Kept Woman/Chapter 6

By eleven-thirty the neighbors across the court were already hollering for quiet; so the party was a success. Billy Fisher was hollering back at them. Billy was quite a wit. He admitted that he was, but at this stage of the party he could think of nothing to shout across the court except the old reliable "Go to hell." The neighbors declined to go. They threatened him with the janitor, the police, and a dispossess. Billy retorted, "Go to hell." And because you have only to establish yourself as a wit in order to put the stamp of humor upon all or any of your remarks, Billy's friends howled with delight every time he shouted.

It was the Saturday night party at Billy's house. As a matter of fact these parties occurred not more than once a month, but since they always burst forth on Saturday they were known as the Saturday night parties. Those who attended always liked to pretend that regular as clockwork there was a party at Billy's every Saturday night.

Hymie Moss brought the gin. Hymie Moss always brought the gin. Billy would take it from him at the doorway and say, "What did you do that for?" Hymie would say, "I don't know, I just thought—" But both of them knew that Hymie brought the gin because he wanted to be invited the next time.

​Everybody got plastered as soon as possible. That was the way you had a good time. Louise Casey was having a very good time. She was about to be ill any moment. She sat in a corner of the sofa wondering whether she ought to go and have it over with right away or wait till there was no choice in the matter. In one hand she held a cigarette and in the other a glass of gin mixed with Nedick's orange juice. Louise was going to marry Billy. His mother, who had arranged that they should all live together, knew that they were going to be married; so she made no comments when she found Louise's handkerchiefs under Billy's pillow.

Anna Leitz and her Fred danced past Louise and she stuck her foot out and tripped them. They fell. Everybody laughed except Anna. She was never one to take an affront lightly. She belonged to the class who always want explanations.

"You looked so pleased with yourself and so sure you were the last word in grace that I just had to trip you." Louise knew Anna's weakness for explanations.

"You would," said Anna coldly. She frowned at the carpet and made a great to-do about dusting the back of her dress. Then swiftly putting on the ecstatic, rapt expression that she used when dancing, Anna offered her arms again to Fred.

Over on the wing-chair Mary Jackson was telling Lillian Cory all about how she felt. Mary was going to have a baby. Almost any minute. Lillian had drawn her chair up close not because she wanted to listen but because Mary had told her to. Hubert was listening, too. He had a great respect for women who were "that ​way." He hadn't let Billy miss Mary on a single round of drinks. "After all," thought Hubert, "where would we all be if it wasn't for women like Mary Jackson?"

"Oh, dear," Mary wailed, "I wish George would come and take me home. He ought to remember that in my condition I should be in bed early."

Hubert offered to take her home. He reminded her that he had a Packard right outside, but Mary said she'd better wait for George, thanks just the same.

Hymie's wife, Theresa, sat on a chair in the foyer. It was a small foyer and it looked right into the living-room. She could see and be seen from there, but she could not be bumped into nor be addressed above the blare of the radio. Some people were of the opinion that she had chosen that chair for a reason.

Theresa was a creamy-skinned brunette who never spoke unless she had something unpleasant to say, and she had the unforgivable knack of always being right. She had a reputation for never feeling liquor, but actually she felt it as much as the others. With every drink she slid deeper into despondency. She thought of death and insanity in her drunken moments and so sat silent and afraid while her companions laughed and danced. Because her intoxication did not manifest itself in hilarity they thought her cold sober, and when they spoke to her they took her dreary remarks on death and destruction as further proofs of her sobriety.

Billy had begun to sing. He was a paint salesman and had all the Long Island territory. He made out pretty well, but his friends were convinced that he should have been an actor. His singing was great, and ​he danced as well as Pat Rooney. Even better, some people thought. Besides he always knew a lot of funny jokes. Sometimes he could hardly tell them for laughing. He read Judge and College Humor, went to two vaudeville shows a week, listened in to the Happiness Boys and carried a copy of Variety in the subway trains.

As he sang it occurred to Billy that there wasn't a single soul in show business who could boast of singing like Al Jolson and dancing like Pat Rooney. And here he was all tied up in the Long Island territory. On the second chorus he decided that he'd show what a break he'd given Eddie Leonard by staying out of the business.

