulated it into place; sometimes she would flip a sheet right over his head, making a tent-pole of him, and he would shout with glee, jerking his arms frantically up and down; the sheet had become an ocean and he was making waves. Morris had taught him how.
But this morning Lora put Julian’s sweater on him and sent him outdoors to Stan. She wanted to be alone; she didn’t feel like making oceans out of sheets. Indeed there was a doubt whether she would ever feel like that again; it seemed to her improbable. But everything seemed improbable, the past as well as the present. During the night she had dreamed of her father lying on the floor with a hole in his head and blood coming out of it; her mother stood beside him with lowered head, and when Lora asked her why she didn’t cry and her mother lifted her head Lora saw that she had no face to cry with. Nevertheless she knew it was her mother. The dream had been very vivid when she awoke; now it was receding into vagueness. She wished she had asked Pete whether her father had actually shot himself in the head.
She was going to Pete. Or was she? Yes. He could have had her last night if he had held her down a moment when she slipped out from under his hands, out of the chair. She had got away by a miracle, not wanting to get away at all; and then had surrendered. Not, not surrender, it was no triumph for him, it was what she wanted that mattered, and that was plain enough. She wanted to say again the strong short words he had taught her so long ago, she wanted to do all those things again, she wanted to feel him and make him feel her; it was an inescapable necessity. She whispered the words to herself, one after the other, all she could remember of them, but they weren’t right that way, though they did quicken her blood a little and bring a flush to her face; with him, saying and doing them at once, there was something indescribably exciting about them, about all that business.…
Arranging the things on Morris’s little desk, she saw that her hands were unsteady. Good lord, she thought scornfully, you might think I was a schoolgirl bride, I can wait till I get there, can’t I?
She must ask Pete about her father, to see if her dream was right. Anyway she wanted to know. Perhaps he couldn’t tell her. She could write to Cecelia, or her mother…no, not her mother.…
Pete was to telephone Lewis this morning, to make an appointment to arrange about the money. If the appointment was this afternoon or this evening—but it wouldn’t be, for he was just as anxious as she was. She knew the signs in men much better than she had twelve years ago. Ha, that would be one for you! Pete would get the money from Lewis and carry her off with it; they would go somewhere, anywhere. Lewis would have plenty of sons on his hands then. Albert would probably take Panther.…But that brought a smile. She could hardly imagine Albert taking Panther; or, if he did, poor Panther would have a time of it. Lewis would take all of them, draw up contracts, probably.…
Nonsense. That she had a rendezvous with Pete was no excuse for going out of her mind. She had said she would stay all night. Well, she wouldn’t. Not that it couldn’t be done, Lillian could very well look after the children. Roy and Panther could for that matter. She could say to Roy, I’m going to stay in town all night, and probably neither of them would ask what for. If they did she would have to have something to say. Also she must tell them not to mention it to Lewis; but that wouldn’t be safe, on account of Julian. Better to tell Lewis; but that meant lying to him, and it wouldn’t be easy; with all his transparencies he was no fool. Once or twice she could get away with it perhaps, but was this a matter of once or twice? A Night of Love, that was a piece Panther played on the piano, and Albert made fun of it. Albert too would know about this, for it was folly to suppose that once or twice would do it. A Life of Love rather. A life of love, she was ready for it and had it coming to her. Pete didn’t call it love, he wouldn’t use that word. Lying afterwards on his back with a cigarette in his mouth and his hands behind his head, he would discuss it at length, using words she had never heard of, most of them invented on the spot she suspected, saying the most outrageous things, stopping only to inhale a puff of his cigarette or to burst into a roar of laughter at himself. She scarcely listened to any of it, lying in languor beside him, not caring. Not caring about her body either, naked if it so happened, naked and satisfied. They would do that again, not once or twice, but a thousand times, ten thousand… a life of love.…
Pull down your skirt, her father said. Dead and done with. Those letters she had sent, Mr. and Mrs. Leroy Winter, and the snapshots, and him dead all the time, and her mother perhaps showing the letters and pictures to her bald and gentle husband.…
She had lied to her father month after month about the money he sent for the piano lessons, and the money had gone to Pete. Now she was going to lie to Lewis. But that was impossible, and it was nonsense. Why lie to him, it was none of his business. She went to town to see Pete; that didn’t concern Lewis or Albert either. The children? Well, really, that was too much, dragging the children into it; it was about time she found it out if she was nothing but a nursemaid. A dried-up nun, Pete had said. Ha, not yet, thank god. It was a long time since she had properly looked at herself, but the point was not without testimony. He would see how dried-up she was—she didn’t need to look, she could feel.
