"An’ now Truman's famous hankerchiff trick," the general bawled. "May I ask for a gentleman volunteer from the audience.” No one budged. "Here you." General Cannon shouted, pointing to Manning Stone. "The big tall feller. Step right up here, please."
Manning never objected to being seen when he was at his best, and he was certainly dressed to kill today. But somehow he feared that he was about to be made a fool of. He could hold his own with grown men and women, but dogs, horses, children—things like that—made him nervous. "Thanks oaffly, but I'd rather . . ."
"Oh, go on, darling," Kathy said slurringly. She gave him a little push and there he was out in the center of the ring. Kathy giggled. She didn't for the life of her know why she'd ever done such a thing. Poor, darling Manning.
"Well, that's a right pert-lookin' hankerchiff," the general said. It certainly was. A square yard of sheer Irish linen with Manning's signature embroidered across one corner, it had cost Mrs. Laura Romeyn Gray Richardson Anderson twelve-fifty at Bronzini's.
"All right, now, Truman. Supposin' you just go over and get that gent's hankie for me." The horse stood absolutely motionless.
"If it's all the same to you . . ." Manning began. Crack! The crop came down over the horse's haunches.
"Go get that hankerchiff."
Mrs. Ames closed her eyes.
"Oh, Manning, darling, I . . .” Kathy began.
Trembling, the horse crossed the ring to where Manning was standing. The crop came down again. With a convulsive heave, the horse sank its teeth into Manning's breast pocket, and there was a sound of ripping cloth. Horrified, Manning looked down to discover that the handkerchief, the pocket and a good deal of the front had been yanked from the jacket of his beautiful London suit. Replacing them was a cascade of bile-green slobber from the horse's foaming mouth. Truman munched contentedly on Manning's clothes.
Kathy began to giggle. She began to laugh. She began to scream. "My dear, that's the funniest thing I ever saw in my life. It's—hahahahaha—it's too funny for words . . . I mean really the ex-pr-expression on your f-face . . . I-I'm s-sorry to laugh so when he's r-ruined your beautiful—hahahahaha," the tears coursed down her cheeks—"your beautiful suit. But it's just so terribly c-comical that it's killing me." The riding crop crashed down on the horse again and again. "Go on," Kathy wailed, "kill the poor thing. Hit it again. It's just a p-poor dumb horse like me." She threw her arms around John Burgess' neck and sobbed helplessly into his lapels.
Mrs. Ames opened her eyes and wished she hadn't. She knew that she must get to Kathy, but now she saw that it was too late.
"You're coming home this minute, damn it," Burgess said, steering Kathy across the lawn. "You're going home and going straight to bed."
"B-but Manning. His suit . . ."
"Manning can take care of himself. You can't. Come along."
"Wait," Elly cried. "I'm coming with you."
Supporting Kathy between them, they got into Bryan's car and shot down the driveway.
"Hey!" Bryan called. He didn't like to have other people driving his car.
"The f-funniest thing I've ever seen in my . . ." The car rounded the bend in the drive and there was a long, deadly silence.
15: Sunset
Nanny was not much of a reader. She owned four books and referred to them often. There was Mrs. Post's Etiquette, to answer any question of deportment; Mrs. Beeton's The Book of Household Management, to solve all domestic problems; Dr. Pumphrey's Home Medical Guide, in case any illness from anthrax to Zulu fever should strike, and there was The Bible, King James Version, to cover any other emergency. She also kept on hand French chalk for sudden spots, gargles and plasters for colds, iodine, mercurochrome and bandaids, laxatives and astringents, croup kettles and water bottles, buttons of various sizes, darning cotton in assorted colors, needles and pins and snaps and zippers. There were few occasions for which she was not intellectually and physically prepared. This, however, was one of them. "Poor, dear Miss Kathy," she kept saying. "It's a touch of the sun."
"A touch of my elbow," Elly snapped. "She's cockeyed; plastered; blotto; boiled; soused; stiff as a board! She's drunk, Nanny. Our girl scout is squiffed."
"Miss Kathy intoxicated? You should have your mouth washed out with soap, Miss Elly! The poor darling. Here, let me take her. What a thing to say about your own sweet sister."
"Okay, Nanny," Elly sighed. "Get the Palmolive, but here she is."
Nanny bent down over Kathy's face. "Darling, it's Nanny. Nanny's going to make you a nice cup of hot Ovaltine, de-ar."
