Authors: Dorothy Parker,Colleen Bresse,Regina Barreca
Complete Stories (36 page)
“Never in this world make him feel guilty, no matter what he has done. If he does not call you when he has said he would, if he is late for an appointment with you, do not refer to it. Make him feel that all is well, always. Be sweet and gay and always, always calm.
“And trust him, Sylvie. He is not deliberately hurting you. He never will unless you suggest it. Trust yourself, too. Don’t let yourself become insecure. It sounds an impudence to remind you that there are always others, when I know that it is only he you want; but it is a heartening thought. And he is not to know that he is the sun, that there is no life without him. He must never know that again.
“It is a long way, Sylvie, and a hard one, and you must watch every step you take along it. But it is the only way with a man.”
“I see, Miss Marion,” the girl said. She had not once taken her eyes from Miss Marion’s. “I see what you must do. It—no, it isn’t easy, is it? But if it will work—”
“It always has, dear,” Miss Marion said.
The girl’s face looked as if she beheld a rising sun. “I’m going to try, Miss Marion,” she said. “I’m going to try never to do wrong things. I’m going to try—why, I’m going to try to be like you, and then he’d have to like me. It would be so wonderful to be like you: to be wise and lovely and gentle. Men must all adore you. You’re—oh, you’re just perfect. How do you know what is always the right thing to do?”
Miss Marion smiled. “Well, you see,” she said, “I have had several more years than you in which to practice.”
When the little Peyton girl had gone, Miss Marion moved slowly about the gracious room, touching a flower, moving a magazine. But her eyes did not follow her pale fingers, and her thoughts seemed absent from her small, unnecessary tasks. Once she looked at the watch on her wrist, and uttered an exclamation; and then she consulted it so frequently that the tiny minute-hand had little opportunity to move, between her glances. She lighted a cigarette, held it from her to consider the spiraling streamer of smoke, then crushed it cold. She rested in a low chair, rose from it and went to the sofa, then went back to the chair. She opened a large and glistening magazine, but turned no pages. Between the bands of honey-colored hair, her white brow was troubled.
Suddenly she rose again, put down the magazine, and with quick, firm steps that were not her habit swept across the room to the tall desk where the telephone rested. She dialed a number, with little sharp rips of sound.
“May I speak to Mr. Lawrence, please?” she said, after some seconds. “Oh, he isn’t? Oh. Is this his secretary speaking? Could you tell me when he will be in, please? Oh, I see. Well, if he does come in, will you ask him please to call Miss Marion? No, Marion. No, that’s all—that’s the last name. Yes, he knows the number. Thank you so much.”
Miss Marion replaced the receiver and sat looking at the telephone as if it offended her sight. She spoke aloud, and neither the tone nor the words seemed hers.
“Damn that woman,” she said. “She knows damned well what my name is. Just because she hates me—”
For the next minutes, Miss Marion walked the room so rapidly that it was almost as if she ran. Her graceful gown was adapted to no such pace, and it dragged and twisted about her ankles. Her face was flushed with alien color when she went to the telephone again, and her hand shook as she turned the dial.
“May I speak to Mr. Lawrence, please?” she said. “Oh, hasn’t he? Well, couldn’t you please tell me where I could reach him? Oh, you don’t know. I see. Have you any idea if he will be in later? I see. Thank you. Well, if he does come in, would you be good enough to ask him to telephone Miss Marion? Yes, Marion—Cynthia Marion. Thank you. Yes, I telephoned before. Please be sure to tell him to call me, will you? Thank you very much.”
Slowly Miss Marion hung the receiver back in its place. Slowly her shoulders sagged, and her long, delicate body seemed to lose its bones. Then her arms were on the desk and her face buried in them, and the cool folds of her hair loosened and flew wild as she rolled her head from side to side. The room seemed to slip into shadow, as if to retreat from the sound of her sobs. Words jumbled among the moans in her throat.
“Oh, he said he’d call, he said he’d call. He said there was nothing the trouble, he said of course he’d call. Oh, he said so.”
The knotted, choking noises died away presently, and she had been silent and still for some while before she raised her head and reached for the telephone. She was forced to stop twice during her turning of the dial, so that she might shake the tears from her eyes and see. When she spoke, her voice shook and soared.
“May I speak to Mr. Lawrence, please?” she said.
