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diff --git a/77749-0.txt b/77749-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..406b4d5 --- /dev/null +++ b/77749-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8885 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77749 *** + + + + + + + _West of Fifth_ + + BY + + CATHARINE BRODY + + + + MCMXXX + DOUBLEDAY, DORAN & COMPANY, INC + GARDEN CITY, NEW YORK + + + + + PRINTED AT THE _Country Life Press_, GARDEN CITY, N. Y., U. S. A. + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1930 + BY CATHARINE BRODY + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED + FIRST EDITION + + + + + BOOKS BY CATHARINE BRODY + + BABE EVANSON + WEST OF FIFTH + + + + +Book I--The Course of True Love + +Book II--The Balance of Power + +Book III--Grace Kline Andrews + + + + +_Book I_ + +THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +Even during the latter hour of lunch time the editorial room of the +_Dress Daily_ could never be quiet. The feel of the presses stayed +like audible dust in the air and now and then heavy trucks, passing +by, seemed to jar the building. But the desks of the Fashion +Department were void of life; a solitary man pecked at a machine in +the Woolens Department. All the stenographers except one were +gossiping in the dressing room. + +When the entrance door opened a draught made this one girl at the +typewriter scowl and clutch her papers, and a piece of paper in the +Fashion Department blew up and fell listlessly to the floor. Such +vagrant sheets strewed the ground in poor imitation of autumn leaves. + +The girl looked up. Because of a way of carrying her head, all her +features, which were regular, seemed to tilt upward, even her small, +cruelly firm mouth. She saw a man from the Advertising Department +followed by a young woman in a sealskin coat. At once she made her +shoulders uncompromising and began to click her typewriter. Her desk +was first from the entrance; people insisted on stopping at it for +directions. + +The story about an exhibition of blouses--which, as a great favor, +Mr. Milford had permitted her to visit during lunch time and write +about herself--sprang into being willy-nilly. All the same, she had +noticed the other girl. + +"We might--wait--over there, Joe," this girl said, with a pause +before and after the word "wait" that emphasized it slightly. + +They sat down in the Fashion Department, facing the girl at the +typewriter, and she heard a low murmur of conversation. She finished +a page, busily rolled it from the machine and put it on the desk. +She inserted another sheet and sat gazing at it, conscious in spite +of herself of the voices, especially the low, deliberate, penetrating +voice of the girl. Somebody looking for a job, she thought. All +sorts of girls came to Mr. Milford for jobs. Then she shrugged, and +wondered why she was bothering her head about this particular girl. +"Anyhow, it can't be my job she's after. Nobody would want this +lousy job." + +Her fingers were still moving almost subconsciously on the keys when +she heard the voice of the advertising man behind her, a bit +deferential, for she had frightened him with coldness once before. +"Can you tell me when Mr. Milford will be in?" + +She glanced at him. "He never tells _me_," she said, with a slight +smile to remove the pertness. The man smiled back, a little humbly, +and she relented. "He usually comes in about this time." + +The man seemed to take this as an entering wedge. He beckoned to the +girl in the sealskin coat. She walked over, her enormous eyes, deep +brown pools, so wide open, so steadily focused, that they appeared to +cling to whatever was in the range of vision, fastening themselves +ahead of her on the other girl's face. Her head was bent forward, as +if with the weight of her eyes, and so were her shoulders. + +"Miss Vestry," said the advertising man, "I want you to meet Miss +Kline. Miss Vestry is Mr. Milford's secretary--and assistant," he +concluded with unction. + +Miss Kline made a move to draw her right hand out of its sealskin +cuff. Miss Vestry only smiled briefly. + +"Now I have to go downstairs for a while, Grace," said the +advertising man. "Miss Vestry will take care of you." + +The large eyes moved slowly toward him and clung to him. + +"But--you'll be back, Joe? You know--I want you--to introduce me." + +There was a curious halt between groups of her words which Anita +Vestry had noticed. + +"Sure, I'll be back." + +The two girls faced each other only for a second. Miss Vestry turned +to her machine. She could feel the eyes of this Miss Kline lingering +on the back of her head, but she could not think of anything to say +to her, even if she had wished to speak. She felt impatient, as if +she wanted to shake her off. "Why doesn't she go and sit down?" +Miss Kline took a few steps and stood by the side of the desk. The +first page of the story lay face up. Her eyes immediately attached +themselves to it. She picked up the page casually. Holding it at +arm's length, with her head cocked to one side, she looked it over. +When she was through she put the page down without comment, glanced +at the continuation in the typewriter, then sauntered over to a chair +by Mr. Milford's desk. + +The breath that Miss Vestry had been holding in was expelled through +her wide nostrils, distended to reject it. She seemed to rise +several inches in her chair as, grabbing the sheet of paper on her +desk, she turned it face down with a distinct, hard, angry thud as +her hand fiercely struck the wood. She did not look at Miss Kline +but she had a glimpse of eyes startled and wider than ever. + +Miss Kline touched her on the arm. "I--didn't mean to be rude. I +didn't think you'd mind. I'm--awfully sorry," she said hurriedly. + +"Oh, very well," said Miss Vestry with a curl of her lip. At this +moment Mr. Milford opened the door, followed by the advertising man. +"There's Mr. Milford now," she said coldly, and went back to her work. + +She heard the introductions, Mr. Milford's admiring voice. They had +grouped themselves near her and, though she would not look up and +pounded hard, taking pleasure in making as much noise as she could, +she had glimpses of Mr. Milford's soggy cheeks, painfully shaven in +that effort at spruce youthfulness which she so disliked about him; +of the girl's tenacious eyes that, while she smiled at Mr. Milford, +now and then cast a baffled glance in her direction. Finally they +seated themselves around Mr. Milford's desk, and his shaking hands of +an old man, which he tried to keep so firm and gallant, began to fuss +with little disquiet motions among his papers. That was always his +preliminary to dictation. Miss Vestry heard him say: + +"I'll send you to Harry. He's an old friend of mine--great chap. +He'll find work for a bright girl like you." + +He called, in the tone of special dignity which he kept for her, +"Miss Vestry, bring your book, please." + +She picked up the notebook, opened it with a swift, professional +gesture, and set her face in stony abstraction, as if she were on +another planet, with words reaching her through the air from no one +and nothing in particular--her special defense against that flow of +easy inanities which fell from the lips of people in dictation and +which she had to collect like so many choice pearls. The other +girl's head was bent, her eyes intent on her lap. "That'll be all, +Miss Vestry." + +She put the book on her desk and walked by into the dressing room, to +get away from them--from the girl's low voice, from the two men who +now listened to her with attention and looked at her with a soothed +softening of their faces and let their minds be filled for the while +with her needs. The girls who came to Mr. Milford Anita Vestry +disliked because of the nuisance of taking down and writing the +letters of introduction, and then forgot. But this girl filled her +with such an intense nervous dissatisfaction--was it envy?--that she +sat and clenched her hands to control the loosened odds and ends of +nerves that whirled within her. It was a state of discontent not +uncommon with her, but this Miss Kline--not altogether by the +inadvertent rudeness--had managed to make her lot seem so poor, so +mean, so inferior, that it became a state beyond what she could bear. + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +The _Dress Daily_ building stood a few steps from Fifth Avenue. It +was a part of Fifth Avenue, however--the section of the clothing +workers--which Grace Kline always wished to eliminate from her +consciousness as soon as possible. These gloomy structures that shed +almost a sour odor, these hurrying foreign feet brought thoughts that +were not like the thoughts one had after crossing Madison Square and +pausing before Brentano's. There was not in this air the sudden, +resilient thoughtlessness, the expectant quiver, that made the heart +beat faster, the walk more swift and alert after Thirty-fourth +Street. Once, after some discussion about the atmosphere of Paris, +it had occurred to her to wonder at the power which the light feet, +the insubstantial minds of men and women had to impress themselves +far, far beneath heavy pavements, high, high above in the intangible +ether, to shape slabs of stone and sections of air so that, years +after, centuries after, other people would thrill like hounds to the +sense of old, permeating moods. At some times she caught with a stab +of elation the feeling of being one of the persons who, alive to-day, +were adding their slight memories to the store of memory which New +York had from the past and would have to draw on in the future. This +was such a day. It was cold, but the sky was a boundless blue, the +wind raced with a stirring energy, and the air had that +liquefied-diamond quality of the New York autumn. + +As she waited for a bus, she turned her mind, by an effort of will +which was becoming necessary to her in the state of harassment in +which she lived, away from the wide-open, limitless blue. It +frightened her, one could so easily get lost there. She turned her +mind away and into herself and shut it within tightly. It was +equivalent to closing the windows in a room. All the draperies that +had been flying about, all her ideas, came to rest in smooth order. +In the first place, it was two-thirty, so Harry Strauss, to whom she +had the letter of introduction, would probably be in. In the second +place, did she look well to see him? She opened her purse and +consulted its mirror--not surreptitiously, for a beautiful girl need +feel no shame to gaze in a glass. Her dark hair, under the black +satin hat, perfectly softened the fine, regular curve of her brows. +Her eyes, by their purely physical depth and width, possessed an +irresistible suction, like the dark waters of deep wells. Her cheeks +were long and too thin. They became hollow under the least strain. +But the even, warm hue of her skin, to which the wind never brought +color or the sun heat, which lay lightly over her face like a pearly, +glowing cloud, concealed the thinness. There was a composed power in +her face, in the lips which were softly put together. She was quite +aware of the eyes of every man who turned without hope but in spite +of himself to glance at her. + +By one of those extravagant economies of people who have to make a +prosperous appearance on small means, she had been forced to wear a +fur coat a little early in the season. This fact bothered her for +she was as scrupulous in the choice of her clothes as if they had +been irreplaceable parts of her body. But her spring coat was too +shabby and childish to go job hunting in and she could not afford a +special autumn wrap. The hint of pale orange between the black of +the sealskin and the black of the hat pleased her. That, at least, +was perfect. + +Harry Strauss's office was at Forty-fourth Street and Fifth Avenue. +She coveted a job and could not help her heart's beating a little +faster. But Grace Kline never felt really nervous about meeting new +people, even prospective employers. Her face, she knew, served her +as sufficient passport, assured her a certain welcome anywhere. As +she watched the streets sidle by, she thought that she had not done +badly for one day of job hunting. The acquaintances she had +collected with this end in view had been kind to her. She already +had one offer in case she found nothing better. If she really got +work with Harry Strauss she would earn a good salary. How much? She +ought to think of how much to ask. To keep her mind still shut--away +from that boundless contingency which was ever before her like a +landscape, luring her to wander in it without plan and only for the +warm joy of the moment--she began hastily to design the clothes she +would get, her winter's wardrobe, if Harry Strauss really hired her. +The shop windows, passing by on both sides of the street, helped her. +She scanned them with concentration and they assured her that these +things could be sufficient, that these things could fill a mind. +They called to her eagerly to trust them and they would tell her what +to do and where to buy. + +Just before she entered Harry Strauss's office she paused again and +touched her lips into a faint orange splendor. Then, her eyes +marching ahead of her, her head slightly bent forward, as if with +their weight--her usual carriage--she walked into the office. The +stenographer thought she was haughty and looked at her with an +admiring fear. She had her chair just outside the inner office and +she opened the door to it without getting up. + +"Mr. Strauss isn't busy. You can go right in." + +Fortunately, it was a small office, for Mr. Strauss, who sat at his +desk rolling a cigar between his teeth, watched each step she took. +He did not rise but waved to her to sit down. Her eyes fixed +themselves on his face, in which appeared the vague, almost wistful +relaxation that she had come to expect as a due tribute to her +appearance. + +"Well--er--what's your trouble?" It was kindly, even courteously +said, despite the keen, clever, stabbing gleam in Mr. Strauss's +bright eyes. In spite of all she had heard about him, she liked him +at sight. He was about forty, dressed in a gray suit. A silver mane +of hair, crisp, shining like strong steel wire in the sun, stood back +from his forehead. He had an aquiline nose and his decisive voice +had a note in it as if it were aquiline too. + +"I have--a letter--for you from Mr. Milford," she said softly. + +"M--m--m." After he had read the letter, his very bright eyes +glanced over it at her, considering her. They halted at her brief +skirt and slid over her legs and ankles. She felt them and was +amused, gratified, strictly within herself. There was nothing wrong +with her legs. + +"I've a man working for me now," he said. + +She kept quiet. + +"I might be able to use a bright girl. Something just came up----" + +Her eyes, that had been gazing at the air to the side of him, moved +to his face, stayed there. Although she knew all about her eyes, +this was never an entirely calculated gesture on her part. As soon +as she placed her eyes anywhere, they clung of themselves. + +"Just what have you done?" asked Mr. Strauss suddenly. "Milford says +you're just out of college, but you've had some experience." + +"I--Mr. McTavish of the Brooklyn _Press_ is a good friend of mine, +and the last two years of college I did movie criticisms for him and +theatrical interviews." + +"You know McTavish, hmm. Who else do you know? Know any of the +theatrical and movie crowd on the New York papers? It's your +contacts that count in publicity, you know." + +"Yes. I know Hugh Coleman very well--and Tommy Manship----" + +"Not Deering? Don't know Deering, do you?" he interrupted. + +"No. I don't know him," she said, and her eyes fell with concern. +She had no idea who Deering was. + +"Have you got any friends on any of the other papers? Know anyone +down at the _World_?" + +"Well, Mildred Nelson is a very good friend of mine," she said with +assurance. She had at least met Mildred Nelson many times. + +Mr. Strauss lit his cigar and took up one of the telephones on his +desk. "So you know McTavish, huh?" he repeated. He said to his +stenographer through the phone, "Get me McTavish of the Brooklyn +_Press_." Then he sat back and watched her. There was that in his +face, serious though he kept it, which purred at her discomfort, at +her inability to protest against the rudeness of questioning another +person about her capacities in her presence. She had nothing to fear +from McTavish. Yet she could not help but feel the turmoil of +awaiting the signing of her own reprieve or death warrant there, +before her eyes, against her ears. And Mr. Strauss knew this. She +saw that he enjoyed it, enjoyed her suspense, enjoyed his own +shrewdness, the idea of making an unexpected move, stealing a march +on her poise. + +In a few minutes the bell tinkled. She heard Mr. Strauss say, +"Hello, McTavish. Harry Strauss speaking. There's a girl +here--Grace Kline--who says she worked for you. What do you know +about her?" And he kept his eyes, with that malicious twinkle, on +her. But as he listened he took them away and his face grew grave, +respectful. He was handing her the palm of victory. He was saying, +"I see. That's fine. I'm glad to hear that." And, in fact, he +seemed pleased. When he had hung up the receiver he spoke to her +with a note of apology, as if he begged pardon for his suspicion that +she might be cheating him. But wouldn't he have been even better +pleased if the conversation had been unfavorable, if his suspicions +had been justified and he had caught her? + +"Well," he said, "McTavish thinks very highly of you. He says you're +a smart girl, doesn't hesitate to recommend you for any job." + +She smiled nervously. + +"Now, how much would you work for?" + +She lowered her eyes. When she raised them again they were frank and +they pleaded. + +"I--don't know anything about publicity salaries." + +"This job wouldn't pay more than forty to start," said Mr. Strauss, +tapping his cigar against the ash tray. He flashed his stabbing +glance at her but he could tell nothing by her face, whether it was +more than she expected or less. Then he remembered that she was just +out of college and felt annoyed that he had not made it lower. "I +could get plenty of people to work for less," he added. Her +expression grew remote, cool. "But we won't quarrel over a couple of +dollars," he said with a wave of his hand. "There's a good opening +here, and you look like the kind of a girl I want. If you make good, +it may run to as much as seventy-five--a hundred--after awhile. +Depends on you. Well, is that fair?" + +"I think so. Yes." She seemed quite composed. + +"All right, then, come in to-morrow around nine. Now, you've +probably heard that press agents don't begin work till noon. Forget +all that. This office opens at nine like any other, and I expect you +on time." He was leaning over the desk, his eyes alert and intent, +and after each remark he jerked his chin down for emphasis. "Don't +be nervous. You do your work and I'll be fair to you. Ask anyone +you like. They'll tell you that Harry Strauss is fair." His eyes +seemed to argue with her to believe. "The man I have is out now. +You come in here to-morrow, and you'll meet him. You'll work +together. He'll show you around till you catch on." He dismissed +her. + +Just as she was opening the door he called sharply, "Miss Kline!" +She turned and found him facing her, his eyes still more alert. + +"Don't tell anyone you're working for me." + +He swung away from her, back to his desk, and became very busy. + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +Learning from the elevator starter that it was half-past three, Grace +faced Fifth Avenue again with a sort of sigh, not of sadness, but of +anticipation that was almost too stifling. This--this was the part +of the day when she ungirded her mind, set it free, let it wander +among the dark woods and bright flowers of her bitter happiness. +This--this was the part of the day for which she was so tautened, so +wound up that she could hardly wait for the moment of relaxation. +All the elements of her day, all the little notes, arranged +themselves as accompaniment, as an undercurrent, to this hour from +four to five, and she strained toward it as one's ears strain +expectantly toward the melodious, recurrent theme of a symphony. + +She hurried across town to Broadway. The sunshine glimmered and +trembled in an ecstasy of autumn fulfillment. Finding no autumn +leaves, each separate ray of sunshine yet put itself to use, +twinkling and rippling on the sides of buildings as if to stir each +separate mote of the shades of ancient foliage. She felt as if the +sun placed a carpet of the cropped fall grass beneath her feet, as if +she proceeded, not between lines of stone, but between rows of +ordered, wine-red trees, bending to the wind. + +These city blocks were becoming specially near to her. Even as her +life was rooting itself in them, so they were being buried in her to +form part of the soil of nourishing memory. Already she could meet +shades of herself going and returning along these streets, going at +four o'clock, returning at five. There were shop windows into which +she had stared, not knowing what they showed, so as to hide her tears +from passers-by, cryptic brownstone houses at which she had turned +and glanced so as to conceal an idiotic happiness from the prying +eyes of other people. They were like no other shop windows and no +other houses on earth, and these streets seemed specially stained for +her; they smelled differently, they had a tingling odor. + +Before the jazz band of Broadway, with all its tin-pan clamor and +hoots, the irregular lines of buildings and billboards forming a +perfect continuation of the discord, she marked time impatiently. +She had to wait for the traffic to cross to the Astor, and she +couldn't wait and, like a true New Yorker, made up her mind at the +most inopportune moment and began to dodge between. She didn't +hurry. Her feet made the perfect feints and maneuvers for her while +she looked at the motor cars aggressively and put up her hand now and +then to warn them to beware. + +The ladies' room of the Astor was almost like a club-room. Grace +often saw the same faces here at the same hour, absorbed like her in +the same purpose, pushing their way between other girls at the +mirrors, unaware of them almost entirely, as they glued their eyes to +their own faces and made them, with a sober, a sacred concentration, +clear and fresh and individual for someone, some one person to meet. + +A nun before the altar could not have told her beads with more piety +than Grace Kline attended to her face. Although it needed little +help, there were numerous delicate motions necessary almost to +magnetize it into perfection. Her hair had to be done over with the +exact slender part at the side, the smooth silken widening over the +ears, and a tiny half-bang lying gently under that portion which was +brought somewhat over her forehead. When she was ready to draw on +her gloves, she bestowed a customary sigh on her hands (they were +awkwardly jointed--"washerwoman's hands", she called them), then +turned from all angles before the glass. + +She would be just in time. Already the first strain of the melody, +the note of yearning in loneliness, began to sing in her. It had +been a good day, but by herself, the goodness, though she knew it was +there, had no words or point. When she had shared it with someone, +given it to someone to taste, when she had been able to see by +someone else's eyes that it was good, then she would realize its +excellence. And now was the time when the note of yearning would +draw its answering harmony. + +At Forty-eighth Street and Seventh Avenue, as she crossed, she saw +Blake already turning down the block. The line of his shoulders was +obstinate, each step unhurried. She walked behind him, smiling, +waiting for the moment when she would take a few extra steps and +place herself by his side. He would never turn and see her, he never +by any chance made extra movements. He was an only child, used to +being surrounded by other people's care and thought, and this was +apparent even in his gait, that took no account of any other +pedestrian, never swerved, as if he were sure the others would notice +his direction and clear a path for him. Grace walked just behind his +shoulder, almost touching him, and still, as she expected, he was +unconscious of her. Her smile grew amused, lenient. She stretched +out her hand and put it on his shoulder. + +At the same time he stopped and said, "Hello." It was not spoken to +her but to a man in a fur-collared coat whom she had not seen +approaching. Simultaneously, he glanced at Grace. His face flushed +an awkward beet-red, paled. He looked straight at the man, talking +to him, seeming as if he did not feel the hand on his shoulder, did +not know the girl who so obviously knew him. The man, after the +first curious glint in his eyes, pretended not to notice. + +For a few seconds Grace stood in confusion on the outskirts of the +little circle of intimacy the two made. The pang which these little +intimate groupings, in which she had no place, in which she might +never have a place, sent through her! The whole world, all its rules +and customs, were bent on pushing her outside of them, keeping her +there in the cold, while the two men spoke of mutual relatives, drew +the warm fibers of their mutual background about them to form a rope +beyond which she stood alone, without anything to tie her to the +group. Her face was white--but not with anger, for she well knew the +ever-present reason which might explain--as she walked around them, +into the tearoom, and waited by the door. Sometimes there were +people in the place whom she knew--it was frequented by what Mr. +Strauss called the theatrical and movie crowd--and whose light, +understanding, inquiring consideration she had to bear. The eyes of +the woman at the desk admired her. She called, "Hello, Miss Kline." +And Grace answered with a certain pity, a certain pride, even in her +present state. Dull women like that had nothing better to do than to +approve of her and ask for her attention. + +When Blake came in she saw that he would volunteer no excuse. He was +as pale as she, ashamed, distant. The note of answering harmony was +not there to-day. They were both alone, she outside, he within +something. In silence, they sat down at a table in the farthest +corner; in silence looked at the china plates and bric-a-brac loading +down shelves below the ceiling, at the prints of English hunting +scenes and framed old theater programs which covered the walls. They +always had tea and toast, the cheapest things on the menu, and their +waitress was bringing it without question. + +Grace said, feeling along each possible path of approach, "I ought to +celebrate. I've got a job--with Harry Strauss." + +He answered with little interest. "Harry Strauss. You'll learn a +lot of tricks from him. That's good." + +So the chief episode of the day, which she had waited for him to +taste of, to show her its excellence, was not good after all. What +difference did it make to get a job, to do her hair over, to be +glanced at on the street? She tried again. + +"He told me not to tell anyone I was working for him. Why, do you +suppose?" + +This time he smiled. "He's pulled a good many raw press stunts. The +papers are supposed to be down on him. I hear he works through a man +named Al Epstein." + +"I'm to meet him to-morrow." + +"You start to-morrow?" And now his face was smoothing out of its +tight, preoccupied lines. He began to tell her of Harry Strauss's +exploits. He had a memory for all kinds of information, liked to +sort it in his mind, which was very orderly, and produce it with a +faint touch of irony. The anecdotes which he picked up along +Broadway lent themselves especially to this irony. They laughed over +a story of how Harry Strauss had managed to find his way at night to +the electric advertisement of a movie which he was press-agenting and +had arranged the letters to form a word that stopped traffic. He had +hidden the key which unlocked the entrance office to the sign, so +that it was a long time before the letters could be corrected, the +crowds below dispersed. The papers had been forced to print accounts +of the traffic block and to mention his picture as the cause. + +When they had done laughing he was ready to regard her fully for the +first time that day. + +"You're so lovely to-day, Grace," he said, with his own note of +yearning and looked down at his teacup. + +"As ever?" she said. + +He nodded emphatically and flushed the violent, almost tearful flush +of sandy-haired people. It was the signal for the recurrent harmony +between them. Now they were close again, now all other fibers had +been cut for awhile and only their own fibers remained, growing +together. Now they could say anything to each other, what he had +been meaning and hating to tell her. + +"That was my uncle." He jerked the words out. + +Her eyes grew harassed. "Did he--say something? Will he----" + +"No, he wouldn't say anything. I--only--well--I didn't----" + +"I know." She did know. She had forced herself to understand as +quickly as possible that men--that Blake anyhow--were hideously +awkward in personal relationships. It saved much pain. Blake might +have introduced her as some acquaintance who had come up to him on +the street. There was no law against his knowing girls, no law +against some girl, in casual amusement, putting her hand on his +shoulder. He might have spared her that horrible moment. But, of +course, that would never occur to him. + +There was another silence. It was, however, a silence which they +shared. They were both thinking the same thoughts. + +"How are things--at home?" she said softly. + +"Same. She's going away next month." He never called his wife by +name, and he didn't dare to say "my wife." Grace could say "your +wife" sometimes with a bitter emphasis, but it was forbidden to him. + +"Home?" + +"No. On a visit." + +They exchanged a long look. + +"Haven't quarreled, by any chance?" inquired Grace, raising her +eyebrows in pointed archness. + +"We never quarrel," he said with a smile. This was their little joke. + +"Have you been working?" + +"Bill and I finished one act." + +"Oh. That's fine." + +She was questioning him with her eyes. He knew what that question +meant. Was there any chance--was there--would there--be money? +There were hopes connected with the making of money, which smooths +over many things, which is a good panacea to apply to other people's +heartaches. He turned his teacup round and round in the saucer. Tea +slopped over. + +"Well," said Grace, "that's fine about your act. You'll finish the +play soon, won't you? And, by the way, if I start work to-morrow, I +can't tell where I'll be at four. I may be late. Can I call you +anywhere?" + +"You might call me at Fred's office. I could drop in there around +four, and if we miss connections you might leave word." + +"I hate to call there. They're not very nice to me." Her eyes +pleaded with him. But he looked down and she saw his face hardening +into its so familiar sullen lines. Why should she fuss about such a +little thing? After all, he remembered that he had a good deal to +bear himself. She stretched her arm hastily across and touched his +hand, lying by the plate. He returned a hard pressure. Their hands +lay one within the other on the table. "All right. Then I'll call +you at Fred's around four. And do I see you Saturday?" + +"You do," he said. + +They got up. Before they rose, she slipped her share of the check +into his palm. He flushed again. He hated this. But at the very +beginning of their afternoon teas she had insisted and made a habit +of it. He couldn't afford to take her to tea every day. He was very +poor. Very well, so was she. They would be poor together. The dull +woman at the desk nodded and looked after them. Together they walked +out, holding their heads somewhat belligerently, in case any +acquaintance should see them and think they had no business to be +together, and twining their arms one within the other. + +They walked slowly down to Sixth Avenue. The final chord with all +its fused, attuned, contrasting notes, its gathering of all into one, +was sounding in different ways for each of them. They wished it to +go on and on. When the final chord dies, the symphony is over, +people clatter their seats, the hall grows bare, and ghosts of dead +music wail without noise and cling in the air and will not leave go. +At the corner he put his arms about her and they kissed each other +for a moment. Blake hated embraces on street corners, but there was +no other place for them to kiss. + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +The sunshine was gone. Lights were being turned on in office +buildings. The crowds were beginning to rush home. Before dinner +time in late fall--a windy, hurrying, desolate interval on city +streets when everyone's thoughts fly to an enclosure, some enclosure. +Grace continued to walk aimlessly along Sixth Avenue. After she left +Blake it was always hard for her to button her mind anew against the +cold, lone air. When people leave a warm room the bleak outer air +can penetrate them subtly and thoroughly in a moment until they find +themselves colder than they ever were before, they find themselves +freezing. At such times Grace had some certain recourses, minute +hinges which she used to swing her mood from the unbearable, the +unknowable, to the composed routine of every day. Looking in shop +windows was such a hinge, buying a new pair of stockings, a new +handkerchief, dropping into a movie, ordering a soda. But the best +hinge was a visit with Letty, even a telephone call to her. + +Letty and Grace had grown up together and for many years their +families had lived close by in lower Washington Heights, Grace on St. +Nicholas Avenue, Letty in a poorer house just around the corner. +Letty had been a stenographer while Grace had gone to college, but +this had not disturbed their friendship. There was something so +fresh and gay, so frank, about Letty, with her round little face, her +round little suits, and her fresh, greedy little mouth. She had +married soon and well, moving from the house around the corner and +leaving Grace in the apartment on St. Nicholas Avenue. An +Irish-American, she had married a man of Grace's racial background, +German-Jewish-American, and was adapting herself, not too entirely +and with many pert remarks, to his accustomed home-and-family +existence. They lived on Riverside Drive in the Eighties. Often +Grace stopped by on her way home. + +As soon as she heard Letty's lively "Hello," Grace felt a sense of +relief. There, very close, were people who cared about her, who were +concerned with her doings, small sheds to huddle into for warmth. No +need to say who it was. The two girls knew all the inflections of +each other's voices. + +"What are you doing? I thought I'd come in for a minute," said Grace. + +"Oh-h----" Letty's voice dropped. "Harry and I thought we'd eat out +and go to the theater. Why? Anything happened?" + +"Oh, no. Nothing special. I got a job." Grace smiled. Even if +something had happened, it would be hard to drag Letty away from an +evening out and at the theater. It was proof of her friendship for +Grace that, once in a while, she had given up a promise of gayety for +her sake--but even so, with a pout, unwillingly. + +"That's grand. Oh, Grace, that's wonderful! Where? How? Did you +tell Blake?" Letty's voice was twice as happy, happy for Grace and +happy that she could go on to her party. + +Grace giggled. "What're you going to see that you're so excited +about?" + +"Oh, just the _Follies_. You know Harold, the Tired Business Man. +He's under a bed right now--looking for a collar button. I don't +have to look. I'm speaking over the phone. Ha-ha! Gosh, he _found_ +it! But tell me about the job, Grace. Where----" + +Grace explained. + +"Gee, I'm glad. I'm awf'ly glad! What're you doing to-night?" + +"Nothing, I guess." + +Letty's voice became lower, sympathizing. "Want to stay over here +to-night?" Another voice made itself heard but not clear enough for +the words to get through. "That's only Harold," said Letty +impatiently. "He thinks we'll be home too late. Don't mind him." + +"I don't," replied Grace, laughing. Letty laughed too. "But I +suppose I might as well go home and tell Ma-a-a. And, listen, I +can't have lunch with you to-morrow. I don't know where I'll be." + +"Oh, that's all right. Only call me, will you? And come up +to-morrow night, if you can manage, and tell me all about it." + +"I'll call you anyway." + +"I'm awf'ly glad! And don't forget to call me. Good-bye, Gracie." + +"Good-bye, Let. Have a good time." + +Grace went out of the booth, feeling cheerful again. After all, it +had been a successful day. Letty had looked at it and found it +successful. She hated to spoil her mood by crowding into the +Elevated or the Subway. Time enough for that when she got home to +Ma. All the busses would be full now. She searched in her purse. +If she walked on a little farther, along the park, she would have +just enough to pay for keeping her mood intact, safe from being +brushed away by the clumsy hands of the home-going crowds, in a cab +to One Hundred Thirty-seventh Street. Anyhow, she made up her mind +rebelliously, she ought to celebrate to-day in spite of what Ma would +say. Their parlor windows faced the street and Mrs. Kline never +seemed to miss the stoppage of a taxi before the door if that taxi +contained Grace. + +The click of Grace's key brought Ma trampling down the long hall of +the apartment. Mrs. Kline's feet always sounded, at least to Grace's +ears, as if they trampled. _Clamp, clamp, clack_. + +She couldn't help looking Grace over with pride and couldn't help +saying suspiciously, "Came up in a taxi, didn'cha?" + +"It's all right, Ma," said Grace, going past her. "I got a job." + +Mrs. Kline followed into Grace's room. She followed everywhere +physically. She was always looking for some loophole through which +to squeeze herself to follow into Grace's mind, into Grace's heart, +into Grace's soul, trying to trample down barrier after barrier as it +was inevitably erected against her. A conversation between Grace and +her mother was like an encounter between a peaceable, besieged city +and its attackers. At first Grace withdrew, like the city, far +within walls and lay low, resigned, merely attempting to ward off +invasion. Then, suddenly, there would come one sally too much. In +desperation, she, like the city, would turn and rise and strike. + +Mrs. Kline could not help it. She would do anything for Grace, give +anything to Grace. Mr. Kline had been divorced when Grace was a +child and, to supplement small and irregular alimony, Mrs. Kline had +become dressmaker to her friends so as to send Grace through college +and keep up appearances. She still made dresses. But Grace wasn't +grateful, could not be forced to show gratitude. In truth Grace felt +that she had done her share. As a child, she had delivered gowns to +the mothers of playmates, had cleaned and cooked after school. +During the last years of college she had been able to add to the +family income, and now there devolved on her most of the burden of +supporting her mother. What more did Ma want? Why couldn't she let +her, Grace, alone? + +Mother and daughter resembled each other in the contours of their +faces and in a certain insistence which both had. Grace clung with +her eyes. Mrs. Kline clung with her strident voice, with her hands, +by constant assertion. Otherwise, her eyes were china blue and she +had a lot of coarsening, once-golden hair. + +"So you got a job. That's good. It's time. How much money are they +giving you? What kind of work? The same kind you did on the paper?" + +"Forty to start." + +"That's pretty good for a beginner," cried Mrs. Kline, brightening. +"I must tell Mrs. Mendelsohn. Betty Mendelsohn's been working a +month but she only makes twenty-five. You'd think she was the Queen +of Sheba the way Mrs. Mendelsohn acts. I told her if _he_ hadn't +wanted you to make that trip with him you'd have got a job the minute +you graduated too----" + +"Oh, all right, Ma. I'm hungry." Grace had taken off her hat and +now, with a sigh, she shook out of her coat. + +Mrs. Kline felt it, as usual, between thumb and forefinger. "Well, +it was cold enough for sealskin to-day, in spite of all the fuss you +made. Let me tell you a lot of girls would be glad to have a +sealskin coat, too early or not. The coat's a good buy, too. It's +like I told you. You gotta get money off him while he's got it." +"He" referred to Mr. Kline. + +Without answering, Grace walked up the hall into the dining room. +She wore a long pale-orange blouse with loose sleeves and a black +skirt. She seemed taller and slimmer than she actually was, and her +back was a little rounded, but unnoticeably. Behind her trampled +Mrs. Kline, following. She sat down at the table. It was a +middle-class dining room, with every part of a dining-room "set" +righteously in place and with Mrs. Kline's wedding present cutglass +shining icily through the door of the china closet. It was chilly +there. Grace shivered. + +"You ought to put something around you," said Mrs. Kline. "Go get +yourself a sweater. First thing you know, you'll catch pneumonia and +you'll be laid up. When do you start work, anyhow?" + +"To-morrow." + +"So soon? What've you got to wear? I don't know a thing you got. +I'll have to get busy. I'm busy enough as it is. I got a dress for +Mrs. Michaels and another ordered to-day----" + +"Ma, please bring in the soup." + +"--and I got bridge with the Ladies' Circle to-morrow. And what do +you think? All of a sudden that Mrs. Levine--Levin they call +themselves now--takes notice of me in Temple, and she asks me to come +to tea. Charlie Bintner wants me to have lunch with him, too, this +week. I don't know if that's proper. Of course, I got my divorce +and all, but still... You know Charlie Bintner--I told you he was +always after me. I'll never forget his face when I told him I was +going to get married. But he had only himself to blame. You can't +go around with a girl and go around with her and never make your +intentions known and expect her to wait for you----" + +Grace swore under her breath. + +Then Mrs. Kline brought in the soup. She was a poor cook and praised +her own cooking. She began to suck in great spoonfuls. Meal times, +when her mother sat opposite and talked in her harsh voice and ate +soup or devoured with gusto oranges out of their rinds, were most +dreaded by Grace. Then she was most at the point of exploding. She +sat tautened over the soup which she had tasted and would not eat. + +"Why don't you eat? What's the matter with you?" said Mrs. Kline +sharply. + +"Nothing. What's the meat?" + +"I got some lamb chops. That's what you like, isn't it? There's no +suiting you ever. Or is something wrong with you?" + +No answer from Grace. Mrs. Kline dragged out the soup and trampled +in with plates of chops and weak vegetables which she slammed on the +table. She went back for the coffee. Grace picked at her food and +drank black coffee. + +"What's wrong with you?" insisted Mrs. Kline. "You haven't been +eating hardly anything for I don't know how long. What's wrong, I +want to know?" + +Grace merely gritted her teeth. + +There fell a silence, a bad omen. + +When Mrs. Kline spoke again her voice was low and accusing. + +"Mara Goldenberg told me she saw you having tea with that same man +the other day." + +Grace dug her fork into the chop. + +"Now listen, Grace, God knows I don't want to be like some mothers, +prying and snooping. But I'm your mother and I have a right to know +who you go around with. Your other friends call on you here. Why +can't this man come? What's wrong with him that Mara Goldenberg sees +you having tea with him all the time and your own mother don't know +who he is? He looks Gentile, Mara says, and you hold hands with him +on the table--right in front of everybody. Well, all right, so he's +Gentile. Myself, I'm proud to be Jewish, but I'm not a person that +has prejudices. My own brother's married to a Gentile woman as nice +as you could find anywhere, and there's Letty Moses, a Catholic, too, +married to a man whose own mother goes to Temple with me, and nobody +thinks the worse of the Moseses. Do I care who you go around with, +so long as they're decent people? But I want to know who this man is +that Mara Goldenberg sees you with." + +"Mara Goldenberg ought to mind her own business. So should all your +friends, for that matter," muttered Grace. + +"What's that you said? Mara Goldenberg is a good friend to me and +what she tells me I got a right to know--you should tell me yourself. +I got a right to know. Don't you forget that, young lady! I want to +know who this man is." + +The besieged city turned suddenly. + +"Well, you won't know," shouted Grace. "It's nothing and it's no +one's business and it's none of Mara Goldenberg's business." + +She fled down the long corridor to her room, hearing her mother's +voice as it followed her. She closed the door with infinite caution. +If her mother heard a door shut she would bear down on her privacy on +the instant. But it was no use. Mrs. Kline's feet trampled down the +hall, her hands rapped on the door. Grace placed herself against it +on the inside, held it to. There was no key. + +"Let me in, Grace. Don't you dare to shut the door on me," cried her +mother. + +"I won't let you in. I'm undressing. Let me _alone_!" + +With all her force Grace held the door to. Mrs. Kline rattled the +knob. Then she was still. Finally, Grace heard her feet making +their raucous journey back up the hall. For a long time she kept her +place by the door, taut, putting her hand to her heart unconsciously +to try to ease its racking beat. + +The room was dark. When she sat down before her dresser she saw her +eyes in the glass--so huge--the whites distended and gleaming. She +sat there, watching herself, motionless, while the beat of her heart +swung back and forth like a pendulum. Now it waned, now it rose +mercilessly, filling her till she thought she would be torn apart. +It wouldn't stop. It would never stop. She muttered to herself, to +her heart, to her mother, to the whole world--over and over: "Let me +alone. Oh, let me alone! Why can't you let me alone?" + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +It was not long before Grace learned to disregard time in all +connections with Broadway, but this first morning she took Harry +Strauss's warnings to heart and saw with astonishment that, in spite +of them, the office was closed. It stayed closed till nine-thirty. +Then the stenographer sauntered in. Grace was still afraid to leave +even for a moment to get herself a cup of coffee (she had avoided +breakfast with her mother), but she used the chance to throw a little +light on her job through the stenographer. She knew that Mr. Strauss +publicized an occasional movie for one of the big motion-picture +companies, and an occasional show; that he had, usually, theatrical +clients. What sort of accounts was Mr. Strauss handling now? The +stenographer thought that the office would be busy with the young +widow of a famous dancer who was about to "stage a comeback" in a +night club. Grace also wished to find out whether any girl had had +her job previously. Miss MacAlister, who showed that she admired +Grace's face and clothes, said that only Mr. Epstein had worked for +Mr. Strauss, so far as she knew. This encouraged Grace; there would +be no standard of comparison to live up to. + +Mr. Strauss made his appearance at ten o'clock and did not seem to be +in the least impressed to find her waiting. What a fascinating crop +of silver hair he had! She felt at home with him. She knew he liked +her looks and she liked his. He said without prelude, "Now Annabella +Arden is to be at Ontalvo's at ten-thirty to take new pictures. Go +over there and wait for her, and when you're through, both of you +come back here. Know where Ontalvo's is, my dear?" He took it for +granted that she knew who Annabella Arden was. + +This time she understood that she had not to hurry. She enjoyed the +luxury of breakfast alone in a restaurant. She called up Letty to +bolster her courage, and even so, when she got to Ontalvo's, +Annabella Arden was absent. Learning that she came from Mr. +Strauss's office, the girl at the desk made herself extraordinarily +pleasant. The photographer left the studio for a moment to shake her +hand. Grace realized that it would be good policy to put herself on +cordial terms with these people from the start. She liked them too. +It was all being very nice. + +She waited an hour. Still no Annabella Arden. She chanced a +telephone call to Mr. Strauss's stenographer to learn where Miss +Arden lived. + +A sweet, blonde voice, infinitely naïve, spoke to her over the wire. +"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry you had to wait. But I _told_ Harry I +didn't want any more pictures. I have loads and loads, dear." The +voice grew a whit sharper. "Harry didn't tell me how much the +pictures would cost, dear. Can you find out?" + +The girl at the desk evaded. "We make special prices for Mr. +Strauss." And Grace understood that Mr. Strauss got his percentage +from them. She was amused. He certainly didn't miss a thing! + +"I believe--Mr. Strauss arranges that," she said carefully through +the phone. "I wouldn't know about that." + +"Oh, then I think I'll talk to Harry first. Don't you think that +would be wise, dear?" + +"Then will you be at the office soon?" said Grace. + +"I'm leaving this _very_ minute, honey." + +Grace hurried back, worrying. Did Mr. Strauss expect her to insist +on new pictures? Was that part of her job? Mr. Strauss's door was +shut and a new air hung over the office, a business air, at once +abstracted and intent. The stenographer was typing with such speed +that she did not even pause to look up at Grace. + +"Mr. Epstein's in with him now," she said over her shoulder. + +Feeling very much out of it, Grace took a chair and waited again. + +Mr. Strauss's office opened simultaneously with the appearance of +Annabella Arden. She carried out the promise of her voice. She was +a blonde with round eyes, a sharp, pretty little face, the flat, +charming torso and long legs of a dancer. About her neck she had +flung a scarf made up of innumerable tails of animals. + +"Come in, both of you," called Mr. Strauss. By his desk sat a short, +sloppy young man, chewing gum with wide motions of his lips, round +and round. Mr. Epstein. Harry Strauss made the introductions +suavely and Grace noticed, as he questioned her and she answered, how +well in hand he had Annabella. He treated her like an employee, not +a client. + +"Now, let's get down to business. Where's Russell?" Russell was +Miss Arden's new dancing partner. + +"Why, Russell didn't think he could afford you, Harry," said Miss +Arden with great pathos. + +Mr. Strauss sneered. + +"All right. Now, Al, you and Miss Kline get together and plan your +campaign. Break the story Monday. We must get a lot of space before +the opening. Now, you can have five tables Thursday night for the +newspapers. Now, Al," he said sharply, "you and Miss Kline work +together but don't get in each other's way. You let her take the +_Times_. She knows the people there." + +"Does she know Deering?" said Al quickly. + +"No, but she knows Tommy Manship and all that gang." + +Al glanced at Grace but kept quiet and chewed his gum. He took a +sheet of paper and wrote "Times" in pencil. He added slowly a "K." + +"Al, you take the _American_ and the _Journal_. Let Miss Kline have +the _World_, too. She's a friend of Mildred Nelson. Divide the +other papers between you." + +"Yeh," said Al. He chewed gum omnisciently. Nothing was beyond him. + +"Now, what have you got planned?" demanded Mr. Strauss. Grace made a +nervous contraction of her throat. Al said to her at once, as if +taking a cue, "Now, we gotta get pictures taken right away. Go out +and plant 'em in the roto sections for next Sunday." + +"_This_ Sunday. What about this Sunday?" rapped out Mr. Strauss. + +And Miss Arden piped up, "Oh, but I think I ought to have my picture +in this Sunday." + +A slight look passed between Al and Harry. + +Al said, "All right. I might be able to make the _Times_ this +Sunday." + +Grace knew he couldn't. It was Thursday and the _Times_ weekly +picture section was sure to be already made up. She thought she +might as well help in the propitiation of Annabella. "I know--Hector +Valley," she said. "I'll go right over and see him." + +Al interposed, "I know him very well, too. Very good friendamine, +Heck Valley. I was out on a drunk with him till two in the morning +yesterday." + +He went back to his gum and his paper. "Now we'll give a tea for +her," he added. "Ask all the newspapermen. I got a great stunt for +her." + +"All right." Mr. Strauss raised a finger. "Now--you--Al," he said +with emphasis, "don't get in Miss Kline's way. Miss Kline, you stick +to your papers." He turned to Miss Arden. "Now, Annabella, one +thing more. These people are working for you, Mr. Epstein and Miss +Kline. Now, I want you above all never to break any appointments +they make for you with newspaper people. Make the appointments at +your convenience; their time is yours. But once you've made an +appointment, don't break it, or you'll get them in wrong with the +papers. They'll work for you faithfully if you keep up your end. +But if you get them in wrong with the papers, they'll lose interest +and you'll lose publicity. Isn't that so?" + +Grace and Al said together, "Yes, that's so." + +Al turned to Miss Arden. "Where you gonna be this afternoon? I'm +gonna have some pictures made." + +"Oh, and Miss Arden said something about the dresses she used to wear +with Gene Arden," interrupted Grace. "I thought--there would be a +good feature story in her giving a few away to girls who need new +evening dresses and can't afford them." She went on nervously. "I +mean--the idea would be that they held too many memories now that Mr. +Arden was--dead." + +"But I gave them away already, honey. I sold them," said Annabella +hastily. + +"Well, you don't really have to give them away. We--can manage that." + +Mr. Strauss nodded at Grace as if to say, "You're learning." He +handed her a folder full of pictures. + +As Al rose, Grace rose too and followed him into the outer office. +At once Al took the folder of pictures away from her. There wasn't a +consecutive thought in her mind, nothing but a jumble of feverish +beginnings. By an effort of will she kept her voice, at least, from +trembling. They sat down on chairs near the door, and Al began to +scrawl on his piece of paper. + +"We better figure out who we're gonna ask to the tea. And the +opening, too. I thought of an old stunt," said Al. "Old, but it +always works. I'm gonna have her legs insured." + +Grace began: "How about----" and he snatched the words from her lips: +"How about a new dance step?" Feverishly, "New dance step" was +written on the sheet of paper. + +Al bit his pencil and said thoughtfully, "I don't know what we'll do +about a typewriter for you. I use Miss MacAlister's. I wanted Harry +to get one for you this morning, but he won't. I never liked to work +with a night club," he added, sighing. "It's hard to get stuff +in--and then the late hours. I had the Gaga Club when it opened and +I gave it to Benny Best. You know Benny Best, nice fella? Now we +gotta figure out all the people we're gonna ask to the opening." + +The door opened for Annabella. + +"Say, where you gonna be practising this afternoon?" called Al. + +Annabella gave them the address. "I'll be there till four o'clock, +honey. We're going over the routine." Her eyes lingered on Grace. +It was part of Grace's luck that women were attracted by her looks as +well as men. They wondered at her skin and at the suction of her +eyes; couldn't keep their glances away, wishing to find the secret. +Annabella bestowed a special smile on Grace. + +"She likes you," said Al suspiciously. "Know her before?" + +"No." + +Al looked at his watch. It was nearly two. "Well, let's go out and +grab some lunch. Let's see now, I gotta call the photographer and I +gotta go to the bank. And, say, I gotta get ahold of an insurance +man I know who'll stand for the fake policy. I'm gonna insure her +legs for half a million. Come on." + +So many small errands which Al had to do developed on the way that it +was three o'clock before they finally sat down at a lunch counter and +swallowed a sandwich and a cup of coffee apiece. Two nervous spots +burned on Grace's cheeks, under her skin. + +"Now listen," said Al. "You run over to the _Times_ and see if you +can plant a picture. I'll go on to the studio. Show up there at +four, will ya? Listen, are those pictures backed? Harry said she +opens Thursday, didn't he? What's her name, Annabelle or Annabella?" + +Al insisted on "backing" all the pictures himself--that is, writing a +description on the back. She let him take the lead. With many +frowns and chewings of his pencil he composed at last a paragraph +ornate enough to suit him. + +"We don't have to bother with her partner--that's one good thing," +said Al. "Harry isn't working for him. It's no cinch getting space +for a girl dancer in a night club, but a man--Jesus Christ!" + +Whatever he said Grace listened to intently and absorbed. + +She hurried over to the _Times_. The head of the rotogravure section +was, as she expected, in the composing room. She left a picture +without much hope, then went into the Dramatic Department to see +Tommy Manship. When she had had her job on the Brooklyn _Press_, she +had been very careful to meet and make friends with as many people on +the New York papers as possible. She had gotten the press agents of +the shows whose openings she sometimes covered to point out and +introduce her to dramatic editors and critics. Sometimes she had +been invited by the press agents to parties where these might be +present. Her foresight was now rewarded. Tommy Manship, the +assistant dramatic editor, knew and liked her. He placed a chair by +his desk for her, heard her story, and puckered his lips. + +"I'd help you if I could, Grace," he said. "But you know how much +space we have for dramatic notes week days. We haven't got enough +for the regular shows, let alone night clubs. I might try to slip in +something next Sunday. Send me a note and I'll see." + +Watching her big disappointed eyes, he added, "They're running a +dance column now on Sundays. I'll find out who does it and you get +in touch with him. Maybe he'll do something for you." + +He telephoned about and wrote down a name and number for her. It was +nice to have her sitting there, such a pretty girl. Not pretty +exactly. Both less and more than pretty. He had been a press agent +himself and he told her when various people on the papers were apt to +be in and advised her how to proceed. + +In return she took him into her confidence, with grave eyes fixed on +him. + +"I'm--really working for Harry Strauss. But I'm supposed to be +working by myself because Mr. Strauss isn't so well liked by the +papers." + +He nodded and grinned. + +"I'll see you around now, Grace, won't I?" + +"Very--pos-sibly." She always halted in this way between words and +sometimes syllables. People thought it an affectation, but really +there was a catch in her throat that made it necessary. + +She went down into the street, soothed by admiration, not feeling so +much of a petitioner. Walking past a window with a clock, she +realized suddenly that it was four. For the first time in a year she +had forgotten to anticipate this hour. For the first time in a year, +an affair of her own--this job--had to take precedence of Blake's +affairs. Always, heretofore, she had attuned herself to his wishes, +arranged her day to suit the convenience of the hour between four and +five for him. It did not occur to her even to question the fact that +her job must come first now. She did not dare not to appear at the +studio. And, although she ached to see Blake, she felt with a start +that she was smiling a little, not hurrying to the telephone. The +air seemed to widen a bit in front of her; she had a returning taste +of freedom, the old freedom she had known and lost. It was the +merest taste and gone on the instant. But it was pleasant. + +She was even more pleased to find Blake waiting for her call in +Fred's office, to hear the disappointed droop of his voice. And he +couldn't blame her. It did not occur to him either to question the +inevitable precedence of a job. + +"Then I won't see you to-day?" he repeated, as if he must have time +to let this sink in, down into the slow depths of his mind. "I won't +see you to-day.... What're you doing to-night?" he asked suddenly. + +"I thought I might go to Let's for dinner." + +"Well, I--I'll try to get away. Don't count on it. But I'll try to +get up there." + +She was smiling so widely that a man followed her out of the cigar +store. He soon saw the smile was not for him. For the first time in +twelve months Blake had, of his own free will and not by her +exaction, planned to make room in his life, in his wife's life, to +permit her to get in. All these months it had been her sole efforts, +almost, which had nourished the hope between them. Now the hope +sprang up greener, stronger. Blake was helping to cherish it of his +own accord. + +She took a street car to the dance studio. Small duties, moods, +comments, questions beat on her exhausted mind as soon as she +entered. Annabella, in a skimpy chiffon practise dress, was posing +with bad temper. She had expected a string of cameras. There was +only one--hired, though Annabella didn't know this. The partner, a +keen, slick-haired youth, tried to insinuate himself into all the +pictures. + +"Aw, there you are," cried Al. "Look, Annabella don't understand +that this man's from the I.N.S. that supplies pictures to all the +papers. That's better than getting all the papers up here, +Annabella. This man sees that they all get prints and they have to +use 'em, don't they? They pay for 'em, don't they, Grace?" + +Grace added her fervent assurances. "We must get pictures of her +legs," she said. "Hasn't she stunning legs, Al?" + +"That's just what I was going to do," said Al. + +And, "Your own legs aren't so bad, honey," said Annabella with a +gratified smile. + +Between them, they got her on a table and pulled her practise dress +even farther up. They shoved the partner away. They sat her on +another table before the insurance man, pretending to sign a policy +for her legs. They posed her with the partner in a presumably new +dance step--Annabella, however, well to the fore. The photographer +called, "Ready." There were flashes. The long bare room was filled +with smoke. The studio instructor gave a lesson in one corner and +growled at them, about the smoke, about the time they took. A piano +tinkled. + +"Now, one--two--three---- Say, you people have got to get out. Your +time's up." + +"Now, what'll we call this dance?" cried Al. "We got to get a name +for it. What do you say, Grace?" + +"The New Yorker, maybe," suggested Grace after a weary pause. + +"Naw, that's too high-tone, too highbrow. Something snappy. Gee, I +don't know about dancing." + +"How about the Ritz?" said Annabella's partner. + +"The Ritzy Ritz! That's what we'll call it! _That's_ swell. Say, +when I get a hunch, Grace----" + +"Now listen, when'll these pictures be ready? Now listen, Grace, you +go down to his office and call for them to-morrow early. Nine +o'clock. See? Good-bye, Annabella. The pictures'll be knockouts. +I bet we make the front page. Now, I'll get in touch with you +to-morrow morning. Good-bye, Annabella. I'll see you get your +break, Karston. Say, you'll be the best-known insurance man in +America to-morrow. See, Grace, you remember Karston. He insures all +the actors and actresses, don't you, Karston? So long. Yeh, we +won't forget to use your name." + +Al was everywhere. + +"Now listen, Grace, we got time to go down to the office and pound +out some stories--just a short one, see?--so we'll have 'em on hand +in the morning when we start making the rounds. I gotta go down to +the _American_ now myself. Gee, I got that show to see about yet." + +It was nearly six. Grace protested. + +"Oh, we don't have to do the stories to-night. We have loads of +time. I'll do them first thing--in the morning. Aren't you--tired?" + +"Tired! Say, you ain't seen nothing yet. Wait till we start +trotting around to the papers. You gotta hop, I tell you, when you +work for Harry. But I'll get everything fixed up. Leave it to +Friend Al." + +He squeezed her arm. He seemed much jollier and not so suspicious, +so she assumed that he was satisfied with her. They hadn't done a +thing, it seemed to her, and she couldn't grasp any of it yet. She +started out, with relief, for Letty's house. She was utterly +tired--so tired. Her cheeks were lengthened; her eyes were holes. +Her heart reached across a city to Blake, to feel him near her. But +anyhow, at least for this day, the prospect looked bright. + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +From the start, Grace had in her favor one trait without which there +would be no good salesmen and no good press agents. She had little +consciousness of the unexpressed rights, wishes, and emotions of +other people. Her personality was like a huge shadow going before +her. She kept her eyes straight on it and never noticed what it +encompassed in its circumference. An obstacle had to be very +definite before she would see that the shadow suddenly ended, that it +had been interfered with. + +This trait helped her to seem competent and poised during the next +few days, while all the time her mind was busily sorting her +experiences into some sort of order for future guidance. She and Al +had to "plant," that is to insinuate, as many items about Annabella's +opening as possible into the dramatic columns of the papers for +Monday. For Tuesday they had to get more and bigger stories; for +Wednesday even more and even bigger stories. On Thursday, the day of +the opening, the guns had to blaze full blast. The time before +Annabella's debut was the time of most strenuous effort for them. If +Annabella "made a hit," a certain amount of notice would thereafter +come to her naturally and accumulate with slighter aid from the press +agents. Otherwise, they would have to redouble their ingenuity to +keep her name green during the latter period of her engagement. It +was earnestly to be hoped that Annabella would be a success. + +At the same time, they had to "plant the time stuff," that is, +arrange for pictures and notices in weeklies and in Sunday sections +which were made up long ahead. Grace had been instructed in some of +the ramifications of Harry Strauss's business. He was not only +Annabella's press agent, he was also her agent and would have to find +work for her in future. He handled the publicity for the night club, +too, Grace learned. This made their task more difficult, since they +had to be sure to get the name of the club used in papers where it +would do the most good, in papers read by people who presumably had +money to spend on night clubs--and these were the very papers which +pretended to be above them. + +From her former vantage point on the Brooklyn _Press_, Grace had +thought the work of press agents (publicity representatives they +liked to call themselves, and soon, no doubt, they would be +"publicists") easy and well paid. She had supposed that she would +sit at a desk and telephone and send stories down by messenger or +through the mail, as other of her press-agent acquaintances did. But +Mr. Strauss made it a cautious rule to expect the impossible of his +employees. Grace and Al had to go from paper to paper with folders +of pictures and sheaves of stories, peddling their wares. Although +Mr. Strauss had instructed them to work apart, they "made the rounds" +together. Al insisted, and Grace, at first, thought he might be a +help. + +Standing in the outer rooms of the more formal editorial offices, +where a boy transmitted their names, it appeared that Al had contacts +everywhere, knew everyone--very well. He called everybody of +importance on the papers by his or her first name. By his account, +he had roomed with this one, played poker with that one, stayed up +drinking half the night with someone else; had found a job for one, +lent money to another. When, however, they finally arrived before +the desk of the particular dramatic editor with whom Al had been so +intimate, Al's face seemed to return to the editor's mind in a haze +of the most indistinct recognition. + +Grace, too, had met most of the people, but in their offices they +seemed more hurried, more preoccupied, than they had seemed outside. +Al might have been the cause. Some were curt with him. + +Walking out of one office, he grabbed Grace's arm and made as if to +spit. He relieved his feelings: "Y'd think he was Jesus Christ! The +lousy bastard! And y'know how much that guy makes? Sixty dollars a +week!" + +They went from Vesey Street into the mold and under-elevated darkness +of Church, turned down a street near the river, sunny, broken up with +low, sagging structures, smelling of markets and horse dung and +wagonloads of vegetables. A truckman clucked to his horses in front +of the old _Globe_ building, which had been a car barn. A sense of +hollow, dusty wood, steeped in years of grime, a strong, sour odor, +followed them up stairs which were not too solid under their feet. +Al wanted to place a feature story here for Monday. + +Between editions, the city room drowsed among its tatters. Even the +A.P. and City News machines clicked sleepily near a circle of copy +desk where men were busy with blue pencils and pieces of paper. A +mild copy boy waited till they accosted him and then jerked his +finger toward a desk. A young man with a face from which he had +ejected all emotion rose and looked over their heads. He was in +shirt sleeves and wore his hat. There exists no combination more +hard-boiled. + +Al's eyes became pools of yearning truth, his manner gentle, +good-humored, even faintly rueful, but persistent. He edged up to +the man. He began to explain. + +"... Of course, it sounds like a press-agent yarn. But Annabella +Arden says that she feels her husband's presence sort of always in +the air with her. [Gestures] No--no ouija board, no spiritualism, +but just his spirit around her." + +Grace squirmed. + +After a moment, the man said expressionlessly that he might be able +to use an interview with Annabella in the early edition Monday. He +would see about it in the morning. He sat down. He fastened his +eyes to a length of white paper. + +They were so astonished that they had reached the door before Al came +to with a great start. He stopped a copy boy, demanded the +hard-boiled one's name. They made a special trip back. Al took out +a card and put it before the man. He fervently held out his hand. +The hard-boiled one shook it. "I want you to meet Miss Kline, Mr. +Wodehard." + +As they went out, Al's face was serene with duty performed. He had +made another contact. + +"He's a good chap to know. Assistant city editor." + +"Do you think he'll actually use the story?" said Grace. + +"Why not? I betcha he sends a reporter up to-morrow. Why not? They +gotta have something to fill up the paper Monday mornings. We gotta +remind him, of course. I tell you when I get a hunch, Grace----" + +Grace didn't believe it. She fancied there had been a gleam of +shared amusement in the hard-boiled one's eyes when they had met her +own. She would not have approached him like that. + +She wondered why Mr. Strauss had made such a point of dividing the +papers. To try her out? Would Al attempt to take all the credit for +the notices which they were thus placing together? + +"Now listen, Grace," Al assured her, "you can tell Harry you did it +all by yourself! I wouldn't care. Say, I been working for Harry +since he started out by himself. I got a ten per cent interest in +the business. Harry's a hard guy to work for but I can get along +with him. Every so often he gets a grouch on and lets out at me, but +I got an interest in the business, so before he goes home he calls me +in and we kiss and make up. Harry pays me $110 a week besides my +profit--I guess I get more than you. Harry's told me what he pays +you, and believe me you're earning every cent you get." + +He looked at her acutely. She was about to say that she made only +forty a week--the glance seemed to demand it--but saved herself in +time. She did not yet know whether or not to believe Al. + +After her silence he said, with some disappointment, "You don't talk +much, do you?" + +She made up her mind not to depend too much on his chatter and his +good nature, to be on her guard. + +It was twilight now. They were walking arm in arm across Columbus +Circle from the _Evening Journal_, Grace exhausted, even Al dragging +his feet. + +Grace had still to return to the office. She meant to write a story +about the six dresses which Annabella Arden would offer to poor +working girls. As it was Grace's idea, Al had disregarded it in +their brief encounters with the city rooms, but, seizing a moment and +an assistant city editor of a paper which specialized in legs and +actresses, Grace had managed to make the suggestion. He had grasped +at it. "That's not bad. Are you peddling this around to all the +papers or is it an exclusive story?" he demanded. Al opened his +mouth. Grace said quickly, "Exclusive." "You get it to me Monday, +with pictures, and I'll give you a five-column layout. Can't promise +what day. Maybe Tuesday. But it's an exclusive story, now? You're +sure of that?" Grace said she was sure. She was overwhelmed. + +Outside, Al fell upon her. "Never promise an exclusive story!" he +cried. "We coulda planted that all over town, all the front pages! +And you go give it to him exclusive! Jesus Christ!" + +"But a five-column layout!" said Grace. + +They had argued about it, Al declaring that they must offer the story +elsewhere, too; Grace repeating that it was poor business to go back +on a promise to a paper. "Aw, promises!" said Al cockily. "If we +gotta good story, they'll come eatin' out of our hands. To hell with +'em!" + +It was the one bright spot in the long day for Grace. Now, when Miss +MacAlister had left her typewriter, would be a good time to write it. +She hoped that Mr. Strauss had left too. + +On each of their sallies back to the office Harry Strauss had been +sitting at his desk over a pile of canceled checks, dealing them out +as if he were playing solitaire, shuffling them between thumb and +finger as bank tellers shuffle and count paper money. Sometimes she +had to use the telephone on Miss MacAlister's desk and she could feel +him watching through the open door, counting each call she made. She +knew he listened because once, while Al was arguing over the +telephone with an advertising man (the office also placed +advertisements for clients) Mr. Strauss had called in his resonant, +decisive voice, continuing to deal his checks: "Hang up on him! Hang +up on him!" He looked up at her whenever she entered the office but +made no comment. Only, Al warned her, "Don't make too many phone +calls. Harry don't like that." + +Once she had dared to hint for a messenger. She was speaking to Al +in the outer office. Mr. Strauss called through instantly and +bitterly, "And who's going to pay for the messenger? You'd be +surprised how easy it is to send stuff around by messenger, my dear, +and how easy it is then to throw it in the wastebasket. I've been +doing publicity for thirty years--I know." + +He was not there now, thank goodness! She let herself in with Al's +key, took her hat off her aching forehead, and laid her head against +the wide black paper holder of the machine. It felt cool and smooth. +She could do nothing but sit still for a while. + +Later, she was still sitting before a sheet of yellow paper in the +typewriter. Under the yellow stare of the electric light she typed +feverishly, tore out the paper, crumpled it. Balls of crumpled paper +fell, one after another, into the wastebasket. What _was_ the matter +with her? She had been accustomed to write quite easily items, +interviews with actresses, but she had not counted on the paralyzing +self-consciousness which seizes a press agent who must get a certain +name into a story. The name was no longer one among many but _the_ +name in the whole world. No matter where she put it, it seemed to +poke out, swell, and spread over the paper. How should she slip in +the name of the club? "Slip" was the word. There was an element of +guilt and stealth in it. The story must not sound like a press-agent +yarn. + +When she had finally pounded it out the story sounded to her like +nothing but a press-agent yarn. She read it with eyes so exhausted +that they stung and stuck. "Would any poor working girl like a new +dance frock? ... awaiting her choice in the wardrobe ... of ANNABELLA +ARDEN.... The dresses were put into the bottom of a deep trunk and +forgotten, together with other souvenirs.... Now ANNABELLA ARDEN is +making her return appearance ... at the CLUB MIRAFLORE Thursday +night...." The name of Annabella Arden seemed to be on every line +and that of the club on every other. + +The back of her neck felt permanently bent and the soles of her feet +burned as they touched the ground. + +The next morning, Saturday, Grace thought there might be a lull. But +she found Al lying in wait for her the moment she entered the office. +He was sorting a mass of flimsy sheets on which were typed short, +final announcements of the opening. Addressed envelopes flew toward +him out of the stenographer's machine. + +"Now, we gotta get these to everybody to-day," cried Al. "Come on, +Grace, lend a hand. And listen, I gotta get ahold of that City News +man. He'll send it over the wire." + +"You don't really think City News will let that go over the wire?" +said Grace involuntarily. Her eyes took in the slew of papers and +envelopes. "And--how can we deliver all this to-day?" + +"You watch me," said Al. "I'll show you." + +In a daze, she began to sort the envelopes. She counted forty. +Some, however, were addressed to different departments of the same +papers. She put her hand to her head and exchanged a long look with +the stenographer and Miss MacAlister giggled. In time, Grace would +learn that the Harry Strauss system, the Broadway system, was to bite +off everything within reach, regardless of whether or not it could be +chewed; afterward, the undigested bits, unfinished matter, would be +spewed about. She was still taking instructions too literally. + +When this task was over, Al was lying in wait for her again. + +"Now listen, Grace, one thing we forgot. We didn't get anything to +Arch Seuer down at the _Dress Daily_. He'll give us a good break, +and Harry's sure to put up a holler if we miss him. All the salesmen +and buyers read that paper--go to night clubs. So you type a special +note for Seuer and go down there right away--and grab all the +envelopes you can and deliver all you can on your way--and meet me at +the Sun at four." + +Grace hastened down to the _Dress Daily_. She had meant to see Mr. +Milford again anyway. It would be wise to thank him. Besides, he +sometimes used sketches of actresses' clothes if they were decorated +in a way to suit his column. Grace had seen some block-printed +garments in Annabella's wardrobe. But she remembered something, +something unpleasant, something that had pulled her shadow up short +and forced her to take notice, in Mr. Milford's department. What was +it?