Part 30 (1/2)

It was as if she turned to wood. ”This dress,” she said, enunciating with insulting distinctness, ”is brand-new. I have never had it on before in my life. In case you are interested, I bought it especially for this occasion.”

”I'm sorry, honey,” he said. ”Oh, sure, now I see it's not the other one at all. I think it's great. I like you in black.”

”At moments like this,” she said, ”I almost wish I were in it for another reason.”

”Stop it,” he said. ”Sit down and tell me about yourself. What have you been doing?”

”Oh, nothing,” she said.

”How's the office?” he said.

”Dull,” she said. ”Dull as mud.”

”Who have you seen?” he said.

”Oh, n.o.body,” she said.

”Well, what do you do?” he said.

”In the evenings?” she said. ”Oh, I sit here and knit and read detective stories that it turns out I've read before.”

”I think that's all wrong of you,” he said. ”I think it's asinine to sit here alone, moping. That doesn't do any good to anybody. Why don't you go out more?”

”I hate to go out with just women,” she said.

”Well, why do you have to?” he said. ”Ralph's in town, isn't he? And John and Bill and Gerald. Why don't you go out with them? You're silly not to.”

”It hadn't occurred to me,” she said, ”that it was silly to keep faithful to one's husband.”

”Isn't that taking rather a jump?” he said. ”It's possible to go to dinner with a man and stay this side adultery. And don't use words like 'one's.' You're awful when you're elegant.”

”I know,” she said. ”I never have any luck when I try. No. You're the one that's awful, Steve. You really are. I'm trying to show you a glimpse of my heart, to tell you how it feels when you're gone, how I don't want to be with anyone if I can't be with you. And all you say is, I'm not doing any good to anybody. That'll be nice to think of when you go. You don't know what it's like for me here alone. You just don't know.”

”Yes, I do,” he said. ”I know, Mimi.” He reached for a cigarette on the little table beside him, and the bright magazine by the cigarette-box caught his eye. ”Hey, is this this week's? I haven't seen it yet.” He glanced through the early pages.

”Go ahead and read if you want to,” she said. ”Don't let me disturb you.”

”I'm not reading,” he said. He put down the magazine. ”You see, I don't know what to say, when you start talking about showing me glimpses of your heart, and all that. I know. I know you must be having a rotten time. But aren't you feeling fairly sorry for yourself?”

”If I'm not,” she said, ”who would be?”

”What do you want anyone to be sorry for you for?” he said. ”You'd be all right if you'd stop sitting around alone. I'd like to think of you having a good time while I'm away.”

She went over to him and kissed him on the forehead.

”Lieutenant,” she said, ”you are a far n.o.bler character than I am. Either that,” she said, ”or there is something else back of this.”

”Oh, shut up,” he said. He pulled her down to him and held her there. She seemed to melt against him, and stayed there, still.

Then she felt him take his left arm from around her and felt his head raised from its place against hers. She looked up at him. He was craning over her shoulder, endeavoring to see his wrist watch.

”Oh, now, really!” she said. She put her hands against his chest and pushed herself vigorously away from him.

”It goes so quickly,” he said softly, with his eyes on his watch. ”We've-we've only a little while, darling.”

She melted again. ”Oh, Steve,” she whispered. ”Oh, dearest.”

”I do want to take a bath,” he said. ”Get up, will you, baby?”

She got right up. ”You're going to take a bath?” she said.

”Yes,” he said. ”You don't mind, do you?”

”Oh, not in the least,” she said. ”I'm sure you'll enjoy it. It's one of the pleasantest ways of killing time, I always think.”

”You know how you feel after a long ride on a train,” he said.

”Oh, surely,” she said.

He rose and went into the bedroom. ”I'll hurry up,” he called back to her.

”Why?” she said.

Then she had a moment to consider herself. She went into the bedroom after him, sweet with renewed resolve. He had hung his blouse and necktie neatly over a chair and he was unb.u.t.toning his s.h.i.+rt. As she came in, he took it off. She looked at the beautiful brown triangle of his back. She would do anything for him, anything in the world.

”I-I'll go run your bath water,” she said. She went into the bathroom, turned on the faucets of the tub, and set the towels and mat ready. When she came back into the bedroom he was just entering it from the living-room, naked. In his hand he carried the bright magazine he had glanced at before. She stopped short.

”Oh,” she said. ”You're planning to read in the tub?”

”If you knew how I'd been looking forward to this!” he said. ”Boy, a hot bath in a tub! We haven't got anything but showers, and when you take a shower, there's a hundred boys waiting, yelling at you to hurry up and get out.”

”I suppose they can't bear being parted from you,” she said.

He smiled at her. ”See you in a couple of minutes,” he said, and went on into the bathroom and closed the door. She heard the slow slip and slide of water as he laid himself in the tub.

She stood just as she was. The room was lively with the perfume she had sprayed, too present, too insistent. Her eyes went to the bureau drawer where lay, wrapped in soft fragrance, the nightgown with the little bouquets and the Romney neck. She went over to the bathroom door, drew back her right foot, and kicked the base of the door so savagely that the whole frame shook.

”What, dear?” he called. ”Want something?”

”Oh, nothing,” she said. ”Nothing whatever. I've got everything any woman could possibly want, haven't I?”

”What?” he called. ”I can't hear you, honey.”

”Nothing,” she screamed.

She went into the living-room. She stood, breathing heavily, her finger nails scarring her palms, as she looked at the fuchsia blossoms, with their dirty parchment-colored cups, their vulgar magenta bells.