Everybody applauded enthusiastically except Louise. She was in the bathroom being very, very ill.

"Something she et, no doubt," Mary Jackson said.

Everybody wanted Billy to sing again, but he had to go help Louise. Anna and her Fred were sitting on the floor under the lamp. They were petting. Nobody paid any attention to them because if they weren't dancing they were always petting.

Billy could be heard yelling at Louise. "You haven't got the sense you were born with. You have a sieve instead of a brain."

​Hymie got an inspiration. "Hey, Louise," he called, "Louise, tell him you can't help what you're like. Your mind was made by God and your body by Fisher. How's that for a wisecrack?"

"Lousy," returned Billy from the white-tiled regions.

Anna drew away from Fred and surveyed Hymie with distaste. "Some people can't have a good time," she remarked, "unless they're being vulgar."

"Well, we do sympathize with you," Hymie said. "That's a terrible affliction, but you're welcome here just the same."

Louise came staggering through the living-room, bedroom bound. Billy had his hand on her shoulder, steering her between chairs and doorways. She was very white and kept moaning, "Oh, I'm so sick. I'm so sick."

"Well, don't die till I get you to the bed," Billy said, cruelly.

Lillian Cory and Theresa followed to the bedroom. There persists a silly notion that you can be of service to a person who is ill from drinking too much. Billy gave Louise a push and she fell on the bed and lay supine and unconcerned about the further success of the party.

Theresa and Lillian stood looking at their friend for a moment; then they turned and looked at each other.

"Well," said Theresa, "your Hubert seems to be having a great time."

"Yes," said Lillian. "He likes the crowd. He is awfully nice. He gave me this." She exhibited her finger, upon which gleamed a ring set with several tiny diamonds and four strips of sapphire.

​"And the hat," Theresa reminded her.

Lillian laughed pleasantly. "Yes, he bought the hat," she said.

Theresa sighed and nodded with the air of one whose worst suspicions have been confirmed. "Pretty soon he'll buy you a coat," she said, "and you'll think you're set for life. Don't be a damn fool, Lillian; stick to your job."

"Oh, I am."

"Yes, so far. But, listen to me, stick to it always."

"I could always get one as good as the one I got," Lillian pointed out. "That is, if anything should come up and I'd quit."

"Yes, you always could, but you wouldn't. A girl gets out of the habit of getting up early in the morning. Take my advice, I won't be here much longer to give it to you."

"Why not?"

"I'll be dead or in an insane asylum. You'll see."

"Don't talk like that."

"It's true. I won't last much longer."

"Banana oil."

"You'll see," Theresa repeated.

She walked to Louise's vanity table and meditatively daubed powder on her nose. There was a faint scent of a Colgate perfume haunting the room. Lillian looked around. She had always liked Louise's bedroom. Billy had painted the furniture buttercup yellow (number nine), and there were yellow voile curtains at the window. No rug, but what did anybody need a rug for?

"I'd like a room like this," Lillian said.

​Theresa said nothing. She said nothing very eloquently. Lillian instantly knew that Theresa didn't regard this as much of a room.

"Of course I mean with a rug and a few other changes," Lillian hastily added. She hadn't meant that at all. The room looked perfect to her the way it was.

"It only has one window," Theresa said, "and it's too small. I don't like painted furniture either."

"Oh, don't you? Well, I don't know, I always thought it was cute, but I suppose it gets on your nerves after a time."

"Louise hasn't any nerves," said Theresa. She started out of the bedroom and Lillian followed her. After all, they had done all they could for Louise.

Outside they found Billy getting ready to go to the delicatessen store for sandwiches. Hubert was going with him. Hymie was insisting that he should go instead of Hubert. Hubert was shouting above the radio music that he could drive Billy to the store as he had a Packard right outside.

Billy and Hubert finally went.

"I ought to have gone," Hymie protested.

"Well, couldn't you have gone with them?" Theresa asked.

A light broke over Hymie's face, and reaching for his hat, he rushed toward the door. But it was too late. Crestfallen, Hymie returned to the party just in time to hear WEAF sign off for the night. He switched off the set and put a record on the Victrola.