Well well, he would say, lying on his back with a cigarette in his mouth, my seed on the wind again; we must confess, my love, that nature’s breeze has the true and ultimate vigor; compared with that, man’s puny petty perversions are an electric fan in a pullman car—they give you a headache, and cure it if you can. Seed on the wind. He would inhale the smoke deeply and blow it out in a long thin column, straight up towards the ceiling, and stretch himself and close his eyes. His seed. She did not want that. Definitely now she did not want that, from him or anyone, and she would see that nothing of that sort happened. Her body had done enough work for a while. Forever. She wished she knew more about it; there was no one she could ask. Undoubtedly Pete would know; it was something you got at a drugstore, and she would see that it was used whether he wanted to or not.
However, she would rather not trust Pete. It would be much better if she could find out about it herself. Probably the druggist at the little corner store on Eleventh Street, the one who had been so sympathetic long ago when Roy was coming, would tell her. She hadn’t seen him for years, but he would remember her if he was still there. It would certainly be better not to trust Pete, on that point or any other. He wasn’t a liar though; Lewis was wrong to think that if he paid him he couldn’t rely on his word. She would as soon take Pete’s word as Lewis’s or anyone’s. He wasn’t a liar, he was just cautious. You could depend on him to do anything he said he would do, but that didn’t help much, since he would never say. Oh, she wasn’t taking anything for granted with him; once or twice might do it after all and off he would go; but meanwhile.…
She was jerked back into the immediate present by the sound of the radio, suddenly turned on downstairs. Startled, she glanced at the clock on her dressing-table. Already past twelve, and the children home for lunch! Ha, if she missed that train! What was it Albert said, you never miss a train you want to catch? More of his nonsense—what if you fell down and broke your leg? Well, she wasn’t going to miss this one.…
Downstairs the children were waiting for her and ran to seat themselves at the table as soon as she appeared. There was hot bean soup and a huge tomato omelet and crackers and jam. Lillian hurried in and out, and all four talked at once. Panther insisted that Julian go and wash his hands; Lora nodded, and Julian went. Morris said that the brightest boy in his class always had dirty hands and if he washed them they got cracks and he would bleed till they were red all over, and then if he kept on washing them they would keep on bleeding and get all over his books and all over his clothes—Roy stopped him. He needed twenty cents, he said, to help pay for a class basketball. He had thought it over and decided that it could not properly be taken from his allowance. Why not, Panther wanted to know, since her contribution for victrola records had been taken from her allowance. This was different, he retorted, basketball was sport, not lessons; what about her tennis racket, for instance, had she paid for that? It wasn’t that he didn’t have the twenty cents or was unwilling to spend it; the point was whether it was fair. He had thought it over carefully and decided that it wasn’t. Lora agreed to pay it, and appeased Panther with a wink which she understood: oh, these men, it’s simpler to humor them than argue about it.
Nothing was left but crackers and jam when Lora suddenly announced:
“I’m going to town this afternoon and won’t get home till after dinner. Lillian is left in charge; do you hear, Lillian? Panther will put Julian to bed and the rest of you will go as usual, and don’t turn the clock back.”
“We were going in tomorrow to get me an overcoat,” Roy reminded her.
“Yes.” She hesitated. “Next week will do; there’s no hurry. I may stay overnight and come back out in the morning. Or afternoon even.”
“Will you see Lewis?” Morris demanded.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Tell him my wagon broke.”
Roy and Panther were looking at her. She felt confused and embarrassed, and was furious at herself for it. Her own children, nothing but babies really—how silly! She pushed her chair back and got up.
“Can we go in the car tomorrow?” Roy asked.
“May,” Panther corrected.
“No. Not till I get home. Run along now, you’ll be late.”