Harper’s Bazaar
, February 1933
, February 1933
From the Diary of a New York Lady
DURING DAYS OF HORROR, DESPAIR, AND WORLD CHANGE
MONDAY. Breakfast tray about eleven; didn’t want it. The champagne at the Amorys’ last night was
too
revolting, but what
can
you do? You can’t stay until five o’clock on just
nothing
. They had those
divine
Hungarian musicians in the green coats, and Stewie Hunter took off one of his shoes and led them with it, and it
couldn’t
have been funnier. He is
the
wittiest number in the
entire
world; he
couldn’t
be more perfect. Ollie Martin brought me home and we both fell asleep in the car
—too
screaming. Miss Rose came about noon to do my nails, simply
covered
with
the
most divine gossip. The Morrises are going to separate
any minute
, and Freddie Warren
definitely
has ulcers, and Gertie Leonard simply
won’t
let Bill Crawford out of her sight even with Jack Leonard
right there in the room,
and it’s all
true
about Sheila Phillips and Babs Deering. It
couldn’t
have been more thrilling. Miss Rose is
too
marvelous; I really think that a lot of times people like that are a lot more intelligent than a lot of people. Didn’t notice until after she had gone that the damn fool had put that
revolting
tangerine-colored polish on my nails;
couldn’t
have been more furious. Started to read a book, but too nervous. Called up and found I could get two tickets for the opening of “Run like a Rabbit” tonight for forty-eight dollars. Told them they had
the
nerve of the world, but what
can
you do? Think Joe said he was dining out, so telephoned some
divine
numbers to get someone to go to the theater with me, but they were all tied up. Finally got Ollie Martin. He
couldn’t
have more poise, and what do
I
care if he
is
one?
Can’t
decide whether to wear the green crepe or the red wool. Every time I look at my finger nails, I could
spit. Damn
Miss Rose.
too
revolting, but what
can
you do? You can’t stay until five o’clock on just
nothing
. They had those
divine
Hungarian musicians in the green coats, and Stewie Hunter took off one of his shoes and led them with it, and it
couldn’t
have been funnier. He is
the
wittiest number in the
entire
world; he
couldn’t
be more perfect. Ollie Martin brought me home and we both fell asleep in the car
—too
screaming. Miss Rose came about noon to do my nails, simply
covered
with
the
most divine gossip. The Morrises are going to separate
any minute
, and Freddie Warren
definitely
has ulcers, and Gertie Leonard simply
won’t
let Bill Crawford out of her sight even with Jack Leonard
right there in the room,
and it’s all
true
about Sheila Phillips and Babs Deering. It
couldn’t
have been more thrilling. Miss Rose is
too
marvelous; I really think that a lot of times people like that are a lot more intelligent than a lot of people. Didn’t notice until after she had gone that the damn fool had put that
revolting
tangerine-colored polish on my nails;
couldn’t
have been more furious. Started to read a book, but too nervous. Called up and found I could get two tickets for the opening of “Run like a Rabbit” tonight for forty-eight dollars. Told them they had
the
nerve of the world, but what
can
you do? Think Joe said he was dining out, so telephoned some
divine
numbers to get someone to go to the theater with me, but they were all tied up. Finally got Ollie Martin. He
couldn’t
have more poise, and what do
I
care if he
is
one?
Can’t
decide whether to wear the green crepe or the red wool. Every time I look at my finger nails, I could
spit. Damn
Miss Rose.
TUESDAY. Joe came barging in my room this morning at
practically nine o’clock. Couldn’t
have been more furious. Started to fight, but
too
dead. Know he said he wouldn’t be home to dinner. Absolutely
cold
all day; couldn’t
move
. Last night
couldn’t
have been more perfect. Ollie and I dined at Thirty-Eight East, absolutely
poisonous
food, and not one
living
soul that you’d be seen
dead
with, and “Run like a Rabbit” was
the
world’s worst. Took Ollie up to the Barlows’ party and it
couldn’t
have been more attractive
—couldn’t
have been more people absolutely
stinking
. They had those Hungarians in the green coats, and Stewie Hunter was leading them with a fork—everybody simply
died
. He had
yards
of green toilet paper hung around his neck like a lei; he
couldn’t
have been in better form. Met a
really new number,
very tall,
too
marvelous, and one of those people that you can
really
talk to them. I told him sometimes I get so
nauseated
I could
yip,
and I felt I absolutely
had
to do something like write or paint. He said why didn’t I write or paint. Came home alone; Ollie passed out
stiff
. Called up the new number three times today to get him to come to dinner and go with me to the opening of “Never Say Good Morning,” but first he was out and then he was all tied up with his mother. Finally got Ollie Martin. Tried to read a book, but couldn’t sit still.
