“I thought your father was in,” said Mrs. Grant, stiffly.
“No—he went out to try to get some keys.”
“Is he coming home?”
“No, he is going to Havana.”
“How long has he lived here?” She was now looking bitterly at the other woman.
“He has only been here about four days, four days.”
“Why did he move here if he is going to Havana?” she asked, again with her eyes on the woman.
“The other place was too big, he sublet it to the Walkers.”
“Who are the Walkers?”
“Didn’t you meet Alfred Goodwin last year? His lawyer.”
“Your father does not see fit to introduce me to his friends. I live at home, a cabbage wife, I see no one and no one comes to see me, my dear Gilbert, and you know this.”
“Alfred Goodwin has a fur business and Father is his silent partner.”
“I know nothing of all this.” She turned to the blonde and looked directly at her.
The blonde woman had become very gracious. She said, “I am a volunteer worker for the British War Relief Society, and I called for Bundles for Britain, you know. I should be so sorry to intrude; but your son told me I might wait a few minutes, as he expects Mr. Grant back at any moment. It was, I think, for some old shirts,” and she indicated the pile of shirts and socks on the bed.
The wife at once went to the bed and fingered one or two of the neckbands.
“These shirts seem in perfectly good shape. Why is your father throwing them away?” she said very acidly to her son.
“I didn’t know he was, Mother.”
“It seems to me no one knows what your father does, where he goes, or even who he is,” said the wife. She sat down and looked at the visitor, who made no move, but said pleasantly, “The weather is very tiring, isn’t it?”
“Very!”
“There is nothing so fatiguing as the end of winter. The season is nearly over, people are tired of going to the theater and to parties, and one only wants to stay at home and rest. I feel quite exhausted but I feel obliged to keep my promise, you know. I feel it is our duty to help the British, who have put up such a brave struggle, and are an example to us all for their courage. I have some English blood myself, that is perhaps prejudice. What do you think?”
“Oh, the British—naturally, we should help them.”
“Oh, we are cousins under the skin, after all, aren’t we? There is the tie of language, and we all hate Hitler. Are you interested in war work?”
“Well, I—I go to the Red Cross meetings. I am not very good at anything, but my fingers are my best part, I suppose. I am not very good at figure work, not artistic, but I used to try to draw and it still stays with me. And so I have nimble fingers, I roll bandages quite well.”
“Oh, I think this war has changed us all completely. Even though we are exhausted at the end of the day with social and domestic duties, we feel we must sacrifice a few ounces of energy for the British. They are so much worse off than we. Think, they get only one egg a month. I feel quite ashamed. But I must feed my family. I cannot resist giving them the best when I can get it. I think it is a woman’s duty to do her best for her husband. Every mother feels that.”
The wife had slumped into a somber mood; she murmured, “I’m afraid I don’t do all I should. I hate housekeeping and cooking. But I feel it is a wife’s duty to bring down the expenses. I keep my housekeeping accounts very close. I have no head for figures and so this takes all my time. I get so tired with it all that I cannot keep up my painting. Then my son, my other son, Andrew, is a very tiring child. I want to take him to a neurologist, but my husband won’t hear of it. I think he is neglecting Andrew in more ways than one. You see, Mrs. Downs, my husband is never at home. He spends his time away from me in New York.”
“Ah? You live out of town, Mrs. Grant?”
“In Boston. I like it there. I met my husband there and we made our home there. But my husband prefers New York. He prefers to live like this. I suppose some men ought not to get married.”
The blonde coughed politely. The wife said after a moment, “Do you know this hotel?”
“No. I have been here once or twice for Bundles for Britain, but I have never stayed here. Naturally, we have our own home, I do not care for hotel life.”
“It seems a funny sort of hotel to me. It’s so dark, the rooms are so small, and I cannot understand how anyone could live in this disorder. And downstairs they run things in a haphazard sort of way, they pay no attention to you and say anything. They told me my husband was here, then they said he did not know anyone named Grant. Then they said to wait in the lobby. I resolved to come up and see for myself.”
