House Party

by Patrick Dennis

  "Oh, shut up!" Kathy snapped. "Here I wanted everything to be nice just this one weekend and now . . ."

  "I suppose that's why you're getting all dressed up like Madame Pompadour, so you can fry a couple of eggs for Fancy Pants."

  "Well at least I try to look like a woman and don't go slopping around in a pair of old dungarees like a Dead End Kid. If you've got to wear pants you might at least button your fly."

  "Oh shut up yourself," Elly said, and marched down to the kitchen.

  John Burgess had never been quite so entertained before in his life. Sitting on a high stool in the pantry and dousing dishes into the soapy water, he chuckled aloud. Elly's profane ineptitude delighted him just as much as Kathy's cool competence at the stove. These little domestic crises pleased him. They broke down so much reserve and put a party on a pleasant homely level.

  "God damn it to hell!" Elly roared. She had flipped an egg expertly onto the floor.

  "Elly," Kathy said, "that's the second time you've done that! I told you to do it gently."

  "Well," Elly growled, "anybody who wants his eggs turned deserves to have a little dirt on them!"

  John chuckled again and fished a dish out of the sink for Joe to dry. "Great little cook, isn't she?"

  "The greatest!" Joe said proudly. Overnight his whole concept of the weekend had changed. This cavernous kitchen had become a model of coziness. Mrs. Ames, although not in evidence as yet, was every man's ideal mother-in-law. Even in absentia Bryan was a brick, Paul a prince. Spoiled and naughty as they were, Felicia's children were a couple of cute kids. Kathy, who might have seemed silly and empty yesterday, was proving her real worth now and her biscuits were superb. As for Elly, well just look at her—in there pitching like a regular homemaker! He could see her now, once again in that rose-covered cottage, whipping up rare roasts of beef and flaky pies.

  "Children, I'm so sorry! I never dreamed that Lutie and Jonas would leave quite like this." It was Mrs. Ames at last, still looking very tired. "Oh, and there are my little girls, cooking away to their heart's content." She kissed her daughters and beamed on the men. "Good morning Mr. Burgess, Mr. Sullivan. I'm afraid I must apologize for this sudden departure of Lutie and Jonas. But there's no reason why you have to wash up. I should think that Sturgis and Fraulein could help out."

  "Fraulein is off," Kathy said, pouring her mother a cup of coffee.

  "And Sturgis has driven Uncle Ned to Southampton.”

  "To Southampton? Whatever for?"

  "To go to mass. He was just packing up his breviary as Kathy and I came down."

  "But that's sixty miles. Sixty miles to go to church when there's a sweet little chapel right here in the village!"

  "Uncle Ned seems to find the congregation in Southampton somewhat smarter. He said he'd be back for lunch."

  "Lunch!" Mrs. Ames said, putting down her cup with a clatter. "What will we do about lunch? Here we are, all these faces to be fed, and practically no one to do anything about it. Violet knows how to make three kinds of fudge—or at least she used to know. I can make two. Kathy is the only one who . . ."

  "Don't worry about that ma'am " John said. "We can all pitch in. There's Felicia and Claire . . ."

  Kathy snorted derisively.

  There was a jangling at the bellbox.

  "Who's ringing for breakfast in bed?" Elly cried. The bell rang again. "Damn it, it does seem to me that they might be able to get up . . ."

  "Elly," Mrs. Ames said firmly, "remember that nobody else knows about Lutie and Jonas." The bell pealed again. It was joined by a second bell and the two rang together noisily in perfect disharmony.

  "Well, it's a pretty lousy, inconsiderate trick to pull anyhow, when you've only got two people in the kitchen and poor old Nanny." The bells rang louder.

  "Perhaps it's just Felicia's children playing a game. I remember when Violet and I were little we used to love to . . .” Again the bells rang.

  "Who's doing that?" Elly bellowed. She marched over to the rank of forty brass bells and looked up at the labels. "Who's in the French Room?"

  "Your cousin, Felicia, dear," Mrs. Ames said, guiltily avoiding John's eye.

  "And in the Green Room? That's where the rest of the ringing is coming from."

  "Manning is," Kathy said stiffly.

  "Well, I’ll tell them a thing or two!" Elly said, wiping a strand of hair back from her forehead. She went to the speaking tube and bellowed at the top of her lungs. "Listen, damn you, if you can't get your fat asses out of bed and . . ."