Fred and Anna danced.

​Billy and Hubert brought ham and cheese combinations back, also coleslaw, pickles, and a coffee ring.

"Cripes, didn't anybody make coffee?" Billy asked.

"There probably isn't any," said Theresa.

There wasn't; so they had tea. Louise came weakly from the bedroom to have a cup of coffee. They gave her tea, and she took it uncomplainingly. She also took a sandwich, a few pickles, and a slice of cake. Then she was ill again.

"Say, Billy," said Hubert, "why don't you and Louise go somewhere with us Sunday? I mean a week from tomorrow."

"All right, sure. That is, if she ain't dead. If she is I'll go anyhow."

"I'll leave it up to you and her where we'll go," said Hubert. "I like you two."

He looked around the table to see if there was anybody else he liked. His eyes rested for a moment on Mary Jackson but he rejected her because of her condition. He didn't even look at Hymie and Theresa. Theresa was too much of a killjoy. Fred wasn't much, but Anna seemed a sweet kid.

"Say," Hubert asked her. "How would you like to go along?"

"Depends on where you go," she answered cautiously. "I've no swell clothes like Louise has."

Hubert reached into his pocket and drew out his wallet. He threw twenty dollars on the table before Anna. "There," he said, "get yourself a pretty dress."

The others stared goggle-eyed at the scene. Cripes, ​twenty dollars just like nothing. Anna refused the money with a cold, hurt air. It was all a girl could do with people watching her.

"Put it away, Hubert," said Lillian. "Nobody wants your money."

"Oh, Scotty, I have no pretty suity to wear when you take me bye-byes," Billy wailed.

Hubert threw the wallet to him. "There you are," he said. "Get yourself and Louise something swell. No kidding, go ahead."

Billy tossed the wallet back. "God, how it hurts to do that."

"And you're not fooling," added Theresa.

Hubert replaced the wallet, trying to look as though he couldn't hear Billy telling Hymie that there was a hundred and fifty dollars in it. No kidding. Billy had seen it in the delicatessen store. Hubert had wanted to pay, but of course Billy wouldn't let him. Hymie doubted the latter statement.

Fred got up, cranked the Victrola, and put another record on. Billy and Hymie started to move the gate-leg table back so that Fred and Anna could dance. One leg of the table unexpectedly turned in and three cups and saucers, several handfuls of coleslaw, four pickles, and a pitcher half full of condensed milk fell on the floor.

"How's that for a quick turnover?" asked Billy. He always asked that when something upset.

"Got a mop?" asked Theresa.

"Yea, Theresa, it's out by the ice-box."

"Well, you'd better get it," she said.

​Mrs. Fisher came in while Billy was trying to cover the entire living-room floor with the condensed milk. The mop was old and there hadn't been much milk spilled, but he was doing his best to get a bit of it in every isolated spot and corner.

"Billy, Billy, what in God's name are you trying to do?"

He didn't answer. He just surrendered the mop. Mrs. Fisher had been visiting her sister in Jersey City, and as she mopped she told the assembled company how her sister suffered with rheumatism and rush of blood to the head.

Nobody had noticed how late it was till now. There was a sudden dash for coats and hats. Louise was lying on them and had to be aroused. She leaned against the wall smiling whitely as everybody assured her that they had a wonderful time. Theresa paused in the act of putting her coat on. She took a step nearer to Louise and stared at her.

"You look very bad," she said. "Be careful. You look awful."

Louise managed to get to the vanity-table mirror. She looked at herself with interest. She was a brunette. Some people remembered when she had had a neutral brown shade of hair. It was black now, jet-black, and gave a heavy coarseness to a face which could poorly stand any added coarsening. She had gray eyes and a large mouth which she painted orange. There was a hard enameled prettiness about Louise like that of the poster ladies who advertise cigars. She wore hoop earrings and always had the latest thing in five-dollar shoes.

​She withdrew from the mirror and touched Theresa on the arm.

"What do you mean, I look awful?" she asked challengingly.

"You look sick."

"Are you sure you meant that?"

"Yes, why?"

"Well, there's been a lot of remarks passed here tonight that I didn't like the sound of. I heard Anna say that I was tough-looking."