Mrs. Downs said, “It’s unbearable. You would think they ran the hotels for their own convenience. We do not count. But when it comes to tips, they are there with smiles. They are very fond of you, then, when it is too late; and your bags are going out the door. I only give tips when I have had service.”
The wife gazed at the bags with an anxious eye. The blonde said, “One is so embarrassed in a hotel lobby. They look you over, you must stand there like a salesman or even worse. I hardly know why I make these visits when I should so much rather be in my own home. But I feel I must make some little sacrifice for Britain.”
The wife bit her lip and looked at the luggage. “He has not put any labels on yet. I wonder if he is really going?”
“Am I intruding?” asked the blonde.
The wife looked, hesitated, then said coolly, “Why should you make an extra trip? It is so fatiguing. I cannot prevent Robert from throwing his clothes out of the window, I know very well. Please do not feel you are in the way. Gilbert, please don’t sit there, looking as if you were going to a funeral. Go and do something. Pick up some of that mess. Do you know which are the shirts? If you do, pack them up for this lady.”
“As far as I can see these shirts are in good order and Dad would be mad to give them away.”
“You know that neither you nor I can influence your father. Won’t you do what I ask at least?”
“But—” Gilbert got up, threw a furious look at the blonde, blushed, and went down the corridor, where he began opening drawers and closets.
“It’s a very tiring trip from Boston.”
“I am awfully tired. Why, that’s my father’s old hatbox! Why does Robert carry round that antediluvian thing? He can’t let go of anything, but he suddenly gets into a mood and gives away perfectly good shirts.”
“Men are very hard to understand. My first husband was so good to me that I had to think of nothing, I did not have to understand him. I became impractical, I signed checks without funds. He left me a widow and for three years I had nothing but misfortune, my life was very tragic because I knew nothing of men or business, you see. Then I met my second husband and we married. But I am afraid my first husband spoiled me for others. I do not understand Churchill and I am afraid he leaves me much alone, perhaps my own fault, though I do not feel it is. A woman never knows what is expected of her. Men make so many demands, and are so strong, though they are children. It is no wonder we get tired. Then they are surprised when we need more rest.”
“Naturally, everyone has troubles. It is only to be expected. But in general I try to be brave and not to think of myself at all. When anything comes along at all upsetting, I take a little more rest.”
“You are quite right, Mrs. Grant. I always get my beauty sleep for one thing. Then I think breakfast in bed gives you peace of mind for the entire day. I have servants, I do not need to get my husband’s breakfast. I often ask myself whether I should go on with this war work, for one sees so many women getting fatigued-looking and harassed, and cosmetics, and face-lifting, and new hairdos don’t really do anything for you. Beauty is more than skin-deep; one must sleep, that is the only recipe I know. I had it from my mother: she always said to me as a child and still does, ‘Sleep, my darling, and you will always have a clear sk
in.’”
“Yes; but people do not want you to sleep. They do not care how anxious they make you or what burdens they impose on you. My husband never thinks of what trouble he brings upon me. He leaves everything on my shoulders and so it has been since Gilbert was small.”
“Oh, this is not agreeable. But I see you are very brave, I can see you are a woman of exceptional character. This costs you so much unnecessary effort; it is a pity. Yet, they told me, Mr. Grant is such a kind man.”
“Who told you that?”
“My friends, the Goodwins, Betty Goodwin is such a darling, and she told me that they had a friend very much interested in helping Britain, a man with British blood in his veins; and they gave me this address. I confess that at first I thought I had made a mistake. But your son, such a fine young man, told me his father would return shortly.”
“Don’t you feel embarrassed visiting men in hotels? I should find it quite impossible, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, no, no; you see I knew Mr. Gilbert was here. I telephoned first to make an appointment, and at that moment Mr. Grant was here, too. But it seems there is some difficulty about the valises—the keys—” she laughed and shook her head whimsically at Mrs. Grant.
