Lilya Barkman, born Lillie Barker, stood in the little alcove just off her luxurious parlor. She was looking at a large oil painting of herself, and a man stood beside her, looking and admiring.
“You always were a peach, Lilya, and Porter David has you on the canvas as you are. When you grow old, if you ever do, you can take pleasure in showing the world that you had the world in a jug once.”
“Bill Cameron, I ask you with my feet turned out if that is nice. You know how I hate discussing age. I’m going to be young till I’m ninety, then I’m going to turn to something good to eat—never going to be old. That is why I haven’t married, it ages a woman so—worrying with a house and husband at the same time.”
Dr. Cameron looked at her roguishly and laughed. “Still you have a house and you seem to manage several men pretty well without leaving any traces of the wear and tear on your face. You haven’t changed a bit in the ten or twelve years that I have known you.”
“There you go at it again! Next thing you will say is that you can remember proposing to me when I was a girl.”
“I did propose, some years ago, and you turned me down flat. Everybody in Harlem knew that. It took me a long time to live down all the loving I had saved up for you. Say, when are you going to get married? Are you still kidding Bob Magee along? God, he hangs on well.”
“Well, to tell you the truth, I don’t know whether I love him or not. Seriously, now I guess I will marry him some day, if some man that I like better doesn’t take me.” She looked coyly out of the corner of her long eyes at the man beside her. “Then I’ll retire, as it were, and use this back room for entertaining instead of the parlor. You know, Bill, I am secretly sentimental. This room is a shrine, dedicated to youth and beauty. I have this splendid portrait of myself wearing both, and when I cease to have it, I’ll no longer need the big parlor anyway, so I won’t stay on the battlefield to be trampled on by the new ones. I’ll retire with all the honors of war to this little stronghold and live over my triumphs with someone who loves me. Doesn’t that sound nice and peaceful?”
“Yes, it does. By the way, who is taking you to the Brooks’ tonight?”
“Oh, er, well why don’t you take me?”
“I’ll be glad to—just like old times, eh, Lilya?”
“You bet. I never realized how much I enjoyed you until that other one grabbed you.”
“But you had turned me down, Lilya, don’t be spiteful.”
“Yes, but she never waited till my tracks got cold before she had on the wedding ring.”
“Dog in the manger! Well, she’s dead now, so let’s don’t talk about it. I’ll be here for you at nine—how’s that.”
“All rightie, Bill.”
She sent him away with one of her warmest smiles and began laying out gowns. It was only six o’clock, but she always made a careful toilet, and tonight she meant to be killing.
She started the water to running in the tub and thrust back her well groomed hair under a stocking cap, peering at herself in the mirror as she did so. My she looked tired! And she had not been out at night for three days. She couldn’t be getting old, surely! She took her long-handled mirror and rushed into the alcove and alternately studied the portrait and herself. From the canvas a pair of long, full-lashed eyes, a little mystic a little glowing, looked everywhere and nowhere out of a creamy face with a metallic glow beneath the soft downiness. Europe and Africa warred in her face, a Grecian nose about a full, luscious mouth with a blue-black cloud of curly hair falling well below the waist.
Her own face showed tiny lines that seemed to crowd up and shrink the eyes, the lips losing some of the bursting cherry freshness, a line or two from [the] corner of the mouth, hair a little tarnished, a figure growing just the tiniest bit fullish.
She all but screamed. God had been good to send Dr. Cameron back to her a wealthy widower when she needed him most. She was telling the truth when she said that she had really wanted him after she had lost him eight years before. Well, she had had her fun and she was glad that she had not let Bob Magee worry her into marriage. He had stuck to his guns well, though, nine years. Whew! He must be about forty and she was thirty-eight, though she never declared a day over twenty-five. A few people knew she was more, but never put her past thirty. If she didn’t land Cameron, then Magee’s law practice was good, and he was attractive enough, simply couldn’t stir a thing inside her. She shut off the bath and went to the telephone.