Upstairs again she dressed hurriedly but with particularity, choosing a tan wool dress, and a brown coat with fur collar which she had bought only recently. It was her favorite dress, and she had a felt hat of the same shade. Assuredly it was no dried-up nun who faced her in the mirror as she stood for final inspection. She had sent word to Stan to be ready with the car at a quarter to two, and now she could hear the low hum of the engine, warming up, from the back yard. She was taking no bag. First she had thought she would, and then, without deciding not to, she just didn’t. She had two errands left downstairs: she got her checkbook from the desk in the living room and wrote a check for two hundred dollars and put it in her purse, and on the way out she stopped at the kitchen to give Lillian a few instructions. Stan had the car waiting on the driveway; as she got in she asked him to go first to the village bank. She didn’t know exactly why she was taking so much money; you might think it was me Pete’s holding up, she thought, as she took the bills from the teller and stuffed them in her purse. From the bank it was only a minute to the station.
On the train she remained uncertain; maybe all night; maybe not; it all depended. What kind of a room would Pete have? Well…not fastidious. And the extra keys he talked about.…It would be better to take a room in a hotel. Since he had lost his job she could pay for it. She had never been in a hotel room, not once in her life, and she shrank a little from the idea, but it was exciting too. They could go to a hotel at once and go to bed, and later they could have dinner brought to them in the room without bothering to put their clothes on; things like that were done all the time in hotels, they thought nothing of it. In the morning they could have breakfast the same way, and afterwards dress and go out for a walk, in Central Park perhaps; then lunch at the Swiss restaurant on Forty-seventh Street, and after that back to the hotel for an hour or two before she caught a train home. That would get her back well before dinner.…
It was a shame about Roy’s overcoat. The preceding Saturday it had been given up on account of the rain, and here it was postponed again. She was reminded of a time many years ago when she had wanted a bright red jacket that was on display in a store window and her father had said it was too conspicuous and wouldn’t get it for her. She had refused to eat any dinner that evening, but when Martha brought a plate of escalloped salmon to her room at bedtime she had given in and eaten every bite. The next day her mother had spelled conspicuous for her and she had looked it up in the dictionary.…
If Lewis refused to pay Pete and if Pete carried out his threat she would be conspicuous enough. And the children. They would have to leave Maidstone. Roy and Panther would see the papers and learn all about it. Well—about what? She was their mother, wasn’t that enough? It was enough for her. But Maid-stone was a nice place, and that house was in her name.…
In bed with Pete she could say to him, listen, you gave me a wristwatch once, give me something else. Lewis doesn’t matter, but I do, don’t I? Only she would have to be careful when and how she said it or it might merely make him contrary. Before would be a mistake. Just after would be better, when he was smoking a cigarette and felt like talking.
The train had left One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street behind and was gliding through the long tunnel between the rows of steel pillars which supported the mansions of Park Avenue towering above. About here Lora often amused herself by trying to guess when they were passing Sixty-ninth Street, where Lewis lived in a duplex apartment with his wife who had furnished him with two children of alien baritone parentage. She did so now. Poor dear Lewis, who wanted an extension of his privileges! A week ago she had accepted that; now it appeared an absurdity.
The trainmen called out Grand Central, and the train slowed down and stopped with a jerk. What if he isn’t here, Lora thought as she moved with the crowd of passengers down the long platform and up the runway into the station itself. He had said he might forget; and, looking at the clock above the information desk and seeing that the train had arrived precisely on time, she found herself thinking, if he isn’t here and doesn’t come in ten minutes I’ll be able to catch the three-fifteen home. At that she stopped dead in her tracks, amazed at the feeling of that thought, for it was a feeling of relief! She stopped and stood still, incredulous and bewildered, demanding of herself what she meant by that. Then with a shake of the head she went on, to the waiting room.
She walked clear around it, up one side and down the other. Pete wasn’t there, but that wasn’t surprising, since he had never made a point of punctuality. She stood a few moments in the main aisle, and was about to look for a seat on one of the benches when she saw him entering at the Forty-second Street door. Hatless, in a dark suit that showed some signs of wear and none of ever having been pressed, he caught sight of her at once and strode towards her with a suggestion of a jerk, not enough to be called a limp, in his right leg.
“I’m late.”
“Just a minute or two.”
She saw that people were looking at them, and put her hand on his arm and moved towards the door. No wonder, she thought, he absolutely looked like a wild man, out like this, among other people. On the sidewalk, Pete motioned for a taxi.
“My room’s on Eighteenth Street,” he said. He gave the address to the driver.