“Why isn’t he at work, I wonder?”
“I understand he has only gone round the corner. I have much to do but I have so little time I cannot make two trips. And my heart bleeds for the poor British youngsters, the dear little babies—you see, when we cannot use the shirts, we cut them up for dresses or little shirts.”
“Cut them up!” said the wife, shocked.
“But I see Mr. Grant has cut some of them up to make shoe covers,” said the blonde, pointing to some shoes standing on the couch in shirting covers.
“He must be mad. I am afraid Robert ought to go to a psychoanalyst.”
“Men have their little fads, they are not mad. But for us it is so difficult to understand.”
At this moment, Gilbert came back with some odd things in his hands, “I don’t dare give any of these things away, or I would. But Dad makes such a blamed fuss about every collarbutton.”
“Gilbert! I am afraid there is something the matter with your father. Mrs. Downs just showed me the shoe covers made out of good shirting; and look, there is the shirt he cut it from.”
Said Mrs. Downs, “Why, it is like paper dolls. I should be anxious, myself. How can a woman face such things?”
“Darling—you can’t imagine how tired your Bunny-mother is. Darling, I am exhausted, and the waiter on the train was so rude to me. They expect such large tips nowadays; they are not at all grateful for a human attitude. What is the use of our being so fair-minded to the Negroes, when they only take advantage of us? I find it impossible to face life these days, with everyone so forgetful of what is required. I am all by myself, no one visits me, and so I was forced to visit your father. But we are strangers. Yes, Mrs. Downs, you must know we are complete strangers. I am in the apartment of a stranger, just as you are. I have not even come to ask for shirts. These are not my shirts, I cannot give you these shirts. They are not mine. This is my son, and that is all that is mine here.”
“You are completely exhausted, Mrs. Grant. You should lie down a little. I have an excellent sort of pill here, better than aspirin, no effect on the heart. I am sorry to say it is German, but I understand they have been here since before the war. Do take one. I must be going. I can only wait five minutes more, for I have an appointment for tea. You should go inside and take a little rest.”
The wife said, “Help me up, Little Bear. Come in with me and take off your Dixie’s shoes. I want you to tuck me in just like you used to do. Help me, Gilbert darling. Take my hat off. There! You don’t mind if I leave you, Mrs. Downs? No, I never take tablets. I sleep quite naturally. I have a little trick. I just keep my eyes shut and curl up like a child and make my mind a blank and—I am fast asleep.”
She went into the corridor dragging her son by the arm and saying, “You didn’t call me Bunny once.”
“I will then, rest if you want to, darling Bunny.”
“You didn’t call me Dixie once.”
“Mother!”
“No, no.”
“There, Dixie, then, Dixie, let me take off your shoes.”
“Dixie so-o tired. Gilbert!”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Bunny very tired! Put Bunny to sleep.”
“Ye-es, Bunny—there you are. There!”
She suddenly said querulously, “The doctor told me, nothing but rest, only rest—Wake me when your father comes in. Gilbert!”
“Yes, Dixie?”
“Don’t give that woman any shirts till I’ve seen your father. It’s disgraceful. Waste in wartime! He must be mad.”
“She’s going now, Mother.”
“Little Bear?”
“Yes, Middle Bear?”
“Sit with Mother for a while. It’s years since I saw you, darling.”
“But Mrs. Downs—”
“Mrs. Downs can sit there, like a frozen carved image, or she can go. You’re not crazy about her, are you? Do something to oblige Middle Bear.”
46
When he returned, Mrs. Downs was sitting under the lamp, reading the comic strips.
“My mother is asleep. Are you going to wait for my father?”
“You’re an honest man; you have a good character. You behaved very well. I am obliged to you. You might have made a fuss, helped no one, injured all parties. It would have been theatrical and less than ethical. But you did not. I was delighted to see you did not want to play Harry the Sleuth, the great exposer of crime! It shows you have grown up, you are mature, and you know the ways of the world. You may not understand all personal arrangements but you respect your ignorance. You don’t think you’re Superman, like Robert Grant.”