  "Eleanor Ames!" Mrs. Ames gasped.

  "Well, I mean . . ."

  "Whatever you mean, there's no excuse to use such . . ."

  "I'll take something right up to Manning," Kathy said nervously.

  "And I’ll fix a tray for Felicia," Burgess said, hastily drying his hands. "They—they just don't realize that . . ."

  The two bells jangled again louder than ever. They were joined by a third.

  "The noise!" Mrs. Ames cried. "After today I’ll never ring for another servant as long as I live! But I’ll probably never have one to ring for anyway."

  "Now it's Bryan!” Elly roared. "I'd like to know just who he thinks he is. I'll go up there and settle his hash this very . . ."

  "Elly, darling, don't," Mrs. Ames said. "I'll take something up to him myself. I'm afraid he has quite a lot to say to me."

  The bells rang out again. In her nervousness, Elly dropped a Dresden cup. An angry black cloud of smoke rose from the stove. "My biscuits!" Kathy wailed.

  "Never mind, Kathy," John said. "I’ll tell everybody how good the first batch was."

  "But I wanted Manning to . . . "

  "God damn it to hell!”

  "Eleanor!" Mrs. Ames cried and then quickly sidestepped a fried egg as it flew past her head.

  There was a crash from the pantry followed by a muffled oath. "Gee, Mrs. Ames," Joe said blushing. "I'm sorry. It just slipped out of my . . ."

  "Don't mention . . .”

  "Elly, look out! The coffee. It's boiling over!”

  There was a horrid hissing noise.

  "God damn it to . . . Ouch!”

  "Eleanor!"

  The bells kept on ringing.

  22: Domestic Science

  "Yes, I really do, Paul," Betty said as she switched off the ignition. "I think it's the most exciting idea I've ever heard in my life! Why, you could sell those houses for twenty thousand dollars apiece on their looks alone. And the really important thing is that you don't want to. You're going to give those people sun and air and space for six thousand dollars instead of . . .”

  "Thanks, Betty," Paul said. "You mean I was going to do all that. I guess now I'll probably wind up as a junior partner at Rabadab Associates."

  "But, Paul, why? If you know how to house people this nicely and this cheaply, it's almost, well, it's your duty—though I hate to use that word because it sounds like Daddy—to go out and . . .”

  "You forget about Claire."

  "Paul, you're making too much of that. She'll come around. I know she will. Any woman would for the man she loves. It's not as though you were asking her to the last frontier. You're offering her a comfortable house in a quite civilized community as well as the chance to help you in really important . . ."

  "You don't understand. Claire's work is important to her too."

  "My work is important to me, but not so important that I couldn't drop it to be with somebody I loved. Claire will feel the same, really she will."

  "Betty, would you come in and tell her? Tell her what you just told me?"

  "I certainly would not! And I'd be furious if any other woman tried to sell me a bill of goods like that. This isn't something you tell somebody. It's something women just know. Give her a chance. She'll do what's right."

  "Well, come in anyhow. Have a drink. Have a cup of coffee."

  "I've just had a cup of coffee, Paul. Three cups of coffee. I really can't move in on your poor mother when she has a house full
of people." Betty was again conscious of Bryan Ames. It was bad enough to be left waiting in the lurch by a man, but to appear to be running after him was too much. "No, thanks again for the coffee, Paul, and it's really been stimulating. I mean it. I wish you all kinds of luck and . . ."

  "Oh, for Christ's sake, shut up and come in." Paul half dragged her from the car into the hall.

  "Paul. Stop it! Let me go! Paul Ames, I . . ."

  "Mother! Aunt Violet! What in the name of God do you think you're doing?"

  "I think we're dusting, Paul. Good morning, dear. Good morning, Betty. Heavens, you've been up and out! I thought you were still in your bed."

  "Dusting? What for?"

  "Oh, Paul! This is such fun!" Violet cried. "I feel like a bride again!" Violet simpered prettily at Paul and Betty and flicked the newel post with a feather duster. She was wearing a Nile-green negligee, long gloves to protect her hands and her hair was swathed in a length of green tulle.

  "Have you lost your minds?" Paul asked anxiously.

  "No, darling, but we've lost Lutie and Jonas. You'll find the rest of the young people scattered about the place. Elly and Kathy and Mr. Sullivan and Mr. Burgess are cooking lunch."