She made no reply until after they had got in and the taxi had started. Drugstore, hotel—here I am, my god, here I am, was buzzing in her head.
“Let’s not go straight to the room,” she said.
“Got some errands?”
“Yes. Well…not errands. Would you mind if we drove in the park a while?”
“With that meter staring at me, and me out of a job, and your boyfriend telling me to go to hell?”
“I’ll tend to the meter.”
“Ah! Just like old times.” He leaned forward and slid the window open to speak to the driver, and, coming to Fifth Avenue, the cab swung north. Pete sprawled in his corner and looked at Lora.
“What’s the idea of the park?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
He peered at her for a long time in silence, while the cab crept forward with the solid lines of traffic on the avenue.
“Look at me,” he said finally.
She shook her head.
“Something’s happened to you,” he declared. “What’s up?”
Now was the time, she thought, to suggest the hotel, and ask him to decide which one; being a newspaper man he would know all about it. But first the drugstore. Perhaps on that point he could be trusted after all; it would be a nuisance to go clear to Eleventh Street and back. Of course there were hotels down there.…
“Don’t tell me.” He was still peering at her. “You look like Antigone ascending out of hell.”
“Nothing is up. I’ve come, haven’t I?”
“Sure you’ve come. What for? What has happened since last night?”
“Nothing.”
As she said it she knew it was false; and yet it was true. Nothing had happened; but something totally unexpected and disconcerting was happening now. She was angry with herself, and frightened, and would not believe it. She forced herself to look at Pete and smile.
“I was thinking it might be better to go to a hotel,” she said. “Your room…you said…”
“Yes, go on.”
“You know what you said.”
“No, I forget, what did I say?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She was floundering. “Let’s go to a hotel.”
He burst into laughter. “Hell,” he exploded, “let’s go and jump in the river; that’s what you sound like. We’re not going to a hotel, we’re going to the middle of Africa and live in a hut and eat coconuts, didn’t you know that? No, there wouldn’t be coconuts. We’ll eat alligators. By god, you’ve lost your nerve; something’s taken it out of you. Last night you wanted me; yesterday you wanted me, first thing—as a novelty, I thought, until you set me right.”
“I still want you,” she said desperately.
“Bah. You’re pale with terror for fear I’ll take you up. Don’t worry, my love; keep your legs crossed and I’ll try to control myself. But what the hell did you come for? Put on your swell rags and ride the damn train and stand around waiting for me—what was all that for?”
“I don’t know,” she said. I’m giving up, she thought, I’m done for good.
She looked at him and asked abruptly, almost angrily, “Why didn’t you take me last night? You could have.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Yes you could. If you’d held me in that chair one more second—”
“I don’t believe it. Why do you think I let you go? You weren’t having any just then, I saw that, and I swallowed your twaddle about the children and the sacred fireside. Listen.” He grinned at her and she turned her face away; he looked remarkably unprepossessing, she thought, with his teeth yellow from smoking and his white unhealthy face with the cheekbones sticking out. For that, instantly, she despised herself. To look away from Pete because he wasn’t handsome!
“Listen,” he was saying, “you mustn’t take it to heart. Everybody has to sell out sooner or later, and you’ve made a damn good bargain. It’s a very pretty little house, and the rugs and chairs and things are very nice. You’re a good honest woman too; when you got on that train today you really thought you wanted what you were coming after, I’ve no doubt of it.”
“I know I did,” Lora said. “I do. I’ve made no bargain.”
“Oh, yes you have. A good one. I envy you. Look at me, I was trying my hand at a little bargaining myself, and it didn’t work. Your boyfriend was too much for me.”
“You said he told you to go to hell.”
“So he did.” Pete grinned. “I saw him this morning. He said I had stated that I wouldn’t do anything vulgar and unlovely, and he was curious to find out if I meant it. That was worse than telling me to go to hell, it was shoving me in and putting the lid on. He’s no fool at all. That’s why he took me out to see you, he wanted to size me up; and here I am, hung out on a limb, with no one to blame but myself. I’m no fool either, I know what the trouble is, I won’t follow the rules. I despise their damn rules and I never have followed them and never will. One rule is you’ve got to lie; I never told anyone a lie in my life. I use these crude terms in deference to the simplicity of your mental processes. Another is that when you take something you’ve got to pretend you’re paying for it. Odious hypocrisy; to hell with it. What’s the result? I’m lucky to have a shirt. In the end I’ll probably either starve or blow my brains out. If they still had monasteries I’d take a crack at that—provided there were some women handy.…”
“You never lied to me,” Lora said. So that was what Lewis had done, she was thinking. Did Pete mean what he said? She tried to remember whether it was really true that he had never lied to her. They were in the park now; she looked out of the window at the trees and grass and thought how dingy and dis-reputable they were compared to those at Maidstone, around her house and up on the hilltop. Did Pete mean what he said? Not that it greatly mattered; if Lewis was to get additional favors he could afford to pay for them if he had to.
