by John O'Hara
“Wouldn’t she love to give me hell?” said Joby.
“Yes, but doesn’t she?”
“No, she doesn’t. She’s very careful not to. She’d give me hell if she thought she could get away with it. But as I just told you, she knows I’m wise to her.”
“Well, explain that to poor simple-minded me. Wise to her.”
“All of a sudden cat’s got my tongue.”
“All of a sudden you’re not wise to anyone.”
“Have it your way. But you notice Father gives me hell, wherever and whenever and for whatever. He bawls me out and cuts off my allowance and so forth. He has nothing to fear.”
“Mother most likely feels that one of them giving you hell is enough. She wants things to be peaceful.”
“Now there you’re cooking. If there’s one thing she wants it’s peace.”
“My lawyer gentleman,” said Ann, at the sound of the doorbell. She pushed the clicker button and in a minute Rundel was at her door.
“This is my brother, Joby Chapin. Joby, Howard Rundel.”
“Nice to see you,” said Howard.
“I’m all ready,” said Ann. “See you at breakfast, any time after ten. Good night, wee one.”
“Good night, Anna Banana. Good night, Mr. Rundel.”
“Nice to see you,” said Howard.
They went out, but Ann was back immediately. “I didn’t give you a key. Here.”
“Did you say he went to Harvard, or did I guess it?”
“Good night, sophomore,” said Ann.
“Porcellian? Or not quite,” said Joby.
“You little sonofabitch,” said Ann, but she laughed when she said it, and not in the Wisterian tradition.
• • •
It is foolish to say a man’s life is over while there is life in him that will respond to new life, whether the new life is in the form of a drug out of the live earth, or new love exchanged. In his recent confidences to Arthur McHenry, Joe had repeatedly been returning to his lament that his life was over. Arthur was too sincere and too shrewd to offer routine reassurances as his responses to the lament. As far as possible he had always been truthful with Joe, and Arthur had long ago discovered that the conventional polite responses exasperated his friend and automatically put an end to conversation. “It’s true, you’ve had three knockout punches,” said Arthur, in one of their evening chats at 10 North Frederick Street.
“Which three?” said Joe.
“The obvious ones. The leg. Ann’s troubles, and the nomination.”
“There’s another one. Not a knockout punch, but a sort of sneak rabbit punch.”
“What was that?”
“Getting to be fifty.”
“Oh, well I think that’s horseshit,” said Arthur. “We’re both almost fifty-three, but I’m making my plans to live at least another twenty years.”
“You are?”
“I am. I’m planning on another twenty years. I’ve taken care of the contingencies and emergencies. But my attitude toward the future is that I’ll take another twenty years of it. According to my estimate, we can make our fiftieth reunion and have a year to spare.”
“You’re planning to go to a reunion?”
“To our fiftieth, you’re damn right I am. Not any other, but if I’m around I’ll be at our fiftieth.”
“It’s still a long way off, and I think I’ll wait till 1953 before I send my check to the reunion committee.”
“Oh, well, if you’re talking about checks,” said Arthur.
“From the way you talk, you ought to have your bag packed and train reservations,” said Joe.
“Yes, and from the way you talk we’ll both be lucky to last out the week,” said Arthur.
“We will be,” said Joe.
“Oh, cut it out, Joe.”
“Your rosy optimism is very pretty on the surface, but underneath you’re kidding yourself. I’ve stopped kidding myself. We are fifty-three, just about, and we’re liable to keel over any day. I’ve had moments the past few years when quite frankly I wouldn’t have minded. I’m not in quite as much of a funk as I was, but I don’t know what there is left. I’d like to see Ann happily married to a nice guy. Joby—don’t worry too much about my son. But girls need somebody to take care of them.”
“What about Edith?”
“Well, what about Edith? Does she need anyone? If I were to kick the bucket tomorrow, would Edith be any the worse off? I don’t think so. But I wish Ann would find somebody.”
“She will,” said Arthur.