--oh, yes--that girl, his secretary. She certainly didn't like +her, Grace. Grace had to pause and consider this. Unwitting, Anita +Vestry had chosen a perfect path to Grace's interest. A person who +didn't like Grace and was not afraid to show it disturbed her, even +caused her some fear. What was it that they saw in her to scorn? +Could they be holding some secret harm in store for her? Did they +know--know about her? + +Grace saw that Mr. Milford was not in. Miss Vestry stood by his desk +with her back to the door. After Grace had done her errand she +walked past again, and now Miss Vestry was typing. But she didn't +look up. She wore the same brown tweed suit; her profile was just as +stern. Grace halted by her desk and fixed large, worried, tentative +eyes upon her. Miss Vestry waited for the other girl to speak. + +"Do you think--that Mr. Milford," began Grace, swallowing nervously, +"would use--any sketches of block-printed dresses? I'm--doing +publicity for Annabella Arden, the dancer--and I saw some very +unusual ones among her clothes." + +Again Anita Vestry noticed the tenacious eyes, the halts between +phrases, the curious way in which the girl's eyes advanced and the +lower part of her face retreated as she talked. It was interesting +to watch. She felt in better humor to-day and was a little ashamed +of her pettish outburst at their first meeting. + +"You'd have to ask him," she replied, yielding somewhat. "We haven't +anything for next Saturday," she suggested. + +"Would there be time--if I called up Monday?" + +"Oh, yes. Plenty of time." She looked down at her hands on the +typewriter keys. + +Still Grace lingered. The other girl seemed so removed, regarding, +but sealed against her. She searched for some way to penetrate +herself into the other's consciousness. Suddenly she said, without +really meaning to, "Look--Miss Arden opens Thursday night at the Club +Miraflore. I--they say I can ask a lot of newspaper people. +There'll be five tables. Wouldn't you--like to come?" + +The hue of Miss Vestry's face softened into what was almost a blush +and she gazed at Grace. In all the months she had been in New York, +this was the first proffer of acquaintance, of pleasure, that had +come her way, or that had come her way directly enough for her to +notice. As luck would have it, she even owned a suitable dress; old, +but seldom worn, it would do, and there was one man at her rooming +house who, she thought, could serve as escort. But... Her mouth +drew down again. She lowered her eyes to her hands, then raised them +suddenly, frankly. + +"I haven't got an evening wrap," she said, and grew red. + +This was the best possible way to fix all of Grace's attention and +sympathy. On this point of clothes Grace could enter at once into +anyone's feelings. It was so engrossing, so sore a point with her. +Didn't she herself have to--hadn't she had to as far back as she +could remember--scrimp and plan and borrow and make over and make do? +To her, too, any offer of amusement must bring as its first reaction +the idea of what she could possibly wear. Perhaps that dress would +do, but... Oh, yes! She knew. She reflected. She could wear her +sealskin coat now. Letty--but Letty had been invited and would need +her own wrap. Mrs. Kline, however, had an old cloth cape, gaily +lined, which Grace had sometimes used for an evening cloak. She +moved closer to Miss Vestry. + +"I have a wrap I could lend you," she said. "Do come." + +"Oh." Miss Vestry's face was wholly open, wholly grateful. "All +right," she said, and smiled, a twinkling smile. She made a great +concession. "I--I'll talk to Mr. Milford about those sketches." + +"Oh, _thank_ you!" said Grace. "Then that's settled. I'll--get the +wrap down to you on Thursday. Good-bye." + +On the way out she spent a few minutes concerning herself with this +girl. She felt more than curiosity, a sort of imaginative wonder +about her, which was unusual. What was her life? How did she +manage? Whom would she bring to the club? Even--what were her +thoughts? Grace felt pleased with herself, with her impulse and with +its results, of which she could approve. + +The envelopes she carried soon shook her out of reverie. She began +to hurry and worry and close off her mind. She flew uptown, then she +flew downtown. There was an engagement with Blake in the offing, one +of the few evening engagements he could permit himself. She didn't +mean to miss it, but she had to. When she met Al at the _Sun_ not +even her own share of envelopes had been delivered, and Al, as usual, +recollected numerous additional duties. + +They sped from paper to paper, from Dramatic Department to Dramatic +Department, from one yellow, tiredly glaring, dusty city room to the +next. From Park Place they walked across City Hall Park, black and +quiet, with huddled figures on the steps of the City Hall; newspaper +vendors, small oases of noise, shouting their wares down the wind. +The tiny, tireless lights gleamed along Park Row. The Woolworth +Building stood deserted, above it all, white and high, like a dream +in youth. They went down several black steps, felt a black square +about them, and there were the delivery trucks of the _American_, the +hoarse, bare bowels of its building swallowed them. Men looked up at +Grace from under green eyeshades with the instantaneous, naïve +interest of newspapermen in a pretty girl, any girl. She made a +moment to call Blake when he should have reached the restaurant and +arranged to see him later at the theater. He was sulky, but it +couldn't be helped. + +She and Al walked arm in arm from outside darkness into yellow light, +rush, and noise, then into darkness again, into the desert, with its +small islands of power, which this section was at night; glad of each +other's company, glad of a parallel effort against the forceful, +whirring, harassed indifference of the presses, felt now in the dusky +air, but neither heard nor seen. + + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +The Club Miraflore was below sidewalk level; a few steps down, an +office by the window, very wide, carpeted stairs leading farther down +to the cloakroom and the dance floor. The owner, a tall and handsome +Irishman, approved of Grace's looks, of the sort of plaintive +simplicity with which she accepted orders then, when she was not yet +habituated to these people. He did not sling her about as he slung +Al. All the same, she understood why even Al disliked to work with +night clubs. From the man at the desk, who noted reservations, to +the proprietor, everyone's eyes had a hard gleam; everyone had a +suspicious, calculating hospitality; everyone watched to see in whose +back it would be easiest to plunge a knife. + +Grace had been asked to come early Thursday night to receive the +newspaper guests, so, still literal, she was the first to arrive. +She entered nervous and worn. + +Since Monday she and Al had been buying all the morning papers and +all the evening papers (Harry Strauss wouldn't order or pay for +papers) frantically scanning them, clipping and hoarding scraps of +newsprint, little notices, and exhibiting them to Mr. Strauss. The +"breaks" had been good, Al said. They had got in one journal a +front-page story about the insurance of Annabella's legs. The +five-column layout had appeared. But she could never tell whether +Mr. Strauss was pleased or not. He sniffed at the small items and +looked down his nose, cautiously, at the large ones. That morning +Mr. Strauss had called them both in. On his desk lay the New York +_Times_. He pointed to a box, front page, top column. + +As they were not handling the publicity for Annabella's partner, they +had carefully omitted his name from the announcements, but they had +nevertheless, been obliged to attach it to the photographs of the new +dance step. An evening paper, remarking that he had the same name as +the son of a millionaire banker, had, without further ado, printed a +half column about the banker's son acting as Annabella's partner. Al +and Grace had seen this and congratulated themselves on the "break." +Both Annabella's name and the name of the club held prominent places +in the story. But the _Times_, which they had not yet examined, had +taken the trouble to verify. The banker's son would _not_ appear +with Annabella; he had, in fact, changed his given name to avoid +constant confusion with the partner. + +There it was in a front-page box of the New York _Times_--acme of +publicity. Annabella's name was mentioned once. The name of the +club was not. The partner's name, however, was given several times. + +Al and Grace drew a deep breath. They were about to burst with +elation. Al, hushed, with eyes that bulged as at some act of God, +read the notice over Mr. Strauss's shoulder, "Gee! Front-page box!" + +"Who's responsible for this?" snapped Mr. Strauss. Grace and Al +glanced at each other. Both would have liked to take the credit. +Neither wished to admit that they were not responsible at all. It +was just an accident--a glorious accident. + +Mr. Strauss said quietly, cuttingly, "Puffed up with yourselves, +aren't you?" + +Al made excited gestures. "Jesus Christ! What the hell d'y'want us +to do, Harry? Here we get a box in the _Times_----" + +"Yeh. You get a box in the _Times_ for that bastard," sneered Mr. +Strauss. "Who's paying for this, the Miraflore or that lousy hoofer?" + +"But what the hell d'y'expect us to do?" cried Al in despair. "Did +we plant that story, Grace? You tell Harry. See! The _Times_ got +it themselves. What the hell can _we_ do about it?" + +"What the hell am I paying you for?" inquired Mr. Strauss. "To get +publicity for Annabella and the Miraflore, or for a bum hoofer?" + +They had walked out much subdued. + +"We're all right," Al muttered. "Harry always expects the world. He +promises the world. Gee! A front-page box with Annabella's name! I +wish we were working for that partner, too. He's good--better'n she +is. Who's Annabella anyhow? Just a dizzy blonde hoofer, that's all +she is." + +Publicity, Grace had noticed, had its first and fullest effect on Al. +On the days when Annabella "got" little or nothing in the papers, his +opinion of her sank; on the days when she "got a break," she rose in +his esteem. + +Grace and her mother were still barely speaking so she had not dared +to ask Mrs. Kline to make a new dress. She wore to the opening an +old dark brown lace, the color of her eyes, with a trailing orange +sash. It was becoming enough, but, as usual, there was a wrong note +to cause unease. Her short sealskin coat was not really an evening +wrap, merely very obviously masquerading as one. When she had +checked it she felt better. + +Then, the five tables for the newspapers developed into one long +table almost against the orchestra. And she and Al had invited so +many people! Ought she to speak about that? She didn't know what to +do. The orchestra was tuning up, squawking and piping. The round +rows of tables were glassy white, ghastly; the waiters stood against +the wall. Mr. Larchmont, the owner, came over and inspected her in +one sharp glance from bare shoulders to tapered ankles. + +"Everything all right?" he said. She nodded. "Now, all I ask of you +is this--if any of these newspaper fellas show up not in evening +clothes, please see that they sit away from the dance floor. This is +an exclusive club, you know. Lots of society people will be here +to-night. I don't want them to get the idea we let _anybody_ in." + +He snorted at the very thought. "Do you understand?" Again she +nodded. "And if they want anything--a little--" he made a wide open +motion of his hand--"just ask the waiter. They can't have the whole +cellar, y'understand--but there's plenty of it." He gave her a +brisk, charming smile, a smile of approval, and went away. + +The next to arrive were Letty and Harold Moses. Grace had begged +them to hurry. They were not newspaper people, of course, but +whenever Grace could find a loophole to drag Letty in, to share +anything with her, she did so. + +Letty was giggling. + +"Gee, we're the acrobats, we're opening the show. Harold almost died +when he saw the empty tables. I couldn't get him in, almost. +Where's Blake?" + +"He wouldn't come so early." + +"He's right," grumbled Harold. He was a man of thirty, dark, +clean-shaven, well dressed. He looked steady. The idea of making +himself conspicuous in any way, even as the first to arrive at a +night club, bothered him. + +Letty caught the eye of the orchestra leader and would have signaled. +Harold put down her hand. + +"I know he'd play for us if we asked him," said Letty, tapping a +small, light foot. "Oh, Gee! Harold, the old spoil-sport. Is Blake +really coming?" + +"Yes. We--arranged _that_," said Grace. Letty always gave her +composure and a feeling of maturity. + +"Wife hasn't gone yet?" + +"Not till next week." + +Harold smoked and looked away. This business of running around with +a married man. He disapproved of both Blake and Grace, but of Grace +most. Letty never considered Blake's wife at all, but Harold, +strangely enough, did. He felt sorry for her and in accord with her, +as if, though he had never seen the woman, he realized that they +shared a mutual trouble, that they were both on the side of the +easily overlooked. + +"Blake'll dance with me anyhow--if Harold won't." + +Harold couldn't help looking alarmed. + +"Who do you think called me up the other day? Paul! Yop. And I +can't even see him, Harold's so mean about it." + +Harold's lips shut in an unhappy line. He was determined at any rate +not to be on the side of the deceived. + +"He _did_! Can't keep away, can he?" said Grace, who knew very well +that Letty would manage to see Paul. Probably her aid would be +enlisted in the arrangement. At the same time, she sympathized with +Harold and changed the subject. "My Gawd! Isn't anyone ever coming +to this night club?" + +People were straggling in, though very slowly. The orchestra played +once or twice, the sad, calling notes of orchestras on empty dance +floors. Without a human response, dance music was the loneliest +music on earth, Grace thought. + +After theater time, after eleven, the club began to seem appreciably +warmer and warmer, gayer and gayer; there was talk now and the +waiters flew, and the orchestra became cheerful with appreciation. +Lovely dresses and lovely faces bloomed about them. Letty and Grace +envied the corsages of orchids. Their table was rather silent. A +newspaperman had appeared with a large wife, pathetically pleasant. +The newspaperman drank. There was the photographer, Al's friend, +with a girl from the _Telegraph_. + +At midnight Blake walked in, very pale under the lights, and sat +mutely by Letty, dancing only when she asked him. Grace knew that he +disliked this environment. It made him feel poorer and shabbier than +ever. He did not smoke and turned the water glass with his highball +round and round in his hand. But Grace could not give him any +attention. Two newspapermen, acquaintances of hers, had also come. +She danced with one, then the other, then brought them to Letty. +Letty rose to dance and Grace slipped into her chair. She had no +time to talk to Blake, however; the wife of the newspaperman leaned +over the table and preëmpted her. With her eyes, Grace beseeched +Blake to dance with this woman, knowing it would be useless. He was +comfortable, sitting there silent, and would be oblivious to all else. + +At the same time, she had a glimpse of Miss Vestry with a quite +presentable man in tow. They were weaving their way between tables +and among dancers going and coming. Miss Vestry looked better than +Grace had expected. She had pretty, short hair, reddish brown. +Grace introduced her to Blake. She had to rise then to dance and, +watching from the floor, she saw, over and under heads, that Miss +Vestry was actually talking to Blake, very brightly. She brushed by +Letty. + +"Who is _that_ girl?" said Letty. + +"Go over and see if Blake needs rescuing," said Grace over her +shoulder. + +"He doesn't look it," said Letty swiftly, and tripped away in her +partner's arms. + +When Grace returned to the table Miss Vestry was on the opposite +side, at the other end. Grace made a moment to lean over Blake and +whisper, "Was it terrible? I'm sorry." + +"Oh, she was telling me a funny story about a taxi driver," said +Blake with a smile. + +So Grace contemplated Miss Vestry across the table with a new +curiosity. What was there to her? Blake was usually annoyed by +strangers. + +The fusion of the group no longer depended on Grace. The separate +elements had been welded for the moment, in some way, into one note +of enjoyment. Even the talk was unrecognizable by individual voices. +The party had a voice of its own, confused and gay. Harry Strauss +walked over from his table, his shock of hair more vigorously silver +than ever, and patted her arm. "Everything all right? All the +liquor you want?" Then Al burst upon them, holding tight by the +elbow a lady in an orchid gown, expansive so that there seemed to be +dozens of Als, whacking all the men on their backs and bending close +to the bare shoulders of all the girls. He didn't know Blake but he +slapped him on the back too. Blake flushed and sat up straighter. + +"That fella on a paper?" said Al to Grace. "No? Gee, I thought I +knew him. Oh, he came with you, huh?" he said with a knowing +intonation. Grace had to remind herself that that tone of voice was +habit. Al knew nothing, could know nothing whatever. "So only three +showed up. Well, that don't mean a thing. All the fellas say +they'll come and then nobody shows up. We--we're _all right_," he +cried, putting his arm about the back of her chair in the excess of +his spirits. "We'll make it. This is a good party." He spread the +palm of his hand emphatically before her nose. "Wait till you see +Annabella. Say, that baby's got something up her sleeve. She'll be +a knockout." + +"Where did you see her?" said Grace. + +"I saw her. I saw her," shouted Al, and frisked away. Blake and +Letty moved across several vacant chairs to her side. Everyone else +was dancing. Directly opposite, Anita Vestry and Harold were in +close conversation. + +"I don't want to pry, but may I know what you and Harold can find to +discuss so earnestly for half an hour?" called Letty above the noise +of the orchestra. + +Harold looked up and Miss Vestry reddened a little. + +"We're talking about Trenton," she said. "I come from Trenton." + +"Oh, my Gosh!" said Letty. "He's telling you about lace mills, then. +I never knew anyone who talked more about _lace_ mills." + +Miss Vestry laughed. "No. We're talking about potteries." + +"_Potteries_! Do I get _potteries_ for breakfasts and dinners now?" +It was a comic wail of despair. + +Everybody laughed. And then, as she was talking, Miss Vestry noticed +that everyone had been eliminated, everyone but Grace and Blake. +Strange how, as she chatted with Letty Moses, she had also to be +aware of what those two said. Perhaps it was the penetrating +character of Grace's voice, the pause between phrases, which kept the +ear subconsciously waiting, watching for the continuing phrase. +Perhaps it was a curious tenseness of atmosphere. The pair seemed to +gather the air around them and raise and hold it to some higher point +where they alone sat. Or perhaps it was only because they seemed so +utterly unaware of other people, looked and spoke and acted at and +for each other. Anita Vestry could feel the three-cornered +conversation waning, dying of its unimportance, as if the ears and +attention of the others were also fixed elsewhere upon something more +dominant. Yet Grace and Blake were saying little. + +"When--must you leave?" Grace was asking. + +"Two. I'm supposed to be working at Bill's house." + +"Does Bill know it?" + +"Mmm." + +"Is she really going next week then?" + +There was no answer. Grace desisted. She always knew just the +moment to stop, had learned it patiently and profited by her +experience. She said, "Anyhow, you'll have time to see our Annabella +perform." + +All the dancers were returning to their tables. The floor was +cleared. A woman sang. Al had moved a chair between tables, +regardless of the frowns of Mr. Larchmont and of the waiters, and sat +at ease with his feet spread in front of him. When he caught Grace's +eye ne winked and made violent, jovial signals. + +Annabella appeared in a white, downy dress, with her partner, sliding +like a large swan through the motions of a formal waltz. This was a +tribute to Gene Arden, who had been a ballroom dancer. A few people +pattered their hands. The next number belonged to Annabella alone; +then she met her partner and the two performed some pretty, jigging +steps. Alone again, she was better but not very exciting. There was +light applause--and intermission. + +Al rushed over. + +"This is just the beginning. Wait, you ain't seen nothin' yet." + +Grace glanced toward Harry Strauss's table and felt depressed. Mr. +Strauss was looking down his long nose, tapping a glass with his +fingernail. + +"He doesn't seem pleased," she said. "If she's no better than +this----" + +"Say, don't you worry!" cried Al. "That kid has the stuff. This is +just a starter. She's a little scared, see? But she's got something +up her sleeve you don't know nothin' about." The music began. +"Watch this now. You'll see." He scurried away. + +"He always knows so much," she murmured to Blake. + +"Mmm. That's the Broadway act," said Blake. + +Suddenly the circle of dance floor was flooded with a light that made +it waver in long lines as if it were not wood but water. Annabella +entered. Was it Annabella? Everyone sat up. The baby face was +gone. This woman had no face--her face couldn't be noticed or +recollected. She wore a short skirt of green grass apparently, and a +band of grass lightly confined her breasts. The middle of her torso +was bare, gracious, wide, and white. It was flat but not thin; the +softness of the flesh was evident. She took a few steps directly +within the light. She turned and sang, kicked out, danced. All at +once she stood still. Her hips swayed. The audience breathed +heavily. She was no longer Annabella Arden or anybody. She had +completely, unconsciously visualized herself into a symbol. She was +a woman--the woman. Holding herself still, the woman moved her body +from the hips. The woman's white flesh rippled as a ray of white +light ripples on a clear stream, and she threw up one white arm like +a call. As she pranced, she sang, and it was as if she whinnied. +"Well," cried Al, hollering above the thud of feet and hands, the +applause, the calls, and mopping his brow. "Wha'd I tell you? Look +at Harry now." + +Harry Strauss was clapping and nodding his head slowly and +definitely. Variations of the shimmy were still novel that year. + +"She's a knockout! I bet Harry's glad now he tied her up." + +"Do you mean to say Mr. Strauss didn't know about--this?" + +"Oh, he knew. But he didn't know how this belly-dancing, +what-you-call-it, would go in a ritzy club like the Miraflore. +Larchmont didn't want to try it." + +"It would go anywhere, from a honky-tonk up," said Blake. He had to +raise his voice. There was still applause. + +"You in show business?" cried Al. + +Blake rose and spoke to Grace. "I'd better run along now before the +encore." + +"Don't--mind about me. I'm staying with Let to-night anyhow." + +It hadn't occurred to Blake to mind about her, she saw. Once this +would have hurt her, now she was resigned. That was just Blake's +way. He was sorry and took her hand gently, in front of Al, to make +up for his remissness. + +"Hey, ain't he taking you home?" cried Al. "Say, there's a chance +for _me_ now!" + +Blake went at once. + +After the encore Grace dragged Letty off the dance floor to go home. +Miss Vestry was just leaving, too. Letty said to her with +enthusiasm, "Come and see us sometime, call me up, won't you?" + +Harold yawned widely in the taxi and Letty, animated as ever, gave +him a push and a kiss. "The tired old business man. Well, your +evening wasn't lost, was it? Just think of all the great big +potteries you discussed with Miss--Miss--what was that girl's name?" + +"Vestry. She seems to be all right. Blake liked her," said Grace. + +"And so do I," declared Letty. "I asked her to call me up. Why +don't you bring her along, Gracie, some Sunday maybe? I mean it. +That's a nice girl, intelligent." + +"Sunday? Oh. That--reminds me. What are--your plans--Sunday after +next? I--was going to borrow your apartment." + +"Uh-huh." By a direct look Letty signified that they had best +discuss this when they were alone. Harold had turned away his face, +twisted with irritation and embarrassment. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + +On the Sunday which Grace had reserved, the Moseses came home in ill +humor from a vaudeville show and a walk. It was a cold November +afternoon, blanketed in the lethargy of the day of rest, with a wind +which swept along the closed shop windows on Fifth Avenue and between +the people on Broadway and left both streets naked--naked and dull. +Harold wished to return home as quickly as possible, but Letty said +the walk would do them good. He suspected that she had promised not +to come back before a certain hour. + +Nor did their house seem much more cheerful to him than the street. +It consisted of a tiny entrance, one square room, and behind that a +doorless alcove through whose looped, glossy curtains twin beds could +be seen. There was also a bit of tiled kitchenette near the +entrance. Everything was in order. Everything shone with the chill, +dustless luster of the apartment house itself, its mirrored elevator +and its hall boys. And over everything lay a special Sunday +atmosphere, like a heavy gray enamel. + +Blake and Grace were sitting on the couch, rolling private jokes +between them. _They_ were happy enough. To Harold their good cheer +was the final straw. One couldn't even be alone in one's own house +with one's own troubles without the mood of those two interfering. +He went into the bathroom, the only unoccupied room in the house, and +banged the door. + +Grace lifted her brows in sincere surprise. "What is it now?" + +"Oh-h," said Letty with a long, a gusty sigh, "don't ask me! It +started with his insurance and then went on and on and on." + +She threw off her coat and sat down beside Blake. He put an arm +around her and they kissed each other while Grace regarded them with +an encouraging, a mock-coy amusement. She often spoke of the +attachment between Blake and Letty. She even urged them to flirt a +bit, serving up Letty's kisses as an extra fillip to Blake and +feeling secure with the knowledge that these were passed out always +through a window in the solid barrier of Letty's loyalty to her, a +window which had been opened by her permission and would be sealed at +her behest. It was not so much that she trusted Letty--only Letty +was that kind of a girl; her friends' preserves were so enclosed in +her mind that they were practically invisible. Of course, if their +friendship no longer existed--"If I should die for instance," Grace +often said meditatively, "you two might--start something." + +Harold understood the situation, too, but this did not mean that he +enjoyed it. He went to the armchair by the window. Grace and Blake +were now rolling their special jokes on to Letty, but Harold was left +to smile out in the cold; not intentionally, more as if the circle of +three had too close a harmony to need or permit of additions. From +experience, he knew that it would not be possible for him to start a +new conversation. If he tried, if even Letty tried, Blake's voice, +which was a little hoarse, as if with weariness, and Grace's +contralto and Grace's characteristic laugh would separate the words, +brush them aside, distract the attention. Neither Harold nor Letty +could attach as much importance to what each said as Blake and Grace +apparently could to what they said. Grace made of each laugh a +particular tribute to Blake as king, to herself as queen. It was too +deep and too prolonged for a snigger, but she laughed, drawing the +laughter inside of herself, arching her shoulders, curling her lips, +lifting her head, making a distinct point of each gesture, as if her +amusement had a distinct significance, an appreciation peculiar to +herself and necessarily transcending all other appreciation. + +"Tell us about Harry Strauss and his nickel," said Blake to her. + +"Oh, yes. The other day I was telephoning and Harry, as usual, was +listening. Before I got through he called, 'Don't hang up; I want to +talk to him.' Well, you know how it is when you're--busy and you're +telephoning. When I was through I--instinctively hung up, just as +Harry made a move to grab the phone. He shook his head, went 'Teh. +Teh,' and I said, 'Oh, I'm sorry, I'll get him right back,' and I +started to--call the number again. And Harry said, shaking his +finger at me, 'Listen, my dear, you ought to be more careful. Every +time you do that it costs a nickel!'" + +Letty trilled laughter. "Oh, my Gosh! Why'n't you tell him you'd +give him the nickel?" + +"Oh, I couldn't do that, Letty," said Grace reprovingly. "But Blake +and I--" she began to curl her lips and arch her shoulders, looking +from person to person--"Blake and I--have decided to call him +It-costs-a-nickel-Harry!" And she began her deep, prolonged, +continuous snigger. + +Then Blake told them about another publicity man who had the habit of +adding, at the top of each news note, an impassioned plea for its +publication, concluding with the bribe of eternal gratitude from him +and his employer. His first name was Mike, so, as he and the +employer were both notorious for their piety, some of the dramatic +editors had nicknamed him For-Christ's-sake-print-this-Mike. + +When he was done he looked solely at Grace and she rewarded him. +They were, or considered themselves to be, too unsentimental to use +endearments in front of other people, but they began a sort of +wrestling match which was a form of endearment. It was a +sophisticated wrestling match; merely a pulling and bending of arms +with a vast deal of deliberate mirth on Grace's part. There was none +of the apparent indelicacy of a pair cooing before others, yet they +were so self-sufficient, they erased everyone else so completely, +that even Letty sought to detach their interest from each other. As +for Harold, he looked out of the window and smoked, first cigarettes, +then a pipe. Harold would have liked Blake by himself; with Grace he +frequently found him insufferable. + +Finally Letty attracted Blake's attention by some question about what +he would like to eat. + +He paused in the wrestling match and said with complete naturalness, +"I can't stay." + +"You can't stay to-night?" cried Letty. "But----" + +Grace was slowly disengaging herself. It was understood that Blake +had to filch these Sunday afternoons from his wife; he was always +supposed to be working on his play at a friend's house and he usually +had to be back for supper. But--the same thought was in the minds of +both girls--this was the first Sunday of his wife's absence, the +first day in months which he and Grace had had absolutely to +themselves. + +She said, "Don't you want any supper?" It was a carefully surprised +question, not a demand. + +"Bill asked me over there for supper." + +Something of Grace's rigidity penetrated even to him. + +He glanced at her and muttered, as if against his will, "We were +going to work to-night anyway." + +For a second she could not answer. She had planned this Sunday to be +so perfect, unmarred by that shade of prior claim, unjarred by the +necessity for departure at a set hour. Sudden sensations of revolt +swarmed within her like a disturbed hornet's nest. She felt her +voice freezing with the effort to keep it tearless and unexacting. + +Presently, she said, "Oh. I wish--you'd tell me those things in +time--so I could--make--my own plans." + +"Well, you can stay here now, can't you?" said Blake through tighter +lips. + +"So I can--now," she said quietly, "but I might have made--other +arrangements." + +She did not mean to let Blake depart in sullenness, however. It was +one of her axioms never to permit even the slightest breach to remain +unadjusted overnight, "never to sleep on a quarrel." No telling what +depths it might borrow from the thoughtful spaciousness of the night! +She followed him to the entrance, from which could be heard her +special laughter accompanying their lingering embrace. + +Then Grace, Harold, and Letty were left alone. + +"You might go down and get something to eat," suggested Letty, +speaking to Harold for the first time. "Everything's a lot cheaper +at that little delicatessen on Broadway and they won't deliver. I've +argued and argued with them and they won't." + +"Of course they won't," grumbled Harold. "That's how they can afford +to sell cheaper. Can't you get it through your head that when +production costs are higher, prices must rise? You're like all +consumers----" + +"Oh, you and your old production costs!" cried Letty. "Very well. +I'm a consumer and I don't care who knows it! I don't give a rap +about producers. I'm a consumer. I consume." She flounced over to +the telephone in the alcove. + +Grace began to talk amicably to Harold, trying to "smooth him over." + +"Speaking of production costs," she said, "do you know--you have an +admirer? Remember that Miss Vestry who held forth on potteries? She +was all het up--when I told her you were a manager in an underwear +factory. Said she'd like to know one person in New York who didn't +have some job connected with words." + +"That's a funny idea," said Harold unwillingly. + +And, "What was that?" demanded Letty as she flung herself back on the +couch. "Have you been seeing her?" + +"Yes. I had dinner with her last week. She's a funny girl but--sort +of interesting. She's all alone here, lives in a weird rooming +house. I asked her why she didn't try for a job in the Fashion +Department and she said she hated the _Dress Daily_ and hated all the +jobs that had sprung up around words. She said when Mr. Milford +started to dictate she felt like--a fly caught in a spider's web! +She told me she wished she could find something to do in a place +where they _made_--things. No wonder she knew so much about +potteries. It seems her father is a potter or something like that." + +"I always hated stenography, too," declared Letty. "All that stew +and fuss to write a lot of bunk!" + +"You wouldn't know anything about it," put in Harold. "You were a +bum stenog." + +"That's right. Take it out on me!" + +The food, when it finally arrived, also had a veneer, the enameled +sheen of the delicatessen. They served themselves dabs of many +things, one plate to a person, put the plates on paper napkins in +their laps, and ate, mostly in silence till Harold remarked that, +considering the young fortune Letty spent on food, it was remarkable +how rotten this supper could taste. + +"Yes," said Letty bitterly, "and you heard what I got, Grace, when I +tried to save some money. And I was bawled out for extravagance all +through a vaudeville show just because I asked him to raise my +clothes allowance!" + +Harold gave Letty a look which said, "How dare you bring that girl +into our affairs?" All the same, he could not help defending +himself. "I told you why I couldn't raise your clothes allowance. +I'm taking out more insurance. Letty doesn't understand that that's +more for her benefit than extra clothes." + +"I'd rather have the clothes," said Letty. "You're always worrying +about what would become of me if anything happened to you. I never +worry. It's not as if we had a family. I could go back to work." + +"Mm. What would you do? You were just saying how you hated +stenography." + +Letty tossed her head. "Oh, well, I wouldn't work forever. It +sounds vain--but I know I could always marry somebody or get kept or +something." She shrugged. + +Grace began the preliminary motions to her deep snigger. + +"I dare say--Paul--would be glad to step into Harold's shoes," she +suggested, emphasizing the joke with a coy lift of her brows. + +Harold went over to the phonograph and put on a record, and Letty +behind his back made a warning "oh" of her mouth. She started to +pile the dishes and carry them into the kitchenette, calling to +Harold for assistance, but on her return trip she stopped by Grace +and said something to her and giggled. Grace whispered, "You _did_ +see him?" Then she put her hand hastily over her mouth. Harold had +also stepped out of the kitchenette. She didn't believe he had +heard, but the expression of his face was so enraged that she grew +pale for a moment and thought that really Letty tantalized him too +much. + +Neither Harold nor Letty spoke for some time. Although Grace +realized that the former was angry and the latter uneasy, it would +not occur to her that she could be involved. After an evening visit +to Letty she nearly always stayed the night, so, with the assurance +of precedent, she got up, said she was sleepy, and went into the +alcove. + +Even more than the clandestine use to which she put the apartment, +this habit of hers irritated Harold. He had had many a quarrel with +Letty over the requisitioning of their place Sunday afternoons and +only an idea of the futility of the procedure restrained him from +forbidding it. Letty was quite capable of lending the key anyhow and +Grace of arranging matters so that he need never know. Whenever +Grace made ready to spend the night, the same fear of what Letty +would do, plus a sense of middle-class manners, never let him go +beyond the muttered comment: "Hasn't she got a home?" But to-night +was different. To-night he was incensed beyond fear and beyond +courtesy. Not only could he and Letty never seem to be mentally +alone in their house; but often they couldn't even be physically +alone! He said to Letty, "Go in there and tell her to go home." + +"I will not," replied Letty at once. + +"If you won't, I will. I expect to have my home to myself once in a +while." + +Unconsciously, Letty raised her voice. "As far as I'm concerned, you +can have your old home to yourself--all to yourself--for ever and +ever." + +Grace now appeared between the curtains of the alcove. She had put +on Letty's dressing gown and looked from one to the other, pale, with +large, disturbed eyes. She had caught Letty's last words; still she +never thought that the quarrel could include her. Only, she was +sorry for both of them. + +"We think you'd better go home to-night," said Harold. + +She was so taken aback that her cheeks grew quite white and haggard, +her eyes turned toward him with a dark, welling pathos. Harold moved +his own eyes quickly. + +"Don't mind a thing he says," cried Letty. "Don't go home. I want +you to stay." + +"No. I'd better go." + +She walked, white-faced, into the alcove, followed by Letty. Her +shadow had been pulled up short and she was, for the moment, stunned +by the comprehension of what this might mean to her. + + + + +CHAPTER NINE + +When Grace had not seen Letty for a fortnight, her mind began to +weave in and about various stratagems. She knew she would make her +way back to their house--she had to--but her life, especially of +late, had been so based on substrata of manipulation that it never +occurred to her to do this directly. At last she hit on a plan which +included Anita Vestry. The latter was not so much associated with +her as to draw Harold's instant suspicion; besides, Letty, in +Harold's hearing, had asked the girl to come and see her. + +One noon she made a special trip downtown to have lunch with Anita, +to confide in her and to broach to her the idea of calling up Letty +and inviting her to the theater. Grace would get them free tickets +and would meet them. + +"I really want to see her ever so much," Grace pleaded. "Of course, +I call her up, but it's not the same. Harold plays bridge to-morrow +so, if he _knows_ she's going with you, it'll be all right." + +Anita couldn't understand. "Why don't you just call her up and meet +her downtown yourself?" + +"No," said Grace, "I want her to have a perfect alibi. If you call +up at dinner time Harold will answer the phone and he'll know _you_ +are making the arrangements, and he'll be satisfied. They fight so +much about everything, I don't want them to fight over me. Besides, +I'd like to have you along." + +This was not an afterthought. There was an uncommon stability, a +fresh sturdiness about Anita, which was new to Grace and which +attracted her. All her other relations--at home, with Blake, at the +office; even, now, with Letty--seemed so precarious that she was +nearly always in a state of inner fear--an apprehensive shivering of +her very soul. She longed for solid, utterly smooth ground, and +Anita gave promise of this. + +By some maneuver Grace had managed to get two pairs of seats, so +Letty and Grace sat together, and Anita sat behind them by herself. +She enjoyed it that way. She luxuriated in the vacant seat. + +"If I am ever rich," she thought, "I will always buy three seats to +the theater; one for me and a vacant one on either side." + +A fig for talk of selfishness when, for the price of selfishness, one +could buy some freedom from too enveloping human contacts! But +probably she would never be rich. The play was poor, even Anita, who +merely liked to watch the lights and the faces, was forced to +recognize. But the featured actress had a voice. What a voice! It +made the cheapest commonplaces sound like mottoes on glorious tombs. +The audience was aquiver with her voice. + +During the first intermission Anita remarked on it to Grace. + +"Yes," said Grace with a grave note of opinion, "I think so, too. I +think they're--silly not to star her." + +"Imagine her as Juliet!" suggested Letty. + +"N-no. She's not helpless enough. I don't feel that a Juliet--would +have so much poise. But Candida! Blake and I are mad about Shaw and +we decided that she'd make the perfect Candida. I told Dexter I +wanted to meet her, and if he can arrange it I'd like to tell her +that." + +Somehow, Anita had never realized that actresses could be met. The +idea struck her very suddenly and she looked at Grace, in spite of +herself, with wonder that had a tinge of awe in it. Anita would not +quite have dared to cry as Letty did, "Oh, will you take me along, +Grace?" + +"If it's--possible," said Grace with dignity. + +During the second intermission Grace and Letty held a long, vigorous +consultation on clothes. Anita, listening, could not understand why +they had troubled to trick and to arrange this evening for such talk. +She could not feel the warm alliance between them from which each +drew comfort and composure, no matter what they said. From each +other they got that sense of the burden of troubles, emotions, and +thoughts being eased, shared; of some other helping to live their +lives which men may hope to freely get from women, but which wise +women never even attempt to expect from men. To be sure, men can +have their easy, unexacting, open friendships, and laugh at the +intricate intimacies between women, for it is upon the shoulders of +women that they unload the subtler moods and cares. But this lack in +their lives women must look to other women to fill, unless they can +bear to be, too often, entirely alone. + +After the theater the three girls walked up Broadway, past the first +rush and chatter of the crowds, the first battle of lights and +electric signs, past the kitten made of light naïvely chasing a spool +made of light, to a slightly quieter section before another turn of +that twisting, glinting street, opening and shutting accordion-like. +They went into Bouton's and sat down at a blackly shining, glassy +table. + +"Three frŏsted chŏcolates," ordered Grace. + +"Three frawsted chawc'lets?" inquired the waiter politely. + +They began to giggle behind his back. + +"It's always that