"Make me a nice cup of cold Hell-for-Leather, Ninny-Nanny-Nonny and a hotcha-cha!"
If Kathy's message wasn't sufficient to convince Nanny, her breath was. "Oh! Miss Katherinel Who ever got you in such—such an unladylike condition?"
"I did," Elly said grimly. "I tied her down and gave intravenous feedings of rotgut. Here you—John—give me a hand up the stairs with her."
"Hadn't I better get out of here?” John said as they deposited Kathy on her bed.
"Why?" Elly asked.
"Well, I mean aren't you going to undress her or something?"
"Hell no! She's practically naked right now. Come on. To the tub."
They carried Kathy into the bathroom and propped her up in the tub.
"Okay," Elly said crisply. "Now close the shower curtain and I’ll turn on the cold."
"Hey, but what about her dress? Her hat?"
"Oh, those. They're all wrong for her anyway. Golly, until just recently she used to dress like everybody else. I don't know what ever possessed her to buy all these fancy rags. That Stone schlemiel, I guess."
"Who is this Stone?"
"Search me," Elly said with a shrug. "By the way, do you happen to have a cigarette on you? Thanks." She lit the cigarette and dropped the match into the toilet. "Well, here goes." She turned on the cold shower full force. "Sit down " she said sociably, indicating the only possible seat.
"Eeeeeeow!" Kathy screamed.
"All right, Kath?" Elly asked casually.
There was a tremendous thrashing from inside the shower curtain. "Elly Ames, you let me out of here! My dress! My hat!"
"Shut up!" Elly roared.
"The dress cost ninety dollars. It isn't even paid for."
"Well, it made you look like a tart."
"Oh! Oh! Oh!"
"Be still, dear. We have a gentleman caller.”
"Elly Ames, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!"
"I love you, sister, dear. Nanny said I should. Besides, how could I resist anyone who's acted as cunning as you have all afternoon?"
"Let me out of here!" There was a sound of struggling and then a wet plop. "Ouch!"
"I don't want to seem unpleasant, Kathy," Elly said smoothly, "but if you so much as stick your silly, painted face out of there, I'm going to slap you senseless. Who the hell do you think you are, Felicia?"
Burgess frowned.
"You horrid little brat," Kathy shrieked, "I'm going to make you pay for every stitch I have on."
"If you promise never to wear any of those duds again, I'll be glad to," Elly shouted.
"Who's out there with you?" Kathy cried, her teeth chattering.
"A Mr. Burgess. Miss Ames, Mr. Burgess. Mr. Burgess, Miss Ames."
"Oh! Oh! Elly Ames, you dreadful little . . .” There was a gurgling sound.
"Gee," Elly said flatly, "I guess she's had enough." Elly turned off the water. A soft little moan came from within. "Better take off your coat and roll up your sleeves. She's pretty wet."
Kathy was deposited soggily onto her chaise longue.
"Now, John, if you'll just turn down that bed," Elly said, "I’ll shuck off this outfit and slip her under the covers."
"You seem so proficient at this," he said. "Do you have to do it for her often?"
"I certainly do not!" Elly bridled. "Do you think my sister's an alcoholic?"
"I got something like that impression this afternoon."
“Well, you just got the wrong impression, that's all I can say!"
"Then what do you suppose her trouble was—this afternoon?"
"You."
"Me?”
"Oh, not just you. But all of you. Men! Sometimes I wish you'd never been invented. We'd be so much better off without you. Sometimes I wish I was a lezzybun—or whatever you call them. At least nothing another female does ever surprises me!"
"Felicia doesn't feel that way," John said smugly.
"Felicia wouldn't!"
"Why wouldn't she?"
"Because Felicia isn't a woman."
"Well, I'd like to know what you do call her."
"I'm too refined to say it, but it's a five-letter word beginning with a 'b' and ending with an 'itch'."
"Well, now that we know that you're such a little lady that you can't say certain things," John growled, "what would you say if I told you I was going to marry Felicia?"
"I'd say, in my most ladylike tone, that that's your hard luck. Then I'd go around town making book on how long you'd last. And what's more, I'd give ten-to-one that you wouldn't last as long as the first Mr. Felicia Clendenning."
"You're very young," Burgess said stiffly.
"Today I feel very old!"
"I suppose that as Felicia's lawyer, I couldn't make you believe that she divorced Lord Choate on grounds of extreme cruelty," John said. He felt that he sounded pompous.
