Authors: Dorothy Parker,Colleen Bresse,Regina Barreca
Complete Stories (28 page)
“Well, you see, sweetheart,” he said, “we’re not really married yet. I mean. I mean—well, things will be different afterwards. Oh, hell. I mean, we haven’t been married very long.”
“No,” she said.
“Well, we haven’t got much longer to wait now,” he said. “I mean—well, we’ll be in New York in about twenty minutes. Then we can have dinner, and sort of see what we feel like doing. Or I mean. Is there anything special you want to do tonight?”
“What?” she said.
“What I mean to say,” he said, “would you like to go to a show or something?”
“Why, whatever you like,” she said. “I sort of didn’t think people went to theaters and things on their—I mean, I’ve got a couple of letters I simply must write. Don’t let me forget.”
“Oh,” he said. “You’re going to write letters tonight?”
“Well, you see,” she said. “I’ve been perfectly terrible. What with all the excitement and everything. I never did thank poor old Mrs. Sprague for her berry spoon, and I never did a thing about those book ends the McMasters sent. It’s just too awful of me. I’ve got to write them this very night.”
“And when you’ve finished writing your letters,” he said, “maybe I could get you a magazine or a bag of peanuts.”
“What?” she said.
“I mean,” he said, “I wouldn’t want you to be bored.”
“As if I could be bored with you!” she said. “Silly! Aren’t we married? Bored!”
“What I thought,” he said, “I thought when we got in, we could go right up to the Biltmore and anyway leave our bags, and maybe have a little dinner in the room, kind of quiet, and then do whatever we wanted. I mean. I mean—well, let’s go right up there from the station.”
“Oh, yes, let’s,” she said. “I’m so glad we’re going to the Biltmore. I just love it. The twice I’ve stayed in New York we’ve always stayed there, Papa and Mamma and Ellie and I, and I was crazy about it. I always sleep so well there. I go right off to sleep the minute I put my head on the pillow.”
“Oh, you do?” he said.
“At least, I mean,” she said. “ ’Way up high it’s so quiet.”
“We might go to some show or other tomorrow night instead of tonight,” he said. “Don’t you think that would be better?”
“Yes, I think it might,” she said.
He rose, balanced a moment, crossed over and sat down beside her. “Do you really have to write those letters tonight?” he said.
“Well,” she said, “I don’t suppose they’d get there any quicker than if I wrote them tomorrow.”
There was a silence with things going on in it.
“And we won’t ever fight any more, will we?” he said.
“Oh, no,” she said. “Not ever! I don’t know what made me do like that. It all got so sort of funny, sort of like a nightmare, the way I got thinking of all those people getting married all the time; and so many of them, everything spoils on account of fighting and everything. I got all mixed up thinking about them. Oh, I don’t want to be like them. But we won’t be, will we?”
“Sure we won’t,” he said.
“We won’t go all to pieces,” she said. “We won’t fight. It’ll all be different, now we’re married. It’ll all be lovely. Reach me down my hat, will you, sweetheart? It’s time I was putting it on. Thanks. Ah, I’m sorry you don’t like it.”
“I do so like it!” he said.
“You said you didn’t,” she said. “You said you thought it was perfectly terrible.”
“I never said any such thing,” he said. “You’re crazy.”
“All right, I may be crazy,” she said. “Thank you very much. But that’s what you said. Not that it matters—it’s just a little thing. But it makes you feel pretty funny to think you’ve gone and married somebody that says you have perfectly terrible taste in hats. And then goes and says you’re crazy, beside.”
“Now, listen here,” he said. “Nobody said any such thing. Why, I love that hat. The more I look at it the better I like it. I think it’s great.”
“That isn’t what you said before,” she said.
“Honey,” he said. “Stop it, will you? What do you want to start all this for? I love the damned hat. I mean, I love your hat. I love anything you wear. What more do you want me to say?”
“Well, I don’t want you to say it like that,” she said.
“I said I think it’s great,” he said. “That’s all I said.”
“Do you really?” she said. “Do you honestly? Ah, I’m so glad. I’d hate you not to like my hat. It would be—I don’t know, it would be sort of such a bad start.”