“Maybe that first guy would have been all right.”
“Better not say that to Edith.”
“I won’t,” said Joe. “But I’ll say it to you. How do I know that what we did was the right thing? The answer is, I don’t know. And never will, and therefore there’ll always be a doubt in my mind. You can be sure of one thing. The next time I won’t interfere. If she loves the man, I’ll be all for it.”
“That’s good. I’m glad to hear it. I don’t know, there’s something about Ann, I’ve always told you.”
“Yes,” said Joe. “Joby’s about to get himself fired out of college, and I suppose that’s at least partly my fault for sending him there when he didn’t want to go. But boys are supposed to have tougher hides.”
“How tough is your hide?”
“Well, you answer that. Pretty tough, I’d say.”
“I guess so.”
“I went through life without my hide getting put to the test, then everything seemed to come at once. That’s why I may appear to be thin-skinned now. Or, I may just be naturally thin-skinned. You had your toughest break when you were much younger, don’t forget that. And you had Rose to help you.”
“True.”
“I’m sorry I said that, Arthur. It implies that Edith didn’t help me. She did, and you and I both know she did. I can’t blame Edith.”
“No, of course not. Well, home for me.”
“Yes, we’re not supposed to need so much sleep when we get older, but I don’t find that to be true. See you in the morning.”
“See you in the morning.”
The two friends had many such conversations, which Rose McHenry was wise enough to encourage and Edith wise enough not to interfere with.
• • •
Joe went to New York early in ’36, as much to see Ann as to transact business that could have been discussed over the telephone. He had not yet timed a visit to New York that made it possible for him to meet Kate Drummond, but on his visit the meeting took place.
“Father, how long are you going to be in town?” said Ann.
“Tonight and tomorrow night,” said Joe. “Why?”
“Would you think me a perfect beast if I had dinner with you tomorrow night instead of tonight? They’re taking inventory at the shop.”
“Well, I think you’re a perfect beast, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Kate, are you free?”
“I am, Mr. Chapin.”
“We can have dinner at ‘21’ and I understand you can get theatre tickets through them at the last minute.”
“Lovely, that would be lovely,” said Kate.
In the taxi he opened the conversation with the safe subject of her father. “How is Father Drummond? Did you know that was his nickname in college?”
“Yes, but I never knew why,” said Kate.
“Oh, you didn’t? Well, it was because a lot of fellows thought he looked like a priest. I must say he didn’t behave like one, but he certainly had the look of innocence. Which I suppose he still has. I haven’t seen him in twenty-five years.”
“He refers to you as Duke.”
“Duke. Yes, luckily that was confined to Yale, it never got back to Gibbsville, P. A. I’m awfully pleased that you and Ann became friends.”
; “Imagine how pleased I must be. I think Ann’s the most attractive girl I’ve ever known.”
“Well, she tells me you’re the most attractive girl she’s ever known. And I agree with both of you. I’d like to pump you a little bit about Ann.”
“Well, you can try.”
“Oh, nothing awkward, Kate. I love Ann—well, I guess Father Drummond thinks he loves you the same way. And I’m sure he does. You and Ann have become so close, does she confide in you?”
“I know about her marriage,” said Kate.
“Thank you. You saved me a lot of devious questioning,” said Joe. “Knowing about it, you no doubt have some preconceived ideas about me, and Mrs. Chapin.”
“Yes,” said Kate.
“Well, when you become a parent you’ll justify a lot of selfish acts on the ground that you were acting in your child’s best interests.”
“I hope not, but probably.”
“In recent years, I’ve questioned my own actions at the time of Ann’s marriage, but that doesn’t make things right today, and in my own defense, we can’t be sure that the marriage would have worked out well.”
“No, but I don’t have to tell you, Mr. Chapin, you didn’t give it much of a chance.”
“No chance at all,” said Joe.
“Go on. Please go on.”
“Shall I? If you’re sure we haven’t reached an impasse.”