"And I suppose," Elly shouted, arms akimbo, "that as Felicia's cousin—and a disappointed flower girl at that great, big chi-chi St Batholomew's wedding that was supposed to take place—I couldn't make you believe that Mike Choate wouldn't swat a fly without asking its permission. And what's more, if he'd ever been an earl, Felicia wouldn't have left him. Didn't she have to come back here and go to the Virgin Islands to get the divorce for—for whatever you said."
"I said extreme cruelty."
"Yes, extreme cruelty. That's a panic! There isn't a woman alive, except maybe Mother and poor old Kathy here, who doesn't need a hairbrush every day of her life."
"That includes you?"
"That includes me. And Felicia ought to have the hairbrush before and after every meal.”
"Ohhhhhh," Kathy moaned.
"Oh, Kath, you poor darling," Elly said. "Come on. I'll put you to bed. We'll have a nice little nap and then well be all ready to fracture the stallions at the dance tonight, won't we, darling?" She turned to John. "Listen, be a good guy and go into the John and make her a posset."
"Make her a what?"
"A posset. You know. Take a glass and put in some Alka Seltzer and some aspirin and some Epsom salts and some Phenolax and anything else you see in the medicine chest."
"She'll throw up!"
"If that's the worst thing that ever happens to her, she'll be lucky." With a bit of tearing, Elly removed the cartwheel hat and the veiling from Kathy's head. She undid the sandals and let them fall with a wet thud to the carpet.
"Ohhhh, Manning. I didn't mean to laugh," Kathy moaned. "It was just that it was so, so . . ."
"To hell with Manning, darling," Elly said. "Now roll over and let s get at this stinking zipper."
"Here it is," John said, coming from the bathroom with a foaming glass. "I put in some bath salts, too."
"Good," Elly said grimly. "That should do it. Here, Kath, drink this down. It tastes like hell, I know, but you'll be a much better girl for it."
"Ohhhhhhhh."
"That's my girl. Here, you hold her up while I get this thing off her."
"Shouldn't I go away while you . . ."
"For God's sake, no. Don't leave me here alone with this corpse. Besides, she's wearing a brassiere and a petticoat. That's like a Mother Hubbard compared to that bathing suit she had on this morning and you certainly didn't seem to mind looking at her in that," There was another ripping noise as Elly peeled off the wet dress. "Hey," Elly breathed, "you know Kathy's getting pretty. Oh, I don't mean pretty. I mean beautiful. There's such a lot of her and it's all so kind of pearly and grown-up looking. I mean, she's much better looking than I'll ever be and . . ."
John smiled down at Elly. "You know something?" he said. "I like you."
"Well, I like you, too," she said. Then she bristled. "Oh, go to hell!"
"But, Bryan," Mrs. Ames said, "Kathy's always been such a little lady—too much of a little lady, for that matter—how was I to know that she'd get, uh . . .”
"Swacked," Elly offered.
"Thank you, dear. Yes, 'swacked’ this afternoon?” Mrs. Ames looked around her bedroom. There they were: Bryan, Paul, Elly and Uncle Ned, She was only thankful that the group was this small. Bryan had wanted to include Violet and Felicia. Violet, fortunately, was asleep; Felicia bathing.
"It's simply, Mother, that you've got to keep an eye on Kathy,” Bryan said. "Look after her more closely."
"I look after her?" Mrs. Ames said, indignantly. "Why don't you look after her. You live just a block away from Kathy and you haven't seen her in ages! It was a terrible thing to have happen, Bryan. I agree there. But I don't think you can say that I'm the one to blame. Kathy's a grown woman—even if she doesn't act it. Why, good heavens, I was just her age when she was born, and you'd already teethed, molars and all! Why, Nanny said . . ."
"Mother, let's get out of the nursery. Kathy put on a disgraceful show this aft . . ."
"Oh, shut up!" Paul snapped. "At least she acted like a human being. You and your marionette manners give me a . . ."
"Would you like to step outside and settle . . ."
"Boys!" Mrs. Ames gasped. "Stop that kind of talk!" Really, why must they all flock around so? Mrs. Ames wanted only oblivion and here was a family conclave. She almost envied Kathy, She wondered how it would be to get really gloriously drunk just once and . . . Well, never mind. She had failed. Bryan was right in telling her that she had failed with Kathy, and she supposed that she had failed with Elly and with Paul, too. Bryan was the only one who could be described as a success. "A father. They need a father to guide them," that's what General Cannon had said, kissing her hand, as she had left the party this afternoon. "No!" Mrs. Ames said aloud. "What, Mother?" Bryan said. "Nothing."