“You have no right to speak to me in this sarcastic way. I only did it from the most natural motives; and because I was cornered. It went against the grain to deceive my mother. Everyone deceives her. I will not keep quiet later.”
“I cannot discuss things that might be considered by some a little irregular. I shall wait for your father. I am a reputable person, not an underworld character. I am more to your father than your mother is, as she herself says, ‘I am a stranger,’ she says. Your father promised to marry me; but I should not like to have it on my conscience that I let her know that or of the close friendship between your father and myself. I sacrificed my feelings and my pride to save your mother any shocks. I trust you will do the same. What benefit will it be for her to know? Your father has enough to explain without explaining me. Don’t you think so? Or do you think that once he had explained his leaving your mother to take a jaunt to Havana, he must next explain that it is on account of me, that I am getting sued for divorce by my husband and that your father is implicated? I am trying to get your father to settle this out of court, so that no one will be hurt. Think of your little brother. He is a neurotic, sensitive child. Think of how he will feel if he hears about his father from the little boys in the street. ‘Your father—so-and-so—’ and they will laugh, and point the finger at him. Do you wish to injure not only me and your father—that is perhaps indifferent to you, for you are a young righteous crusader, crusading of course entirely for yourself without reference to the feelings of others—but do you wish to injure your little brother and your mother? She is lonely now. She is nervous. Life is too much for her. She has a weak character. How will she feel when her brother-in-law and father and her neighbors say, ‘What a dreadful scandal, poor Bunny! But did he really become involved with another woman that he loved so deeply? Those letters they published in the paper must have made you feel very miserable, poor Dixie.’ Ha!
“Perhaps this is nothing to you. I am an older woman and I think more of your mother than you do. Believe me, I would not marry your father now; I am quite documented upon his character. So there is nothing to worry about, and as I do not like to leave unhappiness behind me, where
I have passed—I made up my mind to persuade your father, at all costs, and with any technique, not to brazen it out. Do you know what he wants to do, this magnificent gentleman? He wants to drag all our names in the mud and injure your mother’s reputation and peace of mind for life, out of vanity. And your youth? My situation I do not speak of. It is pitiable. Through kindheartedness, affection, innocence I was trapped. I know a woman should not be so careless. I take my medicine. Let us skip that. By a great stretch of the imagination, puritans, who are good at that, might say I was guilty, but I am certainly not guilty vis-à-vis your father. He promised everything and then backed out. A bargain was made and he broke his side. I am in a tragic position and worn out by a series of disappointments. I have no luck with men and have been cheated over and over again. You are an honorable man. You would not cheat a woman. Or you might have promised to marry a woman and backed out. It happens. Men change their minds. Yet I am not like other women, I go into the daily battle with men, I meet them on their own terms, I ask no quarter, but I sometimes give it, because I am a woman. You see I try to make a living as a business woman, I do not sit at home on a cushy chair and read a book. I don’t hang round the house and sleep on a sofa, while a servant gets me a cup of coffee. I do exactly what your father does. I get my commissions; I live on percentages. It is a difficult business. Did you ever try to sell a shoestring tie, let alone a piece of land, or bond, or an insurance policy, or a load of raw furs? I am sure you would find it hard to sell those trashy brooches the girls are snatching out of the peddler’s hands nowadays. I advise you, Gilbert, to hold your hand and hold your tongue until I have seen your father. You must remember that if I were not so kind, I could upset the apple-cart right away by going in there and shaking that woman awake and saying, ‘I am your husband’s friend, and he has promised to marry me.’ Eh? What do you say to that? What could you do?”
“I don’t understand you, Mrs. Downs, and I know this is very serious; I don’t say you’ve not been injured; this is justice. I don’t know what to do. If I did, I’d do it.”
A Little Tea, a Little Chat Page 42