“As long as you don’t try to change my mind.”
“I don’t think I’d have a chance, and I’m not at all sure I want to change it. I told you, I’m slowly coming around to your way of thinking.”
“Slowly.”
“Not really so slowly. Well, to continue, whatever damage I’ve done—”
“Don’t you take all the blame, Mr. Chapin. At least half the blame belongs to Mrs. Chapin.”
“But she’s not here to state her case. So, whatever damage, whoever’s responsible, it goes without saying that I want Ann to be happy. And that’s where I’m going to pump you. Is she?”
“Ann is too loving to be happy without somebody to love,” said Kate. “Does that answer your question, Mr. Chapin? The one you didn’t ask me? No, Ann isn’t in love with anyone, not a bit. She has beaux, but she’s not in love.”
“I see. I’m sorry to hear it. Every time I come to New York, or she comes home, I keep hoping it will have happened.”
“And get her off your conscience.”
“Get her off my conscience, but don’t forget, I’d have wanted her to be happy even though she hadn’t been on my conscience.”
“That’s a good point, and it puts me in my place. I’m sorry I’ve been captious.”
“Think of your being able to produce a word like captious, out of thin air.”
“It was out of thin air, too. I don’t think I’ve ever used it before.”
They got a table upstairs in the restaurant, and their conversation progressed past nine o’clock before Joe looked at his watch and said: “Kate, I’ve robbed you of the theatre. You name the show, and I’ll send you two tickets any time, next week, any time.”
“I’d have spoken up if I’d really wanted to go.”
“Do you mean it, because I know I’m enjoying myself,” said Joe.
They stayed in the restaurant through the post-dinner lull and into and beyond the after-theatre activity. Twice people spoke to Joe, and three times people spoke to Kate, but the people who knew Joe did not know Kate, and the people who knew Kate did not know Joe—and Joe and Kate knew that the others were wondering about them. “I’ve been thinking back, and do you know, this is the first time I’ve ever dined out alone with a lady other than Ann’s mother.”
“The first time?”
“In all the years we’ve been married,” said Joe.
“The way some of those people looked at you, and didn’t come over to say hello, I’d have thought you were an old hand at it.”
“They were so astonished to see me out with a pretty girl. Not just a pretty girl. A handsome young woman. You’re not just a pretty girl. But your friends didn’t seem at all surprised to see you out with an elderly old hand.”
“They obviously didn’t think you were so elderly, and anyway, I do have dinner with friends of my father’s, older men.”
“Are they all friends of your father’s?”
“No, they’re not.”
“I shouldn’t have pried.”
“Pride? What has pride got to do with it?”
“I meant pried, p-r-i-e-d. Pried into your affairs.”
“Oh, the past of pry. I’d only tell you what I felt like telling you, no more.”
“They’re slapping the check. When a waiter slaps a check I always know he wants me to pay up and go. He also reduces his tip. What would you say to a night club? Have you any special favorite?”
“Yes, but I don’t have to get up at the crack of dawn, and you probably do.”
“I’m not going to retire to my quarters at the Yale Club as long as you’ll stay up.”
They went to Larue, an institution which provided society-bounce music and always at least one or two familiar faces to any customer who had gone to Yale, Harvard, or Princeton in the preceding thirty years. The same Joseph C. Smith of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Plaza Hotel. The men who had been patrons of Dan Moriarty’s speakeasy. The women and girls of the fashionable New York day schools and boarding schools from Foxcroft to Milton.
At Larue—sometimes called Larue’s—sometimes called Larry’s Bar & Grill—Joe and Kate saw four of the mystified patrons of “21.” “They’re wondering,” said Kate.
“Yep, they’re wondering. This is fun.”
“Our fun is as the strength of ten because our hearts are pure,” said Kate. “Are you going to ask me to dance?”
“Well—of course I am,” said Joe.
They got up and danced two choruses of “They Can’t Take That Away From Me” and then Joe steered her to the edge of the floor and back to the banquette.