Anna fixed surprised eyes on Louise. "I did not say that."

"You did so. When you and Fred were sitting under the lamp on the floor there."

"Oh, Louise, take it up tomorrow," Lillian said. "It's too late now."

"Well, she did say it, Lillian, I heard her."

"I did not."

"I'll leave it to Theresa. She's sober. Theresa, didn't Anna say—"

"I didn't hear her," said Theresa.

"That's the kind of a friend I figured you for," Louise said, scornfully.

"Well, I can't help it if I didn't hear it," Theresa protested.

The men, with hats in hand, stood in the doorway waiting for the girls to finish. Anna was crying and reciting some wrong which Louise had done her a year ago Washington's Birthday.

"You can all go to hell," Louise said.

​"Now, now," Billy intervened. "You're all drunk. Say good night and forget it."

"Come on, Anna," Fred called. Anna went.

"She'd better marry Billy and be decent," Anna remarked as she passed through the hall.

"Now how would marrying Billy make anybody decent?" asked Theresa.

Both Billy and Louise waved to the party from the window.

"Go on, Anna, wave," said Fred.

"I will not."

"Go ahead. She didn't mean anything by what she said. You got to expect a little fight at a party. None of them go off without somebody getting sore at something."

Anna saw that he was right and she waved.

"But I didn't say that about her," Anna announced. "I did say that her black hair made her look a little hard. But, gee—"

They all stood looking up at Billy and Louise. The crowd wouldn't disperse till their hosts left the window, and Billy and Louise wouldn't leave till the crowd dispersed. Deadlock.

Lillian went over to the car. "Who's going our way?" she asked. She tried the door. It was locked. "Open it, Hubert," she said.

The others looked at her wonderingly. Funny that they'd never paid much attention to Lillian Cory in all the months they had known her. And here she was in command of a Packard. They'd never even considered themselves her particular friends. She was a peach of ​a girl, too. Strange they hadn't noticed before how nice she was.

Louise leaned out the window and called to her, "I'm sorry for spoiling the party, Lillian."

"Cold fish," returned Lillian. That meant Louise was acquitted of any guilt.

"See you Sunday," Billy shouted.

"Posilutely."

Great scout, Lillian.

Peach of a fellow, too, that Hubert. He was going to take them all home, regardless of where they lived. They piled in, Anna on Fred's lap, Mary Jackson beside them, Hymie next to Mary, and Theresa and Lillian in front with Hubert.

"My George never did come for me," Mary moaned. "I guess he was too tired when he got through work."

"Where do you live?" Hubert asked her.

"Up in Woodlawn."

"Holy smokes," said Hubert. "How did you get here?"

Everybody laughed.

"Let's see, now," Hubert considered. "This is the Bronx, isn't it?"

"East a Hundred and Forty-Fourth Street," everybody said, helpfully.

"Where do you live, Theresa?"

"Broadway at a Hundred and Ninety-Second Street."

"Well, that's easy. That's near Lillian. How about you, Anna?"

"Two Hundred and Thirty-Eighth Street. Fred lives down on a Hundred and Third. West side."

​"Any of you live in Hartford, Connecticut?" Hubert asked. "Well, let's go."

"Where first?" asked Lillian.

"We'll get rid of Fred," Hubert said, determinedly.

Hymie lit a cigarette. "Mind if I throw ashes on the floor, Hubert?" he asked.

Hubert laughed. "I don't care what you do," he said. Then after a moment of thoughtful silence he added, "Of course, I mean, within reason. Be careful of the upholstery, will you, Hymie?"

"Sure."

"Don't do anything in Hubert's Packard, darling, that you wouldn't do in our Essex," said Theresa.

"Oh, you got a car? Why didn't you come over in it tonight?" asked Hubert, innocently.

Theresa laughed. "Well, you see, we knew that Mary lives in Woodlawn and Fred on a Hundred and Third Street."

Hubert could have saved Mary till the last and dropped her off on his way home, but he wanted a few minutes alone with Lillian. He delivered Fred and then the Mosses to their homes and Lillian stayed in the car as they drove through Inwood and up to Anna's house and thence to Woodlawn. They started back to Inwood then. Hubert was happy. He sang as they came across Fordham.