Can’t
decide whether to wear the red lace or the pink with the feathers. Feel
too
exhausted, but what
can
you do?
practically nine o’clock. Couldn’t
have been more furious. Started to fight, but
too
dead. Know he said he wouldn’t be home to dinner. Absolutely
cold
all day; couldn’t
move
. Last night
couldn’t
have been more perfect. Ollie and I dined at Thirty-Eight East, absolutely
poisonous
food, and not one
living
soul that you’d be seen
dead
with, and “Run like a Rabbit” was
the
world’s worst. Took Ollie up to the Barlows’ party and it
couldn’t
have been more attractive
—couldn’t
have been more people absolutely
stinking
. They had those Hungarians in the green coats, and Stewie Hunter was leading them with a fork—everybody simply
died
. He had
yards
of green toilet paper hung around his neck like a lei; he
couldn’t
have been in better form. Met a
really new number,
very tall,
too
marvelous, and one of those people that you can
really
talk to them. I told him sometimes I get so
nauseated
I could
yip,
and I felt I absolutely
had
to do something like write or paint. He said why didn’t I write or paint. Came home alone; Ollie passed out
stiff
. Called up the new number three times today to get him to come to dinner and go with me to the opening of “Never Say Good Morning,” but first he was out and then he was all tied up with his mother. Finally got Ollie Martin. Tried to read a book, but couldn’t sit still.
Can’t
decide whether to wear the red lace or the pink with the feathers. Feel
too
exhausted, but what
can
you do?
WEDNESDAY. The most terrible thing happened
just this minute
. Broke one of my finger nails
right off short
. Absolutely
the
most horrible thing I ever had happen to me in my life. Called up Miss Rose to come over and shape it for me, but she was out for the day. I do have
the
worst luck in the
entire
world. Now I’ll have to go around like this all day and all night, but what
can
you do?
Damn
Miss Rose. Last night
too
hectic. “Never Say Good Morning”
too
foul,
never
saw more poisonous clothes on the stage. Took Ollie up to the Ballards’ party;
couldn’t
have been better. They had those Hungarians in the green coats and Stewie Hunter was leading them with a freesia
—too
perfect. He had on Peggy Cooper’s ermine coat and Phyllis Minton’s silver turban;
simply
unbelievable. Asked simply
sheaves
of
divine
people to come here Friday night; got the address of those Hungarians in the green coats from Betty Ballard. She says just engage them until four, and then whoever gives them another three hundred dollars, they’ll stay till five.
Couldn’t
be cheaper. Started home with Ollie, but had to drop him at his house; he
couldn’t
have been sicker. Called up the new number today to get him to come to dinner and go to the opening of “Everybody Up” with me tonight, but he was tied up. Joe’s going to be out; he didn’t
condescend
to say
where, of course
. Started to read the papers, but nothing in them except that Mona Wheatley is in Reno charging
intolerable cruelty
. Called up Jim Wheatley to see if he had anything to do tonight, but he was tied up. Finally got Ollie Martin.
Can’t
decide whether to wear the white satin or the black chiffon or the yellow pebble crepe. Simply
wrecked
to the
core
about my finger nail. Can’t
bear
it.
Never
knew
anybody
to have such
unbelievable
things happen to them.
just this minute
. Broke one of my finger nails
right off short
. Absolutely
the
most horrible thing I ever had happen to me in my life. Called up Miss Rose to come over and shape it for me, but she was out for the day. I do have
the
worst luck in the
entire
world. Now I’ll have to go around like this all day and all night, but what
can
you do?
Damn
Miss Rose. Last night
too
hectic. “Never Say Good Morning”
too
foul,
never
saw more poisonous clothes on the stage. Took Ollie up to the Ballards’ party;
couldn’t
have been better. They had those Hungarians in the green coats and Stewie Hunter was leading them with a freesia
—too
perfect. He had on Peggy Cooper’s ermine coat and Phyllis Minton’s silver turban;
simply
unbelievable. Asked simply
sheaves
of
divine
people to come here Friday night; got the address of those Hungarians in the green coats from Betty Ballard. She says just engage them until four, and then whoever gives them another three hundred dollars, they’ll stay till five.
Couldn’t
be cheaper. Started home with Ollie, but had to drop him at his house; he
couldn’t
have been sicker. Called up the new number today to get him to come to dinner and go to the opening of “Everybody Up” with me tonight, but he was tied up. Joe’s going to be out; he didn’t
condescend
to say
where, of course
. Started to read the papers, but nothing in them except that Mona Wheatley is in Reno charging
intolerable cruelty
. Called up Jim Wheatley to see if he had anything to do tonight, but he was tied up. Finally got Ollie Martin.