“That’s the first time I’ve danced since I broke my leg.”
“You should have told me.”
“No. Because it was the first time I’ve felt like dancing, so I did.”
“You don’t always follow those impulses,” said Kate.
“No, I don’t, but how did you know?”
“Not from what Ann has told me directly, but from what I’ve put together, and what I’ve observed tonight.”
“Good God, Kate, what you’ve observed tonight? You’ve been observing a man having the time of his life. Do I seem stuffy even when I’m enjoying myself?”
“Reserved,” said Kate.
“Yes,” said Joe.
They stayed for an hour and then took a taxi to the girls’ apartment. “I’m taking Ann out tomorrow night,” he said. “Will you join us?”
“I’m terribly sorry, but I can’t.”
He told the driver to wait, and walked with her to the downstairs door. “You want to kiss me, don’t you, Mr. Chapin?”
“Not and seem an old fool,” said Joe. “At my age a kiss has other implications, Kate. At least, the way I want to kiss you.”
“Yes. Well, I can’t imply any promises, or promise any implications, or whatever I’m trying to say. Ann’s upstairs, and I’m not ready, and I have a lot to think about, an awful lot to think about.”
“Well, think about it, Kate, because I’ll be back to find out what you’ve thought.”
“I know you will. Oh, I know that.”
“I’m way past where I ever thought I’d be again, and if it isn’t you, it’ll never be anybody. Good night, dear Kate.”
“Good night,” she said, and went inside.
Joe got in the taxi. “Yale Club, please.”
“Fifty Vanderbilt. Fif-fty Vandabilt Avenya. You know
I was thinkin’ if the City of New York wunda save the taxpayers about two million dollars a year, what they oughta do is . . .”
• • •
In a month Joe went to New York again when he knew Ann would be in Bermuda. He telephoned Kate from Gibbsville so that she would be free, and he appeared at the apartment at seven o’clock in the evening. “Let’s have an evening before we get down to cases,” he said. “This time I have the theatre tickets.”
They again dined at “21” and were at the theatre in time, but as they were getting up to go out for a smoke after the first act Kate said: “Let’s take our things and not come back.”
She asked him to take her to the apartment, and they rode in silence after she said: “What was the use? I wasn’t paying any attention to the play. I didn’t eat my dinner.”
At the apartment she said: “Will you fix me a weak Scotch and soda and I’ll be back in a minute.”
She returned and lit a cigarette and took up her drink, then put it down again. She sat in a corner of the sofa and began making circles with the ember of her cigarette in the cloisonné ash tray on the end table.
“I’ve done a lot of thinking. A lot. But I couldn’t do it all alone. I had to have you to help me,” she said.
“Yes,” he said.
“I couldn’t live with Ann any more. I’d have to find another apartment.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“And you know what else, too. That’s where we’d always have to see each other. We couldn’t go out together any more. Your wife and Ann and Joby would know right away, and my family’d find out too.” She took a quick look at him and then looked away. “I’m by nature a faithful person. That means that it wouldn’t be long before I didn’t even see anyone else. I’d really be alone except for when you could come to New York. And how often would that be? Once a month at the most. But I’ve taken the first step.”
“You have?”
“I’ve broken off with the man that I’ve been having an affair with. I am by nature a faithful person. I had to stop seeing him the day after you and I went out together. And please don’t say I shouldn’t have. It was my decision.”
“That’s what I was going to say,” said Joe.
“Marriage would be out of the question for you and me, even if you asked me, which hasn’t entered into the discussion. But I’m not in a hurry to get married. Nobody’s come along that made me want to be married to him for the rest of my life, and when I get married that’s what I want it to be. And so—that’s how it is with me. I’ve said just about everything, not much for a month of thinking, but I guess I’m a plodding thinker. In any case, that’s my side of it, and I thought I ought to tell you. Oh—and needless to say—I wouldn’t be saying any of this if I didn’t want to be your mistress.”