Complete Stories - Dorothy Parker Part 31

The drawing room was better for the presence of people, and this was a good-looking group, expensively dressed and carefully tended. The men wore the garb they could by now easily call Black Tie. (The steps in social ascent may be gauged by the terms employed to describe a man's informal evening dress: the progression goes Tuxedo, Tux, dinner jacket, Black Tie.) The women wore gowns of such immediate mode they would have to be cast off long before the opulent materials had lost their gloss. Only Thelma Chrystie, the one little Mrs. Lineham liked best, evaded the mark of the moment; her gown was so cla.s.sic in design that it might have been worn six months before the date or six months after; nor were her jewels in the current vogue. The others wore bands and chunks of ma.s.sed stones and bright metals that made each lady look rather as if she had spent a night with an openhanded admirer from the deep jungle. Mrs. Chrystie's ornaments were few and as delicate as frost.

Mrs. Chrystie was tall, pale, and still, three things that little Mrs. Lineham had always wanted to be. Emmy Lineham had always been described as a cute little trick, and she was therefore obliged to be rosy and to twitter. She admired Mrs. Chrystie for her looks, but loved her for a quality all her own, a peculiar warmth that seemed to flow from her, that melted all reserve and drew to her the trust of your heart. The gracious glow pervaded all those about her, even her husband, and made little Mrs. Lineham admire her all the more.

Not that Mrs. Lineham did not like Thelma Chrystie's husband. Who could dislike him? Sherm Chrystie-doubtless they had started him off as Sherman, but that had been long forgotten-was a youngish man, though not of a nervous kind. Indeed, he had little to be nervous about, for unlike the other men he was not unsteady in a new business. He had no business, and there is nothing like a whopping big inheritance to abort apprehensions. He was a big pink man, and nowhere, save in the street, could he be seen without a gla.s.s in his hand. But drink only made him somewhat endearingly silly-that is, until late in the evening, when sometimes he would awaken refreshed after an audible and public nap, steal heavily to the liquor tray to fix himself a drink, and, in preparing it, would somehow break every gla.s.s but his own.

Never once had Mrs. Chrystie been known to protest his excesses. Part of her peculiar warmth must have been her consideration for every human being. Never would she humiliate him before others by telling him he had had enough and urging him to have no more. Never would she be so cruel as to ask him to come home when he was having a good time. She had even been seen-when he was incapable of pouring a drink for himself-to mix one and, with her warm gentle smile, put it in his hand.

Mr. McDermott, the male half of another couple among the Linehams' guests, went to no such extremes in his pleasures as did Sherm. Mr. McDermott was in all things cautious almost to the point of timidity. He had achieved his present t.i.tle and position in a vast spider web of radio networks by means of both hard work and the constant proffering of figurative red apples. But he had not attained his ease. He could not forget the many other men who had previously risen to the tall stature that was now his. He had seen them crash like oaks. Any day he expected to hear the cry "Timber!" for his own fall. His wife was a handsome, healthy woman, voluble and fond of giving information.

The other guests were Mr. and Mrs. Bain. The Bains were the Bains, in no way singular.

Bob Lineham, the host and bridegroom, was still lean despite the ten pounds acquired on the honeymoon. He was the tallest man there and the most pleasing to look at, but he was not so uncommonly beautiful as to warrant the utter adoration with which the little bride seemed almost to swoon as eyes followed him. His voice was so quiet that one must lean toward him to listen; you would sit back again not quite fulfilled but always expectant of his next utterance.

Sherm had scarcely had time to be empty-handed after his second great bowl of brandy when the Linehams' butler and waitress entered, single file, with trays of various whiskies, additional brandy, ice, water, and soda.

Bob went to the table to serve his guests, Emmy trotting after him, but Sherm was there first. Mrs. Chrystie, on a sofa, listened warmly while Mr. McDermott quoted Hooper ratings to Mr. Bain. Across the room Mrs. Bain, regardless of chalk marks, drew her chair close to Mrs. McDermott's.

"That little thing just worships the ground Bob Lineham walks on," Mrs. Bain said.

"I think it's lovely," Mrs. McDermott said. "That poor boy certainly deserves some happiness after what he's had."

"He's simply blossomed. He's blossomed like a flower. And after that broken life of his for two years."

"Nearly three," Mrs. McDermott said. "I thought he'd never pull out of it. They usually don't, if they don't marry again right away."

"I never knew his first wife," Mrs. Bain said. "We didn't meet Bob till after--"

"Oh, Alice was a wonderful girl," Mrs. McDermott said. "Not exactly pretty but awfully nice-looking. My, she used to get such a wonderful tan. She was a wonderful athlete. She had all kinds of cups and things for tennis and golf and swimming. That was the strangest thing about it. She was such a wonderful swimmer. Why, she swam like a man!"

"Well, that's the way it always happens," Mrs. Bain said. "The good ones get careless, I suppose, and even the best of them can get a cramp or something. Poor man, I don't see how he ever got over it."

"Oh, the Chrysties have been wonderful to him," Mrs. McDermott said. "He just depended on them."

"Weren't they there when it happened?" Mrs. Bain asked.