He broke off to remark, "Billy's a clever kid, isn't he?"

​"Isn't he great? I get a million laughs out of him."

"Yeh, he's funny all right. He ought to 'a' gone on the stage."

"That's what everybody thinks. He'd 'a' been a riot. What do you think of the rest of the gang?"

"All right. That Anna's a nice kid. I'm not crazy about her boy friend, but I suppose he's O.K. That Theresa sure can sock liquor away without feeling it, can't she?"

"Sure. I've seen her drink all the men in a party right under the table. I think she's got something wrong with her that none of the rest of us know anything about. She always talks about dying soon."

"Yeh? Gee, that's too bad. She ought to get a good examination. I got a swell doctor I could send her to. If she ever talks about it again you can tell her to ask me. He's a very clever fellow. My brother was dying, mind you, dying, and I talked his wife into letting my doctor take a look at him. 'It can't do no harm,' I says to her. So she says to me, 'All right, Hubert, call your doctor. If it was anybody but you I would say no, but you pretty nearly always are right.' So I call this fellow and up he comes. He takes a look at the medicine that the other doctors had given him and he doesn't say a word. Just breaks every bottle and then he gives my brother some new stuff. In two days my brother is back on the job."

"Gee, that's wonderful. And he never was sick after that, huh?"

"Well, a couple of months afterwards he got sick again and that time he died."

​"Oh."

They had stopped before Lillian's house. She opened the door of the car. Hubert shut off the motor and followed her into the foyer of the building. It was very quiet. Nearly every one had returned from their Saturday night revels and according to custom all lights but one had been extinguished.

"Well, thanks for taking me over to Fishers'," said Lillian. "I hope you had a good time."

"Oh, gee, I did. A swell time. They're a great gang all right. But don't go up yet, Lillian."

He took her hand and squeezed it. She laughed a little forced laugh. "All right," she said. "What shall we talk about?"

"Must we talk?" He pulled her close to him and kissed her. He kissed wetly. Lillian rubbed her handkerchief over her lips.

Hubert surveyed her in the light of the lone bulb and thought her beautiful. The average man will meet a woman who attracts him and he will be filled with a desire to reserve her time and favors for himself. Hubert had been filled with a desire to reserve some woman's time and favors for himself and then he had met Lillian Cory. He believed that Lillian's fatal beauty had lured him from the path of honor. He did not remember that he had craved to be led into a little light sin an hour before meeting her. He would not have believed that any willing lady whom May McCloud had picked that evening would be wearing that two-hundred-and-forty-dollar ring now.

"God, you're sweet, Lillian."

​"Well, what would you like to do about it?"

"Have you all for my own."

"Your wife would never give you up."

"Oh, I know she wouldn't. That's out of the question. You don't know Helen."

"Who are you arguing with? I said she wouldn't give you up."

"I wish she would, but she's the type who wouldn't. I didn't mean that. I meant something else."

"What for instance?"

"I mean this. Let me get you a little apartment somewhere. You could give up your job and we could be together nearly all the time. I have plenty of money."

"Now, now, don't be a villain offering the poor little girl all modern conveniences with running hot and cold water."

"I mean it, Lillian. How about it? I'd get you any apartment you wanted and you could pick all the furnishings. I'd get you swell clothes, too. I'm not stingy. Gee, didn't you see how I was willing to even give a strange girl twenty dollars tonight? I'd even get you a little car of your own. What do you say, Lillian?"

"Sure," she said, but she was laughing.

"No, I mean it, Lillian. Quit your laughing. Gee, it isn't as though you were taking some terrible step. You know what I mean. It isn't as though you and I—You know what I mean."

"Yeh, well, it's like this. I don't think I can do it."

"Why not?"

"Well, you see I agreed to come with the Friedrichs and share expenses. They need me to go one-third on ​everything, see? It wouldn't be right to leave them to take the whole rent and everything and they'd be left with a room more than they need and they'd have to pay for it."

"They could rent it."

"Maybe they'd get somebody and maybe they wouldn't. Besides they mightn't like to have somebody they didn't know at all."