way," said Grace. "I've tried every combination +but I never hit on the right one. If I say 'frawsted chŏcolate,' +the waiter rebukes me with 'frŏsted chawc'let.' And if I reverse +the pronunciation, he reverses it, too, so we never meet." + +They were merry, but both Grace and Letty glanced at the clock from +time to time. Letty said in a low aside under cover of the general +hubbub, "Are you going up with me?" + +"No, to Brooklyn," murmured Grace. She gave the faintest nod in +Anita's direction. Anita was not meant to catch the nod. + +Grace looked up at her swiftly across the table. + +"How is your job going now?" asked Anita. + +"Oh, so-so. Al has a movie. I've been working all day with a +vaudeville act. Midgets. I had an awfully bright idea--if I say so +myself. Eight of them--piled into a cab and then refused to pay +extra fare, claiming they were so small that eight of them made only +four legal persons. So the driver--haled them to court. He was +marvelous--we had to let him in on it, of course--fell right into the +spirit of the thing and was very--indignant, and postured and +declaimed like anything. I love taxi drivers. They always catch the +spirit of things. But we had to let the judge in, too, so he would +dismiss the case before the afternoon show and that--was difficult. +Harry fixed that up. We've got a tremendous spread in the _Evening +World_ to-night--it's just their meat--and stuff in all the other +papers. Very funny. + +"But none of it's--easy," she explained with more emphatic pauses and +doubly serious eyes. "It's not like doing publicity for an +established theatrical firm. They're--entitled to a certain amount +of space in the dramatic columns. They have standing and they +advertise. Harry Strauss places advertising for his clients, too, +but not everywhere and not _enough_ and not--consistently. Besides, +the papers are wary of him into the bargain. So it's a process of +grab as grab can. And he certainly expects you to grab. He wants +all the news space and all the front pages!" + +"I have a singer, too," she added with a snigger. "Baritone. I +think I've--acquired him, Letty. Two lunches and one dinner so far, +and he wants to teach me how to speak Italian and eat spaghetti. +Pretty good--what? We're also going to have a show soon--called +_Mamie_--and I think perhaps Mr. Strauss'll let me handle it alone. +If I do well perhaps I'll even get--a raise. Do you know, Annabella +told me she paid Strauss $200 a week, and I don't know what the night +club paid him. It's unbelievable, isn't it? He gets the highest +prices in the business." + +"I'll bet Blake minds the baritone," put in Letty. + +"Minds? I guess he doesn't," said Grace firmly. She seemed +altogether less flexible than Anita had ever seen her. Her eyes were +merely large eyes, very calm. "I guess--he has no right to mind. I +must find some way to spend my evenings." + +There was one thing more that Letty wished to know, and as they were +leaving, single file, she murmured to Grace, "Then when is she coming +back?" + +"Not till December," said Grace, low. "She changed her mind and +wanted to come home for Thanksgiving but--she was told to _stay_. If +Ma should call..." + +"I know. Don't worry." + +Some time later, when Anita was preparing for bed, the two asides, +the conversation she had overheard at the night club, the slight +warning nod began to arrange themselves idly in her mind. And, not +of her volition, but like the final link of a puzzle slipping into +place without effort when all the other parts have been set in order, +there came back to her a remark Grace had made at their one dinner +together. Blake lived in Brooklyn. + +With a certain gallantry, she at once shook off this unexpected +meaning, a meaning that seemed too discordant in the atmosphere of +the tragic which she had sensed about Grace; a meaning which left a +wryness in her mouth and opened before her mind a shocking vista of +sad, small, endless, and tasteless adaptations ever at their task of +leveling and making endurable. After all, what did she know of +tragedy? It suddenly struck her that perhaps the very souls in hell +found obscure dingy ways of habituating themselves to hell fire and +thereafter survived in the midst of it with an unseemly equanimity. + + + + +CHAPTER TEN + +During the last two years of school Grace had taken her classes at +the Washington Square College. Between classes, which came in the +late afternoon and evening, she would cross Washington Square Park +and explore the raggedy-taggedy streets of the Italian and artistic +colonies. Sometimes she went to the tea-room cafés that brought +together art and tourists. When she met Blake Andrews in one of +these (very formally, they were introduced) she met an even-featured +young man with sandy hair, a solid chin, and thin cheeks. He +slouched with determination, did not trouble to be polite, and did +not trouble to be neat. The acidity of failure she mistook and he +mistook for the irony of sophistication. He talked about books, +plays, and the stage. So did she. He was married, which was too +bad, but not definitely against him in our times, and his wife +remained in St. Louis, which was better. He led a curious life. + +This life seemed strange even to Blake, though he acted as if he had +been born to it. His people were decent, semi-substantial folks in +St. Louis. He had married, as Grace said, the "little girl next +door," a pretty girl, whose porch and lawn adjoined, who had gone to +the same college, who was gentle and dutiful and knew how to cook. +No one had forced him to marry her. No one had forced him to enter a +relative's bank. There he had done his work equably and capably and +was in line for a vice-presidency, at least. He and Edith, his wife, +had an apartment, not a house like their parents', with all sorts of +novel appliances. They were a modern young couple. When the war +began Blake enlisted at once, and after his discharge he stayed in +New York. He said that he wished to write plays. + +Blake came not too unnaturally by an interest in the theater. An +uncle was on the stage--on the road, rather, but with headquarters in +New York; the aunt, too, was of the profession. They lived in a +two-room apartment over a restaurant on West Forty-seventh Street. +There Blake took up his abode. At one end of the street burlesque +chorus girls with fat legs stood about the stage door of the +Columbia; opposite, agents and vaudeville actors greeted each other +warmly around the Palace. In the center of the block Spaniards +leaned against the portals of the Hotel America, contemplating with +dumb, warm eyes and chewing toothpicks. The porter constantly moved +trunks with vivid placards. Actors and fight managers were shaved by +the window of the Hotel Somerset. Highly painted, ardently +respectable women, with wedding rings, divorces, fur coats, and +diamonds of various grades, walked in and out of the delicatessen +shops, lingerie shops, restaurants, lobbies, and the few remaining +brownstone houses. Lap dogs were aired before shabby apartment +hotels and trucks of scenery unloaded before the climbing iron +staircase back of the Palace. + +At first Blake hunted for work. As he disliked the only sort of work +he knew and was not familiar with any other, he found no work. He +looked up various people from St. Louis, made acquaintance with +Broadway, and for a time he drifted toward the Village. His +struggles had served no purpose, so he made up his mind with a vigor +none the less effective for being inert, to struggle no more. He +would not go home. He did no work. He even stopped shaving and paid +no further attention to his clothes. His parents sent him a little +money and not too many remonstrances; he was their only child and +they swore by him--perhaps they remembered his firm chin and +unwavering gait. His wife stayed with her people and wrote him +bewildered, pleading letters. His uncle provided food and shelter. +Blake went about, unshaven, thin-cheeked, morose, not confiding in +anyone. + +He was, as one Village girl defined it, in the "sitting business." +Whenever she entered a Village café and saw him there, sitting sourly +in a corner, she called, "Ah, there! Still in the sitting business, +what?" Blake was outsitting his parents, his job, his duty, his +class, and St. Louis, Missouri. He even had a faint hope that he +might outsit his wife, a faint hope since Blake came of a social +stratum in which it is one of the virtues of wives to stick like a +wet hair to the hand. To prove, however, that he had at least outsat +this virtue in himself, he made some careless love to girls who +painted or wrote and thereby, necessarily to Blake, flaunted their +lack of cohesion. For several months he and Grace met thus, very +casually, enjoying the novelty of each other's "lines." + +One day they were walking up Sixth Avenue when a shabby man +approached Blake and asked him for money to buy a meal. Blake had a +quarter in his pocket. The sight of pain, trouble of any sort, was +hateful to him, for, affected by it though he was, he found himself +averse with every fiber of his lethargic, self-contained nature to +any effort at alleviation. He thought he had decided that such +effort was futile. He could not help other people's troubles; +therefore he wished to be unconscious of them. They made him feel +too powerless. He put his hand into his pocket, because of Grace, +and at once thought better of it. He didn't mean to be confused by +gallantry. The man added, "I been in vaudeville for years, mister, +and now I can't get work." Blake walked by with an awkward laugh. +"Oh, in vaudeville?" he said. "Then you're not worth even a quarter. +Apply to the N.V.A." He flushed, as he said this, at his own +brutality. + +Grace hurried past him, caught up with the man, and searched for some +change. She was white-lipped and had difficulty to keep back the +tears. She did not think she could even bear Blake by her side. + +Blake had a stroke of luck that year. He wrote a playlet with +another man who knew an agent who sold it as a vaudeville act. +Toward the end of the year Edith managed to get the money to come to +New York, their furniture was brought from St. Louis, and Blake found +himself in the midst of his lares and penates in Brooklyn, with a +vague income, a tender if puzzled wife, and a love affair accelerated +by its own speed, going now of its own volition. + +At last neither Grace nor Blake could make any further attempts to +fly before the fire with which they had been playing. They merely +sought, with a muddled stubbornness on Blake's part, to keep the +flames away from that parched island where Edith dwelt, bewildered, +but not even imagining, utterly unknowing. Their hope, at least +Blake's hope, was that some day the island would grow too parched for +human endurance and Edith would cease to forgive and to submit and by +herself, of her own free will, try to escape. To cast her out from +even this poor refuge to which she clung so intently seemed +impossible to Blake. He could not be so cruel to her. And Grace, +resenting this division between his love and his kindness, this +division which was so nicely defined for her, which Blake could not, +would not, realize, saw no way but to yield. She wished for both the +love and the kindness; she would not rest and could not feel serene +till she had both. But for the present, for the sake of peace, she +had made her choice. There was a rough justice in it, a painful +justice. She would have the love and Edith might, undisturbed for +the present, have the kindness. + +Blake, walking up Broadway on a January afternoon, was full of a new, +a dreaded necessity for kindness which he had had to swallow and +which now Grace would have to swallow or reject. He had a reason +which caused his memory to stumble back through the passage of the +months, past various milestones which he had never considered before +but which he found he recollected surprisingly well. He had a good +memory which he kept to himself. The urging and the pleading were +blurred because they had been so distasteful, but it was not so with +a certain promise that he had made to Grace, all the circumstances of +which appeared to him with a double distinctness. He understood why +he had made the promise and why the promise had been called for. He +understood also why he had broken the promise. And how was he to +explain it? He could shift the blame and he could not shift the +blame at all honorably. He had a defense and yet, before accusing +eyes, it crumbled into no defense at all. He could not help +remembering the dark glare of those eyes, whose suction was, more +often than he cared to admit, a source of wonder to him, focused on +him as Grace said, in all tense seriousness, "If that ever happened, +I--I would kill you. I would." + +And yet, what had he to blame himself for? Who had made the choice +if not Grace, while he kept himself consciously aloof, while, +unconsciously, how could he help that he had willed to aid the +choice? He could not bear to see the tangle, wished with all his +heart to turn his head and avoid it, as one avoids the ugly sight of +some mangled animal by the wayside, but he found it, with loathing, +with embarrassment and dismay, impossible, for he was within the +snarl, he was part of the mangled animal. + +Even when he did not wish to see Grace, when what he had to say would +be much better said by letter, by written word, not face to face, +those eyes were steadily drawing him through the traffic, up +Broadway, around that special corner, and nearer, ever nearer, to +her. He had never before quite guessed how many arid spaces there +were in his life and how, from Grace's eyes, like deep, pliant pools, +he drew their constant and necessary refreshment. + +He found her already sitting at their table. She wore an almost +springlike hat of pale silk, for it was one of those winter days +which give promises of spring that cannot possibly be kept. This day +had succeeded only in losing all its red corpuscles and was wan, +languid, dampish. + +The hat shaded her eyes. To gain time he commented on it. + +"Have you got your raise, then?" he asked, and Grace seemed +surprised. It was usually she who made the first allusions to her +work. Seeing him so concerned, however, she described a hopeful +interview with Harry Strauss and told him news of Mamie. + +"Only, I thought he'd let me handle it myself, and now Al is in on +it, too, which makes things--very annoying. I feel as if I have to +be on my guard," she said disconsolately. + +"Mm. He would cut throats all right." + +"I don't understand that--sort of throat cutting," said Grace. "If I +were in his way--but I'm not at all. I have a feeling he thinks +Harry Strauss is grooming me, sort of, to take his place, at less +money. But that's silly, if Al really has an interest in the +business, as he says." + +Blake thought, but had no advice to offer. The subject tired him on +the whole. He did not see why Grace could not do her work on the +surface, day by day, without peering and boring into underground +channels, like a woman. Besides, he was too unhappy and could not +bear his unhappiness alone and did not see how he could find the way +to make her share it. Why didn't she see, of herself? + +Grace watched him under her new hat with dark, unlighted eyes. +Something was wrong between them to-day, and to-day she felt too +weary herself to make the effort to set it right. She ventured one +usual question, but without verve or hope. + +"Everything--as usual?" + +Now was the way opened. He glanced up with a sense of relief and saw +by Grace's posture, her eyes drooping over the table, the answer she +wished to-day. He nodded quickly. So that subject was closed. +Their tea dragged on. + +Then, putting on her gloves, Grace said, "I have to dash to the +photographer's before he closes. Will I see you to-morrow?" + +He nodded again, resigning himself with resentment to another day's +sole confusion and apprehensive thought, and walked on to pay the +check. + +Grace could not, however, leave him yet. She stood by the door. "I +thought you might--walk up with me," she said, and glued her eyes to +him to see whether this was a mistake. He did not take her arm but +they walked on together. + +Suddenly he had such a longing to rid himself of his burden of +suspense, even of anguish, that he wanted to halt in the middle of +the street and cry, "Look here, don't walk with me. I--my wife and +I--we're going to have a child," and have done with it and breathe +while he waited to see what would follow. His feet even paused for a +second, then he clutched her arm and pulled her on. Grace turned to +him her questioning eyes, just beginning to fear, saying nothing. + +"Do you remember what you said--that you'd kill me--if----?" he said +swiftly. The memory rose at once to the surface of Grace's eyes. +"Well, you can do it now," he said, with a sneer at his pain and her +pain, and turned his face away. + +She understood, but the understanding would not rise and surge within +her as easily as the memory had. She nodded her head several times +slowly, to make sure she knew, taking some slow breaths, making the +first minor inward adjustments quickly, quickly, holding back terror, +hugging hope fiercely, as people do who see the overwhelming flood on +the horizon. When she spoke her voice was calm though strained, as +if she called for news across a slight distance. She asked him how +it had happened. This he told her shortly, for this at least he owed +her. And when the baby was coming. This he hadn't asked and did not +care to know himself. It was a long way off. + +They went on. + +"It'll be sort of hard on you--I mean financially," she remarked. He +hardly dared to listen. + +They went on. + +"Babies are very expensive," she said in the same level voice. + +After a while, something less than a sound, the feeling behind a +sound, moved him to look at her again. They walked on a street of +endless garages. Between the brim of the new hat and the collar of +her coat she was weeping openly, without noise. When she noticed his +eyes on her she bent her head completely away, almost back, and +fumbled from far off in her purse for a handkerchief. + +"Oh, I forgot," she said with bitterness. "I mustn't cry. You don't +like that." This bitterness, this first and only bitterness, she +would permit herself. + +Without thinking how or why any longer, they stopped in the middle of +the street and Blake found and clung to her hand. He looked so +white, so thin-faced, so stern. He hated to use the words of +tenderness and gazed at the pavement, clinging to her hand. + +"When you don't cry any more, Grace, I'll know that you don't care +any more." + +Their fingers clutched at each other's, intertwined tightly. He, +hugging his misery, could not think of her own. She, comforting him, +let it go till she should be alone. It would keep, never fear, it +would keep. + + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN + +The photographer said that she would have to wait for the pictures. + +He said, "Make yourself comfortable." + +She heard him finally and sat down. + +It was not the child itself that mattered--that there would be a +child. It was not the betrayal that mattered, the infidelity with +the other woman, the wife, the very woman against whom she had +particularly to be on guard, the very woman against whom he had +promised himself to be on guard. No. That was an entirely physical +betrayal, the circumstances of which he had explained, and which, no +matter how she might revolt against them, she could not help but +understand. But such waves of outrage, of hatred, of envy, of +misery, of she knew not what, stormed through her that she was bent +double with them in her chair. She bit her lips tightly to contain +them and buried her face in her coat collar. No part of it was +visible but a white speck of cheek and huge, dark eyes. + +Back of her mind there had been a vague feeling, a vague wish, +scarcely credible and certainly not possible, for a child, one +particular child, Blake's child. Why? She had no interest in and no +sentiment about children, "the little brats!" And now through a +trick (pleading, crying that he no longer loved her; being above all, +so near, so close, so there), through a trap, planned and intended, +no matter how desperately planned and how pitifully intended, the +other woman would have the child. + +With what passionate vanity Nature works first in some women in the +matter of having a child! Many a woman's first thought is to bear a +child by a man she loves not because, as the saying goes, she wants +his child, not because she wants any child, but because ecstasy is so +unimaginable when in the course of time it has fled; because it is so +impossible to articulate, translate into words as a keepsake, that +she wants the child as a not-to-be-belied, an actual, factual +reminder. A "pledge of love"--no, not that--but a child is a pledge +to remember, so that passion can never wholly be buried under mounds +of time and two look at each other and wonder with their brains, +their senses having entirely lost the responses, and try to recollect +and not really believe. When the memory wavers and the body is quite +oblivious, the child remains to certify the old emotion to the +groping mind. + +Thus her agony surged through Grace and her jealousy clamored within +her. If she quarreled with Blake to-morrow and went years without +seeing him, soon, in a short time, their love would be lost from +their minds; they could meet and talk and wonder and try to recall +and it would be like trying to remember yesterday's sunsets or dawns +seen long ago. But Edith, she, this other woman and this unloved +woman, she would have the child, the living proof, something which +she and Blake could grasp through the miasmas of long afterward--the +common memory, through whose body, formed by their bodies, they could +reach back and forever after not wholly deny. + +She had a long time to wait for the pictures. A twilight, faintly +violet, just stroked the windows, like a gentle hand. Behind a +screen the photographer and his assistants were busy, doing +something, drying the prints, and they talked and joked. Now and +then one of the men would come out and use the telephone. One boy +called the same number twice. The last time he said softly, quickly, +"I'm tied up here, baby. Be up soon." He was tall and had a smug, +wooden face. Grace looked him over with cold eyes and decided that +he was a dull young man. A very dull young man. She disliked him at +sight, nay, she hated him and all these satisfied, foolish dolts of +photographers. She was shivering in her chair, her hands shook so +that she clasped them, her very teeth chattered. + +The photographer came over and said with concern, "Are you cold?" and +poured her a drink of Scotch. It was powerful, vivid stuff and now +made her shiver with its heat instead of with her cold. What was it +someone had said about telephones--was it Blake? Oh, yes. Something +about its being love that kept the wires busy and the company +prosperous, something about the long lines of booths in the late +afternoons being forever filled with men calling their wives and +lovers calling their sweethearts. Something about a soulless +corporation hiring hordes of operators and engineers and line-men, +keeping great experimental stations for the purpose of expediting the +course of love over the wires, paying fat dividends because Tom and +Mary were enabled to hear each other's voices and smile and quarrel +within a few seconds. Funny idea. + +If those pictures weren't ready soon she wouldn't be able to stand +it; she would have to get out, do something, do anything. That last +thought made a sort of shriek in her. She rose from her chair. If +she could walk, now, up and down; but that was not possible here. +She sat down again, stuffed her handkerchief into her mouth and bit +it. She would like to tear it, to tear something! Limb from limb. +Yes, that was a very satisfactory description of a rending. To tear +limb from limb. + +"Here you are," said the photographer. "Sorry to keep you waiting." + +She took the folder. She almost wished to make a bow to him. She +inclined her head, anyhow, and said sweetly out of her white face, +"Thank you so much." + +What had Harold once remarked in an unguarded moment of sympathy with +her? "Go out and walk. That helps." Walk. This miserable sky on +this miserable day would not even darken but grew weirdly lighter, +faded against the upspringing lights, grew yearning, grew wan. As +she walked, she shuddered horribly with cold and felt herself +flushing, red-hot, with the liquor. When she put a hand to her face +the heat of her cheek amazed her and the cold of her hand was deathly. + +At that special point in her misery a bus appeared and made her look +about. She was on Fifth Avenue. The bus passed and stopped and took +its place in her sorrow, like a hearse. Always thereafter it kept +its place there, like a hearse. Whenever she remembered, she looked +about and found herself all at once on Fifth Avenue, she watched the +bus pass, black with people, and halt. + +She saw in a moment of saving reality that she was near the street +where Anita Vestry lived. When the moment fled it merely left her +wondering when she had seen Anita last. She couldn't think. Not at +the opening of _Mamie_. No. Even Letty had not come to the opening. +And then she had a flash of acute brilliance, like a stroke of +lightning. The whole world grew electrically light with it. Why, +she could run to see Letty! No. Harold would be there. Harold +would learn, but to-night she really could not have him know, +to-night she could not have him see her white and trembling. He +would think--she would see it in his face--that it was too bad but +what did Grace expect? She had only reached what her road would lead +her to. She paused before a shop window, pinning her eyes to coats +and hats, trying to pin her mind to some object with the same +intentness. Then, as fast as she could, almost running, running away +from the solitary prison of misery, battling to escape it, she sped +in the direction of Anita's room. + +Fortunately, Anita had not yet gone to dinner. She was lying on the +bed in a tiny room which held, besides, a small dressing table, an +old rocker, and a bit of matting. She was resting, feeling bored, +and she greeted Grace with pleasure. Since the opening of _Mamie_ +she and Grace had met just once at the office. Anita noticed that +Grace hugged her coat about her and looked very white, that Grace +clasped her hands tightly, and she asked in surprise, "Is it very +cold out, now?" + +Grace made no reply. In fact, now that she was here, she didn't know +what she wanted to do or what to say, yet she did not want to go away +either. She glanced around the room. She had seen it once before; +it told her the same story. It was very bare. At last she roused +herself and remembered a dim duty. + +"Will you do something for me?" she said to Anita hurriedly. "Will +you call up my mother and tell her I won't be home for dinner? I +have to look in on _Mamie_." + +After a few moments Anita replied in some astonishment that she +would. She saw now that Grace was in trouble, what or how she could +not imagine, and remained silent. Grace went over to the dressing +table and took off her hat. But she did nothing, merely looked at +herself in the mirror with vague eyes and turned away. She +rearranged her hat. + +"Have you had your dinner?" said Anita gently. + +Grace made a gesture of distaste. "I'm not hungry." Then she seemed +to try with determination for composure and added, "I'll go with you +if you like." + +"There's a tea room downstairs," said Anita. She felt that Grace +would not, could not, walk outside. + +Grace ordered coffee and sat, turned a little sideways from Anita, +pulling her coat collar up about her face. The sight of Anita eating +made her almost sick. Once Anita asked, because it seemed that she +should, "Aren't you feeling well?" Grace shook her head. + +Then Anita decided that she had better not notice. They were alone +in the tea room, but the service was slow and they sat there a long +time, a painful time. Anita sighed with relief when it was over, +thinking that now she would be allowed to go back to the room which +had seemed too empty before, which seemed overwhelmingly serene now. +But Grace took her arm as they went out and begged, "Will you walk +over to _Mamie_ with me? You may have to stand, they're selling out, +but you won't mind, will you? Really, it's an awfully good show." + +In Grace's apparent state it would have been brutal to refuse. They +walked across town to _Mamie_. Here Grace began to regain her poise. +Though still white, she was businesslike, and Anita admired the calm, +pleasant way in which she talked to the house manager, exchanged a +few words with the box-office man, nodded to the ticket taker, and +arranged for Anita to have one vacant seat in the back row. Grace +stood behind her and viewed the theater with the professional +interest of an habitué. She remarked to Anita that she was learning +to "count up" the house. Throughout the first act Grace remained in +the rear, and whenever Anita glanced around she was quiet and cool, +with her eyes on the stage. + +The show was pretty, the dancing good, the music gay and sweet, and +Anita felt how comfortable it was to sit at ease and watch the +enactment of passions lightly, certain of happy fulfillment, on a +stage. She thought musical comedies very jolly and liked the lack of +strain with which they translated easy emotions to the audience, easy +sentiment--too sentimental because it was so easy. But what a lot of +trouble that saved the audience! All it had to do was to watch the +dancers and be gay; to hum one of the popular love songs and to be in +love. + +During the intermission Grace asked her whether she wanted to go back +stage. "I must have a few words with the handsome hero, and see if I +can get a Sunday story out of him," she said, haggard under the +yellow lights, but quite self-possessed. Anita, however, felt too +awkward to meet a hero as handsome as this one. She refused. + +The house grew dark again. Some players appeared and pulled together +strands of a cloying plot. When they danced they were graceful, when +they sang they were soothing, but as soon as they opened their mouths +in the spoken word they became vulgar. And what spoken words they +uttered! Anita could not help writhing. She watched the people +around her with wonder that they should remain unaffected. + +Then a man half-sang, half-declaimed a mammy song. He bent over the +footlights, he stretched out his arms, he made acrobatic sallies +almost into the audience, all with a hideous vigor and a violent, an +infuriatingly forceful, banality. Anita felt that she could not bear +it any longer. It did not relieve her to grit her teeth, to grimace, +or to glare at the concentrated faces about her. The whole theater +stank for her with this cheap sentiment, like cheap perfume. She got +up and disturbed half a row, stumbling over legs, braving angry looks +and impatient mumbles, beating her way out. Grace now stood by one +of the exits, in shadow. + +Anita said, "Whew! I'm sorry, but I must get out, I can't stand +this." + +With unexpected sympathy, Grace whispered, "Yes, it is pretty awful. +Yes, let's go." + +The outside air was damp and heavy but at least odorless. They +wavered on a street corner. Then Anita saw that Grace was +shuddering, that she was no longer cool, that the skin under her eyes +and on her cheeks was drawn and yellow, and she asked again, "Are you +sick?" + +"I don't feel well at all," said Grace with difficulty. "Will you +ride home with me--please do. I'll take a taxi." + +Grace huddled into one corner and Anita sat in the other. A black +length of seat separated them. From time to time a light shone full +on Grace and Anita saw her clasping her hands with a handkerchief +between, her eyes huge and fixed on nothing. Anita held the silence. +Soon Grace rapped on the window and told the driver to take them +through the park. Anita did not know enough about New York to +understand that Grace was postponing her arrival home as long as +possible. + +Sadly the park wove and unwove before them; the poor bare trees in +the wistful air, the bulky clouds overhead, the big mists of houses +around the farthest edges, the cheer of the electric baubles of +lights subdued. In the midst of it, Anita, sighing, glanced at Grace +again and saw a tear rolling evenly down one long cheek. She was +frightened and lowered her eyes quickly so that she would not see, +but she could not help murmuring, making one last attempt, "Can I do +anything for you?" + +Grace was so long with her answer that Anita decided she would not +reply and settled back into the silence. She breathed heavily rather +than sighed, and suddenly Grace replied in a cool voice that did not +match the tear, "No. Blake's wife is having a baby. She thought--it +would bring them together." + +So that was it. But Anita was far from full realization. She was +merely bewildered--and embarrassed. She moved closer to her side of +the taxi and frowned, careful to stare out of the window. + +In a very small voice, she said at last, "Oh." + +Now they were reaching the end of the park. The lights already +anticipated the beginning of great apartment houses and curtained, +glowing windows. And, as if she were taking advantage of the last +moment of confidential sadness and darkness, Grace turned to Anita, +raised her head as if in challenge, and said, "I'm living with him. +I suppose you know." Her lips curled in a sneer, a hard, grim sneer +like a blow, as she peered into Anita's face. + +But in Anita's face she saw neither sympathy nor comprehension nor +blame, only the stupid, startled expression of a person stepping off +into water almost beyond one's depth. Anita's mouth was actually +open a little way. So she had guessed correctly that night! But she +did not want to know; she would not know; she was frantic with an +awed embarrassment. After a time she said again, in a very scared +voice, "Oh." + +This seemed so inane even to her that she hunted about wretchedly for +some more suitable comment. Finally she breathed, "I'm sorry," +without looking at Grace, and felt more scared than ever. She wasn't +sorry, not at the moment; she wasn't not sorry. She wasn't anything. +She wanted to open the taxi door and fly. Grace said nothing further. + +Once in a while Anita stole a glance at her and saw her sitting +there, huddled, with big eyes in a thin face, twisting her +handkerchief tight enough to tear it, twisting and tearing with +fingers like teeth. She herself kept very quiet, hardly taking +breath so as not to disturb the dim compassion that rose like a mist +between them and embraced them and held them both, wordless, in her +shadowy arms. + + + + +_Book II_ + +THE BALANCE OF POWER + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +Anita used to have an instinct to make herself very small and very +blank when she first visited Grace's house. She was such a weird +phenomenon to Mrs. Kline. Rack her mind as Mrs. Kline would, and she +often would, staring at Anita out of her round blue eyes, a little +bloodshot, shaking her head almost imperceptibly from time to time, +she could not remember anyone in her experience who had not come to +New York to, at least at first, stay with relatives. This younger +generation that one read about in the papers! But even Mrs. Kline, +whose imagination on some points was lascivious enough to bring the +blush to Grace's cheek, offered no hints about Anita. + +"You're plain-spoken, Anita," Mrs. Kline would say to her after she +had decided to approve of her and to permit her to cultivate a +friendship with Grace which was already thriving. "Just like me. +That's what I like in a person. You wouldn't hide anything, least of +all from your mother, would you?" + +Grace would retaliate to Anita with some remark meant for her mother. +And thus Anita would sit at table, feeling like a ghost, while both +spoke through her person, that obviously was only a little less +intangible to Grace than to Mrs. Kline. And yet Anita came to the +house more and more often, partly because of her own isolation, +partly because of Grace's soft reaching toward her. All these months +Grace had been to her simple, sad, clinging, and obliging. When, +through some mood of her own, Anita sent an occasional rebuff, Grace +accepted in silence, seemed to understand, forgot it. Each +discovered certain ideas in the other that no longer needed to be +solitary. When Anita wished to dislike Mr. Milford articulately, +Grace listened; with her Grace mulled over ways out. Grace offered +suggestions for a mitigation of loneliness which made Anita grateful +though they were suggestions which would suit Grace's temperament and +which were highly inapplicable for Anita. In turn, Anita, modest +though she was and not altogether naïve, considered that the reason +for Grace's friendliness could only be that Grace liked her. She was +not of the least importance, she thought, and there was nothing of +the least importance she had to offer anyone. And though, when Mrs. +Kline, who was not subtle, showed a patronizing concurrence in this +opinion, Anita might feel humiliated, she was not exactly hurt. She +liked to watch Mrs. Kline and she liked to watch Grace. Long ago she +had formed the habit of focusing her observations and her interest +outside of herself on things which she humbly granted were more +exciting. + +Even when in a burst of final, desperate irritation she threw up her +job with the _Dress Daily_, she did not deceive herself that the +event, disastrous enough in her life, would cause much of a ripple +when narrated in the Kline household. Blake's baby had been born and +nothing could vie with that in Grace's mind. Anita would not bother +to inform her. She lay about her room for a few days moping, +thinking, till Grace sent a wire after her. Grace had a cold. Would +Anita come up to see her and explain what had happened? + +Mrs. Kline opened the door for her and at once began in her jarring +voice a discourse on a dress that Anita had spoken of ordering. + +"I'm not busy now, Anita; I could even buy the goods for you at a +discount, and I'd make it up for you very cheap. Don't be afraid, +I'd keep everything down for you like for my own child. You better +speak up if you want it because soon I won't have the time." + +Anita said shortly that it was out of the question as she had lost +her job. She did not expect Mrs. Kline to be affected. But Mrs. +Kline was--in a different sense. + +"Grace never told me a word," she cried in consternation. "She never +tells me a word." She tramped along with Anita up the hall to the +small sewing room where Grace lay on a couch. "You never told me +that Anita here lost her job," she shouted accusingly. + +Grace looked out of wide, patient eyes and did not answer. The +telephone, which the Klines kept in the sewing room, had been moved +to the floor within reach of her hand. + +"Don't you worry, Anita," cried Mrs. Kline, putting an arm about her. +"There's plenty jobs around. If you want me to make that dress you +know I could make it up for you and you don't have to pay me right +away, you don't have to pay me till you like. And if God forbid +anything should happen, you know you can always come up here with +Grace and me." She patted Anita's shoulder, regarding Grace with an +air of challenge. Then, with an effort, she added, "Now I guess you +girls want to be left to yourself. I guess you have things to talk +about," she said heavily, "you don't think I'm smart enough to hear. +In my day, girls weren't too smart for their mothers, but nowadays +they are and we mothers got to make the best of it." She lingered. +Both girls kept still. + +After she had straightened whatever in the room could be straightened +and otherwise delayed her departure, Mrs. Kline had at last no choice +but to keep her promise. She banged the door to, anyhow, as a slight +expression of her feelings. A shudder passed through Grace; she +placed a quick finger on her lip, signing silence to Anita. And, to +be sure, there was a certain interval of time between the closing of +the door and the retreating clamp clash of Mrs. Kline's feet. + +"Anyhow, it's kind of her," murmured Anita. + +"Yes," said Grace. "She means it, too, and she'd remember any +kindness she did you to the bitter end." + +As she lay staring at the ceiling, the telephone rang. She answered +it in a low, cautious voice. She named no names, every word was +noncommittal, a series of "ohs," one "better," some "yeses" and at +length a phrase which Anita had heard from Grace before and which +always made her smile with its unjustified consequence: "Well--what +are--your plans?" Anita reflected that, while highly diplomatic, +while perhaps necessary for secrecy, such conversations must provide +a further diet of exasperation for Mrs. Kline. + +She could not help noticing, too, how Grace had marshaled her +illness, as it were; had arranged it, dramatized it. When Anita was +sick she did not think how she looked or what were the conditions of +comfort or discomfort about her, and as for how the outside world +might be affected, that naturally never entered her mind. She was +ill and paid as little heed to her illness as possible and wished to +hide and get it over with. But Grace had dressed her hair as best +became a sick person, very simply, brushed back from her nicely +balanced smooth forehead and clasped with a barrette. Her +dressing-gown had that fine symmetry, settled about her as evenly, as +gracefully, as her clothes always did. There was a small atomizer on +the table and a new book. The telephone rang. Grace's friends had +apparently been informed or took the trouble to inform themselves. +There was even a vase of red roses. Grace saw her looking at them. + +"My baritone sent them," Grace said with her deep snigger. "It seems +his heart is like a red, red rose. But tell me what happened." + +When Anita began her story under Grace's attentive eyes she found +that even less had happened than she supposed. She was so annoyed by +Mr. Milford; she had fallen into the habit of revising his silly +stories into some sort of sense, had been taxed with it, had +foolishly argued--as if it mattered a whit to her--and before she +knew it, she had heard herself saying, "I think I'd better leave." + +Grace made only one comment. "If you had to leave, why didn't you +get yourself fired and leave with two weeks' salary?" + +Anita had never thought of this. + +"You're not very good at business, are you?" said Grace, sighing. +She considered. "Have you any money?" + +Anita laughed. + +"Then what will you do?" + +Anita shrugged. + +"But what will you do?" insisted Grace. "You must do something. Do +you know anyone who might help you? Didn't you meet lots of people +at the _Dress Daily_?" + +"No one I'd ask for favors," said Anita stiffly. + +Grace sighed again. "You're so proud. Pride's all right if you can +afford it. But it's a question of choice. Wouldn't you rather give +up a little pride--and get a job? What can you do otherwise?" + +"I can go home," said Anita. "I can rest and think it over." + +Grace opened her eyes. "To Trenton? Aren't you afraid?" + +They understood each other, but Anita replied with a frown, "Why? My +home isn't a prison." + +"Well, mine is," said Grace. And suddenly she added, "Anita, I wish +you wouldn't go. I'll miss you, truly I will." + +She continued softly, with many pauses, as if she were feeling her +way, testing with care for a response. "You know--I thought if I +could ever really leave Ma--I could if I only made a little more +money--we could--take a place together--maybe." + +Anita did not quite know. Anyhow, it did not bear thinking of at +present. She said in haste, "Well, that's a long way off. I haven't +any money, you know, and I'm not likely to have." + +But she appeared to satisfy Grace, who put an arm under her head and +said with assurance, "We could manage that." + +"Something's up in my own job," Grace added, moving and sighing on +her couch. "I don't know just what, but I can feel something. To +tell the truth, I haven't been paying much attention to it lately. I +guess they see it--but--I can't help it. I--there've been other +things." She fell silent. + +Suddenly she began the motions of her laugh and searched Anita's +face. "Do you know how I got this cold?" she said. She concluded, +"Looking for rooms with Blake--for his wife." + +She attempted to justify herself to the expression of withdrawal on +Anita's face. "I suppose that--shocks you. But it was very natural. +Their place isn't big enough with the baby and she can't go house +hunting. Blake had to--so--I took the afternoon off and accompanied +him, in the rain and all." + +There was a pause. She added with a curved, one-sided smile, "I hope +she's grateful." + +The telephone rang again and Grace was upon it almost before the +ring. She used the same formula, a little lower perhaps. "Oh.... +Oh." A deep, "_That's_ good!" Then, "What are--your plans for +to-morrow?" + +Grace hung up. She smiled a firm, a victorious smile, pressing her +lips together. + +"They've named the baby James," she announced to the ceiling, smiling +up at it. "After her father." + +She turned upon Anita a face bereft of the smile and said grimly +through her set teeth, "He isn't a junior anyway. That's my little +victory." Her cheeks had grown haggard and after a while she felt +for a handkerchief under the pillow and dabbed at her eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +Every day young people came to Harry Strauss's office, armed with +letters, fortified with introductions, to ask for work. Grace saw +them all without appearing to see; nor had it escaped her that there +seemed to be more of them, that they entered more expectantly and +departed more hopefully. One would have thought that she had nothing +to fear. She had got her raise, she had hinted for another. But she +was well aware of and knew that Harry Strauss and Al were aware of a +relaxation of the tight net of effort that she had at first spread +over her job. She argued with herself that this was but natural; not +even race horses were expected to keep up the pace with which they +started. In any case she could not help herself. All she seemed to +want now was to sweep away her work somehow so as to be free to meet +Blake in the afternoons. + +Something was in the air, something which had spread abroad and +attracted these increasing numbers of job hunters, like the +mysterious word that goes forth to crows or jackals that there is a +carcass for the picking. One morning Grace saw Miss MacAlister with +this obscure word in her eyes, watching her. Al was very quiet this +morning. He sat at their table in the outer office and mulled over +photographs, destined for the women's pages, of an opera singer who +had been using some reduction method. This was strange. The opera +singer belonged to Grace. + +As she too bent over the table, Al said to her very low, "Did you +have any words with Harry?" + +"No. Why?" + +Al murmured, "When I call you from Harry's office, come in and +_don't_ shut the door. Look out, she tells him everything." + +They made perfunctory motions of work. Finally Al bustled into Mr. +Strauss's empty office, and as he had planned, when he called her, +Grace followed as casually as possible. They stood by the window, +pretending to look out of it, while Al kept an eye on Miss MacAlister +and on the door. + +"You know I'm your friend here," began Al with emphasis. Grace said +nothing. He hurried on. "Harry was asking for you yesterday +afternoon. Where were you?" + +"I can't do my work and be here every minute," said Grace sharply. + +"I know that. I told him so. But Harry's a funny guy. He got mad +and he said, 'That girl never shows up in the afternoon, she's never +around when I want her.' I guess he was playing bridge the night +before and lost a couple of dollars, so--Then he started talking +about how he'd let you handle Madame Tallifer all by yourself to show +what you could do--and you hadn't done so well with her, she's +putting up a holler." + +It was true. Grace hadn't done so well with the opera singer, Madame +Tallifer. There were a thousand good reasons. There was little +interest and no novelty to Madame Tallifer. She would complain in +any event. But then, neither Grace nor anyone else was expected to +heed reason in this business, this "racket," as Al called it. She +was silent. + +"So then he asked me what I thought," went on Al, "and I told him, I +said, 'You know how it is, Harry. Grace hasn't got the experience +you and me have. She's still learning. You got to go a little easy +with her.'" + +"You told him that!" exclaimed Grace. "You know very well and _he_ +knows too that I've done a lot better for the money he pays me----" + +"I know all that, I know all that," said Al. "Sh! Listen, I had to +tell him that, give him his way, you know, smooth things over. I'm +your friend, see?" + +Grace gave him an acute look and turned slightly away. + +"Listen, think I want you to go? Wha'd'y'think I got to gain by it? +It's no fun for me to break in a new girl," cried Al. "Listen, if +you think I ever did or said anything against you, just ask Harry, +that's all I want. Just ask him." + +"Oh, let's drop it. Is that all you have to tell me?" + +"Well, I was just going to finish. Just give me a chance. So a +while after that Harry calls me in again and he's got a girl there. +I didn't even catch her name, never heard of her, don't know her," he +declared hastily, seeing Grace's eyes. "And he said to her, 'Would +you work for thirty-five dollars a week?' And she said, 'Yes!' So +then he said, 'Al, Miss--Whatshername--'ll be working with you next +week.'" + +Grace stared out of the window. After glancing at her once or twice +Al began to fumble with papers on Mr. Strauss's desk. "Why don't you +speak to Harry?" he suggested nervously. "Maybe you can fix things +up." + +But Grace shook her head and said, "No. I have to see Tallifer this +morning." She picked up her coat, in passing, and went out. + +Instinctively, she would not take impetuous steps across a bridge +until she came to it. And she had to get out to think. This time +she did not look at streets or shop windows or at the bright sky +where even the clouds were a glittering, not a fluffy, white. The +situation arranged itself like a chess game in her mind. Al wished +to get rid of her. This girl was a friend perhaps. Or Al was afraid +that she, Grace, might rise to some importance in the office. Well, +she had never trusted Al. Just the same, he was sorry for her, too, +sorry that it had seemed necessary for her throat to be cut. He had +for her the futile, patronizing pity of sentimental people. She need +not make an enemy of him. And Mr. Strauss--he would save fifteen +dollars a week. It had been a mistake to suggest another raise--no +chance there at all. But, if she knew Harry Strauss, he would not +fire her (unless she begged for it) till Saturday, so that he might +get the last ounce of blissfully ignorant effort out of her. Nice of +Al to tell her--a small sop to his conscience perhaps--though perhaps +he had planned that she would be disgusted enough and proud enough to +leave pronto, of her own will, and save them the annoyance of a +dismissal. + +Anyhow, she had three days till Saturday. Of these she would make +doubly sure by keeping out of Mr. Strauss's way. She had also an +idea that she could manage to get a week's extra salary out of him by +appealing to his particular vanity, which she had noted: his wistful +desire of the born liar to be considered fair, square, to be +believed. So she had nine working days of grace. She might not even +have to tell Ma, if she began to angle at once. + +She considered her problem skillfully, conscientiously, from every +side, as a scientist might probe a new disease. She planned her +procedure in her mind with swift instinct, a bold, logical poise, as +a great general might plan a campaign. All other thoughts were +excluded; ironic comparisons, the weakening, defeating insinuations +of humor could not find a loophole. This was her trouble, her +problem. For the time it encompassed her like the entire universe; +for the time it was alone, itself, her universe; but it was a +universe from which she did not shut everyone else out. No--it was +rather a universe which it did not occur to her everyone else would +not be pleased to share. + +She had no intention of seeing Madame Tallifer. She went into a +telephone booth. + +Like any good general, Grace had never lost sight of her reserves. +No matter how such she might be of the present, this did not prevent +her from keeping herself alert for new opportunities, for +ascertaining where, in an emergency, these might be more plentiful, +for acquainting herself as much as possible with the people who had +them to bestow. There were certain persons, too, as she +realized--not perhaps entirely consciously--who, though not important +themselves, might be used as keys to unlock the sources of +opportunities beyond them. Mr. Milford was such a person. He could +do nothing for her himself but he knew many people whose attention he +could focus by means of a letter or a request. Grace was too shrewd +to apply to Mr. Milford again; there were others, however, whom she +had marked. Some might clamber up the rocky, direct road to strange +offices and appear, scared and out of breath, to ask for work. Grace +preferred the less simple, the roundabout, the easier way. She +wanted a path prepared ahead of her, an entrance staged; a few +laudatory wreaths strewn before, provided one's person seemed to +become them, as hers did, always helped. + +There was Tommy Manship, the assistant dramatic editor, who admired +her, who had a job that forced press agents to pay court to him, and +who could give her letters and suggestions. She arranged to see him +first. Then there was her old boss, McTavish, at the Brooklyn +_Press_. These were people with whom she could be frank. There were +some women, too, women with money, women with valuable "contacts," of +whom she had made friends from time to time. She had not been +pleasant to them definitely because of their uses. At this time she +was in general pleasant and, when necessary, obliging, partly because +she liked to be so. She had never needed to shrink from people. +From childhood she had been accustomed to the power of soothing and +softening which her looks alone had, her great eyes, the glowing +clarity of her skin. She enjoyed seeing the initial receptive +expression on the faces of strangers; she preferred them to retain +their admiration if possible. Besides, she understood without ever +being told, without ever even thinking about it, how much of comfort +and success, so desired by her, rested in the hands of other people. + +When she left the telephone booth her routine for that day lay +clearly ahead of her. + +The next morning Grace came to the office early so as to avoid both +Al and Mr. Strauss. She sorted a folder of Madame Tallifer's +pictures in front of the stenographer and departed with it, remarking +cheerfully that she had "planted" some woman's page features. Thus +she hoped to record with Miss MacAlister her happy ignorance and her +absorption in Mr. Strauss's affairs. She then walked over to the +studio of a writing friend of hers, made herself at home, and +carefully examined her toilette. She had an appointment with a Mr. +Williams at the M.A.N. Film Company. + +"Drop in to tea this afternoon," said her writing friend, Diana +Porter Reece. "The man who runs the Enterprise Feature Syndicate is +coming. He might help you." + +Diana Reece was supported chiefly by a husband but did not let this +interfere with her career. She did not care whether the men in her +train were useful or futile, but inevitably, among the dregs, some +would emerge who were worth knowing. Grace promised to come, though +she had to see Blake at tea time too. She meant to overlook neither. + +The way to Mr. Williams brought memories of her first day of job +hunting--how she had worried over the sealskin coat, worn too early +in the season, how her mind had been in conflict between Blake and +work. This last year, in which she had fought no longer, in which +she had succumbed to his invasion of her mind, seemed to have had an +exactly opposite effect from what she might have supposed. Her mind +was like a surrendered city which the conquerors believe they have at +the moment of its defeat, only, upon settlement, to find themselves +absorbed by an alien, negative host. The single thought of Blake was +no longer in her mind, intruding on it, harassing her to eject it. +It had become part of every thought there, and so it was no longer +bitterly, distinctly there, apparent at all. She could not be +distracted by the idea of Blake any more than she could be distracted +by the idea of herself. + +She looked very well; she owned a fall coat now. She was all in +brown, a clear, pale brown of hat, dress, and chiffon stockings, a +velvety brown of coat and shoes. And so with the feeling of light, +easy, bounding power that seems to bring success in its wake, as its +due, she went in to see Mr. Williams. + +When she walked out she had her job. So simply! She almost wished +to snap her fingers and walked along aimlessly, smiling, letting the +light blue air of Indian summer, hazy as spring but without the +springlike quiver, with a faint death-weariness in it, caress her +face. Mr. Williams was not like Harry Strauss. He was a tall young +man with a browned face and eyes as soft as Grace's own. He was +susceptible and did not attempt to hide it. "Must have been a +newspaperman," thought Grace. And so easy! He had merely told her +what she would do and what he could pay, and that was sixty-five +dollars a week. If Harry Strauss only knew! Really she had to gloat +and declare holiday. + +As she had expected, at the moment of handing her her check Saturday +Mr. Strauss said: "Sit down a moment, Grace. I have sad news for +you." That was one point in Harry Strauss's favor, Grace thought. +Whatever he might do underneath, on the surface he wasted no oily +sentiment, no hypocritical blather. + +He now continued: "I suppose you see things are dull now. We've got +to cut down. I asked Al about you and he said the work you were +doing could be done just as well by an inexperienced girl----" + +"Did Al say that?" cried Grace in spite of herself. "It's very +unfair of him!" + +Mr. Strauss sent her a keen, comprehending look. + +"Well, I asked him and that's what he said. I can't keep track of +you, you know." + +"It was very unfair of him," repeated Grace, flushing. "In spite of +the way you divided the papers, we've worked together on everything, +as Al seemed to prefer. He can't claim any more credit for what +we've done than I can." + +Mr. Strauss nodded a number of times. "I know, I know all that. But +that's what Al told me. If you don't agree, don't go out till Al +comes and we'll have it out. Al is inclined to misrepresent things." +He waited. + +But a sudden idea shot through Grace's mind. Could they be working +in unison? Was it a plan to get her to cut her own salary perhaps? +Would people plot and counterplot with such narrow, shrewd subtlety +for a few dollars? She felt highly superior to Harry Strauss and to +Al. She brushed the matter aside with a curl of her lip. + +"N-no," she said remotely. "I never could argue. If Al thinks that +and you believe him----" + +"I didn't say that, my dear," put in Harry Strauss. "I know nothing +about your work. I have to ask Al and that is what he told me." + +"Well, if Al feels that way about me----" She turned her eyes to the +window. + +"Well, what do you want to do?" said Mr. Strauss after a silence. +"Do you want to leave?" + +Grace lowered her eyes and took a deep breath. "Is that--the sad +news you have for me?" she said in a very small voice. + +"From what Al told me, I thought that would be best." + +"If you're firing me," began Grace, "I have to go, of course." She +spoke with dignity, but low, bowing to the greater force. She raised +her eyes frankly to Mr. Strauss's face. "I can't afford to leave," +she said. "As you know, it's not so easy--to get a job. And--I have +my mother to support. It's very hard on me--without any notice." +Her eyes, without a hint of a tear in them, took on the deeper pathos +of tears just behind. + +Mr. Strauss fussed with his papers. "Well, I'll tell you," he said +at length. "I want to be fair to you. I'll give you a week to look +around--and keep on with your work here. At the end of the week you +come in and collect your pay as usual, but that doesn't mean you're +to neglect your work here, you understand. Is that fair?" + +So she had won. She had what amounted to a week's much-needed +vacation with pay. It would be all right with Mr. Williams since she +had thoughtfully arranged with him for this interval. It was hard to +hide her elation. She got up and paused by the desk. + +"I hope we--part good friends," she murmured with that curious +advance of her eyes and retreat of the rest of her face. "I've +liked--working here, and I'm sorry that you haven't found my +work--entirely--satisfactory." + +"That's all right, my dear," said Mr. Strauss. "You may have been +lying down on the job here of late--I only know what Al tells me--but +all the same I think you're a bright girl. After you're through +here, drop in now and then. I might hear of something." + +She thanked him. In the corridor, she met Al on his way back to the +office. + +"Well?" he inquired. + +"Well?" she said haughtily. + +"What happened? How'd you get along with Harry?" + +Grace looked him over from top to toe before she replied. "He gave +me a week in which to look around." + +"I'm glad he did that anyhow," cried Al. "I'll see you around here +then, but I want to wish you good luck right now, Grace." He put out +his hand. "If I hear of anything--you know, I'm your friend." + +Grace had a sudden moment of unguarded rage. She could and would +permit herself to ignore the hand. She sneered. "Yes. I know what +a friend you are to me." + +"Jesus Christ! What's the big idea?" cried Al. Grace went on. +"Women--! Women--!" called Al to Heaven, clutching his head and +shaking it from side to side. He retreated into the office. + +Still, some days later, Grace heard that Al was speaking of her as a +"sweet girl," and when they next met they greeted each other as if +nothing had happened. Neither cared or dared to make an open enemy +of the other. Each had learned the Christian lesson of forgiving and +forgetting, though not from motives of high magnanimity. To fight +those who harm one and cherish those who aid one, to be proud, to be +dangerous, and to be loyal is too primitive and difficult a process +for this civilized world. It taxes the mind and emotions far less +and is altogether better business to forgive and forget. + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +When Anita returned to New York winter was in full possession--a wet +winter, a sickly winter, chilling the blood into sluggish mounds, +turning a gray snow into slush and mud among the morass of +cobblestones by the station. She had come to New York an energetic +novice, had left it as a cool, experienced resident. She returned a +stranger. New York did not recognize her, and in the midst of its +docks and cobblestones, its trucks and wagons splashing mud to either +side, foggy, gray with the drizzle, on the way to its markets, she +was lost, very small, uncertain. A porter, noticing her in her brown +coat by the cheap valise, indicated the Travelers' Aid Society. This +made her laugh, though it hurt too. She felt like a person who had +been cut dead by an old friend. And though she had resolved not to +trouble Grace till she was settled, she went eagerly to a telephone +booth and asked to see her at once. + +On the way to the M.A.N. office she stopped by her old rooming house. +A sign announced its sale; the wreckers had set their seals on its +door and walls. With small-town faith, Anita had counted on this +dreary house, the greetings of her landlady, on her old room or one +just like it. Now there remained between her and complete +disassociation only Grace. + +She had to wait for Grace amid the heavy consequence of carpets, +plush and oak. She was announced and ushered into the presence by a +devious way through a great main office and short passages that made +no attempt to keep the elegant promise of the reception room. +Grace's desk in the Publicity Department was one of a number lost +under pictures, papers, and telephones. Grace was typing and waved +her hand. "Sit down a minute, Anita. I have to finish this." + +She seemed to have taken on an impressive amount of assurance and a +soft sheen, partly of grooming, partly of well-being, by which Anita, +as she watched her, was more and more abashed. Her own shoes were +sensible in rubbers, her gloves were not too fresh, and her hat bore +traces of the drizzle. Grace, in a dark blue suit perfectly attuned +to her like all her clothes, with the pale light of amber beads +falling over the delicacy of her blouse, with her skin that appeared +to have a richer glow over cheeks that had lost their hollows--this +Grace was so aloof from her that no words and no attempted kindness +could possibly reach across the space between them. Of course, Grace +had to be polite for the sake of old times, old confidences--how old +those times seemed suddenly!--but how could she have expected +concern, the warmth of intimacy? She had better go, she thought. +She was on the point of rising and going forthwith when Grace at last +turned to her. + +"Do you know what I'm doing?" she said. "I'm justifying my college +education. I figured out a way to connect George Bernard Shaw's +Superman with Babe Jean, the baseball player, who's under contract to +us for one picture. They call him the Sultan of Swat. So I +suggested--why not cable G.B.S. and ask if we might not advertise +Babe Jean as the--Superman of Swat. Shaw is always good for loads of +newspaper space. And luck was with us! To-day we got a cable from +Shaw: 'Never heard of her. Whose Baby is Jean?' And Mr. Williams +thinks we'll make every front page in the country." + +At this moment Mr. Williams hurried out of the inner office and +leaned over Grace with a marked gallantry. "Are you through, Grace? +Would you let me have the stuff, then? I want to hold it over for +the morning papers. I'll plant it myself. That was certainly one +swell hunch of yours!" + +He ran his eyes swiftly over the page and a half, came to a point +that pleased him and nodded vigorously. "Yop. You made your sale +fine!" + +"I'll see that you get full credit for it," he assured her, and +hastened away. + +When the door of his private office had shut Grace said to Anita with +a small, sly smile, "He likes me." She stretched in her chair, a +gesture of voluptuous weariness after enjoyed and appreciated effort. +"I'm having a grand time," she confided. "I've even +stopped--worrying so much. Roy Williams is awfully nice to me. I'm +supposed to do mostly woman's-page stuff for the press books, +fashions, and feature stories, but he lets me try my hand at anything +that comes up. It's lots of fun and so much easier than the Strauss +job." + +She had not yet asked about Anita. Now she looked her over, seeming +abstracted, and remarked, "You look well. Have you decided what +you'll do?" She rose as she said this, took her coat from the back +of a chair, picked up a pale amber-colored hat and various +possessions from the desk. "Come out with me. We can talk better +outside." Anita followed unwillingly. + +She went with Grace to buy a pair of stockings. On the way she was +regaled with such bits of gossip as Grace felt she would surely wish +to know. Letty was engrossed with Paul. Harold had gone into the +lace business with a friend. He was also growing more docile. + +"He's even got to the point where he'll make lunch dates with girls," +announced Grace triumphantly. "And he no longer turns up his nose at +me--so much." + +"How's Blake?" + +"Very well," said Grace in a cool voice. "You know, it's +interesting," she added reflectively, as if repeating an explanation +that had often been in her mind, "to watch the--er--balance--waver +between us. At first--Blake was the chief person and I was a nobody. +I cared for him more than he cared for me. But gradually I've been +watching the balance sort of--even up. And now on this job I've been +doing so well and making so many new friends, I can see--the balance +swing slowly over to my side." + +Anita listened without much interest and wondered how she could +leave, and where to go when she left. They turned a corner. + +Grace urged her: "Come up to Diana Reece's place. It's right here. +She's away but she gave me the key. I want to see what you think of +it. You know--I was thinking--Dee's place is only thirty-five a +month. I'm starting a feature for the Enterprise Syndicate on Wives +of Famous Men, and if I could only make enough out of it to pay the +rent--I'd be ready to leave Ma. Dee's awfully sweet to me; she said +if I took over the place she'd let me have her furniture. So you +see--I'm almost set." + +Yes, Anita saw, and the contrast between their conditions depressed +her more than ever. Not for the first time, this talent of Grace's +for ranging and consolidating trifles to form a stable background, a +stable shelter, a stable footing seemed to her enviable. With Grace, +one thing always led to another and more profitable thing. + +Diana Reece's studio was a tiny front room in an old house off Fifth +Avenue. This house, soon to suffer the fate of all old houses, stood +far back from the street in a courtyard decorated with plaster +statues that belonged to the shop next door. The statues of lions +and angels were ghostlike in the gray mist; the house, black stairs +after black stairs of which they climbed, smelled of mold and ancient +woodwork, and Diana Reece's room was icy. + +Grace turned on an electric heater and sat by it, drawing fresh, +sheer stockings over her white feet. The room took on an air of +graciousness from her movements, of comfort, of animation. The +stockings, with their fragile smoothness of new silk, just reward for +Grace's labors, struck Anita with the full force of her own idleness. +She felt the darns on her own heels and toes. And she was even a +little older than Grace. And here she sat, idle, with a cheap valise +checked at a station, little money, and no home. She got up. + +"I really have to go now. I ought to find a room to-day anyhow." + +Grace contemplated her out of startled eyes that grew deeper, larger, +softer. "Haven't you a room?" she exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell +me? Do you mean to hunt for a room in this weather?" + +"Well, I have to," said Anita miserably. "Unless I want to go to the +Y.W. And I don't care for that." + +After a long pause Grace started to plan in her deliberate accents. +"You're so funny, Anita. I suppose you'll turn on me for suggesting +this, but--you know you could stay here for a while. I wanted to +tell you, but I thought... Anyhow, Dee never uses the place except +to work. If you got out before ten and came back around five, I know +she wouldn't mind your staying here. I sleep here myself now and +then. It's--convenient. All I have to do is walk down Fifth Avenue +to the office. This couch is very comfortable, and see, you have a +heater, and it wouldn't cost you a cent." + +"It's awfully decent of you," murmured Anita. "I don't know..." + +"Oh, don't be proud! Just this once, don't be proud--please. It +doesn't mean a thing to Dee. Keep your suitcase under the couch, and +she won't even know you've been here!" + +With relief, Anita yielded. + +"Er--I saw Mr. Milford the other day," added Grace carefully. "He +asked about you. You wouldn't want your old job back, would you?" + +"No!" + +"Well. I only asked. And you know--I'll look around for you, if you +like." + +"Not if it's a bother to you," said Anita. "It's ever so kind of +you. I thank you and all that." + +She was grateful, some of the burden slipped from her mind, and as a +small, immediate token of gratitude, she now gave deep attention to +Grace's talk. + +"I have a lunch date with Tommy Manship," Grace was saying. "Did I +tell you about him? He's on the dramatic staff of the _Times_. He's +a cute lad and we are progressing by leaps and bounds, you might say." + +"How's your baritone?" + +"Oh! My baritone! I can't get rid of him. The latest development +is--that he wants to marry me. I almost think I would, too, if he +weren't so--Italian and so jealous. That's not so good. But I'd +like to marry someone, then get divorced right away. Blake, as you +can imagine, doesn't think much of the idea. But really, if you've +once been married it's such--an advantage. An old wedding ring is a +sort of--ad that you're no longer a virgin, and no one cares to check +up on you further. If I had my life to live over again, as the +saying goes, I'd marry at the earliest possible moment, at sixteen, +when it's easy because you can fall for practically anybody, and be +divorced, naturally, pretty soon, and then I'd have that behind me. +I could always say I'd been married and I could do just as I pleased. +That's the advice I'm going to hand on to my daughter, if I ever have +one, which seems--unlikely." + +Anita smiled. "What's the matter with this Tommy Manship person?" + +"Oh. He's too smart. He guesses about Blake, I think. Not that I +take any great pains to hide the fact. By the way, I have another +man--too. He sells plate glass and reads poetry. Honest. I like +him. But--he's married, separated from his wife. They're all +married and separated," said Grace with a sigh. "The older you get, +the more married and separated they are." + +Anita began to laugh. + +"Wait," said Grace darkly. "You'll see. Unless you can get +interested in _children_. I can't. Walk over to the Algonquin with +me." + +In the lobby of the Algonquin, with its air of hush and velvet +duskiness, the pale lights being lost among the somber shadows of +deep armchairs, like candlelights in a cathedral, Grace resumed her +former preoccupation. Drawing herself up in her sealskin coat that +shone in the dimness, she seemed to set herself apart within an +intangible circle of cool importance as she nodded here and there +from a height and called remote hellos to girls whose coats likewise +shone, to men who walked briskly here and there, nowhere, deigning to +greet others of their kind. As her luncheon partner rose she turned +to Anita in an attitude of dismissal. + +"I'll think about a job for you. I'll let you--know," she said, her +eyes fixed elsewhere. + +And these words, trite and chilly congé to the job hunter, spattered +from Grace's lips like so many hard, cold drops of rain, one by one, +on Anita's new mood of hope, made her shrink and huddle into herself +as she walked back along the foggy streets to her room. + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +Thus began some weeks of existence, almost without substance or +foundation, like the existence of a haunting wraith. In the morning +it was necessary to leave the studio bearing no traces of her +presence. It was not safe to return before evening. Then Anita, +like a ghost, would look wistfully at the marks impressed on it by +less immaterial lives, teacups on the desk, the curtains drawn, the +wicker chairs grouped cosily about the heater, a box of candy, a few +flowers. She felt that she had sunk far beyond the reach of this +other region, where people bought flowers and chatted over teacups, +and when, now and then, a ray of kindliness struck from this world +into her nether sphere, she was disproportionately touched. +Sometimes Grace left word for her to see such and such a person who +might "know of something." Once she found a note from Diana Reece +urging her to eat breakfast at the Reece table as often as she cared. + +It was generous of Diana Reece, but it never could have occurred to +Anita to accept. She had discovered a cafeteria where, for exactly +twenty-two cents, she ate baked beans, cornbread, and coffee every +day at eleven o'clock. This served both as breakfast and lunch. +Dinner at the same cafeteria cost no more than fifty cents if she +chose sparingly. She got to know very well the park, the museums, +the reading rooms and stone benches of the Public Library, and all +the streets within walking distance. + +Although she followed Grace's suggestions, nothing ever came of them +and Anita, in spite of her predicament, was secretly glad. Grace +counseled her to do as she, Grace, would have done--to take, if one +had to, any job, no matter how unsatisfactory temperamentally, and +unflinchingly mold either herself or the job into some sort of +suitability, meanwhile keeping an eye on other mouseholes, or, as +Grace put it, "waiting for something--to turn up." To Grace everyone +was playing cat; you had to in order to get along and of course one +wished to get along. There was no choice. Anita, however, knew that +for her there were distinct limits to the amount of endurance she +would invest in any undertaking; inevitably there would confront her +the question as to whether the undertaking was worth so much +irritation and so much effort to her; if the answer were negative, +off she would go, not even stopping to choose a sensible exit. + +In the end, Grace did not succeed in understanding; she succeeded +only in being patient with what she considered a stubborn whim. +Anita sometimes wished that she had not accepted Grace's aid in the +first place, and often she wished with all her heart that Grace had +not permitted her a glimpse of Grace's world. In spite of her +suspicions, it seemed to be the only world in which she could and +should strive for a foothold, a successful world. Moreover, it was +enticingly open to her; it was Grace's helpful determination to keep +it open for her, not to permit Anita to sink into the obscurity of, +say, a factory hand or a waitress, as Anita might otherwise have +chosen to do. Anita felt grateful; she felt the conscientious +person's obligation to do her best to live up to what was expected of +her, and yet somehow she was not so grateful after all. Emulation of +Grace, a sort of competitiveness, the restlessness with which her +first meeting with Grace had left her, the feeling which she had had +in Diana Reece's studio when she thought that here she was even a +little older than Grace and yet in so much more uncertain a +position--such comparisons made a rope about her neck, strangling her +initiative. + +It was Grace who finally remembered that Harold Moses had once +sympathized with Anita's interest in factories. + +"He might know of a job you'd like," she said. "He used to do all +the hiring for his firm. He knows a lot of employment people. And +he's a cousin of Ella Alvyn, the one who's so mixed up in charities +and child labor and that sort of thing. Be sure and get a letter to +her." + +So Anita went to see him. She found that, as Grace had indicated, +his training as a husband had awakened Harold to his first close +observation of women as people. A year ago he had thought her a +little peculiar. Now, though he knew too much about factories not to +laugh at her tentative remark that she would like to work in one, yet +there was sympathy in his laughter for, underneath the suggestion, +impossible enough as he saw it, there lay a feeling which they had in +common, a feeling indefinable to him which had often come to him +unreasonably in the midst of swarming, clacking, zooming power +machines, the whirling black belts overhead, the Italian and Jewish +operators singing--wailing rather--long and monotonous chants as the +soft lengths of silk grazed their fingers. A feeling which he only +realized through its resultant satisfaction. A sense perhaps of +brushing through layers of cobwebs that clung to eyes, ears, and mind +and at last seeing under his feet the worn yet still unwearied earth +of toil--the least common denominator of toil--and he himself in it, +sunk in that earth and drawing power from it, like everyone else. +Ugly it was and smelly in a workroom, yet, as often happens with real +ugliness, there was a weird harmony in its distortion--the features +of beauty, placed, as it were, upside down--which equaled the charm +of beauty for the fascinated and reconstructing imagination. + +Now, one day in the week, he would borrow his partner's car and drive +out to the cottages of the lace makers in New Jersey, ostensibly to +collect their product but really to rid himself of the boredom of +that work which, difficult though it was, yet seemed +unreal--approaching buyers, showing samples, taking orders, +outwitting competitors--and to stand again in the midst of a toil +felt, smelt, heard and seen. Anita could understand this. +Half-amused, he asked her if she would like to ride out with him that +day. + +It was the first afternoon since her return to New York on which she +had felt alive. With work, the common, veritable substance of it all +around her, she forgot that she was hunting for work herself. She +forgot that she existed only by sufferance and through other people's +occasional benevolence. + +In New York the snow had melted into sodden remnants and was being +shoveled away. Here, on the Jersey side, it covered gray streets +with a robust splendor, reflecting the ice-blue sky; safe even in the +sunlight which was accompanied by a beating wind. Anita waited in +the car during the first calls, outside of low, long outbuildings +like garages, that vibrated with the hum of the Schiffli machines. +As they rode farther into town Harold pointed out cottage after +cottage with its wooden structure beside it, sealed tightly without, +warm and active within. + +She was permitted to enter one at last and met the lace maker, a +stooped German, all one color like the warped walls of his shed. +With a sort of tender pride he exhibited the sweep of his Schiffli, +he showed her the pattern, like a scroll of dots and dashes for a +player piano, attached to a part of the machine, which thereafter +repeated it time after time, mingled it in magical fashion with the +threads of the net base. She did not care to ask many questions, +just