  "And Felicia and Bryan and Mr. Stone and Miss Devine are all down on the beach," Violet added vivaciously. "It's such a lovely day for a swim."

  'Things got off to rather a bad start this morning " Mrs. Ames said, picking up a few stray petals from a bouquet on the table, "but now we seem to be more or less on an even keel. You will have to make your own bed, Paul, and if you have any little cooking specialty, I know you'll be useful in the kitchen. We're going to have a picnic lunch . . ."

  "Don't you adore a picnic!" Violet said, moving the bouquet an inch to the left and scattering a lot more petals.

  "As I was saying," Mrs. Ames raised her voice. "We're having a picnic luncheon and I do hope you can join us, Betty."

  "Oh, Mrs. Ames, when you've got all this trouble, I wouldn't dream of barging in on you! Besides, Daddy will . . ."

  "And how is the dear general?" Violet said coyly.

  "Be still, Violet! Betty, believe me," Mrs. Ames said, "I'm not being entirely selfless. If you have two willing hands, you're welcome. If you know how to wash dishes, you're most cordially invited. And if you know how to cook, you're essential.''

  "Well of course I know how to cook and do all those things. I've been running Daddy's house for as long as I can remember."

  "Do you know what to do with a ham?"

  "What kind of a ham?"

  "Armour," Mrs. Ames said briskly.

  "Aren't those the people from Chicago we met at . . " Violet began.

  "Well, you don't have to do anything with one. But if you sort of rub them down with a little sherry and brown sugar and some cloves and bake them in a very slow oven . . ."

  "You're staying for lunch, child! Paul, take her right out to the kitchen."

  "Oh, and Lily," Violet shrilled, "why don't we telephone the general and ask him if he can come, too. He was so . . ."

  "Speaking of the telephone, Violet," Mrs. Ames said as Paul and Betty disappeared, "there's something I want to ask you right now: Did you or did you not take the check I gave you on Friday to the telephone company?"

  "Why, Lily, let's see. First I went to the post office and mailed a lot of things for you. Then I went to the hairdresser. Then I ran into Eva Hardesty—she's had a gall-bladder operation, you know; lost simply tons—and she said . . ."

  "Violet, don't worry about Eva's gall bladder. Did you or did you not take the check to the telephone company?"

  "Well, Lily, it seemed to me at the time that I'd done everything you asked me to do—salted almonds, olives, cocktail onions, everything—but now . . . now . . ."

  "Now the telephone is as still as death."

  "Lily! It must be in my green lizard purse. I’ll run right around with it. After all, I own a lot of their stock and we did have the first telephone in Pruitt's Landing."

  "I'm afraid you'll have to wait until Tuesday, Violet This is Sunday and tomorrow's a legal holiday. In the meantime we're marooned, all because of you and your silly . . ."

  "Oh, Lily, dear, please don't chide me today. I have the fatigue d'amour. The general was so ardent, pressing my hand and whispering all those sweet nothings."

  "Oh dear! The general! I'd quite forgotten."

  "Yes, dear. He was so ardent! He kept calling me 'Lovely Lady' and spoke of marriage and settling in here, of all places. And as it got light, he seemed so surprised that . . .”

  "He probably never really expected you to keep the, er, rendezvous," Mrs. Ames said quickly.

  "Ah, but Lily, he's so strong, so forceful! He's a man who can dominate me. Dearest, do you believe in twilight love? Do you think that a man like Walter and a, er, a girl like me—no longer young in years, perhaps, but young in our romance—could go hand in hand down the sunset trail to find happiness in the autumn of our . . ."

  "I believe, Violet, that you have lost whatever poor little mind you ever had. I also believe that you and I can go hand in hand up those stairs to make some beds. Poor Nanny can't look after Felicia's children and tidy the whole upstairs as well. As for you and that lecherous old goat . . ."

  "Lily! Don't let the green-eyed monster of envy come between us! Happiness awaits you too, dear, it's never too late! And you can be my bridesmaid . . ."

  "The beds await you, Violet. And you can be my chambermaid."

  By now the kitchen was operating more or less efficiently. Kathy had been able to locate almost everything she needed and Elly, painfully conscious of Joe's watchfulness, had turned into a more willing helper than might have been expected. Already she had sufficient competence to hard boil two dozen eggs, trim the crusts fairly neatly from several loaves of bread, and rip up quite a lot of lettuce and romaine for a tossed salad. She felt that her performance was adequate if not exactly praiseworthy. Anyhow, it was kind of fun with John and Joe washing up after her and making cracks and guzzling beer.