“Morningside 0000 * * * Yes, Bob, this is Lilya * * * Yes, how did you know? * * * What’s that? Ha! Ha! Be your age, Bob * * * Nonsense, I—I just can’t see you tonight. Oh, we’ll let the old party go. I don’t care so much about the Brooks’ anyway, and I have a toothache * * * Oh, just a little, don’t bother. No, you can’t come over. NO! Now I must run and see about [my] bath, yes water running, g’bye, oh, shucks, Goodbye.”
There! That left her a clear field for the evening so that she could concentrate on Bill. If she landed him, of course she would, what was he back from Pittsburgh for if not to see her? It would make no difference if Bob did hear she was at the party, if she didn’t, she could explain anything to him. People of Harlem said that she could show him a lump of coal and make him see pink. She laughed to herself. “Heads I win, tails I grab it.”
West 139th Street at ten p.m. Rich fur wraps tripping up the steps of the well furnished home in the 200 block. Sedans, coaches, coupes, roadsters. Inside fine gowns and tuxedos, marcel waves and glitter. People who seemed to belong to every race on earth—Harlem’s upper class had gathered there her beauty and chivalry.
And Lilya Barkman shone and glittered with the rest. A careful massage had thrown back the clock for the moment. Dr. Cameron was very courteous. People raised the brow on seeing them together and wagged the head. As soon as she came down from the cloakroom he led her to a beautiful girl who looked about seventeen and introduced them.
“Lilya, this is my little niece, and I have come over here to see if I couldn’t get her in Barnard. Mary Ann, this is Miss Barkman, an old friend of mine.”
So that was the thing that had brought him to New York! She took her cue—she would be nice to Mary Ann. What a name! But she told her that she loved it and the child warmed up to her at once.
At eleven Bob walked in. He was furious, she could see that at once. Looked as if he would stride over and beat her with his fists. But he was too polished to be other than polite. He looked wonderful in his dinner jacket. As soon as she could do so with ease, she went to him and tried to smooth him down and succeeded, partially.
“I saw through your toothache right away,” he told her under his breath, “I had seen Bill Cameron, you know.” She laughed like a child, and he almost forgave her.
“Stop growling, big, good looking bear, Lilya’s big caveman. You make poor little me terribly afraid of you. He dragged me up here to meet his little niece, there she is over there by the piano, she’s cute and I’ll let you dance with her if you stop frowning.”
She introduced them and flew back to Dr. Cameron, just in time to see him dance off with someone else. Bob and Mary Ann passed her doing a stiff and chaste fox-trot, she refused to dance and sat out the number. Bill came to her after the third dance and they got on well.
Twelve o’clock. Formality had been rubbed off, everybody was being their own age or under. Everybody being modern. Cigarettes burning like fireflies on a summer night. A Charleston contest with a great laundry show. Hey! Hey! Powder gone, but a lively prettiness taking its place. A wealthy woman in the foolish forties giggling on the shoulder of a twenty-year-old. He is amusing himself by giving her what he calls a good sheiking as they dance around. They are bumping and she is panting a laugh at every bump. Businessman near fifty dancing with a sweet young thing with a short dress and her knees rouged.
“You are dancing too close,” she protests.
“No I’m not, you little devil! G’wan and let my knees get a little sociable with yours.”
Hey, Hey, Flinging the Charleston high and wide. A well known singer begins doing the black bottom by spanking the can.
“What makes you hold me so close? I won’t dance with you if you don’t behave,” the bare-kneed girl threatens.
“It’s not my fault. Every time my feet see pretty pink knees, they get social inclinations and bring me on the run. Can’t be helped, girlie. S’too bad.”
Dr. Cameron continues to rush Lilya. Bob sticks to Mary Ann out of pique and glowers at Lilya occasionally.
Crowd grows noisier. Cocktails aplenty. Punch bowl always full. Good food, good liquor, pretty women, good-looking men, and Lilya was in the center of it all with Bill, laughing like the rest, doing like the rest, and keeping what she had seen that evening in the looking glass hidden way down beneath her laughter. She played this game, that meant so much to her, faultlessly. But then she had always played a compelling hand at love. She always won, people expected it.