to see the wheels go round, the fine threads stretched on the +framework of the machine that went the length of the building, the +threads being picked up with a precise, an unceasing subtlety, and +intertwined. The lace maker's young son walked back and forth on the +ledge, watching the web. At a table in a corner his daughter +threaded bobbins, while his wife sat in the sunshine under a closed +window, skillfully patching places where the machine had not +functioned. They all worked quietly, evenly, while the Schiffli +droned in the background seeming to weld them also together. Each +time the wife caught Anita's eye she smiled and Anita smiled; step by +step the lace maker explained the processes of his machine, how it +did not really make lace at all but embroidery on a net base, which +base was later removed by a chemical bath. As they reached the end +his boy looked up with a bashful grin. + +Harold had his last order wrapped up in heavy brown paper and gave +them a fresh design and a new order. When they got outside Anita +asked what a family like that could earn. + +"After they pay for the thread and the instalment on the machine they +do well to clear say fifty or sixty a week in good times," said +Harold. + +He started his car. The little cottage, disappearing down the length +of the street, looked tiny between two banks of snow. Against the +brilliance of the snow its lines were etched clearly, if lightly, and +its sides were smoothed with a patina of its own, all of one color, +like the lace maker's face, the humble color of use. + +They hardly spoke on the way home. Anita was immersed in re-tasting +the afternoon, bit by bit, and wished to be left alone. She set out +to walk from Harold's office under the now dark sky, through the +peopled streets with their round lamps that gleamed at intervals, and +reached the studio ruddy, bounding with cheer and vigor. She found +Grace and Blake there. "Hello," said Grace. "Look," she said, +rising and slowly revolving. "How do you like my new outfit? Letty +and I changed clothes for to-night." + +Against a rough tweed suit of the blue that madonnas wear in ancient +paintings, her skin shone warmly, and the same lucid blue glowed in +beads about her throat. Excitement had tinged her cheeks the +faintest, pearliest pink and the pupils of her eyes hid like great, +dusky shadows beneath a thin glaze of brilliance. Never, Anita +thought, had she seen her so lovely. + +"Hul-lo," she said wonderingly. + +Blake, sitting over the heater, pale, with a wry twist to his lips, +remarked, "I have had the merits of that shade of blue analyzed for +me in detail within the past half hour. We have considered the +question from every angle, together with sidelights upon the virtues +of black, brown, orange, amber----" + +Grace began her special laugh. + +"As a matter of fact, we've been talking mostly about Blake's play. +Do you know Blake has met a man who writes music--and they're all set +to do a musical comedy together? Blake is going to do the book and +lyrics. Really it sounds awfully good." + +He would not be diverted. "----and the detestable properties of +cerise," he continued. "Cerise is a loathsome color. It is a vulgar +color. It is a color that fat women choose by instinct. Tell us +exactly what should be done with cerise, Grace." + +Grace paid him a due tribute of amusement before she turned to Anita. + +"Well," she said, "did you get that letter?" + +"What letter?" + +"To Ella Alvyn. Or did he call her up for you? What did you do this +afternoon?" + +With a sinking heart, Anita stood looking down at the futile débris +of her afternoon, feeling helpless. What had she done? She had not +advanced her purpose; one thing had not led to something better. She +had seen a machine and defined the color of a cottage. + +"I--there wasn't a chance to ask him," she said slowly. "He never +mentioned her so----" + +"For goodness' sake!" exclaimed Grace. She shook her head and +sighed. "Why would he mention her, unless you asked? Then--then +nothing happened?" Seeing Anita's face, she went over and took her +arm. "Never mind," she said, "I'll call him first thing in the +morning. I could speak to Ella Alvyn myself, even. She's the +president of our alumni association and she knows me. But Harold +would be better. He's a first cousin, you know.... I'll--I'll speak +to him. Let's have dinner together, shall we? There's a nice place +across the street--not expensive," she added to Anita's frown. + +Blake put in suddenly, "I'll go with you." + +"Aren't you due home?" + +He did not answer. + +"I don't want to--interfere--with your arrangements," said Grace with +a dignity more measured than usual. "Besides--I have an engagement +after dinner, you know." + +In silence they walked across the street. Blake went to a wall +telephone. He spoke too low for their ears, but when he returned his +pale face had grown more pallid, his lips were dry and tight. He +took up the menu as a shield, swallowing behind it, so that the eyes +of the two girls should not pick him out, should not strip him more +raw than he already felt. + +"I suppose she was very much upset," remarked Grace. She spoke to +Anita. "I don't blame her," she said with feeling. "I can imagine +how--it must be--to wait for someone with dinner on the table, and +all at once--to have him call up and announce--he won't be home." + +She chatted on, seeming ever lovelier, gayer, less concerned, +subordinating them, rising far above them on the wings of her beauty +and serenity. When it came time to pay the check Grace +ostentatiously placed a dollar on the table; Anita did the same. It +was understood that Blake never had any money. He flushed, drew out +his dollar, and, without looking, thrust the bills at the waitress. +Grace glanced toward him expectantly, repeating that she had a date. +He rose and left them. + +Anita had to accompany Grace to Grand Central to meet, as Grace +confided with a complacent smile, the plate-glass salesman who read +poetry. People turned to survey Grace, poised by the train gate, +drawn by the power of her glowing face, of her dominant mood, of her +feet moving so buoyantly that they seemed fluent over the stone, and +Anita watched her, feeling heavy by her side, very poor, very dull. +When the train arrived she said a hasty good-bye. This time she +would not wait for dismissal. + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +Row after row of sedate brownstone houses met Blake in his part of +Brooklyn and stolidly followed his homecoming. There was no shaking +them off. When he left one behind, a similar house rose beside it. +In summer a few hotels before whose doors lines of taxis churned, +along whose tops roof gardens sparkled in the sky, sent a thin trill +of vivacity through the surrounding section; in winter even the +hotels were quiet. He chose his own home by number instead of by +recognition and, noting his baby carriage behind the stairs, he knew +that he had made no mistake. All the circumstances of his daily +return: the evidence of the child; the bell ticking eagerly to his +ring; the door opening to his footsteps; the shaft of light in its +angle, ready to embrace--all these details, a source of cheer and +comfort perhaps to his neighbor returning like himself, he never +failed to find oppressive. He just brushed his wife's cheek, so +softly extended, and went by. + +Edith spoke of the weather, carefully circling his defection from +dinner. They never quarreled. She was determined that he should +have no fault to find with her, not realizing that, with a person one +should love and doesn't, the very lack of faults is in itself the +most alienating fault. + +She hung up the coat he had thrown over a chair. There was nothing +more to do in the kitchen so she sat down near him. She was tall, +graceful, had always carried herself with dignity, and a strain, a +weariness about her, the first hint of the erosion of her daily life, +could not destroy the perfect balance of her features, the peculiar +charming shade of her red hair, firmly coiled. All her gestures +remained calm. When she wheeled the baby carriage, +thinking--thinking of Blake and of their child and of herself--people +would take her for a nice-looking young matron, a little pale +perhaps, a little tired from household duties. + +"I guess I'll lie down," said Blake. "Will you leave some coffee for +me?" + +He preferred to work from midnight to dawn, then to sleep till +afternoon, a schedule to which his wife had adapted herself with +distinct doubts of its irregularity. Especially now, since the birth +of the baby, she found the custom trying. But she would not say +much. Only... + +"Is Jerry coming again?" + +"No. He can't work without a piano." + +She looked relieved. Jerry was to write the music for the play, and +when he and Blake collaborated, clicking a typewriter and humming +portions of songs, the baby stirred, Edith was afraid the neighbors +might complain. Someone had already spoken to the janitor about the +noise of the typewriter in the small hours. She mentioned this to +Blake without comment. + +He glanced up quickly. "I could work in Jerry's room," he said, +"I'll have to anyhow, once in a while. He can't do much here because +there is no piano." + +"Where would Jerry sleep then?" + +"Oh, well..." He did not feel that he cared to explain the various +ways in which Jerry whiled away his nights. + +"It won't be very pleasant for me, to be alone," said Edith softly. + +"Well, we don't have to work together yet. I thought, if you had +rather..." + +"No. Only--the baby--but I think he's grown used to it." + +Blake said no more. + +It was this indifference, an impenetrable neutrality of action, word, +expression, that defeated her time after tune as the smooth back of a +duck defeats drops of water. With a man who ignored the past and +would not glance at the future, she found fewer and fewer loopholes +to evoke past tendernesses, to envisage future plans. She watched +him from under her lids. He sat on the couch, turning the sheets of +a newspaper and, though he uttered no word, it was apparent that he +waited for her to relinquish him so that he could go to sleep. He +sat there, sober, thin-faced, with his mouth in a tight line. Of +late he held his mouth in a glummer, closer line than ever and spoke +as if it were a trouble to open it. + +She observed--but it was so impossible to feel, to know what he +thought. The effort to concentrate and seize his mind behind the +pale, high temples only drained her own mind of every idea, of every +hope, and left her dry, her body taut, and within her, her nerves, +the muscles of her heart fluttering in a disordered measure, +frightening, unrestrainable. She made a grimace, attempting to +control them, concluding, as she always did, that she had been +weakened by the birth of the child. She was not able to rise just +yet. + +To justify her presence she asked with a certain timidity, though it +was such a natural question from a wife to a husband, "Are you +worried over anything?" + +A fresh line cut itself between his brows. He shook his head. + +But this gesture was not colorless as usual; there was a distinctness +to it, a harshness, that seemed to her to offer a clue. "Would it be +about money?" + +"Do you need any money?" he said briefly. + +"I shall soon." + +Now he pondered above the paper, studying the wall and keeping very +quiet. This silence cut her to the heart. In the past she had +perhaps laid too much emphasis on his pursuit of an alien +will-o'-the-wisp, on the snapping of those moorings which she could +see no sensible reason to loosen. She was sorry for that, even if +she still saw no reason and still longed for the moorings. In spite +of herself, she often tried to impress upon him subtly the harassment +of their present life in contrast to their old life, hoping the +difference would become as clear to him as it was to her, certain +that once it was clear it would also be abhorrent. At the same time +she could not bear to see him thus struggling with his eyes on the +opposite wall. And at the same time it was true that she would soon +need money, and it was Blake she had to look to for its provision. + +"I'll have to ask Fred," he muttered, more to himself than to her. +"He ought to have some ready for me now." + +"I can't see why he doesn't pay you regularly," ventured Edith. + +"Oh, it's the way they do things. The acts don't always pay +regularly. It's show business." He emphasized the last words by a +sneer and Edith glanced at him with a sudden, swift hope. + +"Blake," she said, "I have a letter from your mother. Wouldn't you +like to go back home for a short visit and look around? Perhaps you +would like it so much better now." In her eagerness, she was leaning +over and looking wistfully into his eyes. + +He withdrew them. "No!" he said. + +"It wouldn't be giving up. It would be just a visit." + +"No." + +But they were talking now, they were discussing their common life, +and even negation was more cheerful than a return to silence. + +"You know I'm not so well, Blake," she went on gently. "It's my +heart." + +He could not help a pale smile behind the paper. He looked to see +whether she, too, had noticed. But no, she was entirely unaware, +entirely serious, as she continued, "Having the child has strained my +heart, the doctor says." + +Now he looked her straight in the eye. "Whose fault was that?" his +eyes challenged her, and, flushing, she would not lower hers and +answered them with pride. + +"Well?" he said. + +"The rest would do me good." + +He rustled a sheet of his paper while she waited. She had some +moments to imagine the elation with which she would return home, the +relief at having removed him, at least for a while, from this +environment which had so changed him, so that his next words struck +her with twice the force of surprise. + +"Well, why don't you go, then?" he said quietly. "I guess I can +raise the fare, if that worries you." + +She was speechless. She stared at him, searching his immobility with +a last intense and useless effort, like a searchlight attempting to +probe a stone wall. Every line of his face was obvious to her; she +saw the tight-shut lips, the pale brows drawn together, the cheeks +too thin for their squareness, and a light lock of hair falling over +the temples, and that was all. For a second his neutrality had +vanished; a rift had appeared in the wall, offering a glimpse of what +lay behind it, and had closed in that second, too swiftly for her to +see. Why had she not been alert? Now, search as she would, scan +every detail of his expression, no trace remained of where the rift +lay, much less of why it lay there, if it did. She rose at last. At +the door she paused, trying to get less than an idea, merely a hint +of some idea. + +"Would it relieve you," she asked, "if I went home for a time?" + +"What do you think?" + +She went into the kitchen and set about making fresh coffee with many +small busy movements, so as not to think at present. When she looked +into the room again the light had been put out and she could not see +his face where he lay on the couch. But she thought that he slept. + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +Not till the plant has forged through the ground can we see that the +seed was fertile and events ripe for its blossoming. Thus, too, our +lives are made up of accidents, chance seeds of the residue Nature +provides against barrenness, blown by the wind of every-day, taking +no root in our existence; and of coincidences which are accidents +that find the soil receptive and come to fruition. Without specific +design on Blake's part, the conjunction of a certain mood of his and +certain words of Edith's had caused to happen that which he and Grace +had so much desired. Edith had withdrawn voluntarily. She went home +on what she thought was a long visit. Blake had merely now to keep +her there, which was simpler. + +The sunshine of the noons to which Blake opened his eyes that summer +stroked his lids with a special zest. He had divested himself of the +apartment in Brooklyn and gone to live with Jerry. From the first +moment of waking he felt the hum of the street outside, a midtown +Manhattan street that repeated like a second, fainter chorus the +shining song of Fifth Avenue, mingled with the troubled, grimier +notes of Sixth, where men stood with eyes glued to employment lists, +where the El roared and small shops jostled each other and clamored. +Blake's bed was soft and wide. It was part of the bedroom suite +brought from St. Louis via Brooklyn, and in the midst of the dark +blue hush of a semi-sacred parlor set which Edith had once chosen +with such care, Jerry sprawled, his clothes neatly folded and himself +sunk in a red, torpid slumber. + +Their place and the house itself had the quietude of sleep, in spite +of the sunshine, the sound of wheels sizzling up the black, hot +street, the hoots of cars and a light zigzag of some work far off +that rose, that ebbed, that never ceased. Negro maids were treading +the carpeted stairs, clicking keys in doors closed upon a similar +silence, and outside the black porter applied luster to the banisters +with a languid hand. + +When the telephone buzzed Blake dragged it into bed with him by its +cord and spoke sleepily to Grace. "Hello," he said, and "Yes," he +said with a yawn, "I'm just getting up." A more distinct effort of +gallantry greeted the next call. Nearly every day this female voice, +which had phoned to ask about one of his vaudeville playlets, +continued to pursue him with semi-mysterious and flattering banter. + +"Who'z'at?" called Jerry drowsily from the living room. He made his +entrance, rumpled, opening and shutting gelid lids to the motes of +sunshine, as if in a sort of exercise, and in his brief glimpses +expressing disapproval of the tossed state of the room. In contrast +with his genial disposition and life of easy concurrence, Jerry was a +stickler for the tidiness of material objects. He picked up things; +he straightened things; ashes on the carpet turned his face wry as +much as a false note or a piano out of tune. "Who'z'at?" he said, +and sitting down on the bed, "I got to cut this out." + +"No one for you. You want to train your lady friends not to call you +at 3 A.M. There was some girl ringing this phone every half hour +from three to five." + +"Same girl? Mm. Musta been Madalynne. You got yours trained, +haven't you?" said Jerry sadly. + +In leisurely fashion, Blake's day unwound ahead of him. He walked up +his street which pleased him with its width, the houses having long +ago been built back so that they, too, seemed to have leisure. On +Sixth Avenue he passed the groups of men who stood before the +employment bulletins, their hands hanging loose, their mouths dully +open, peering at each letter and still irresolute whether to enter or +leave, as if they knew that, no matter which action they chose, it +would come to the same thing in the end. The air, brilliant with +heat, picked out each spot of wear, each harsh line, awkward bones, +and coarse hands, weaving in and out and about the groups in a nimble +grotesquerie of light and more light and in final, swift rays not +ignoring the stocky ankles of women, the cheap glazed fibers of a +stocking, a smudge of a face, dingy, blemished, under the inquiring +eye of the sun. Blake moved around them. Turning the corner, he +went by the Friars' Club. Here was another knot of men loath to +leave the sunshine that stroked their sleek shoulders and polished +boots and tinged full cheeks and fleshy cheeks. Blake sent a cool +glance through this group. He knew some of the men by sight. + +When he reached the restaurant on Broadway he opened his mail and +lost some of his tranquillity. He had a letter from his wife, three +pages of small, even words, upon which a few bulbs, burning high in +the chandelier even at noon, cast a weird, too-naked light. It was +as if this room could not exist without some promise of the +glittering night. Its chandeliers were gilded and its walls were +adorned wherever possible with the same grimy gilt. The raucous +blonde hair of his waitress remonstrated harshly with long, dusty +rays of sunlight creeping in--and so did her gold teeth. + +He wished to tear the letter up but there was no place to throw the +pieces, so with a frown he restored it to his pocket. He had formed +the habit of sending his wife money with merely a line of enclosure, +but her small, even words continued to groove a path to reach him, +each word wearing as a drop of water, each containing a minute part +of the energy of its sender, and each to be evaded by the intangible +negation of its recipient. + +Afterward Blake went to the theater where his show was to be +rehearsed. At the press agent's suggestion they had sent out a call +for chorus girls with long hair. Blake found a few reporters; Jerry, +with his coat off, haranguing the orchestra which he was to conduct; +and the bare lines of the stage, its bare steps, even its bare floor, +hidden by the soft bodies, the pale arms, long legs, the bright +clothes of girls. Most of them had taken off their hats, and a few +had even loosened their hair, spreading triumphant, delicate fans of +gold and auburn, of dusk and chestnut about them. + +The press agent was counting the long-haired ones. He returned in +disgust. + +"This is Mother's Day in the Old Ladies' Home," he said. "Not a +long-haired dame under forty, I swear." + +"There's a little blonde over there," suggested a reporter. + +"Yeh--go look at her close and you'll find she has a grandchild. If +you can pick anything out of this lot----" + +The producer lowered himself into a front-row seat, resting a short +arm on either side and his jowls on his chest. The director, on the +other hand, was a tiny, gnarled person who wiped the back of his neck +with a bandanna and cursed legs and girls. The theater was choked +with heat. The girls said, "Whew!" and waved bits of handkerchiefs +and rubbed and powdered their noses without respite. + +"Now, you girls stand up and come to the center of the stage. No. +_Not_ all at once. Say, you Bill, you get them into line. A dozen +at a time, Bill. Goddamn this heat. Goddamn everything above two +inches." + +Some of the girls thought fit to smile. Others held grave faces and +looked loftily up to the dome of the theater. Others drew themselves +up in the line, took a dancing pose, gyrated slowly round like +models. And each dozen, clad in varying plumage--in summer silk that +clung to hips and breasts, in organdy with great, crisp hats, in +practice bloomers that exposed pink flesh, dimples, the slim bones of +ankles in businesslike nakedness, leaving the girls as pathetically +unhidden as long, plucked fowls--each dozen moved with sealed faces, +with indifferent faces, with open giggles before the lidded eyes of +the producer and the sneering inspection of the director, before +Blake to whom they all looked flawed for his show, who was +disappointed in all of them, before Jerry who was touched by each +pretty face, before the reporters who were pleased to be in the +presence of so many chorus girls. + +"Here, you with the Dutch cut--no, _not_ you--that girl there." A +girl seemed startled, said, "Me?" and stepped to one side. "You with +the blue bloomers. Yeh. That one. And that one. Step back you +with the hair and let me see the others. Yes, I mean you. Goddamn +it, dear, _will_ you step back?" + +The producer whispered to the director. + +"That little girl with the curls, didn't I see you around the Savoy +in London?" + +The others cast sharp looks from her to the men. "Why, I've been to +England," said the girl haughtily. + +Someone snickered. + +"Just stop that noise, now, just stop that noise," shouted the +director. "Whaddye think this is, a tea party? You girls, what are +you waiting for? If your names haven't been taken, go on home. Go +on. Get them out, Bill." + +A girl called, "You haven't even looked at us." + +"Oh, I haven't looked at you, haven't I? All right, step forward, +I'll look at you now." + +She stepped forward hardily, pirouetted, kicked out and would have +continued. + +"That's all right," snapped the director. "You don't have to go into +your dance for us. We know you're a Pavlowa. But I'll say that for +you, dear," he added, "you're worth looking at. Take her name, Bill. +Any others we haven't looked at? Come on. Step forward or go home." + +Those who had not been chosen lingered about the stage. The youth +named Bill, his collar open at the throat, a pad in his hand, +dispersed group after group into receding fragments, only to have +them congeal again, murmuring, with eyes on the men who had not yet +gone, opposing to his hoarse shouts the massed immobility of their +hope. Drive them as he would, they moved forward, they moved back, +unheeding, passive, according to some pattern of their own instinct. + +"Only two in the bunch with long hair," said the press agent to the +reporters. "That's a hot one for you." + +"These babies look all right, but can they sing and dance? That's +what I'd like to know," said the director. "Bill, tell 'em to come +here same time to-morrow. Hey, you, all of you whose names we got, +same time to-morrow. And no use any of you others coming--hear +me?--no use!" + +He added pessimistically, "Better send out a call for another batch." + +When Blake turned the corner of his street again the retreating sun +had strewn the sky with minute pink clouds, crisping one within the +other like rose petals across one side of heaven. Lucent the air lay +over the brownstone houses and bright summer awnings of tea rooms and +over the bodies of limousines before the smooth shop windows. And in +his house, where the windows were open, the light swam over Grace's +pure skin as in another ether, in tiny bounding motes of light and +shade. There was a mote on her nose and one that fled along her +cheek and he kissed these, searching them out to the reward of her +deep amusement. They made a circuit of the room in an embrace +exaggerated so as not to come within the terms of sentimentality, an +improbable embrace, a travesty on embraces, which yet could not +conceal the force and persistence of their arms about each other, +their utter absorption in each other, as, like great actors immersed +in their parts, they set up a dais for themselves and swept below, +aside, the audience of Jerry and his exuberant Madalynne. + +Madalynne was a girl with a superfluity of everything--of flesh, of +hair, of clothes, of complexion, of voice, and of the love which she +lavished on Jerry. Even her name was over-spelt. With Grace she had +felt it necessary to adopt a superfluity of dignity, matching, she +thought, Grace's own, but in the presence of this embrace she felt +that the barriers had been let down. She cast herself on Jerry's +bosom, exuding baby talk at every pore. + +Grace and Blake laughed into each other's eyes with a mute laughter, +with a derisive understanding. "The perfect hot momma," murmured +Grace, and aloud, taking pity on Jerry, she said to him, "Does +Blake's mysterious lady still call every day?" + +"Does he tell you that?" said Jerry. He freed himself by a number of +shakes and pats, good-natured and indifferent, much as one does with +an over-fond dog. "I'll never understand you two." + +"And you stand for it?" demanded Madalynne. "My God! How can you +bear it?" she cried. "Why, if such a thing happened with Jerry I'd +never rest till I settled it. And Blake, how can you act that way to +your girl friend? Shame on you! Jerry wouldn't do that to Momma, +would'ums? Yum-yum." + +Grace quickly put her hand up to her mouth. "I want him to ask her +to the opening," she said. + +"So you can meet her and judge what you're up against?" + +Blake could not hide a certain gratification and Grace said to him, +"I can meet her without you. Dee knows a woman who knows her." + +"I knew I shouldn't have told you her name." + +"Always keep your girls separate," declared Jerry solemnly. "Take it +from me----" + +"What! What girls are you keeping separate, Jerry Barker?" + +"Not a one, hon. Honest-to-God, dear. I'm just advising Blake. +You're the only girl for me." + +"That's what you say. But I'd like to know about this. How come you +know so much about keeping girls separate? I tell you I won't stand +for any of that. I don't like the idea of girls being free to chase +in and out of this place--I don't mean you, Grace. You tell Momma, +Jerry, you 'fess up, you naughty boy, what've you been up to?" + +"I swear to you, hon, I've had enough of--I mean--I've got you and +that's enough for me." + +"Jerry lov'ums his momma?" + +"Absolutely, hon." + +Outside, Grace remarked, "Does she really think Jerry'll marry her? +She told me he promised her a diamond ring if the show went over." + +"She can think what she likes," said Blake. "So he promised her a +diamond ring?" He smiled sardonically. "The more fool he. He's got +his hands full." + +Grace sent him a strange, fleeting look. How men did resent a woman +who concluded that the most heart-easing satisfaction she was likely +to obtain from a man was money or its equivalent! Was it because she +was a proof, which even they could not overlook, of the insufficiency +of their own irresistible charms? + +However, she kept quiet. + + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +On the night Blake's play opened, as she entered the theater, the +first person Anita saw was Grace. She stood at the head of the +center aisle, within a little group of which she was acting as heart +and core. To her throat, held aloof, as if beyond the reach of +glances from the inflowing and anonymous crowd and almost beyond the +reach of friendly nods, she was folded in a shawl of ivory silk. And +her very soul had sheathed itself in silken hauteur, as she stood +with eyes that wandered deeply over the lighted theater and the faces +agog for pleasure, over silken shoulders and bare shoulders and +shoulders black and gray jostling down the aisles and across the +aisles toward pleasure. Now and then she murmured some preoccupied +reply, not deigning to lower her eyes, to one of the group +surrounding her. + +Now and then she emerged from this group, swooped from her height +with a sudden nod to an entering person, a greeting of unexpected +cordiality, a fastening of her eyes upon him. + +As Anita was about to approach she issued entirely from her circle +and, with no move of seizure, with her arms close under the ivory +shawl, she seemed to assume possession of a man just passing by, to +spiritually clutch his coat-tails and bring him to a halt. + +"I'm so glad--you could come, Maurice," she said with her significant +pauses. + +To the girl who had loosed his arm and moved ahead of him she gave no +attention at the moment. However, without waiting for notice, this +girl carelessly turned her face. It was fair as a spring morning. +She drawled to Grace, "H'are yuh? Gettin' along?" + +And she added with a derisive sweep of her hands up from her nose, "I +see yuh're comin' up in the world--yup-in-the-world," and swayed down +the aisle. + +Imperceptibly, the group drew near Grace again and imperceptibly drew +nearer, as if there was that in her shadow which separated them from +the anonymous inflow. They kept close under her wing--Letty and +Harold, the Lindens, who were friends of theirs, and some persons +Anita did not know--staring about over the theater, mantled by her +importance, individualizing themselves again as the friends of the +author. + +Anita attracted a vague "hello" from Grace. In spite of motions from +Letty, she went on to her seat. She had not wished to come, but +Grace seemed to find her lack of excitement annoying and she did not +like to offend Grace. The latter had been so kind about getting her +her job. She was alone. She had never been to an opening night and +watched with solitary interest a hocus-pocus of ceremonial new to her. + +In the first rows, among which she sat, everyone seemed to perform +the ritual of knowing one another. As soon as a person reached a +seat, he or she would search the surrounding faces for signs of +recognition and attempt to form alliance with some portion of the +scattered inner circle who were making this opening their festive and +intimate occasion. All the other undifferentiated faces, tiers and +tiers, on the balcony, up and down the rows, pressed heavily forward; +a shower of undifferentiated chatter and laughter splashed the +theater like a shower of bright raindrops. One mustn't let oneself +be swamped by these other faces. And every nod, every acknowledging +glance, every knowing remark was a slight thread to grasp with which +to outline the boundary between those within and the other +undistinguished mass without. It was as if the more nods, the more +smiles they collected, the more exchanges of specialized gossip, the +more assurance they gained that this boundary was defined. It was as +if each nod, each smile, each familiar greeting slowly brought their +individualities into shape from formlessness, like chemicals etching +on seemingly blank paper inch by inch the outlines of a secret +script. It was as if, in the widening scope of these nods, these +smiles, these familiar greetings, they could see their +individualities expand and gauge their bulk, as one may gauge the +bulk of a stone by the widening ripples in the water. + +In the anticipant hush after the first lights had been dimmed Grace +advanced down the aisle. Blake would not sit with her. Sleek in +evening clothes, he spoke quietly and did his best to suppress +excitement or suspense. But his voice gave him away. He was quite +hoarse. Grace was saying, "Considering that it's a musical show and +there are two other openings, what can you expect? The critics would +naturally choose Toreador. Maurice Lensky came anyway--that's +something. And I saw Edmond Edmonds, too. Really--if you get two of +the second-string critics, that's doing very well, with two--more +imposing--shows opening the same night." + +Blake frowned and moved away. Her eyes looked after him in some +surprise, while a smile rose to her lips, and seeing Anita near her +she whispered, "He hates me to say any show is more important. I +never dreamed he would take this--so seriously." She passed, smiling +to herself, and was followed by Diana Porter Reece with her husband +and a man who, Anita noticed gratefully, also wore his every-day +clothes. + +"You go sit by Anita," said Diana Reece. + +Somebody shushed her. The last lights went out and left this man, +whose red hair was plastered every which way on his neck and +forehead, fumbling at his seat. He grinned at Anita. The curtain +rose. + +Soon after the play had started a whisper fluttered along the row +from Grace through Diana Reece and reached Anita. She saw a man +proceeding down the aisle, followed by a blonde woman who dragged +tennis rackets. The man took his seat first, then drew himself away +so that he hung over the aisle, in order to let the woman pass. He +continued to sit in this fashion. It was a colyumnist with his wife. +From time to time Grace craned her neck to see whether he smiled or +applauded. + +The play was a neat little play, neither as lavish as most musical +comedies nor quite as vapid. Blake had permitted himself the boast +that there was not one scene in which the hero dreamed of chorus +girls portraying anything, whether the Spirits of Bituminous Coal or +the Fashions of Yesteryear. His boast was justified. The curtain +fell on the mild glow of a neat little melody, "Your Kisses Are +Blisses." The audience hummed it and the orchestra plugged away at +it. All the people who knew each other rose and hurried to the +lobby. "Come along," said Diana Reece kindly. So Anita came along, +too. + +The confusion of the lobby under yellow lights gradually resolved +itself into groups of people, smiling, nodding, exchanging +specialized gossip, asking each other how they liked the show and +answering with an aplomb that would mark them for the initiate. +"Well, what do you think of it?" "Not so hot, huh?" "Think it'll go?" +"Why not?" "Got one good song." "And one set. It won't take 'em long +to work off the nut, anyhow." "Good chorus. Not a bad idea, a +specialty chorus." + +"Well, how do you like it?" said Grace, coming up with warm cheeks of +excitement and enormous eyes. "I don't know where Blake has +disappeared. Everybody wants to see him." + +"It's swell so far," declared Diana Reece. The bronze flesh of her +shoulders shone above a blazing wrap. + +Her husband added in his heavy, slow voice, "That's a good tune." + +"'Your Kisses Are Blisses.' Yes. I think--that should be a hit." + +The third man kept a solemn silence. Anita thought that he looked +like the Irishmen in the comic strips, square with a wide, almost +lipless mouth, a stubby nose and, yes, freckles. He had, moreover, +their very expression, subtly naughty and unblinkingly solemn. Grace +was looking at him, too, with a coy lift of her brows that Anita +understood meant she was aware of him. + +"How did you like it, Dennis?" she asked. + +"O.K.," said Dennis through his nose. + +Diana's laughter rippled broadly. "That's all you'll ever get out of +him. Look, Grace," she said. "There's your mysterious telephone +lady. There's Renie Harrington, large as life and just as permanent, +if you can figure out what I mean." + +They all saw Blake approaching with a little golden-haired woman, all +in white, lavishing animated hands, animated eyes, and an animated, +pointed face entirely on him, while his own countenance showed, in +spite of itself, a pale tinge of pleasure. + +"Try dynamite," advised Diana. "That may dislodge her, but, mind +you, I make no promises." + +Grace moved toward them at once, wrapped in her ivory shawl, cool. +"I've been out--gathering opinions," she said to Blake. "Everyone is +crazy about that song." + +The other woman paused and, in several glances, they considered each +other. She made a slight retreat. "I've just been telling Mr. +Andrews how _charming_ my husband and I think it is. And we really +do know quite a bit about the theater, in spite of being amateurs. +Even Mr. Andrews has heard of our little theater." Eyes, hands, +lips, and the pointed chin all assisted in a crescendo of admiration, +now discreetly including Grace. + +Blake had no choice but to introduce them, so that they could measure +each other in full politeness, reconnoitering with their eyes, with +soft words, along each other's soft, self-contained faces for the +exact situation. "You must all really come and see _our_ little +theater," said Mrs. Harrington. "At the Peck Settlement." + +And, "Are you--coming to Blake's party after the show?" said Grace. + +"If Mr. Andrews asks us," said Mrs. Harrington coquettishly. So +Blake, glancing at Grace with a rueful amusement, asked her. The +bell tinkled. + +Again the curtain rose. This time the colyumnist's seat was empty, +causing Grace's face to fall and whispers to circulate between her +and Diana Reece. Only Anita and the red-haired chap remained +unaffected by this discovery. Soberly, they watched the stage upon +which creatures dazzling in light made no secret of a business-like +exhibition of wares. Neither said a word. Each applauded +conscientiously at the proper moments. At one such moment, as they +caught each other's eye, Dennis became almost articulate. Pressing +one half of his mouth over the other in a slow grin, like a small boy +closing his lips over stolen jam, he winked. It was an expression +that could not be answered by a smile; it engendered a similar grin. +Anita began to laugh, feeling with surprise that she was happy for no +reason. + +The second closing chorus seemed brighter and the finale poured forth +in an urgent volume of vari-colored melody, light, and noise, rising +as high as it could or dared on the highest of high notes. The +orchestra played, "Your Kisses Are Blisses." The audience rose +humming, "Your Kisses Are Blisses." And out in the lobby they were +selling it: "Get the music of the show--'Your Kisses Are Blisses.'" + +The crowd moved slowly, unsnarled itself from the tangles at the +exits, out into the summer air which no blatancy of electric lights +could harden or speed. Anita had meant to slip away, but she was +caught tight in a group formed by Grace, who cast her eyes +everywhere, and by other people who were going to the party. Grace's +eyes were somewhat shadowed. Turning to Anita, who stood nearest, +she seized her arm and made a more eager effort to get out. "I'd +better go home," murmured Anita, and Grace looked at her in +amazement. "You won't come to the party? You're silly! You must +come with me. I don't know what's happened to Blake." She was no +longer remote. The outline of her face, always quick to reflect +inner commotion, had hardened. It had a sudden tragic emphasis as +her eyes widened, grew deep and obscure with whatever momentarily +troubled thoughts engaged her. What these could be Anita did not +understand, but she was caught up and swept along. + +They found Blake already at his apartment, playing host to the +Harringtons and to some individuals who were devoted exclusively to +the cocktails. Blake strewed cheer like beams of sunshine about him. +He poured drinks for people, hastening here and there almost on the +balls of his feet, and patting Anita's arm, to her great surprise. +Grace seemed almost as surprised, seemed at a loss. With her +all-encompassing gaze, with a serene demeanour in which lurked a hint +of challenge, lovely in chiffon whose rose-hued pallor was +differentiated only by a shade from the glowing pallor of her skin, +she moved about under the watching eyes of Renie Harrington, defining +her place as hostess. Renie Harrington's dashing eyes rested on her +from time to time, sensing, retreating, adjusting. Grace went to sit +by her. They engaged in animated conversation. Anita, passing by, +heard Grace suggest, "Let's--have a lunch date sometime, shall we?" + +Shortly, the entrance of the rest of the party was heralded by Diana +Reece. She had thrown off her flaming shawl. She burst upon them +from the doorway in sequins that shimmered and dazzled and glittered +sinuously with each step, in bracelets that clinked, in a bar pin +whose diamond sparkle went clear across the room and stabbed the eyes +of a youth between cocktails and reality. He had had a deal to +drink, and, blinking in this brilliance composed of scintillas that +flashed before his eyes unseizably in his condition, bewildered by +the rays of diamonds, the shine of golden bracelets, the fleshly +luxuriance of rich dark skin and a red mouth, he had one of the +sudden inspirations of the inebriate. He stalked across the room to +Dee and took her hand and faced the company. + +"Produced by Morris Gest," he said with due solemnity. And retired +amid the ensuing plaudits and seemed to vanish and was heard of no +more that night. + +For a time, Anita and Dennis managed to sit very cheerfully together +by a window open into warm and misty air. They attracted no +attention. They said almost nothing, unless a series of grins and +answering grins could be considered talk. She did not even know his +name. There was between them the curious unrestraint of strangers +meeting with no background but that of the particular time and the +particular space, and sure to part there. But when Anita saw Grace +stare at them with an amused and dawning comprehension in the depths +of her eyes, saw Grace advance toward them, like a mutual friend +breaking in upon the unbounded sympathy of strangers, enclosing it at +once within the restrictions of the social order, she felt a qualm of +uneasiness and wished to retreat. Dennis, however, had now managed +to drink enough to simulate articulateness. He grasped her hand in +alarm, pulling her back. "Ah, no! Don't go!" + +Grace took a seat and surveyed them with a slight, surprised smile, +with an approving intimacy. + +"What do you find to say to each other?" she demanded. + +Taken unawares, they raised their eyes and looked at each other with +another grin. Grace stared at Dennis, then back to Anita more fully, +revolving almost distinctly, on the surface of her eyes, a new +appraisal of Anita's possibilities. + +"Why aren't you dancing?" she suggested. They hadn't thought of it. + +"Dennis is a very good dancer," said Grace. She probed Anita's face, +seeming to hint for some response to what she was arranging, which +was not clear to Anita. "You ought to see him on a real dance +floor." She added with many pauses and the advance and inflation of +her eyes, "Why don't we--have a dancing date sometime? Dennis and +you and Blake and I and Dee and one of her young men?" + +"O.K.," said Dennis agreeably. + +"Next week--maybe?" + +"O.K.," said Dennis. "Any time you say." + +"Well--I'll make the arrangements--and call you," she added, and +glanced at Anita for gratitude. But Anita was flushing. It seemed +to her that the shameless mechanism of Grace's plans must be as +apparent to Dennis as it was to her. Grace had acted in all +friendliness and she would look forward to the date--and yet some of +the easiness had vanished. Her face, when she looked at Dennis +thereafter, must wear a certain constraint. + +It was a good party. Two policemen, called by some unaccountable +neighboring spinsters in the small hours, saw at once that no one was +less than conventionally clothed and no one more than conventionally +drunk. They agreed in righteous indignation at the insomnia of +spinsters. They said, "Why this is a nice party!" They were +welcomed into it. A girl borrowed one officer's cap and club and did +a dance, while they watched indulgently from the doorway. They were +offered a drink and did not refuse. Blake, at the peak of goodwill +toward all the world, pressed passes to his show upon them. Everyone +was grateful for the seal of true abandon which they had set on the +party. Everyone would be glad to tell of having been to a party +which had brought police intervention. On leaving, everyone said +with satisfaction, "A swell party!" + +Grace was going home with Harold and Letty. She made a definite +ceremony of departure for the benefit of Renie Harrington who, +bolstered by her husband, sat on and glanced and sensed, an acute +reminder of the exigencies of social usage. Renie Harrington's +artful eyes silkily subverted the position of hostess which Grace had +taken such care to indicate. + +"We'll--see each other again--soon, won't we?" said Grace. + +"Oh, are you going?" said Renie Harrington. And her eyes rubbed in +the fact that, after all, Grace had to go. Ah, those leave-takings +so often, at the end, forcing her outside! + +She drew Anita apart to say good-bye. + +"Is Dennis taking you home?" she inquired. + +He was. + +"Anita," said Grace wistfully, "he's awfully nice. We could all have +such a lot of fun together if we had a place." + +Her eyes were still, so still, with a velvet pathos. She looked +weary and lines of strain had lengthened her cheeks above the ivory +shawl. She pressed Anita's hand with a sudden clutching warmth, and +had to go. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + +Grace's lunch date with Renie Harrington had to be postponed, for +Renie explained that she seldom came to town during the summer. As +soon as Grace heard of her return, therefore, she called up. + +She was surprised to find herself haled to tea. Perhaps Renie had +discovered that, socially, it was not so possible to remain unaware +of Grace in connection with Blake. This was what Grace minded--not +so much that Blake had been loath to reveal her existence to Renie +Harrington, but that Renie could invite him to her country home for +dinner--alone--and for week-ends--alone. Of course, Grace knew that +she also could move in circles apart from Blake, but she didn't +_want_ to; it gave her a sense of stability to have the pair of them +recognized as a social unit. + +Renie Harrington lived on the less fashionable west side of the park. +In a living room lined with books and charming trinkets, and arranged +to express wealth with unusual lack of ostentation, Grace learned +that her hostess spoke French and Spanish, that she knew about +"incunabula," whatever they were, that she collected first editions, +went to auction sales, had an acquaintance by no means naïve and +worshipful, yet a bit wistful, with practitioners of the arts, and +that she and her husband were wrapped up in the theater at the +settlement house. Dick trained the members in acrobatic dancing and +Renie helped him to choose and stage the shows. Yet she was not a +"yearner," Grace thought. She was no fool and very amusing. Her +hair cast a golden shadow over the sharpness of her chin and the +suggestion of lines about her cherubic lips, it sent a gleam like +that of a sunbeam skimming over her words, delicately shining, +delicately hiding. She had many fine gestures to suit. + +"Would you mind if we went to look at my child?" she said after a +time. "I'm playing nurse maid this afternoon. Just think, I have +three children. I'd like a fourth. But, you see, there's been a +strange rivalry on that score between myself and my sister and my +cousin; we were all married about the same time and whenever either +of us has a child, the others feel they must have one also. After +the third childbirth my cousin was left so weak that Aunt called upon +Nannie and myself and said, 'Don't you think it's about time you +girls stopped bearing children? You'll be the death of each other +yet.' So we have ceased! _Enfin!_" + +Grace raised her eyebrows and remarked that it was, indeed, a strange +rivalry. + +They were now in the nursery. "What do you think of Anne-Marie?" +said Renie. + +"She's a very--cunning child." Grace approached the crib on tiptoe. +"I should say she looked rather like your husband." + +"Doesn't she? Isn't it strange? You'll see how strange it is when I +tell you the story." + +Once more in the living room, she settled herself on a green couch, +and though she did not steal looks to right and left, she gave that +impression. + +"I shouldn't tell you," she said. "If you'll promise to be as silent +as the grave--well, and so this is what happened. We were in the +hospital, my sister and I, at about the same time, but my little +child died--and Nannie had twins! The irony of it! You can imagine +how devastated I was--and there was poor Nannie with two little girls +already and two more to bring up. So I had a brilliant inspiration +and--in short, Nannie consented to give me one of the twins to raise +as my own--and that twin is Anne-Marie!" + +For an instant Grace was genuinely startled. + +"Why, but everyone thinks you have three children of your own. I +remember Dee Reece mentioned it--and Blake----" + +"Oh," cried Renie with a little squeal, "but we haven't breathed it +to a soul! No one knows except the immediate family. Remember, you +mustn't tell--mustn't tell even Blake--though I suppose you tell each +other everything?" + +It was as if she had stroked Grace with a light velvet paw that yet +left a faint, apprehensive suggestion of a sting either just +administered or just to come. What she was after Grace did not yet +quite understand. She was fairly sure of what Blake was up to--some +little thing, some word or expression or lack of expression, the +intuition which was not intuition at all but the most meticulous +observation, never failed to give her a clue. But what might Renie +Harrington be capable of? + +"Not--necessarily," she said aloud. + +"Well, of course," said Renie, retreating (she was good at retreats, +Grace had noticed), "there might not be anything to tell! Blake is +such a charming young man--and so able--and he has the most perfect +taste, hasn't he? I had to come into town to do some shopping one +day and whom should I stumble upon on Fifth Avenue but Blake! So he +helped me choose scarves and sweaters and socks and shoes--and a +really interesting cigarette case. See--isn't it fascinating?" + +"Yes, it's pretty," said Grace, and in spite of her disquiet her lips +curved demurely as she held the silk case in her hands. It happened +that she herself had pointed out the case to Blake in a shop window; +she felt certain that he had sent it to Renie. "The little cat!" she +thought suddenly. "She's playing with me--those goofy stories! +That's what she wanted me up here for." + +But why should Renie bother to hide the fact that Blake had sent her +a cigarette case? There was a story Grace had picked up about Renie +in the course of her inquiries, a story which she now remembered. +Renie had married the fiancé of her best friend while the other +girl's back was turned. + +"Speaking of Blake," Grace said, "you know we go about a lot to first +nights--I have enough theatrical connections to get good first-night +tickets without much trouble. I wondered--if you'd like to come with +us some time?" + +"Oh, I'd like to. I'd have to ask Dick, of course. He's being very +busy just now. We're old-fashioned. We don't believe in having +dates apart from each other." + +"You like to keep your eyes on each other," thought Grace, and she +recollected that, so far, she had never suspected Blake of having any +but afternoon dates with Renie. + +"Of course, I meant to include him," she said aloud. + +"And you must come up to dinner here some night with Blake and we'll +take you to our theater." + +"That would be--lots of fun." + +Grace glanced at Renie and it seemed to her that Renie had taken a +swift look at her. Could it be that Dick was jealous and Renie had +been reduced to using her, Grace, as a shield for her coquetries with +Blake? Nothing could suit Grace better. She didn't mind the +coquetries so long as she knew their limitations. She felt somewhat +relieved. + +She went into Renie's room to fix her hair. Renie followed, talking +amiably. + +"How nice that you've never cut your hair," she remarked. "I can't +imagine you with short hair, any more than I can imagine myself. And +you do it up so perfectly!" + +"Well, it isn't so good right now," said Grace. "I usually have a +bit cut off now and then. I hate any hint of a--door-knob--at the +back, don't you?" + +"Yes, it could be trimmed," said Renie, with her head to one side. +Suddenly she clapped her hands. "Oh, do let me trim it for you! I +adore cutting hair. I always cut Nannie's hair and my children's +hair. I'm an expert. See, here are the scissors ready to hand. Do +let me--just this once." + +Grace laughed and submitted, but with a slight anxiety. She was +rigidly careful of her hair. It had to be marceled just so and +arranged just so. Still--it seemed silly to object. "Please be sure +not to cut too much off--just a very little bit." She watched Renie +in the glass. + +There was one snip, then another. "That's enough," said Grace. "No, +it isn't even," declared Renie. Before Grace could stop her there +was a third long snip and Renie had cut off a full quarter of the +hair. Grace jerked her head away. She went quite white and was on +the point of grabbing the shears. Renie stood by, giggling like a +naughty child. "Oh, I couldn't stop myself! It struck me what fun +it would be to bob it. Do let me bob it, now I've started. Do you +know, that's how I bobbed Nannie's hair--she asked me to trim the +ends, and before she knew it I had it all cut off. Such a joke on +her!" + +"It must have been," said Grace, quivering. After a second during +which she clenched her hands tight, she gathered the remainder of her +hair into a knot. It was difficult, since Grace's hair had not been +very long in the first place. Some of the hairpins would not hold; a +few ends straggled. + +"Oh, you don't really mind," coaxed Renie. Grace could see her face +in the glass. It looked impishly cheerful. "Why, it'll grow in no +time. Nannie and I are always playing jokes like that on each other. +Just this summer, in the country, I asked her to put a freckle lotion +on my face and she spread on some stuff that's supposed to make hair +grow! Fortunately, it didn't work--but we laughed over it for ages." + +"What a happy family that must be!" thought Grace. The hair stayed +up, anyhow. It might have been worse. She tucked on her hat and +managed a smile. "Well, it was certainly nearly a joke on me," she +said, in a tone that tried to be tolerant but kept a residue of +crispness. She was, in fact, almost scared, and so nervous that she +could not bear Renie another moment. + +The latter showered her with expressions of penitence. "I never +thought you'd mind so much. I can't resist a practical joke--it's an +inane trait, I know. Do let me---- Oh, a Spanish comb would be +stunning on you--with your eyes. I have a gorgeous one presented to +me by an admirer, and, as often happens with the presents of +admirers, I have no use for it. If you can wear it..." + +Grace departed with the Spanish comb, with a promise to come to +dinner soon and a disturbed sense of being obliged to defend herself +against unfamiliar weapons. Women weren't supposed to be cats these +days, to fight with rapiers and jeweled daggers and artfully curved +knives, not to mention delicate claws--obsolete weapons all and so +much more flexible and treacherous than the blunt pistol. Think of +trying to ruin your opponent's hair or her complexion--for she felt +almost certain it was with deliberate malice Renie had used the +scissors. It wasn't done, it wasn't modern! + +Dusk had already fallen. It was foggy, windy, drizzling, and Grace +started for home. When she reached the Sixth Avenue El, however, she +changed her mind and continued to Broadway. Letty had just moved to +a larger apartment a few blocks away, for she was expecting a child. +There would be a story to tell Letty--and Blake, too. + +She was cheered by the lights on Broadway. It was not indeed like +the forest fire of clustered electrics that burned farther down, +shedding, on clear nights, a haze like smoke over the sky for blocks +around. The lights here were small, farther apart; they fell like a +shower of golden raindrops through the mist. + +Now that danger was past, she even began to see the humor of Renie's +ways of warfare. She did not blame Renie for a flirtation which +seemed to be mostly an idle test of skill--for Renie, she judged, had +no idea of chancing the throw of so solid a bonnet as Dick Harrington +over any windmills. It was often fun to test one's skill. She did +it herself, and if she, why not Renie? Time was when she would have +trembled with jealousy at Blake's slightest concurrence. But why +should she tremble now? After all, she could concur, too, if she +liked. As one possessing some of the qualities at least which made +for victory, why should she ever be afraid? She wouldn't be. She +wasn't. Let it be always open season, good hunting for all! Let the +defeated, those who were not strong enough, those who were too +squeamish, plead for quarter, balk at the game, struggle to change. + +It was merely that she disliked women who did not rule their own +closed seasons--a type like Renie, for instance, for whom much of the +interest in an affair lay in the ability to harass some other woman +by it. It was a type that never trusted others of its sex; no +wonder, when it wasn't to be trusted itself! She, Grace, would not +knowingly engage in a flirtation which meant nothing to herself but +which caused anguish to another girl. All that other had to do was +to ask her to stop. + +Of course, if there were some strong compulsion, such as there had +been with Blake--that was beyond blame as it was beyond reason. +People might say she had taken a man away from his wife, but it had +been through neither careless experiment nor selfish plan. She had +been compelled to do so--if indeed she had taken that which had been +just as strongly impelled to go. And she had risked herself, had +taken every chance; to be an "other woman" she had made sacrifices. +She remembered sitting in Schrafft's one day with Ruth, among matrons +who wore diamond engagement rings and diamond-encrusted wedding rings +as they ate whipped-cream lunches between shopping and the matinée. +She and Ruth had to choose more by the prices on the right side of +the menu than by the dishes on the left. And Ruth said, as they were +skipping dessert ("just two cups of coffee, please")--Ruth said, with +a sweep of her hand over the fur-coated, diamond-encrusted mélange, +"Pity the poor wives, Grace! Not a diamond between us and we're +these terrible other women!" Then she and Ruth had to rush back to +their jobs. Jobs bore watching; it was easy to lose jobs. And they +had no one but themselves to rely on. Not laws. Not lovers. +Certainly not Blake! It was his wife whom Blake felt obligated to +shield, his wife whom he permitted to rely on him. She, Grace, was +his equal in love, and equals bear their own responsibilities without +so much as a complaint, let alone a desire to share their burdens. + +She did not mind exactly--but so many of the responsibilities had +sprung from or were accentuated by Blake. Ma was on the rampage +again--Grace had believed that bringing Blake to dinner now and then +would cause Ma to subside. But she complained that Grace stayed away +too many nights. "Yes! And if Jerry didn't have his blonde momma, +I'd stay away oftener," thought Grace defiantly. The solution was an +apartment of her own--another responsibility. She had almost induced +Anita to share it. Anita ought to have a place in which to receive +Dennis. He was worth annexing. There was a good deal lacking in him +but, as Grace had told Anita, "You can't have everything. +Personally, I would dispense with a lot in a man for the sake of a +little charm." Yet Anita was so obstinate, so childish in some +respects; she could plan and at the same time she was just as likely +to disrupt all plans by a moment of inopportune revolt. Grace had +offered to collect furniture from among her friends; she had offered +to bear the larger share of expenses. She would have to, since Anita +earned so much less. + +Money, money, all this meant money! So much money for Ma instead of +board, so much money for surroundings, so much for attractive +clothes. Fatal to have a lover ashamed of one's background or one's +appearance. And that led back to the job. If she lost her job--a +slip would do it--so much of the structure so carefully raised would +topple. Money. Job. Blake. Anita. Ma. As she walked, the words +lost sense, threshing back and forth in her mind. + +At Seventy-second Street she had to pause for the traffic to skid by. +The wind from the west slapped her skirt and the damp girdled her as +with a moist, penetrating arm. The windows of the farther buildings +were glittering scratches, straight up and down and across mist, +hieroglyphs drawn finely and exactly and meaninglessly in space. It +was like being on board ship--the wind beating about one's head, the +air swished with boos and restless with squeals from the boats. How +small this little island squeezed up out of the water--east, west, +below, beyond, on all sides, rising and tossing and throbbing and +falling--no repose anywhere--one vast, moaning, mixed-up flux. + +At length the traffic stopped and she went on, perilously clutching +the bit of driftwood which was the pavement with little tentacles of +high heels. + + + + +CHAPTER NINE + +Not long afterward a situation in the M.A.N. office began to +monopolize Grace's conversations with her most intimate friends. +"You know--how--I worry," was the prefix they had learned to +recognize when she was determined to make them share her troubles. +And Grace was worried. + +A man named Graves had arrived from the coast by order of Mr. +Meiselson, who was president of the M.A.N. Mr. Graves had +distinguished himself, as everyone knew, by being the only sober +press agent at a luncheon for a women's committee in the coast +studio. This was his reward. He came East bearing the title of +supervisor of both the New York and the Hollywood publicity offices. +Roy Williams had always understood that this was his position; now +Graves became suddenly his superior. Everyone saw how it would go. +The M.A.N. was never satisfied merely to fire; it liked to prepare +its victims for firing. First Roy Williams had been denuded of his +title; by spring his private office had been taken away from him and +turned over to Graves. While he was still deciding whether, for the +sake of prestige, it would not be best to resign, his duties were +being snatched from him one by one; soon his very typewriter itself +would vanish, and finally his salary. + +Small whirlpools of disquiet, expansions of the central whirlpool, +swirled about each of the desks in the outer room. Each wondered who +would be sucked in and who would be left. Grace had been favored so +much by Roy Williams that she feared she would be counted among his +retainers, and it is well known what happens to the friends of the +old régime when the new assumes power. She tried hard to maintain +her neutrality, being docile and sympathetic with Roy Williams; +pliant, serious, and intelligent with Mr. Graves. + +Her attitude seemed to work. Graves did not like Mr. Colton, who +handled the daily newspapers and fan magazines. When it came time to +herald the arrival of a newly risen star he ignored Colton, to whom +the job properly belonged, detached Roger Darray from the press books +and Grace from her women's features, and assigned them both to Nola +Winter. + +Nola Winter was a fledgling star, still warm from the incubator. The +Broadway opening of her latest picture and her rumored engagement to +a famous movie actor had given the M.A.N. sufficient warrant to send +her on her first trip East. She was traveling in style, chaperoned, +groomed, and stateroomed, to be housed at the Ritz, to be wined and +dined and properly introduced to the fan writers, i.e., the public. +Mr. Graves himself had caught an earlier train to meet the Twentieth +Century and ride down with her. It was the first important effort +that had been required of him in New York--a trial of himself as well +as of Grace and Roger Darray. + +With his last-minute instructions still buzzing in their ears, Grace +and Roger walked over to Grand Central. The pavements were caked +with summer heat. Underneath a topcoat of somnolence, the air burned +with a peculiar, needlelike brilliance. Ordinarily they would have +been placid; little could go wrong in a routine arrangement like +this. The New York public, represented by the city editors, was as +anxious to hear from a pretty new movie actress who might be engaged +to Adam Jennifer as Nola Winter was to be heard from. They could be +almost certain of making the afternoon papers--with pictures--and all +one needed to attract a joyful greeting crowd in a station was a +group of cameras. However, even the countenance of Roger, a blank +and solemn individual, reflected the tremors of excitement with which +Mr. Graves had infected them. + +"I hope he doesn't--expect us to meet her waving aloft the keys of +the city, the way they do in California," said Grace nervously. + +Roger attempted a polite answer which trailed off into murmurs. He +kept a slight space between them, while at crossings he gave a start, +touched her elbow with his hand, then hastily released it. Grace +could barely repress a smirk, thinking of how afraid of her and +embarrassed with her Roger Darray always was. She had once tried to +attach him, just before his marriage--not very urgently, to be sure, +but so as to keep her hand in--and he had never forgotten how nearly, +according to Grace, he had "fallen" for her. He always gave her the +impression of restraining himself from "falling" even now, a fact +which added to her complacent amusement. + +They found one cub reporter lounging at the gate with his press card +nonchalantly stuck in the band of his hat. More appeared within the +interval--all they hoped for: a couple of newspapermen in the twisted +soft hats that seem best to conform to the reportorial head; a girl +whom Grace knew, wearing spectacles and carrying a book into which, +detaching herself from the proceedings, she at once plunged; +photographers, a raft of them, bristling with the legs of cameras, +some with their caps reversed so that the visors slouched on the +napes of their necks. Grace saw with satisfaction that, apart from +the groups of welcoming friends who stared at them curiously, growing +numbers of people paused in their business and, as if under a spell, +without reason or real desire of their own, moved closer and closer +to the cameras, stopping now and then, turning away, then moving +closer and standing, after the manner of their kind, with mouths +slightly agape in an attitude of unalterably patient, of mesmerized +attention. + +As the train came in the stragglers pressed forward upon the flanks +of the newspaper party; the latter crushed against, then passed, the +gate, while a few station employees thrust out their arms to bar the +crowd. In spite of themselves, other people's welcoming friends and +the inquisitive bystanders merged, formed a solid, sweating phalanx +around the gate. An impressive greeting to Nola Winter! + +The platform was all at once black with scurrying figures, porters, +trucks of baggage. + +Gradually a few spaces of gray stone floor were left visible between +feet. The spaces cleared. They widened. They expanded. + +"Y'know what stateroom this baby is in?" demanded one of the +photographers. + +Grace asked Roger. Mr. Graves had neglected to give them the numbers +of the car and the stateroom. + +"Oh, she'll be along soon. Sure. Sure. Pretty soon," said Roger. + +The length of the platform stretched forth longer and longer, duller +and duller, barer and barer. It was dark, even damp, but with a +density, a monotony of heat which was unendurable. Far at the other +end antlike creatures were still hastening through the gate. + +The reporters waited in boredom. The newspaper girl, with some aid +from the photographers, climbed upon a baggage truck, fanned herself, +and swung her legs. "Are you sure she's on this train?" she said +suspiciously. + +Grace and Roger consulted. + +"Perhaps she's missed it or something," said Grace. + +"She'd have wired Graves," said Roger. "No. She must be on it. +Probably just fixing up--just fixing up." + +One of the sections backed off, backed forward. Grace suggested: +"Don't you think--it would be wise--to go through the cars?" + +Roger's face was grave. "He must know we're waiting," he said. "He +did say Grand Central, didn't he? Might have been a mistake there." + +They stood looking at each other, Grace with enlarged, troubled eyes, +Roger stiff and pale. The platform was wholly empty now. An +occasional employee passed, was questioned, shook his head and went +away. They had been waiting nearly an hour. Each of the reporters +had gone off to telephone and had disappeared. The photographers +gave it up, too, and left one by one, gathering up their cameras and +mumbling indifferent curses. + +"We'd better go back to the office," said Grace finally. + +They returned slowly down the endless length of the platform, still +gluing their eyes to the train. A sound of movement caused them to +turn their heads. Down the steps of a car close to where they had +waited so long, a short man in a neat gray suit was ushering two +ladies. + +It was Mr. Graves. + +They halted transfixed. "What in the hell!" said Roger very quietly. +They exchanged a quick glance and, bracing themselves, hurried back +along the platform. Nola Winter and her mother stood withdrawn, with +delicately sniffing nostrils, affecting a self-absorption which did +not quite come off, observing in side-long looks, while Mr. Graves +received his press agents. + +"Where were you?" he addressed Roger. + +"Right here," said Roger rigidly. + +"You were right here!" repeated Mr. Graves in a strangled voice. He +was silent for a few moments, during which he glared at Roger. "Miss +Winter and her mother and I," he said, "have been waiting for you +fully an hour." + +"Where?" said Roger reasonably. + +"Where? Where?" burst forth Mr. Graves. "Why, in Miss Winter's +stateroom, of course!" + +A flash lighted Roger's pale blue eyes; he opened his mouth. Next +instant his face was inscrutable. + +"We were waiting on the platform with reporters and photographers," +he said quietly. + +"Why the ---- didn't you bring them to the stateroom, then? Where +d'y' think Miss Winter would receive them?" + +"On the platform," said Roger calmly. "Photographers can't set up +their cameras in staterooms. And," he added, as an afterthought, +"you didn't tell us the number of the car." + +"Why'n't you look for it, then? Why'n't you find it?" + +Roger made no reply. + +A colored maid hovered over the car steps, stacking hand luggage. + +"You can go back to the office," said Mr. Graves to Roger. "I'll see +you later." + +Roger swung on his heel and sauntered off. + +Grace was white to the lips. + +"Do you--need me, Mr. Graves?" she managed to stammer. + +He then took notice of her for the first time. He reflected, +allowing himself a space for recovery. Nodding at her, he said in a +voice still sharp, "Yes. You might as well meet Miss Winter and her +mother. You'll be handling her alone now." + +Miss Winter was a fragile, languid young girl under a large hat. She +bent her head slightly to Grace. Her mother was by turns more +condescending and more plaintive. She shook Grace's hand and +complained, "We didn't expect to be received like this." Apparently +Mr. Graves had not quite mollified them. + +Grace moved her deep eyes from Mr. Graves to Mrs. Winter. "Don't you +think," she began tentatively, "it will be--better--really to have +Miss Winter interviewed at her--hotel? It will be--less wearing for +her--perhaps. I could--arrange it very shortly." + +"Oh, not to-day," put in Miss Winter. "I'm fah too ti-erd." + +"The poor child is tired. There's a porter now, honey. No, Nola +must stay in bed to-day," said her mother. + +"We'll have to let it go to-day," said Mr. Graves authoritatively. + +Grace accompanied them to the taxi, conferring with Mr. Graves. Nola +Winter had a luncheon with the fan writers next day. "We'll ask the +reporters, too," said Mr. Graves. Grace agreed. At the same time +she insinuated that they would perhaps get double publicity by +keeping the reporters and the fan writers separate. Privately, she +thought Mr. Graves didn't know his business. The reporters would +write without being fed, while fan writers required to be fed. In a +case like this, where there was the question of an engagement, they +might easily get two sets of stories. Since she would be held +responsible for the amount of publicity they received or didn't +receive, she had to take the trouble to guide Mr. Graves's footsteps. +It was decided that Miss Winter's official arrival, for the benefit +of the press, would take place to-morrow and the luncheon for the fan +writers would be postponed a day. She arranged with mother and +daughter to call on them early next morning, bade them pleasant +good-byes. + +With a great sigh of relief, she headed for the office. Roger +Darray's goose was cooked. But not hers--not yet. She was safe. + +Roger was sitting by Mr. Colton's desk, smoking cigarettes and +recounting their mishap. He had no further need of caution. He knew +he would be fired. The whole office knew it. He called to Grace, +"How'd you come out?" + +Grace approached slowly. "He told me to--handle her alone. +I'm--sorry, Roger." She fixed her huge, distressed eyes upon him. +She was sorry, very. The loss of a job--especially through no fault +of one's own--was a misery completely comprehensible to her. It was +a danger which they all shared; her turn might come next. + +"I'm--sorry," she said again unhappily. But what could she do? + +"It's all right--all right. I guess I'm out," said Roger, without +malice. + +Colton, who suspected that he also would soon be out, made a helpless +grimace and shrugged. "The ---- ----!" he remarked. "So he thought +Nola Winter ought to receive reporters and photographers in her +stateroom! That's what you gotta take off these bastards who come up +from office boys. A hell of a lot they know about this game!" + +"What are--your plans, Roger?" asked Grace low. + +"Oh, I'll get along. Yes. Yes. I'll get something." + +For several minutes they discussed Roger's prospects, jobs they had +heard of, openings there might be. + +Then Grace returned to her desk and picked up her telephone--it is +one of the characteristics of press agents that they are never +without a series of phone calls to make. She could not afford to +waste any more time on condolences. The Three Cheers Club met at one +o'clock and several of her personal plans revolved around it. + + + + +CHAPTER TEN + +Like others who belonged to it, Grace was wont to excuse herself for +attending the weekly luncheons of the Three Cheers Club on the ground +that it was good business. One made contacts there. One exchanged +the gossip of the day. The club ate in a private dining room at a +Park Avenue hotel. This noon, as Grace walked into the small +antechamber where the members were gathering, her face was strained +with resolution. The girl she searched for stood in a corner, a +large bouncing girl, visible and audible. Grace marched up to her. + +"How are you, Madge?" she said, widening her eyes and spacing her +words with an acute gentleness. "I hear--you had--quite a +discussion--about me at your house one night." + +The buxom girl stepped back. "Why, no!" she said. "Why, Grace, I +hope you don't think I'd say anything unkind about you or let anyone +in my house say a word against you." + +Grace looked at her with a sweet, unbelieving smile. + +"Why, no, Grace," she repeated in alarm under that smile. "I don't +know what you heard but I give you my word all that happened was--we +were discussing a lot of things and someone remarked wasn't it a +coincidence that Grace Kline's friend had the same name as the man +who used to be married to a college classmate, Edith Woolever, in St. +Louis. Honestly that's every word that was said." + +Wearing the same sweet smile and continuing to fix Madge with her +eyes, Grace replied, "Then perhaps it might--interest you to +know--that he not only used to be married to Edith Woolever, but +still is." She swept past. + +An "oh" dropped from Madge's lips and she babbled after Grace scared +phrases at random: "... think the world and all of you ... wouldn't +want you to think otherwise." + +Grace betook herself to the shelter of one of her friends who had +witnessed the encounter. Her skin was white but under it the blood +burned in her cheeks. She removed a glove and tried to soothe them +with chilly hands. + +"I think I've stopped her," she said. She continued +conversationally, halting now and then for composure. "I've +discovered a swell method, Jeannette, of dealing with people who talk +about you. You just walk up to them very sweet and ruthless and +naïve and ask them did they really say that? It frightens them to +death." + +Her friend, a little woman like a little bird, teetering on very tiny +feet and very high heels, patted her arm with a sympathy that was +none the less for being highly spiced with curiosity. She herself +was a tactful, orderly little soul, a good manager, but she was very +broadminded, as she often told people, and regarded Grace with an +admiring and interested wonder. "I wouldn't have told you if I'd +known it would upset you so," she said in real concern. + +"Oh, it doesn't upset me any more," said Grace. "I'm getting +hardened." + +After a moment she remembered what else had brought her to the club. + +"You know Mrs. Whitten, don't you?" she said, now quite alert. +"Introduce me, will you? I'd like to sit next to her--if it can be +arranged." + +"Of course, dear. Why? Have you anything in mind for her? I didn't +know you were writing." + +"Oh, it's--just an idea," said Grace vaguely. Her eyes wandered +afresh over the room, choosing friends, recording herself again on +the minds of those she knew, and permitting them to record themselves +on her mind; seeing who was present and who was not. + +The girls (not women, but distinctly girls) disposed themselves at +three long tables arranged in the form of an ell. Originally the +Three Cheers Club had unfurled its banner with a provision that +members be self-supporting and a dedication of encouragement to +"women of all professions." But it had become increasingly difficult +to judge the exact extent of their self-support and, though there +might have been members of other professions, they went unnoticed. +Nearly all these women (so distinctly girls) acted, wrote, drew, +sang, clutched the skirts of the various arts in varying capacities +and with varying success and took much credit to themselves for so +doing. + +Grace usually sat by Diana Reece in her own coterie that formed one +of the groups within the group. To-day she found herself in a +somewhat different atmosphere between Mrs. Whitten and Jeannette +Croak, looking attentively across the table at a woman who bore well +the dignity of black crêpe de chine and pearl earrings. She was +Rachel Dorf, the one who got two thousand dollars a short story. And +how well she knew it, thought Grace, with a certain detachment in +consequence of her own slight acquaintance in this circle. The two +thousand dollars was apparent in every costly fold of silk, in the +full, massaged texture of her authoritative face, in the commanding +movements of her thick, white hands. She and Mrs. Whitten were +discussing short-story prices. Grace listened with a perfect +demeanor, a blend between that of a novice hearkening to elders and +that of a personage incognito, secure in his own secret status. The +glow shed by her skin and eyes, like the soft, swooning light shed by +the moon, the delicate synthesis of her clothes drew involuntary +glances from Mrs. Dorf and Mrs. Whitten. Each had noticed her in the +past and remembered her and would remember her, wondering why. When +she spoke each looked at her, following the motions of her long, +tender lips and her widening eyes, following each word dropped after +her curious pauses, as if these might furnish the clue to that +glowing mystery which her eyes and her skin had the power to suggest. +Mrs. Dorf was the first to turn her glances away, chafing under the +spell. When Grace spoke she would attempt instinctively to +interrupt, only to hear the low, penetrating contralto superimpose +itself on her voice without effort, continue, and finish the sentence +which Grace had