“Well, I’m crazy for it,” he said. “Now we’ve got that settled, for heaven’s sakes. Ah, baby. Baby lamb. We’re not going to have any bad starts. Look at us—we’re on our honeymoon. Pretty soon we’ll be regular old married people. I mean. I mean, in a few minutes we’ll be getting in to New York, and then we’ll be going to the hotel, and then everything will be all right. I mean—well, look at us! Here we are married! Here we are!”
“Yes, here we are,” she said. “Aren’t we?”
Cosmopolitan
, March 31, 1931
, March 31, 1931
Lady with a Lamp
Well, Mona! Well, you poor sick thing, you! Ah, you look so little and white and
little,
you do, lying there in that great big bed. That’s what you do—go and look so childlike and pitiful nobody’d have the heart to scold you. And I ought to scold you, Mona. Oh, yes, I should so, too. Never letting me know you were ill. Never a word to your oldest friend. Darling, you might have known I’d understand, no matter what you did. What do I mean? Well, what do you
mean
what do I mean, Mona? Of course, if you’d rather not talk about—Not even to your oldest friend. All I wanted to say was you might have known that I’m always for you, no matter what happens. I do admit, sometimes it’s a little hard for me to understand how on earth you ever got into such—well. Goodness knows I don’t want to nag you now, when you’re so sick.
little,
you do, lying there in that great big bed. That’s what you do—go and look so childlike and pitiful nobody’d have the heart to scold you. And I ought to scold you, Mona. Oh, yes, I should so, too. Never letting me know you were ill. Never a word to your oldest friend. Darling, you might have known I’d understand, no matter what you did. What do I mean? Well, what do you
mean
what do I mean, Mona? Of course, if you’d rather not talk about—Not even to your oldest friend. All I wanted to say was you might have known that I’m always for you, no matter what happens. I do admit, sometimes it’s a little hard for me to understand how on earth you ever got into such—well. Goodness knows I don’t want to nag you now, when you’re so sick.
All right, Mona, then you’re
not
sick. If that’s what you want to say, even to me, why, all right, my dear. People who aren’t sick have to stay in bed for nearly two weeks, I suppose; I suppose people who aren’t sick look the way you do. Just your nerves? You were simply all tired out? I see. It’s just your nerves. You were simply tired. Yes. Oh, Mona, Mona, why don’t you feel you can trust me?
not
sick. If that’s what you want to say, even to me, why, all right, my dear. People who aren’t sick have to stay in bed for nearly two weeks, I suppose; I suppose people who aren’t sick look the way you do. Just your nerves? You were simply all tired out? I see. It’s just your nerves. You were simply tired. Yes. Oh, Mona, Mona, why don’t you feel you can trust me?
Well—if that’s the way you want to be to me, that’s the way you want to be. I won’t say anything more about it. Only I do think you might have let me know that you had—well, that you were so
tired,
if that’s what you want me to say. Why, I’d never have known a word about it if I hadn’t run bang into Alice Patterson and she told me she’d called you up and that maid of yours said you had been sick in bed for ten days. Of course, I’d thought it rather funny I hadn’t heard from you, but you know how you are—you simply let people go, and weeks can go by like, well, like
weeks,
and never a sign from you. Why, I could have been dead over and over again, for all you’d know. Twenty times over. Now, I’m not going to scold you when you’re sick, but frankly and honestly, Mona, I said to myself this time, “Well, she’ll have a good wait before I call her up. I’ve given in often enough, goodness knows. Now she can just call me first.” Frankly and honestly, that’s what I said!
tired,
if that’s what you want me to say. Why, I’d never have known a word about it if I hadn’t run bang into Alice Patterson and she told me she’d called you up and that maid of yours said you had been sick in bed for ten days. Of course, I’d thought it rather funny I hadn’t heard from you, but you know how you are—you simply let people go, and weeks can go by like, well, like
weeks,
and never a sign from you. Why, I could have been dead over and over again, for all you’d know. Twenty times over. Now, I’m not going to scold you when you’re sick, but frankly and honestly, Mona, I said to myself this time, “Well, she’ll have a good wait before I call her up. I’ve given in often enough, goodness knows. Now she can just call me first.” Frankly and honestly, that’s what I said!
And then I saw Alice, and I did feel mean, I really did. And now to see you lying there—well, I feel like a complete
dog
. That’s what you do to people even when you’re in the wrong the way you always are, you wicked little thing, you! Ah, the poor dear! Feels just so awful, doesn’t it?
dog
. That’s what you do to people even when you’re in the wrong the way you always are, you wicked little thing, you! Ah, the poor dear! Feels just so awful, doesn’t it?