"How would this be? Suppose you give them one-third of the rent for the rest of the lease's run?"

"No, I don't think they'd take it if I wasn't getting what I was paying for. They're not like that."

"Well, do you mean you're going to throw me over and give up all I offered you so that you can help those damn girls?"

"If I stayed with them wouldn't you take me bye-byes no more?"

"Sure, but you beat the Dutch, Lil. I don't understand you. Say, you could have a little car of your own."

"I heard you the first time."

"Well, gee, you are funny."

"Maybe it's because I'm so sleepy. Let me go up now. Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Sure."

"Good night."

"Give me a kiss, will you?"

"A small one."

"Don't you love me?"

"With all my heart and soul and then some." She was laughing again.

"Good night."

​"Good night. See you tomorrow."

She climbed the stairs wearily. She was tired. Men had a knack for bringing up new troublesome ideas just when a girl was tired. These halls were dirty. It would be nice to pick a brand-new apartment of her very own. There were at least a dozen new buildings in Inwood. Clean halls, stippled walls. Oh, well, she had practically promised the Friedrichs that she'd one-third on everything. It wouldn't be fair to quit them.

She opened the door quietly. Sylvia and Rose were always in bed when she came home. Tonight was an exception. Lillian saw the light in the living-room as she stepped across the threshold.

"Hello," she said.

The girls answered her, but she went to her room and took off her hat and cape, preferring not to join them.

Rose came to the door and knocked. "Can I come in, Lillian?"

"Come ahead."

Rose was wearing a bright yellow satin kimono with large red roses scattered upon it. Sylvia was at her heels, clad in pongee pajamas.

"We mightn't get a chance to talk in the morning," Rose began. "We're going out early with some friends. So we waited up for you. It's terribly late, so if I speak quickly and get it over with I hope you won't mind."

Lillian looked at her wonderingly. "Fire away," she said.

"Well, it's like this. Maybe you've noticed the new apartments that have been going up? Well, Sylvia and ​I looked at some. They're beautiful. Bracket lights on the walls and fountains in the court and all kinds of things. I—we have been doing a very good business down at the shop and we can afford to live in a better place than this. We know of course that you're making the same salary as before and you, of course, couldn't manage the higher rent. Would you be sore if we called this little arrangement off?"

"We asked the landlord about the lease," Sylvia took up the story, "and he says it's all right to move. He was very nice about it. We didn't tell him, of course, that we were moving to a better house. I told him that I was going to be married right away and that Rose and you couldn't afford the rent alone."

Lillian sat on the bed listening to them talk. Occasionally she nodded understandingly and once she smiled.

"The apartment we took," Rose went on, "is awfully cute. It—"

"Oh, you took it already," said Lillian.

"Yes, we figured that you'd be moving to a furnished room again and you can always get one without any trouble or planning. You must come see us, Lillian."

"Thanks, I will. When do we do the busting up?"

"By next Thursday we have to be out."

"Easy."

"I hope you're not unhappy about it, Lillian," Rose said.

"No, it's all right."

"Where will you go?" Sylvia asked.

"Oh, I don't know."

​"Both Sylvia and I are sorry, Lillian, but when Sylvia is married perhaps you could share the apartment with me. That is, if you're making enough money by then."

"Oh, thanks, Rose. That gives me something to work for and look forward to."

The Friedrichs looked swiftly to see if Lillian was making light of Rose's offer. It would be the time of times to take offense.

It would make them feel so much happier with their wall brackets and court fountains if Lillian would prove unpleasant.

But Lillian had her back to them. They could not see her face. She was taking off her dress. Other nights she put it on a hanger, but tonight it slid to the floor and she left it there.

"That won't be fit to wear," remarked Rose.

"Plenty more where that came from," Lillian said cheerfully. She was wriggling into her nightgown now.

"Did you set your alarm?" asked Sylvia.

"Tomorrow's Sunday," Lillian said. "And the day after that will be Sunday, too. And the next day will be Sunday. Didn't you know, Friedrichs, it's going to be Sunday from now on?"

The Friedrichs withdrew feeling very righteous. Clearly Lillian was drunk. They owed it to themselves to sever connections with a girl of that caliber.