One o’clock. Somebody said cabaret. Scrambling into wraps and on to Smalls. All but Lilya and Cameron.
“No, Lilya, don’t go there. Let’s go to your house—I want to talk over something with you.”
“Oh, all right, Bill. What about Mary Ann? What a delightful name for a pretty girl!”
“Er—er, can she spend the night with you? I had thought of leaving her where she is, but I’d feel better if she was with you.”
That was arranged just as Mary came running up, dragging Bob after her. “OOH, Unkie, can I go to the cabaret with everyone else and Mr. Magee?”
“No, I ’er—Oh, he doesn’t want to be bothered with you. Come on, you’re going to spend the night with Miss Barkman.”
“Oh, I’d love to take her, Bill, she’s doing me a favor.”
Lilya smiled down in her fur collar at his tone. Trying to punish her, eh? Wait till the bomb she was slipping under him went off! She spoke up game as he—“Oh, let her go, Bill. Bob will look after her.” Served him right! She’d make a nurse maid out of him for trying to be smart.
So Bob was dragged away by the screamingly happy Mary Ann and Dr. Cameron and Lilya went home.
She lit the gas logs and made cocoa and they sat down to talk.
“You know, Lilya, I am so happy that you took to Mary. I want her to enjoy her school life here in New York, and you can be a sort of big sister to her. Would you have her here with you in case I can’t get her into the dormitories?”
“I’d just love it, Bill.”
“Gee, I’m glad that’s settled. The other thing may seem sorter silly to you, but I don’t know. We live by our hearts after all, don’t we?”
“Surely, Bill.”
“Well, I’m thinking of getting married again and I have had Mary Ann since her mother died three years ago, and, er, the woman I am going to marry doesn’t get on with Mary very well. Oh, she’s a lovely creature otherwise—just seems to strike fire out of Mary everytime they meet. Funny isn’t it?”
Lilya agreed that it was and laughed a little to prove that she was amused. She had a bad time of it. All she could do was to set her face in a laughing grimace and keep it that way until Bill bade her a grateful goodbye.
As soon as the door closed after him, she flung herself upon the couch in the alcove, beneath the lovely portrait of her as she had been. A marvelous piece of work by a painter who never became known, but would have been if he had not met Lilya Barkman just after she had fled the boredom of a small South Carolina town. Her beauty not only captured his brush, he willingly laid down his palette before the altar of love and died two deaths.
It was a long time before the bell rang flippantly, as if the ringer was unmindful [of] all emotion save his own. She went to the front door slowly and saw dimly through the ground glass, a double shadow. Surely Bob wasn’t kissing Mary! She opened the door softly, not to spy, but because in her present mood she didn’t want to talk. Tomorrow, she would get Bob on the wire and straighten things up, and get married right away, so people wouldn’t think too much of seeing her and Bill together.
She need not have tipped, for they never heard her. Bob was kissing Mary Ann in a full blown fashion and she was kissing back with all herself. Lilya went back to her couch and turned her eyes up to the fresh, young face on the canvas. “Well, what are you going to do about it?” she asked the pictured one belligerently. But the face seemed to mock her and say, “I am youth, and beauty. I know nothing, feel nothing, except the things that belong to me.”
She heard them tiptoe into the parlor. Sorter muffled giggles of ecstasy. She heard Bob’s big, booming voice trying to whisper. That voice that was so magnificent, that swayed so many juries, saying, “I kiss one ’ittle finger, two ’ittle finger, three ’ittle finger, and put on the ring. Say, I’ll have to tie this big thing of mine on until tomorrow, then Tiffany is going to fix one for papa’s kitten. Baby, tell Bobby when you found out you loved him.”
“The very first minute you came in the door, big, brave stupid. I was trembling ’cause I was scared you’d never see me.”
“A big fool, I was looking somewhere else. I found out while I was helping you out of the cab at Smalls. Gee, it’s late, darling, I think you had better call Lilya, er, Miss Barkman so I can say goodnight. Tiffany’s at two, now don’t forget.”
Lilya called out from the couch, “I won’t come in, Bob, goodnight.”