Oh, don’t keep trying to be brave, child. Not with me. Just give in—it helps so much. Just tell me all about it. You know I’ll never say a word. Or at least you ought to know. When Alice told me that maid of yours said you were all tired out and your nerves had gone bad, I naturally never said anything, but I thought to myself, “Well, maybe that’s the only thing Mona could say was the matter. That’s probably about the best excuse she could think of.” And of course
I’ll
never deny it—but perhaps it might have been better to have said you had influenza or ptomaine poisoning. After all, people don’t stay in bed for ten whole days just because they’re nervous. All right, Mona, then they
do
. Then they do. Yes, dear.
I’ll
never deny it—but perhaps it might have been better to have said you had influenza or ptomaine poisoning. After all, people don’t stay in bed for ten whole days just because they’re nervous. All right, Mona, then they
do
. Then they do. Yes, dear.
Ah, to think of you going through all this and crawling off here all alone like a little wounded animal or something. And with only that colored Edie to take care of you. Darling, oughtn’t you have a trained nurse, I mean really oughtn’t you? There must be so many things that have to be done for you. Why, Mona! Mona, please! Dear, you don’t have to get so excited. Very well, my dear, it’s just as you say—there isn’t a single thing to be done. I was mistaken, that’s all. I simply thought that after—Oh, now, you don’t have to do that. You never have to say you’re sorry, to
me
. I understand. As a matter of fact, I was glad to hear you lose your temper. It’s a good sign when sick people are cross. It means they’re on the way to getting better. Oh, I know! You go right ahead and be cross all you want to.
me
. I understand. As a matter of fact, I was glad to hear you lose your temper. It’s a good sign when sick people are cross. It means they’re on the way to getting better. Oh, I know! You go right ahead and be cross all you want to.
Look, where shall I sit? I want to sit some place where you won’t have to turn around, so you can talk to me. You stay right the way you’re lying, and I’ll—Because you shouldn’t move around, I’m sure. It must be terribly bad for you. All right, dear, you can move around all you want to. All right, I must be crazy. I’m crazy, then. We’ll leave it like that. Only please, please don’t excite yourself that way.
I’ll just get this chair and put it over—oops, I’m sorry I joggled the bed—put it over here, where you can see me. There. But first I want to fix your pillows before I get settled. Well, they certainly are
not
all right, Mona. After the way you’ve been twisting them and pulling them, these last few minutes. Now look, honey, I’ll help you raise yourself ve-ry, ve-ry slo-o-ow-ly. Oh. Of course you can sit up by yourself, dear. Of course you can. Nobody ever said you couldn’t. Nobody ever thought of such a thing. There now, your pillows are all smooth and lovely, and you lie right down again, before you hurt yourself. Now, isn’t that better? Well, I should think it was!
not
all right, Mona. After the way you’ve been twisting them and pulling them, these last few minutes. Now look, honey, I’ll help you raise yourself ve-ry, ve-ry slo-o-ow-ly. Oh. Of course you can sit up by yourself, dear. Of course you can. Nobody ever said you couldn’t. Nobody ever thought of such a thing. There now, your pillows are all smooth and lovely, and you lie right down again, before you hurt yourself. Now, isn’t that better? Well, I should think it was!
Just a minute, till I get my sewing. Oh, yes, I brought it along, so we’d be all cozy. Do you honestly, frankly and honestly, think it’s pretty? I’m so glad. It’s nothing but a tray-cloth, you know. But you simply can’t have too many. They’re a lot of fun to make, too, doing this edge—it goes so quickly. Oh, Mona dear, so often I think if you just had a home of your own, and could be all busy, making pretty little things like this for it, it would do so
much
for you. I worry so about you, living in a little furnished apartment, with nothing that belongs to you, no roots, no nothing. It’s not right for a woman. It’s all wrong for a woman like you. Oh, I wish you’d get over that Garry McVicker! If you could just meet some nice, sweet, considerate man, and get married to him, and have your own lovely place—and with your
taste,
Mona!—and maybe have a couple of children. You’re so simply adorable with children. Why, Mona Morrison, are you crying? Oh, you’ve got a cold? You’ve got a cold,
too
? I thought you were crying, there for a second. Don’t you want my handkerchief, lamb? Oh, you have yours. Wouldn’t you have a pink chiffon handkerchief, you nut! Why on earth don’t you use cleansing tissues, just lying there in bed with no one to see you? You little idiot, you! Extravagant little fool!