She was dimly aware that Pete was talking. The taxi sped smoothly around the curves of the park drives, and Pete talked on. Lora scarcely heard. She had a feeling that she was losing something, leaving something behind forever, and that Pete was taking it. That was what she had come to town for this day, to get it away from him, and now he wouldn’t let her have it. He had pretended to see something in her face—oh, no, he hadn’t. It had been in her face all right and in her mind too; the only question was why she had been fool enough to come at all and what difference did that make.…
The sound of Pete’s voice annoyed and exasperated her.
“I want to go back,” she said abruptly.
“To Grand Central.”
He looked at her, but she looked away. Ha, she thought savagely, he wasn’t sure after all. She was, though; perfectly sure.
He pulled the window open to speak to the driver again, and at the next entrance the cab wheeled out into Fifth Avenue and turned downtown.
Pete did not start talking again. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him with his head back against the cushion, the breeze from the side window blowing his hair across his forehead and over his eyes; he paid no attention to it. She was reminded of another taxi ride they had taken together, that day in Chicago when she had insisted on going with him to the railroad station; now he was taking her. A minute ago his voice had annoyed her; now she wished he would talk. She wanted to talk to him, but couldn’t. She was full of things that must be told, and yet there was nothing to say. There was in her a compulsion that she knew she could not break, but the result was clearly insanity; no one but a crazy person would act the way she was acting. A safe and peaceful sort of insanity, the kind that makes you do things at once incredible and inevitable. She thought of the night before and the morning; and there he was, but he didn’t mean anything. Might she not touch him, put out her hand and touch his arm? Yes, she might, but definitely and finally she wouldn’t.
They made better time going downtown, and at Fifty-second Street the taxi drew up at the curb.
“I’m getting out here,” said Pete, gathering his legs together.
Lora was startled. All at once like this!
“I thought you were coming to the station,” she said.
“What’s the use? My favorite speakeasy is just around the corner. I’d just have to walk back.”
“But…I wanted to talk to you.”
“Then you’ve wasted a precious ten minutes.”
“Really, Pete.” She grabbed his coat sleeve and pulled him back into the seat. “I want to ask you about Lewis. He isn’t going to pay you?”
“He says he’d rather not.”
“And you aren’t going to—”
She stopped.
Pete grinned. “I suspect,” he said, “that we’ve reached the real business of this conference at last. I think I shall probably not disturb your sacred fireside. Tonight I’ll get drunk and then I’ll know more about it.—What’s that?”
Lora had taken something from her purse and was holding it towards him, thrusting it at him.
“Please,” she said. “I don’t need it.”
He took the roll of bills and flipped its edge.
“A goodly sum,” he said, brows lifted. “You’re sure you can spare it? I wouldn’t deprive any of those multi-fathered children. As a matter of fact, I’m broke. By god, you did have something to say; I might have known it.”
He stuffed the bills in his pocket and slid out of his seat towards the door.
“And Pete—” Lora began. He was on the sidewalk with his foot on the running-board.
“Well?”
“I’d hate to have you think what you said about reaching the real business of the day. I really did want to come to you, and I know one thing, I’ll never forget you—never—I don’t know why I’ve acted like this—you’re the only man—”
“Balls, my love,” he interrupted her, so loud that passersby at his elbow jumped; and slammed the door. “Grand Central,” he called to the taxi driver, and strode into the crowd.
The taxi started forward. Lora settled back against the cushion, and took off her glove and placed the palm of her hand on the seat where it was still warm from Pete’s body. She left it there a moment, then took it away and put her glove back on.
At Forty-ninth Street she looked at her watch and found that she just had time to catch the four-seventeen. At Forty-fifth Street she was thinking that the next day she could bring Roy to town and buy his overcoat.