"My dear, darling, poor, sweet Lily," Uncle Ned began, "your unfortunate daughter is simply . . ."
"I don't know why we all have to sit around here picking poor Kathy's bones," Elly said hotly. "Bryan, you've been drunk more than once, and you have too Paul, and as for you, Uncle Ned . . ."
"Lily " Uncle Ned said waspishly, "I have not been called away from my memoirs to be insulted by this chit of a girl with dirty nails and . . .”
"My nails are not dirty, you . . ."
"Now see here, Uncle Ned, Elly is . . ."
"Stop it!" Mrs. Ames shouted. "Stop it, stop it, stop it!" She had shocked them all so with her outburst that she was rather pleased with herself. The silence was glorious. It gave her time to wallow in the complete stillness and she enjoyed it.
"To get back to the point," Bryan said quietly, "Kathy acted inexcusably this afternoon and she should . . ."
"Bryan," Elly interrupted, "Kathy's in love. She's in love with this Manning Stone, and she's never met anybody like him before, and she doesn't know quite how to act, and she wants to be very attractive for him because he's very, very special—or at least she thinks he's special—and she's just bumbling around to find the way to get him. And if she ever does . . ."
"Katherine after a fine young man like that Stone?" Uncle Ned snorted. "Why, what chance would a plain, dreary—yes, Lily, dreary—child like Katherine have with a dynamic . . ."
"I'd like to know what the hell you think you know about love!"
Paul shouted. "Maybe Kathy's a thousand years younger than your dead old queens and duchesses but she's worth ten of you and twenty of that Stone . . .”
"Paul! Apologize to your Uncle Ned this minute!" Mrs. Ames cried.
"I will not!"
Elly had never been terribly fond of her brother Paul, but now
she was grateful to him. It was something she would have liked to say herself and had been spared, in the nick of time, by having someone else say it.
"I don't know why we all have to sit here—in my bedroom—and take poor Kathy apart," Mrs. Ames sighed. "As for her performance this afternoon, it was ill-advised, but that spectacle with the poor horse was sickening. Kathy can always apologize to General Cannon and Betty tonight, that is, if she can go to the dance.”
"She can go," Elly said. "Don't worry."
"Well, then," Mrs. Ames concluded weakly, "couldn't we just call a halt to this, this family gathering?"
"Suits me," Elly said.
"Well, now that everything's all settled," Uncle Ned said, rising and turning his back pointedly upon Paul, "I shall return to my memoirs. Zut! So much to do! My writing, my bath, my massage, dressing, my missal! How you people find the time to . . ."
"Excuse me, Uncle Ned," Paul said, rising. He looked very white and his lip trembled. "But as long as we're all here—all except poor Kathy—just let me say that Claire and I want to get married and we want to get married right away."
"That magnificent creature married to you?" Uncle Ned gasped.
"Does anybody mind if I take another bath?" Elly asked. She rose and strode out of the room.
As Achilles sulked in his tent, so did Manning Stone sulk in his tub. Going, going, gone. The suit was gone—fifty guineas' worth of Mrs. Louise Frith Stickney Tanner's travelers' checks, straight into the horse's mouth. A good deal of Manning's dignity was gone too.
He got out of the tub, threw a towel over his shoulders and looked at his face in the mirror. Nothing had changed. The pores were the same velvety consistency, the nose a romanesque arch, the lips as ripe and full, the teeth as white—including that pivot tooth—the eyes as lustrous, the lashes as thick. True, there was a stray hair or two in the eyebrows, but that was a problem to be solved in a minute. "I've got to bring her around," Manning said to his reflection, as he stood holding the tweezers. "I've got to."
Joe Sullivan was not entirely without vanity. He'd gone through this last foray without disgracing himself. Nope, the Ames family could take full credit for Kathy. He thought tenderly of Kathy. All competitive spirit was gone. She'd got the drunkest and shown it first. His hat was off to her. No, Joe had come home in the Hotchkiss with Aunt Violet's bird of paradise tickling his ear every inch of the way. And he'd been a little gent. Even Mom would have been almost proud.
House Party Page 14