"It was up at their place at the lake," Mrs. McDermott said. "Alice and Bob were there for Bob's vacation. They didn't have a nickel, you know. Thelma was Alice's best friend."

"She's been awfully good to this one," Mrs. Bain said, meaning the second Mrs. Lineham.

"They can all say Emmy's none too bright," Mrs. McDermott said, "but, after all, her dad's head of Davis, McCord, Marsh and Welty, and all they are is the biggest agency in the advertising business. Now look at Bob; Emmy's father made him a vice-president just like that. Thelma must be really delighted about it. She's been a wonderful, wonderful friend, and I know she's going to be just as nice to this little thing as she was to Alice."

Their eyes went to Mrs. Chrystie, who had risen from the sofa and gone over to Emmy. She was giving certain tender pats and gentle pulls to the little bride's coiffure.

Mrs. Bain turned back to Mrs. McDermott and suddenly giggled. "It's terrible," she said. "Whenever something awful's happened in a family, I just can't seem to stay off the subject. It's as if something was making me do it. Did you hear what I said at dinner? Bob and I were talking about movies, and I asked him if he'd seen Lady in the Lake. I just thought I'd die."

"Oh, my dear, I know," Mrs. McDermott said. "Every time I see Bob I start talking about drowning and accidents in the water and artificial respiration too late and-ordinarily I never talk about things like that. Things I wouldn't dream of talking about. I only hope he doesn't notice it. I must say, he certainly doesn't seem to. But, of course, he's so polite."

"Isn't it terrible?" Mrs. Bain said. "What makes people do things like that?"

They both laughed and shook their heads indulgently.

Bob Lineham came up to them, a gla.s.s in each hand. "Scotch and soda pour Madame," he said, giving one to Mrs. McDermott. "And a little something for our bourbon-and-water girl." He offered the other gla.s.s to Mrs. Bain.

"Oh, Bob, you bad boy," she said. "It's much too strong. You should've given me just a teeny bit, absolutely drowned in water-oh, Bob, I just can't get over how wonderful you look. I simply can't get over it!"

"Palm Springs certainly agreed with you," Mrs. McDermott said.

"Oh, I've always been crazy to go there," Mrs. Bain said. "They say it's terribly attractive. Where'd you stay?"

"Emmy's father and mother lent us the house they have there," he said. "Cutest little place you ever saw."

"Palm Springs is real desert, isn't it?" Mrs. McDermott said.

"Sure is," he said. "There we were, right in the heart of the desert."

"My, what a real change that must've been for you," Mrs. Bain said-and wished she were dead.

"Let's see, who else needs drinks?" Bob said, looking around. "Sherm's all right, I see." He went over to his wife and Thelma Chrystie.

"See what Thelma did to my hair, Bob," Emmy said.

"Doesn't she look darling now?" Thelma said.

"She wasn't so dusty before," Bob said. He cupped Emmy's chin in his hand and kissed her little pink mouth. "This is the way she looks when she wakes up in the morning." He kissed her again.

"Don't mind me," Thelma said. "You two go right ahead."

Bob disengaged his bride. "How about a drink, Thelma? Oh, I forgot, you never--"

"Yes, I will have a drink," she said. "Whisky, brandy, anything-straight."

"Why, Thelma," Emmy said. "I never saw you drink anything before."

"Oh, my dear child," Thelma said, "the things and things and things you never saw!" He brought a gla.s.s of plain whisky. "Thank you, Bob."

"Quite all right," he said.

"Is it?" murmured Thelma.

Bob returned to the liquor tray. Emmy followed him. "Oh, darling," she said, "is it a good party?"

"I think it's great," he said.

"Are you sure?" she said. "Do you think they're having fun? Honestly, am I doing all right?"

"You couldn't do anything else if you tried your little head off," he said. He smoothed her hair back the way it had been before Mrs. Chrystie had attended to it. "There," he said, "that's my girl." He kissed her lightly on the top of her head.

Unseen and unheard, Thelma glided close. Bob looked into her eyes. They stood there for a second regarding each other over Emmy's smoothed head.

Emmy turned to Thelma. "I was just asking Bob-do you think they're really having a good time?"

"What do you think they want, my dear, paper hats and a magician?" Thelma said, smiling. "You haven't a thing to worry about, child. Has she, Bob?"

"I don't know," Emmy said. "They all look so sort of separated." She gestured vaguely at Mrs. McDermott and Mrs. Bain sitting together, Mr. Bain and Mr. McDermott sitting together across the room from them, and Sherm wandering about independently, holding his gla.s.s perilously tilted, and humming something from The Chocolate Soldier. "I wish we could sort of all get together and do something."

"How about a little bridge?" Thelma said.

"Oh, dear!" Emmy said. "I don't know one card from another."

"Well, shall we throw in the towel and play The Game?" Bob said.

"We've got enough people," Thelma said.

"Thelma's a whiz at The Game," Bob said to Emmy.

"Oh, I'm terrible at games. I'll never be any good," Emmy said. "I'll never learn anything. Never at all."

Thelma smiled at her. "You will, Oscar, you will," she said.