Can’t
decide whether to wear the white satin or the black chiffon or the yellow pebble crepe. Simply
wrecked
to the
core
about my finger nail. Can’t
bear
it.
Never
knew
anybody
to have such
unbelievable
things happen to them.
THURSDAY. Simply
collapsing
on my
feet
. Last night
too
marvelous. “Everybody Up”
too
divine,
couldn’t
be filthier, and the new number was there,
too
celestial, only he didn’t see me. He was with Florence Keeler in that
loathsome
gold Schiaparelli model of hers that every
shopgirl
has had since
God
knows. He must be out of his
mind;
she wouldn’t
look
at a man. Took Ollie to the Watsons’ party;
couldn’t
have been more thrilling. Everybody simply
blind
. They had those Hungarians in the green coats and Stewie Hunter was leading them with a lamp, and, after the lamp got broken, he and Tommy Thomas did adagio dances
—too
wonderful. Somebody told me Tommy’s doctor told him he had to absolutely get
right out of town,
he has
the
world’s worst stomach, but you’d
never
know it. Came home alone, couldn’t find Ollie
anywhere
. Miss Rose came at noon to shape my nail,
couldn’t
have been more fascinating. Sylvia Eaton can’t go
out the door
unless she’s had a hypodermic, and Doris Mason
knows every single word
about Douggie Mason and that girl up in Harlem, and Evelyn North won’t be
induced
to keep away from those three acrobats, and they don’t
dare
tell Stuyvie Raymond
what
he’s got the matter with him.
Never
knew anyone that had a more simply
fascinating
life than Miss Rose. Made her take that
vile
tangerine polish off my nails and put on dark red. Didn’t notice until after she had gone that it’s practically
black
in electric light;
couldn’t
be in a worse state.
Damn
Miss Rose. Joe left a note saying he was going to dine out, so telephoned the new number to get him to come to dinner and go with me to that new movie tonight, but he didn’t answer. Sent him three telegrams to
absolutely surely
come tomorrow night. Finally got Ollie Martin for tonight. Looked at the papers, but nothing in them except that the Harry Motts are throwing a tea with Hungarian music on Sunday. Think will ask the new number to go to it with me; they must have meant to invite me. Began to read a book, but too exhausted.
Can’t
decide whether to wear the new blue with the white jacket or save it till tomorrow night and wear the ivory moire. Simply
heartsick
every time I think of my nails.
Couldn’t
be wilder. Could
kill
Miss Rose, but what
can
you do?
collapsing
on my
feet
. Last night
too
marvelous. “Everybody Up”
too
divine,
couldn’t
be filthier, and the new number was there,
too
celestial, only he didn’t see me. He was with Florence Keeler in that
loathsome
gold Schiaparelli model of hers that every
shopgirl
has had since
God
knows. He must be out of his
mind;
she wouldn’t
look
at a man. Took Ollie to the Watsons’ party;
couldn’t
have been more thrilling. Everybody simply
blind
. They had those Hungarians in the green coats and Stewie Hunter was leading them with a lamp, and, after the lamp got broken, he and Tommy Thomas did adagio dances
—too
wonderful. Somebody told me Tommy’s doctor told him he had to absolutely get
right out of town,
he has
the
world’s worst stomach, but you’d
never
know it. Came home alone, couldn’t find Ollie
anywhere
. Miss Rose came at noon to shape my nail,
couldn’t
have been more fascinating. Sylvia Eaton can’t go
out the door
unless she’s had a hypodermic, and Doris Mason
knows every single word
about Douggie Mason and that girl up in Harlem, and Evelyn North won’t be
induced
to keep away from those three acrobats, and they don’t
dare
tell Stuyvie Raymond
what
he’s got the matter with him.
Never
knew anyone that had a more simply
fascinating
life than Miss Rose. Made her take that
vile
tangerine polish off my nails and put on dark red. Didn’t notice until after she had gone that it’s practically
black
in electric light;
couldn’t
be in a worse state.
Damn
Miss Rose. Joe left a note saying he was going to dine out, so telephoned the new number to get him to come to dinner and go with me to that new movie tonight, but he didn’t answer. Sent him three telegrams to
absolutely surely
come tomorrow night. Finally got Ollie Martin for tonight. Looked at the papers, but nothing in them except that the Harry Motts are throwing a tea with Hungarian music on Sunday. Think will ask the new number to go to it with me; they must have meant to invite me. Began to read a book, but too exhausted.
Can’t
decide whether to wear the new blue with the white jacket or save it till tomorrow night and wear the ivory moire. Simply
heartsick
every time I think of my nails.
Couldn’t
be wilder. Could
kill
Miss Rose, but what
can
you do?
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