much
for you. I worry so about you, living in a little furnished apartment, with nothing that belongs to you, no roots, no nothing. It’s not right for a woman. It’s all wrong for a woman like you. Oh, I wish you’d get over that Garry McVicker! If you could just meet some nice, sweet, considerate man, and get married to him, and have your own lovely place—and with your
taste,
Mona!—and maybe have a couple of children. You’re so simply adorable with children. Why, Mona Morrison, are you crying? Oh, you’ve got a cold? You’ve got a cold,
too
? I thought you were crying, there for a second. Don’t you want my handkerchief, lamb? Oh, you have yours. Wouldn’t you have a pink chiffon handkerchief, you nut! Why on earth don’t you use cleansing tissues, just lying there in bed with no one to see you? You little idiot, you! Extravagant little fool!
No, but really, I’m serious. I’ve said to Fred so often, “Oh, if we could just get Mona married!” Honestly, you don’t know the feeling it gives you, just to be all secure and safe with your own sweet home and your own blessed children, and your own nice husband coming back to you every night. That’s a woman’s
life,
Mona. What you’ve been doing is really horrible. Just drifting along, that’s all. What’s going to happen to you, dear, whatever is going to become of you? But no—you don’t even think of it. You go, and go falling in love with that Garry. Well, my dear, you’ve got to give me credit—I said from the very first, “He’ll never marry her.” You know that. What? There was never any thought of marriage, with you and Garry? Oh, Mona, now listen! Every woman on earth thinks of marriage as soon as she’s in love with a man. Every woman, I don’t care who she is.
life,
Mona. What you’ve been doing is really horrible. Just drifting along, that’s all. What’s going to happen to you, dear, whatever is going to become of you? But no—you don’t even think of it. You go, and go falling in love with that Garry. Well, my dear, you’ve got to give me credit—I said from the very first, “He’ll never marry her.” You know that. What? There was never any thought of marriage, with you and Garry? Oh, Mona, now listen! Every woman on earth thinks of marriage as soon as she’s in love with a man. Every woman, I don’t care who she is.
Oh, if you were only married! It would be all the difference in the world. I think a child would do everything for you, Mona. Goodness knows, I just can’t speak
decently
to that Garry, after the way he’s treated you—well, you know perfectly well,
none
of your friends can—but I can frankly and honestly say, if he married you, I’d absolutely let bygones be bygones, and I’d be just as happy as happy, for you. If he’s what you want. And I will say, what with your lovely looks and what with good-looking as he is, you ought to have simply
gorgeous
children. Mona, baby, you really have got a rotten cold, haven’t you? Don’t you want me to get you another handkerchief? Really?
decently
to that Garry, after the way he’s treated you—well, you know perfectly well,
none
of your friends can—but I can frankly and honestly say, if he married you, I’d absolutely let bygones be bygones, and I’d be just as happy as happy, for you. If he’s what you want. And I will say, what with your lovely looks and what with good-looking as he is, you ought to have simply
gorgeous
children. Mona, baby, you really have got a rotten cold, haven’t you? Don’t you want me to get you another handkerchief? Really?
I’m simply sick that I didn’t bring you any flowers. But I thought the place would be full of them. Well, I’ll stop on the way home and send you some. It looks too dreary here, without a flower in the room. Didn’t Garry send you any? Oh, he didn’t know you were sick. Well, doesn’t he send you flowers anyway? Listen, hasn’t he called up, all this time, and found out whether you were sick or not? Not in ten days? Well, then, haven’t you called him and told him? Ah, now, Mona, there
is
such a thing as being too much of a heroine. Let him worry a little, dear. It would be a very good thing for him. Maybe that’s the trouble—you’ve always taken all the worry for both of you. Hasn’t sent any flowers! Hasn’t even telephoned! Well, I’d just like to talk to that young man for a few minutes. After all, this is all
his
responsibility.
is
such a thing as being too much of a heroine. Let him worry a little, dear. It would be a very good thing for him. Maybe that’s the trouble—you’ve always taken all the worry for both of you. Hasn’t sent any flowers! Hasn’t even telephoned! Well, I’d just like to talk to that young man for a few minutes. After all, this is all
his
responsibility.
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