Sherm came over to them from the table where he had been replenishing his gla.s.s. He waved it in waltz time, " 'Come, hero, mine,' " he caroled. "Wonderful brandy, Bob, ole boy, ole boy," he said. "Marry the boss's daughter and ossify your friends, what?"

"Bob says let's play The Game, Sherm," Thelma said. "Want to play?"

"Sure I want to play The Game," Sherm said. "Emmy and I will take you all on. What do you say, Boss's Daughter?"

"Oh, I couldn't," Emmy said. "I'm scared stiff to play. I'm scared stiff anyway in front of all these people."

"Of course you're not," Thelma said. "Bob will be playing on your side. When you've got him, you won't think about anybody else." As she moved away, she added, not quite audibly, "And you can quote me on that."

The Game has never had a more specific t.i.tle, nor has it needed one. It is a pastime lightly based on "Charades." It does not bring out the best in its players and it is, goodness knows, no sport for introverts. Nevertheless, in the Linehams' drawing room The Game got under way. Bob was made captain of one team, Thelma of the other. Thelma had selected Mrs. McDermott and the Bains; Bob had taken first Emmy, then Mr. McDermott, and last-his usual position-Sherm.

Sherm's feelings were never outraged by any such slight; he thriftily employed the time required for the selection of the more desirable players in making himself a fresh drink.

Sheets of paper were produced in record-breaking time; little Mrs. Lineham was so proud of her note paper with the new monogram. But there was pencil trouble.

Mrs. Bain smoothed things over for her hostess. "Dear," she said to her husband, "let Bob have your pen." Dear obliged. "It's a dream of a pen," she said; "it's one of those ones that write under water." She laughed. "I can't imagine what good they think that is; who wants to be under--" She stopped just in time.

Thelma took her cohorts into a smaller room called the study, though the origin of the name was obscure. They cl.u.s.tered around her in silence and watched her bite her pencil.

"Let's make them terribly hard," Mrs. McDermott said.

"Ah, no, we mustn't be mean," Thelma said. "Think of Sherm and poor little Emmy."

"Let's see," Mr. Bain said, "how about War and Peace?"

"Oh, everybody's done that," Mrs. McDermott said.

"Yes," Mrs. Bain said. "All anybody would have to do is to signal 'book' and then signal 'beard.' " She made a gesture as if she were drawing an invisible goatee to a point. "And they'd guess the author like a shot. And there they'd have it."

Thelma shuddered slightly, but she smiled at Mrs. Bain. "Anybody got any good quotations?" she said.

"Oh, I know a beauty," Mrs. McDermott said. " 'Get with child a mandrake root.' John Donne."

Mr. Bain shook his head, "Too easy," he said. "All you'd have to do is--"

"Oh, I know," Mrs. Bain interrupted with excitement. "A second marriage is the 'triumph of hope over experience.' Dr. Samuel Johnson."

Mrs. McDermott looked at her with wide eyes. "Mercy!" she whispered.

"Mr. B," Thelma said, "would you get me a drink of plain whisky?"

"Plain whisky!" he said. "You want plain whisky?"

"Yes," she said. "The stuff they drink at wakes."

Mr. Bain went into the other room to fetch the drink. "Time out," he called, as he entered.

"Thank you," Thelma said, taking the refilled gla.s.s from him when he returned. "W-e-l-l, what about songs? Anybody got any songs?"

" 'Chi-Baba, Chi-Baba, Chi-Wawa,' " Mr. Bain said. "That ought to hold them."

"W-e-l-l," Thelma said again. "How do you spell it?"

For the next few minutes Mr. Bain insisted the initial letter was "S." Mrs. McDermott said she had never heard of the thing. Thelma wrote it down as best she could and said, "We haven't any quotations yet."

"Wait a minute," Mrs. McDermott said. " 'Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, and therefore I forbid my tears.' It's in Hamlet, where they say Ophelia's drowned."

Mrs. Bain giggled, "That's cute," she said. "You're worse than I am."

"Oh, what makes me do it?" Mrs. McDermott said. "Oh, that would be awful if Bob got it."

"What about poor little Emmy?" Mrs. Bain said. "We just couldn't do anything to hurt her. Bob would never speak to us again if we did."

"It would be brutal to remind them of anything unpleasant," Mrs. McDermott said.

"Unpleasant is putting it rather mildly, isn't it?" Thelma said.

"Listen," Mr. Bain said, "How about a play? Billion Dollar Baby?"

"Really, dear!" Mrs. Bain said. "You needn't hand it to them on a platter."

"Well, I don't know," Thelma said. "It would be rather nice to give them something darling Emmy might be able to get."

"If she gets that one to act out," Mrs. Bain said, "all she'd have to do is to get up and point to herself."

"Ah, come," Thelma said. "It isn't the poor child's fault."

"I don't see why she'd mind," Mrs. McDermott said. "I'd take it as a compliment if anyone thought I had a billion dollars. After all, it isn't as if Bob married her for her money. Of course, a lot of people may have thought so at first. He certainly is crazy mad about her now. I never saw a man so much in love with a woman, did you, Thelma?"