  Kathy was of many mixed emotions. She rather enjoyed puttering around a kitchen. It was relaxing and she was in a mood to relax. She would have liked Manning to be here in the kitchen, instead of down on the beach, to see her in this more natural domestic phase, but then if Manning had been on hand she would have had to keep up her man-killing line of gay repartee and that wouldn't have been a bit restful. On the other hand, Manning had looked so adorable in his lovely white silk pajamas this morning, when she had taken his breakfast up to him, that she'd hardly been able to endure the sight of him. Still, he might have been making a better impression on Elly if he'd been here helping. Yet, if you looked at it another way, he was down on the shore with Bryan, getting to know him; charming him as he had charmed Kathy. That was important too. As for Elly, Kathy was still so angry at her for what she had said—or rather what she hadn't said—about Manning that she could have slapped her.

  "Hallelujah! It's Betty Cannon," Elly shouted as Betty and Paul appeared. "Do you know what to do with lobsters?"

  "Certainly. You steam them in a court bouillon."

  "You what in a what?"

  "That means you put equal parts of white wine and water—just a small amount—in the bottom of a big kettle. Then when it gets to boiling you toss in the lobsters and give them a kind of Turkish bath for fifteen minutes or so. It's better if you add a bouquet garni."

  ''Flowers? Go on!"

  "Not quite, Elly. A bouquet garni is a bay leaf, a sprig of . . "

  "Put on an apron, Betty. We're having lobster for the picnic."

  Clams in Aspic

  (Courtesy of Lutie and Jonas Iscariot)

  Deviled Eggs Eleanor

  Homard Froid Mayonnaise à la Elizabeth Cannon

  (Mayonnaise by Miss Katherine Ames)

  Cucumber Sandwiches (Kathy)

  Hot Ham Sandwiches (Betty)

  Leftover Chicken Sandwiches (Elly)

  Communal Tossed Salad

  M
acédoine of Fruit in Gin (Joseph Sullivan)

  Hot Coffee à la Katherine Ames Iced Tea à la Eleanor Ames

  Beer Bourbon Rye A little Scotch Rhine Wine Water

  Pots, pans, bowls, dishes and glasses washed in Fab by John Burgess

  Sandwiches wrapped, hampers packed by Joe Sullivan

  While the Lucullan picnic was being tenderly loaded into a collection of hampers, Elly, her tongue between her teeth, sat at the kitchen table scrawling out the elaborate menu.

  "Why, Elly," Mrs. Ames said, reading over her daughter's shoulder, "what a superb menu! Do you mean you young people managed to cook all that and breakfast, too?"

  "It was nothing," Elly said casting a glance toward Joe.

  "La, but I'm simply amazed at what you young people can do nowadays," Violet cried. "Why Felicia is the most domestic little thing! There isn't anything she can't do around the house."

  "Yeah, she was a great help this morning," Elly said. "She made a baked Alaska and barbecued a haunch of venison and scrubbed the kitchen floor and . . ."

  "She did?" Violet said.

  "Well, too many cooks, you know," Mrs. Ames said quickly, giving Elly a dark look.

  "Tiens, tiens, tiens," Uncle Ned said, sweeping into the kitchen. "I've searched the house high and low for you only to find you all gathered out here like a pack of scullery maids."

  "We are a pack of scullery maids, Uncle Ned," Mrs. Ames said.

  "And it's such fun!" Violet said. "I've dusted and dusted and dusted!"

  "But what of your staff, Lily, dear girl?"

  "My staff has decamped, Uncle Ned. How was church?"

  "Too thrilling, my dears! There were three Bourbons there. They were visiting somebody at Southampton. It's really quite a smart parish for America."

  "What was the sermon about, Uncle Ned?"

  "Oh. Oh, that? Oh, very nice, indeed. Um, yes. And, uh, now," he said hastily, "what is this I see?"

  "We're having a picnic, Uncle Ned," Violet said. "Won't that be fun? Just like the old days. Will you ever forget the picnics we used to have?"

  "Will I ever forget, indeed! Ah, Violet, dear girl, those were picnics. A footman behind every chair, little cold squabs stuffed with pâte, champagne and . . ."