begun. + +Mrs. Whitten, who was a small, dowdy person dressed in brown, with +generous brown eyes, frankly allowed herself to be engrossed by +Grace. It gave her pleasure to watch Grace. She answered her +warmly, assuring her that it would be a good idea to do a story about +the movie star, Carolyn Hale. + +"I thought," said Grace, "since she had made--such a hit in comedy, +it might be interesting to get her to talk on the feminine sense of +humor." + +"N-no," said Mrs. Whitten thoughtfully. "That's a little +too--too--intellectual, I believe, for our readers. Something more +personal is what they would like--for instance, Love: 'What I Think +of Love.' Or perhaps, 'Why I Have Never Married,' if you can get her +to sign it." + +Grace looked at Mrs. Whitten with a smile. "Isn't that--a little +obvious?" she hinted. "After all----" + +"Yes. After all, everyone knows why she hasn't married. She finds +it more profitable the other way," finished Mrs. Whitten, sharing +Grace's amusement. "But an article on Love, if you can get her to +sign it, would go, I think. Of course, I haven't the final say." + +"Oh, I can get her to sign it," said Grace, and sniggered within +herself. She had her own opinion of what Carolyn Hale thought of +Love. Becoming serious, she said intently, "Then--if I get it +written--shall I bring it in to you?" + +"Yes, indeed. It's a good idea." + +The luncheon was rapidly climbing to its predestined heights. The +president rapped for order; the bubbles of chatter evaporated and the +real business of the session began. She started to announce the +announcements. Grace was sure that this president, a matronly girl, +who conducted an Advice to the Lovelorn column, could hardly wait to +breathe her touching sentiments, with a little comical twist at the +end, anent the arrivals of new babies to club members. Perhaps she +even practised before a glass so as to obtain the exact cloying +simper with which these sentiments emerged from her lips. At this +point, Anita, who had once been present at a luncheon, had caused a +hushed commotion of disapproval by shifting, in her agony, tapping +her plate, shuffling her feet, overturning her water glass, and +muttering comments to Grace. Anita was far too impatient. As for +Grace, she sat in ladylike calm, as others did about the tables, only +permitting herself a small smile when she caught Dee's eye. + +"And, girls, I have a _great_ surprise for you. Mary Covill. Can +you guess? Yes, girls, she's been married for _two_ months, and the +lucky man's name you will all like to know is Howard Higgins, in the +advertising business. So now Mary can add the Lucy Stone League to +her list of clubs." + +Laughter and applause and a general turning of heads toward where +Mary Covill sat, somewhat flushed but triumphant. + +Grace noticed that Mrs. Dorf and Mrs. Whitten and Jeannette were all +applauding quite seriously. Dee sent her an ironic wink across +tables. But Dee was patting her hands too. She made one or two +perfunctory claps. + +The president had not yet done. She took another sheet of paper from +her table. She grew sober. + +"Now girls," she said, "before I introduce the guests of honor, who +to-day are Mr. and Mrs. Reuben Barnes, the big-game hunters, of whom +you have all heard [applause], I am sure you will all be interested +to know what your co-members have been accomplishing." + +She cleared her throat. She said, "I don't want to boast, girls, but +I thought you'd all be pleased to know that your president has at +last entered--oh, very timidly, you may be sure--the Halls of the +Bards. Your president has had a poem accepted by _Home Life_!" +(Applause). + +She called prettily through the applause, "Yes, and if you don't like +it, you have only the editor of _Home Life_ to blame. He assures me +it's fine!" + +After the excitement had bubbled down there followed a list of +stories sold, sketches placed, designs ordered, jobs changed. The +president sat down, releasing a swarm of chatter. + +Immediately she bounced up again. She raised one hand for silence. +"There has just come to my hand," she said impressively, "a belated +announcement which I am sure you will want to have repeated at once. +Girls, Bessie Firestone has--just--sold--her first short story--to +_True Stories_!" + +The guests of honor had been brought by their press agent. Grace was +among the first to escape. Meeting Dee in the anteroom, she agreed +that the club was growing "more terrible by the minute," and listened +to a collection of fresh gossip, while her eyes followed the people +she wished to speak with presently. They arranged to sit together at +the next luncheon. + +Afterward she taxied across town to the Algonquin and, making her way +through the patronizing groups in the lobby, she reconnoitered over +the ropes of the small dining room. It was easy to pick out Carolyn +Hale from among all the sleekly hatted women. For the sake of her +public, which was accustomed to see her curls unbound in the dramatic +sequences, Carolyn Hale had not yet dared to cut her hair. It was +really golden and really heavy. Great braided loops of it weighted +her head so much that she was always removing her hat. So lovely a +girl on the screen, so frail and wistful, she looked extraordinarily +matter-of-fact in real life. The Publicity Department stressed the +point that she made her own clothes. After seeing them, Grace +thought this likely but saw no reason for pride. She had been in +attendance on Carolyn for several weeks, arranging appointments for +her with the fan writers, taking Carolyn to teas and luncheons, and +ingratiating herself with Carolyn in many ways. They now called each +other by their first names. + +Carolyn Hale was lunching with her "girl friend," another movie +actress, a study in ebony, sepia, and scarlet beside Carolyn's +fairness. Pushing a chair out for Grace, she continued to regale +them with an account of an afternoon spent with L. L. Farissey. It +seemed that he had swept her from auctions of antiques to auctions of +pictures to auctions of manuscripts, she "standing on my feet and +perishing from my corns--you can imagine. And that damned old +furniture, you ought to see it. What anybody wants to buy the stuff +for! I just touched a table and I give you my word it jumped apart! +And those pictures! They're enough to give anyone the willies! And +here I had to get blue in the face admiring all that junk. When I +got home I swear my mouth was sore from making ohs. + +"And I was out all night," she wailed, "and I had to shop all +morning--and now I have to go see L. L. again. I bet he drags me to +more junk shops this afternoon. Oh, my Gawd! Girls, come on along +with me. I can't see that big bozo alone again; last night was +enough." + +Stepping from the cloistered dimness of the Algonquin, they +straightway entered the luxuriant dimness of Carolyn Hale's +limousine, while she wailed comically and did imitations of L. L. +She had a strange voice to come from a creature so heavenly on the +screen--thin, flat, nasal. It made one want to laugh in her face at +its incongruity. + +The moment did not seem propitious to speak of Love, but Grace +managed to ask if Carolyn would sign an article for a woman's +magazine. + +"Sure, I'll sign anything you say," declared Carolyn. "That would be +swell. Only just don't mention names. I gotta think of my Goddamn +public." + +Her friend, Lily, inquired with interest what the article would be +about. + +"It's to be called, 'What I Think of Love,'" said Grace hesitantly. +But neither appeared to notice any untoward significance. + +Carolyn nodded. "That'll be fine," she said. "The fans will eat +that up." + +And, "I wish my press agent would put something like that over for +me," remarked Lily. "I sometimes wonder if he's any good. I notice +you're getting so much for Carolyn." + +"Oh, yes, Grace is swell," said Carolyn generously. Lily was a free +lance who earned a great deal and no doubt paid well for publicity +services. But Grace thought it best to keep silent and let Lily make +her own comparisons. + +In a great pink and gilt room in a great pink and gilt hotel they +found the great man, L. L. Farissey. He was an automobile magnate +who had got into so many front-page scrapes that it was impossible +not to have heard of him. He was assisting Carolyn Hale to maintain +her position at that special moment in her career. Fat and tousled, +he sat in a suit of fiercely striped pajamas in a mild pink armchair, +looking ill-tempered and eating a meal of sauerkraut, frankfurters, +olives, cheese, and tomatoes. The three girls stood astounded at +this meal. Raising small bloodshot eyes, the great man glanced at +them and grunted. He knew Lily and disregarded her. Being +introduced to Grace, he grunted and disregarded her also. He +muttered to Carolyn Hale in a surly voice, "Havin' my breakfast. +Want some?" + +"Oh, L. L. I've just had an _enormous_ lunch," pleaded Carolyn. + +He grunted. His silence became stony. + +Lily and Grace took chairs by the door and remained quiet, quiet as +little mice, not daring to look at each other and trying not to look +at Carolyn Hale. She had perched herself on the arm of the great +man's chair. Whenever she caught their glances she opened her mouth +and gawped without sound and rolled her eyes over the great man's +shoulder. For her pains with him, she received a series of grunts. + +Finally, leaning her face close to his, she said meekly, "L. L., +could Carolyn have one of these lovely little teeny-weeny olives? +Just _one_ little teeny-weeny olive?" + +"Have 'em all!" mumbled the great man magnificently. He took a plate +and piled it high with olives, sauerkraut, tomatoes. "Bet' have some +cheese--" "Well then, I will have a little, teeny-weeny piece. It +looks so good." He added a hunk of cheese. Over his shoulder +Carolyn put her hand to her heart and made a huge gawp with her mouth +and rolled her eyes in extreme despair. She began to pick at the +food, now and then glancing at the two girls and going through the +motions of inaudible signs. The great man's frown seemed to be +moderating. Carolyn, peering around at him, signaled such an +enormous silent gawp of relief behind him that the two girls thought +she would fall backward off the chair. + +She leaned her face closer to his. "L. L.," she coaxed, "couldn't we +go to see that lovely picture again this afternoon? You know, the +beautiful, beautiful one that Carolyn liked so much, the one with the +woman on horseback and all the lovely dogs?" + +"Hm. Worst one of the whole collection!" grumbled the great man. +But his face had relaxed into some semblance of pleasure. + +"Might take a look in the Bitterman Galleries," he murmured, as if to +himself. + +Behind his bent head Carolyn raised her hands and twirled her fingers +in the air and let her chin fall and her mouth droop to resemble the +aspect of a half-wit. The two girls simultaneously took out their +handkerchiefs, patted their noses, and hid their giggles. + +Carolyn winked and nodded at them and pointed to the door. They +understood. They rose and said farewells which the great man did not +acknowledge. + +Out in the lobby Grace at once found her way to a telephone booth. +She had been on the trail of Susanna Beddes all morning. It was most +important that Susanna Beddes should be notified of the lunch for +Nola Winter and should promise to attend. She was a personage. She +wrote a widely syndicated motion-picture column. Press agents might +mimic Susanna Beddes' coy habit of speaking of herself in the third +person ("Susanna is feeling thus and so"--"Susanna is doing this and +that"--"Susanna is very busy just now") but in her presence they +trembled. At least, Susanna did everything in her power to cause +them to tremble. Grace finally traced Susanna to her home. + +"Oh, Susanna has such a headache to-day," she moaned over the +telephone. "Don't speak to Susanna about business! She's desperate." + +A lengthy conversation followed, soothing, apologetic, consoling on +Grace's part, bored and reluctant on Susanna's. Susanna really could +not think. Susanna really did not know what engagements she had. +Susanna did not care about these group interviews. She preferred +tête-à-têtes. + +"Oh, I'm certain--Miss Winter would be delighted to have you take +lunch with her," Grace assured her. "I was--just about to ask you. +But we--would like you to be present at the formal reception too." + +Susanna said that she would see. + +"Shall I--call you at the office then--to-morrow?" + +Susanna said that she might do so. + +Grace had spent almost half an hour in the stifling booth. She +staggered into the pink and gilt lobby, rested for a few minutes, +inhaled a few pink and gilt breaths. She supposed it might be good +policy to send Susanna Beddes flowers--from the M.A.N.--or some such +touching recognition of her headache. + +When Grace at last stepped out of the hotel she paused, startled, she +could not say why, to see the sky so blue. A faint breeze stirred +the blazing, dust-moted air. The interiors of the serene shops along +Madison Avenue looked limpid as water to a parched throat. A great +breath melted in her lungs and gave a special luster to her face. A +trolley clattered by with open sides. The tops of all the taxis were +down; their black upholsteries glistened between smears of dust. The +heavy sidewalks bloomed here and there unexpectedly with the dresses +of girls, yellow silks and green silks, and rose and lavender, slimly +conforming to their bodies. Of course. It was summer, a season that +she loved, and the middle of the afternoon. + + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN + +Anita's office, a free employment bureau, closed early, so that she +was always the first to return to the apartment which she and Grace +now shared. It stood on the same street as Dee's old studio, and at +this time of the afternoon, in the lull between the exodus from shops +and offices and the re-migration to restaurants and theaters, it +greeted Anita with a soothing fragrance of quiet. She threw herself +down on the couch. The odds and ends of gray, home-painted furniture +were spotted with lingering sunshine; one pale beam lay across the +bookcase; an orange vase shone. She was sure of perhaps half an hour +of utter peace. + +Thereafter the telephone began to squeal. The early calls were +always for Grace. Then there would be a short interval. Finally, +always to Anita with the force of surprise, the tone of Dennis +Meloney's "Hul-lo," long-drawn and resonant, warm and vague, drifted +through the telephone. + +Anita said, as always, "Is--this--you, Dennis?" + +He answered reassuringly, as always, the words resounding through his +nose, "None other!" + +"Sober?" + +"Very!" said Dennis, with too much conviction. He added, "I'll be +right over." + +As she knew from experience, this might well mean several hours +later. It was one of the phrases which Dennis used to assert his +complete spiritual willingness behind which the uncontrollable body +lagged under no matter what goads, to his bewilderment, even to his +dismay. He had informed Anita, in one of his solemn moments of +drunken articulateness, "You'll learn this about me--I'm a terrible +liar." Anita had only been able to smile and sigh and shake her head +in resignation that had in it a note of noblesse oblige, of staying +one's hand as with an inferior in one's power. She was often on the +point of not bearing with Dennis any longer. If she had been alone +she could have swiftly made up her mind, but with Grace in the +background she felt almost as if she were playing before an audience, +as if she were constrained to go on with the performance before it +though hampered by its presence. Grace, she knew, did not treat her +as a poor relation because she "had Dennis." She could almost see +the idea behind Grace's mounting intimacy. A girl who could attach +even one not wholly undesirable man for that length of time and with +that comparative regularity could not be beyond the pale, might even +be "one of us." The old formula of contrast, a beautiful girl +selecting a colorless girl as companion and foil, is outmoded. Two +charming girls, it has been learned, are better than one to attract +men. + +The telephone rang more and more insistently. Blake called up and +left a message. The entry of Grace dispersed the last vestige of +solitude. + +She searched the room with a wide and tenacious gaze. + +"What have you been doing?" she said, and, not waiting for a reply, +she launched into an account of her afternoon. + +"I don't believe--I'll have any more trouble with Madge Murphy," she +concluded. "I can't understand--girls like that! Madge Murphy gets +around a lot; she knows a lot of people. I don't see how she does +it. She's so homely! She has little, wrinkled, blackish eyes, +raisin eyes. She's one of those girls who--stick--out in front and +in back and who always, by instinct, sort of, gravitate to stripes, +those heavy, long stripes, in purple and red, you know. I suppose +they think it makes them look thin! Nothing could make her look +thin--not even a steam roller!" + +This trick of Grace's of describing people by means of the +simplifications of the caricaturist always seemed strange to Anita. +How could Grace, who disapproved of Anita's penchant for taking +sides, who, though she enjoyed gossip, was always careful to repeat +it with impartial omniscience--how could Grace, who was so tolerant, +pass such cruel judgments with her eyes and ears? Anita had learned +to be on guard against Grace's descriptions, for when she saw the +people herself, they were apt to be so different. + +"There are so many girls like that," continued Grace, "that you--meet +around. There's nothing to them that you can put your finger on. +And they take themselves so--seriously. But they seem to get along. +I suppose it's just push," she added thoughtfully. "They +simply--push themselves in everywhere." + +She went on: "Anyhow, I've discovered a grand method of dealing with +people who talk about you. Hereafter I mean to confront them as I +did Madge and ask them straight out, but very--sweetly, you know, did +they really say that? It's like confronting a murderer with the body +of his victim. It works." + +"It wouldn't work with me. I'd just answer yes," said Anita coolly. +"Besides," she added, "there's danger in that method. It might +actually keep people from talking about you." + +But Grace didn't mind. That was just Anita's way. "We can't all be +little tartars like you," she said amiably. + +The deliberate rhythm of her movements as she went about the business +of making her toilette and choosing her clothes for the evening could +not be ruffled. Each motion was so precise, followed upon every +other so perfectly, had such a smooth place in Grace's daily ritual, +that Anita could not resist following with her eyes and even with her +mind, as one follows involuntarily the rhythm of the hymns and +genuflections in a church, the rhythm of the Perpetual Adoration +before an altar. Grace was ready to do up her hair when Dennis +appeared. She was still engaged with it when Blake followed him. + +Making her entrance through the bedroom door, she stood poised for a +moment, in a pale, ocher-colored, georgette dress, the glamorous +product at last of all her small, attuned labors. She glanced at +Dennis, who was neither entirely drunk nor entirely sober, with a +smile of intimate and amused understanding, then turned her eyes to +Anita, as if to reassure her that smiles for Dennis must also be +smiles for her. + +"How--are you?" she said gravely, with a slight, coy lift of her brow. + +"O.K.," said Dennis. Viewing her luminous harmony with a pleasure +that imprinted itself on his face, he found nothing more to say. He +retired into the silence which was his only way of being dignified +and polite. + +Grace passed in front of him and took her place on Blake's lap. + +"You ought to be able--to help me out," she said, drawing the great +pools of her eyes from Dennis to Anita, then to their final resting +place on Blake's countenance. "I have to write a woman's magazine +article about Carolyn Hale called, 'What I Think of Love.'" + +Blake snickered. "Be sure to spell love with a capital letter. The +capitalization of love is very appropriate for Carolyn Hale." + +"Are you--punning, Blake, by any chance?" + +She secured her attention entirely to him, gazing in his face and +beginning for him the motions of her special laugh. + +"Punning, Blake, is the lowest form of humor," said Anita. + +But neither Grace nor Blake appeared to hear or to be affected. They +continued the duet of their particular amusement, while Dennis sat, +silent, with a polite grin glued to his mouth and Anita did not smile +at all and tapped a foot. + +It was Grace who interrupted herself, not having lost track of her +plans. + +"It's rather--important," she explained. "I'd like to get in with +Carolyn. If I can put this over it'll be quite a good stunt for her. +It might--give me a start with the magazines. And, on the strength +of it, I might--be able to sell Carolyn the idea of making Blake's +play into a movie." + +She looked questioningly at Blake. Grace was always tactful about +injecting herself into Blake's affairs, but Anita couldn't help +wondering how much of her interest was a sincere wish to help Blake +and how much was a desire to show him that she was no mere hanger-on +of his new-found importance, that she and her connections were +valuable to him. + +He replied by a pleased lift of his brows. + +Grace addressed Dennis: "You ought to have some ideas for me, Dennis. +You're a press agent yourself." + +"I got out a story like that for a fan magazine," offered Dennis +after a deep silence. "It's the same old hokum. But it might give +you an idea. I could look it up for you." + +"That's what they want, the same old hokum," said Blake. + +And, "That sounds perfect," declared Grace. "I don't suppose--you +care if I--use--some of it." + +"O.K.," said Dennis, shrugging. + +Grace paused. "You wouldn't like--to come back here after dinner and +help me--plan it?" She let each word drop slowly from the edges of +her mouth, sweetened with a tentative smile, and glanced at Anita. + +"No," said Anita crisply, "we wouldn't like. Are we going to dinner +or aren't we? _I'm_ starved." + +Dennis was about to pick up his hat when Grace asked, "Would +you--mind--if I ate with you? Blake has to go to dinner with some +man." + +"Oh, all right, come along. We're meeting some friends of Dennis's +later." + +"I have to leave you right after dinner," stated Grace. + +It was always like that, Anita thought. Not that she objected to +Grace's accompanying them when nothing better turned up--Grace often +invited her along, made many kind attempts to include the social life +of Anita, with Dennis, in the convolutions of her own. But Anita +waited to be asked, while Grace, though it was she who had +established the rule that neither should interfere with the other's +engagements--Grace took it for granted that she was welcome, unless +told otherwise. Anita repeated to herself that she had no right to +resent trifles, considering all Grace had done for her. + +She looked from her own work-day silk to Grace's clothes of leisure. +"I suppose I ought to get dressed." + +"No," she said suddenly, "I shan't bother." She walked into the +bedroom to smooth her hair. She couldn't and wouldn't compete. +Dennis ought to know by now that she was no beauty alongside of +Grace. Besides, what was there to compete for anyhow? + +Grace, following on her heels, offered, "You can wear my blue dress." + +"Thanks. No." + +Grace would not give advice, but she did think Anita was careless. +"You ought to get--yourself--some more things," she said, with +meaning. "Clothes--are an investment, Anita." + +"An investment in what?" + +"Well, you needn't be so scornful. Things like that--help." + + + + +CHAPTER TWELVE + +At two o'clock next morning Anita was riding home alone from Two +Hundred and Twentieth Street. Dark houses, like regimented soldiers, +stood up straight, then fell before the onslaught of the train. +Around her all the drowsy couples were sagging toward each other; +heads nodded lower and lower; heads jerked up to a moment of +consciousness at each stoppage of the train. She should be angry to +be taking this weary subway ride alone at night, yet watching +them--watching the even houses, the drowsy couples, the nodding +heads--she was flooded with the vast relief of her solitary +aliveness; she only felt relief rising like a flag of triumph within +her. + +She held herself stiller in her seat, so that no movement of hers +should flaunt to these people her secret victory. In that subway +train she felt her eyes and her eyes only to be alert with a strange +alertness, darting from her moveless self, drawing these people into +her consciousness, while she herself was alone and apart, content to +be so, unreachable by them, unreachable by all, unreachable (and +heaven be praised therefore) unreachable even by Dennis. Oh, this +was the essence of all victories, the smart of all defeats--there +within the grasp of all, to be discovered by all, and ignored by all +the drowsy eyes, the nodding heads, the somber houses. She tightened +her lips; she would have bit them, feeling as if at any moment a +smile would give the concrete signal of the elation soaring in her +veins. + +All was dark in the city. Broadway lay wan and disordered. The +Palace was dark, and the burlesque house was dark. Loungers in the +stuffy side streets west of Sixth, about the pallid hotels and +down-at-heels houses, made little lights with sudden cigarettes. + +Running up the stairs, she was surprised to hear the taps of the +typewriter. + +"My Gawd!" said Grace, confronting her. "I was about to send the +police for you!" + +She pointed to the typewritten sheets. "Blake had to work, so I +thought I might as well begin that story." + +She looked at Anita sharply, "What's got you so excited? Where +_have_ you been anyhow?" + +Anita sank into a chair. It had been one of those evenings which +seem to traverse many separate periods of time; in moments of +awakening, during the transitions, one finds them, much to one's +surprise, to be still continuing. This sort of evening is better +relished in retrospect, when the memory with its own inarticulate art +is found to have selected and retained only the most diverting +incidents. Anita was overcome with accumulated laughter. + +They had been at one time in a Chinese restaurant, and there was a +sign, guardian of the place's respectability, and it said, "Ladies +are requested to dance solely with their own escorts." They had sat +at another time in a clandestine German beer garden through whose +musty lattices oozed a gentle backyard breeze, and Dennis spoke of +the beer picnics of his childhood, how cool had been the first breath +of the green branches for which the children waited in the sweating +cars, and Mac--this was Dennis's friend--spoke of God and the Devil, +and Anita announced, a little drunken with Mac's scared admiration, +her lack of concern with either, and Frances--this was Mac's +girl--said that she didn't know--there must be something when one +considered Nature and she said that she loved flowers. + +"So then we went back to Two Hundred and Twentieth Street, where +there was a tableful of liquor," said Anita. "And there was a girl +and a man on the couch. But Frances took me aside and told me it was +all right because the girl was a virgin and the man was a respectable +married man and he had eight children. So, at length, the virgin and +the married man departed and Dennis took a cold bath and went to +sleep and snored and Mac took off his shoes and the radio played, 'My +Wild Irish Rose, the sweetest flower that grows,' and Mac and Frances +had a long argument about a friend of hers who was trying to get her +father into an old folks' home, and Mac said, 'So that's the kind of +a girl you are! You and your girl friend, you'd take an old man away +from his kiddies and stow him in some damned old folks' home. If I +was a daddy,' he said, 'I'd want to stay right with my kiddies!' + +"So then I decided to go home. But Mac wouldn't hear of it because +he explained Dennis was out and he was out and I couldn't ride home +alone in the subway--'with all those damned mashers around, moving up +close to the girls in the trains late at night.' He knew, he said, +he'd seen 'em! He said I was to stay, and Frances said I could stay. +She said it wasn't every girl she asked to stay; she said once she +had had two girls there who, when asked to stay, objected and said, +'Oh, but we're not like Frances!' So she turned them out. But I +could stay because she said she could see I wasn't 'that kind of a +girl.' By that time I was a little mixed on the subject myself. + +"Anyhow, I decided to go. So Dennis woke up and looked at me a long +time and shook his head and said, 'You're too idealistic.' So I +wanted to know why. So then he said, 'A-aah, yah punkie!' in his +nice street-urchin way. 'You're too damn analytical!' Then he told +me I had no abandon and I was the dumbest jane he'd ever run +across--in fact, I was his dumbest woman. Upon which home truths I +sallied forth." + +"In Two Hundred and Twentieth Street!" exclaimed Grace. "It's +improbable. Look--couldn't we all go up there some night--Blake +too--and get a look at them?" + +"Well, I'm not exactly running excursions up there," Anita pointed +out. + +Grace sniggered. "They sound too good to miss. Blake would love +them. We must arrange it." + +She paused. During a period of silence an expression adjusted itself +on her face which warned Anita. She was prepared for the slow fixing +of Grace's eyes that slowly turned to her face, for the halting +phrases. She might have known Grace had stayed up for a purpose. + +"I've had--an exciting time myself," said Grace. + +Anita folded her hands. She listened. + +"Blake nearly had a fight over me," Grace continued, and stopped to +see the effect. If she was disappointed it did not show in the +subtle enjoyment about her mouth, nor did it halt the penetrating +spaced flow of her confidences. Blake had had to see someone at a +theater owned by Trout, a producer whose current musical comedy he +had "doctored." "And never thinking," went on Grace, "I was about +to--look in back stage. I've been there so many times with Blake. +The doorkeeper knows me and was going to--pass me. Then Fred walked +up. You know--he's connected with Trout now. I have always told +Blake that Fred made a point of being particularly nasty to me but he +laid it to my imagination. Well--to-night--he saw for himself. Fred +said, 'Don't pass this girl; we can't have everybody's sweeties +hanging around.'" + +She paused and swallowed nervously. Anita noticed how her face had +become strained, her cheeks lengthened, under the narrative. These +concrete signs of emotion never failed to exact sympathy from her, no +matter how she might try to evade, to look everywhere, to prevent the +focusing of her attention. + +"I simply stood," went on Grace. Anita could imagine how she had +stood, the tragic hugeness of her eyes. "You know--it's dark +there--at the stage door. Neither of us saw Blake. He hissed! He +actually did. He drew his face close up to Fred and he said, 'As +long as I have any connection with this show, Grace can go in and out +here as she damn well pleases, any time. D'ye hear that?' He was so +_white_. I could see he was ready--to smash his fist into Fred's +face. But Fred drew back. As he naturally would. 'Oh, I didn't +know Grace was with _you_,' he said. Very honeyed. Scared, too. I +dare say he and Blake will not do so much--business together in +future." + +Anita frowned, wondering what comment she could adequately make. But +Grace spared her the necessity. "I really didn't mind so much," she +concluded, "after it was over. It sort of opened things up--gave us +a chance to talk. Things have been sliding along so..." She looked +to Anita expectantly. + +"The divorce?" + +"Well--that appears to be still in the distant future," said Grace +with reserve. + +She paused. But as Anita asked no further questions she at length +amended: "It's been--intimated, and I understand it was hinted in +reply very coolly that--there might not be so much difficulty about +_that_ as he thought. But this was quite a while ago. Blake says +she's stopped writing." + +Anita spoke suddenly what had been on her mind for a long time: +"Don't you think, if Blake told her about you, she'd give the divorce +and make an end of it? After all, she seems to be quite decent." + +To her surprise, Grace replied with feeling, "Yes. And it's hard on +her, too. But Blake seems to be--determined to keep me out of it. +He says because of his family--in case--in the future... And +then--he thinks it would hurt her and there might be a mess. I told +him to tell her. If it's for my sake--I don't care about a mess. +And if I were she, no matter what it was, I'd rather _know_. +Wouldn't you, instead of fighting with shadows? But--he--has his own +ideas." + +She rose. "Anyhow," she said, shrugging, "nothing can be arranged +for the present. She's sick; something wrong with her heart." + +Grace began to loosen her hair. Looking at Anita, who sat still +where she had been left, she made a slow addition, as if, now that +she had taken advantage of a moment so conducive to confidences, she +might as well take the fullest advantage and divest herself of the +rest of the truth. "I have no--assurance that he'll marry me, you +know," she said softly. "He's never actually said so." + +She continued with long, calm strokes to brush her hair that vibrated +in little electric spasms of light down its fine spread to her +shoulders, so that her face, white, hardened, with the chin raised, +seemed to be the face of a stone lady surrounded by the strange, +quivering life of the hair. She made a tiny movement of her head and +shoulders. "That doesn't bother me," she said hardily. "I'm just as +likely to--change _my_ mind, too." She almost smiled at her +reflection in the glass, or rather pressed her lips together to form +an expression that was firm, a little secretive, and a little +malicious. "I'm just as much of a person as Blake--just as free to +do as I please." + +She brushed for a few moments, absorbed in thought. Then, with a +sigh, she relaxed into a full shrug. "After all, one can't blame +him," she said, indulgent, condoning. "He doesn't want to get +involved again--in all that--domesticity." She scanned Anita's face. +"I suppose it's that way with Dennis, too," she remarked. + +But Anita swiftly stood up. "Don't include me!" she cried. With her +hands, she made motions of shoving away, palms toward Grace, head +turned sideways. + + + + +CHAPTER THIRTEEN + +That winter Diana Reece left her husband. She had adopted Letty as +bosom friend and often came to Letty's house, smothered in mink, her +dark, hot eyes flashing in little torrents of energy above excited +cheeks. When she opened her coat she disclosed a new lissomeness +sheathed in black satin. "I've lost ten pounds," she announced in +her rich voice. Walter liked her thin. Walter was the man she would +marry when she had been divorced and he had been divorced. Walter +also liked her in subdued dress, and black was Diana Reece's sole +notion of a quiet color. + +She always seemed to be impressed by the sacrifices she was capable +of making for love and was always boasting of them. "The other day +he was a little late in calling me. I had a hair dresser's +appointment. But I give you my word I couldn't move a step from the +telephone. I was like chained to it until I heard his voice!" With +elated conviction her eyes darted from one to another of the group. + +Paul rose from the bridge table with the habituated gallantry of the +lady's man, to remove her coat. + +She thrust forward one satined arm whose wrist was locked in gleaming +platinum. "This is what Walter gave me for my birthday." +Simultaneously, she curved an index finger loaded with a huge green +stone that stuck out of its silver setting. "And this, too." + +"A diamond wrist watch," said Grace, admiring, though privately she +felt above diamond wrist watches. "How nice of him!" + +Blake sneered a little. This sneer was lost in the growing roundness +and ruddiness of his face, and there was a faint sense of +after-dinner relaxation about his posture, with knees far apart, as +if for the stomach to rest between. "A diamond wrist watch is +Grace's idea of heaven, isn't it, Grace? She's never got over +envying Madalynne's wrist watch, have you, Grace? Jerry won't get +over it either for a long time. He's still paying the bill for it +while Madalynne sues for breach of promise." + +Grace's soft eyes wandered, drawing in sympathy. She said, in a +special voice, at once submissive and explanatory, which she often +used after some remark of his, "Blake thinks--men who give presents +to girls are silly. He thinks because he's never had to, there +aren't men who _must_. Otherwise, girls would not even look at them. +Or men like Walter who--_like_ to give things from sheer generosity." + +"Oh, there's no one like Walter for generosity," said Diana warmly. +She turned with a new conviction to the company. "He never comes to +see me without bringing me something. I don't know what to do with +all the candy and flowers. And bath salts! I have tons of bath +salts. All men haven't your ideas, Blake, thank the Lord! You get +away with murder." Shooting him a look of disapproval from her hot +eyes, she sailed into the bedroom. + +There was silence. Blake had paled. His mouth had a wry twist, and +when Grace spoke to him he would not answer. She spoke again and +touched his arm. "After all," she reminded him in an undertone, "it +wasn't I who said that." He grimaced impatiently. + +As soon as Dee reappeared he took his departure, saying that he must +look in at the theater. His second play had just opened, and, in +view of the fact that he was to begin a well-earned playwright's +vacation the next day, golfing in Florida, he shook hands around the +bridge table and kissed Letty good-bye. Pointedly he ignored Diana +Reece, and would almost have passed Grace by in his sullen mood if +she had permitted it. She followed him out. Through the half-open +door were to be heard ensuing murmurs and the final kiss of +reconciliation. + +"Well!" said Diana Reece with a sigh of mock relief when Grace +reëntered. "I didn't really mean to annoy him. But I should say, +Grace, that you have him badly trained." + +"Yes, she has," agreed Letty from the bridge table. "I'm devoted to +Blake. But you should have heard the things he said about our +playing bridge. The next thing, he said, would be for us to get a +radio and move to the suburbs and become the perfect Babbitts. But +it's all right for Blake to go down South and play golf! People who +play golf aren't Babbitts, oh, no! That goes for you, too, Grace. +You're always making fun of people who are interested in games. Why +don't you laugh at Blake's golf?" + +"I do, dearie, I do," said Grace decidedly. "It's not I who play +golf, or bridge either. When you see me fighting over cards as you +and Paul were fighting a minute ago, then you can crow." + +Her eyes and her low, tenacious voice unconsciously concerned +themselves with sucking the attention of the others toward herself. + +She said pensively and gazed about the circle: "It's funny about +Blake, isn't it? He used to--sneer at people who--played golf and +fussed with cars. He--wanted to be free of all that--and now, +he--rushes away to play golf and even thinks--of buying a car." + +And each word sank into the minds of her listeners, impregnating +them, despite themselves, even against their wills, irresistibly with +her concerns. Their thoughts began to revolve about her chief +interest, that now became their chief interest. + +"It's because he has money," declared Diana Reece. Almost, her wide, +red mouth smacked over the words, especially over the last that so +admirably suited her taste. + +Grace's shoulders began to curve, her chin to dig into the nook thus +made, and her mouth to curl with her particular amusement. "So Anita +says. She says that--so long as he hasn't bought a cane, however, +there are still--hopes." + +"I don't see what's wrong with a cane," muttered Paul, who always +carried one. + +"No! You wouldn't!" said Letty, briskly scornful. + +Paul remained subdued, in silence. But Harold, studying his cards, +mildly attempted to change the subject. + +It was at Harold's invitation that Paul had come to play bridge. The +clandestine meetings which had given Letty so much pleasure in the +past had dwindled to this, that Letty now called him "poor Paul," and +it was Harold who felt sorry for him. Seeing Paul look at Letty +during the evening, Harold felt as if he were watching some lost but +still-remembered part of himself, following vicariously the course of +a personal experience, as one may perhaps do in a book, with a vivid +recognition of each symptom but no pain. He could only show his +sympathy by kindnesses that he hoped would go unnoticed--they did +not; there was banter in the crowd about "what good friends Paul and +Harold are getting to be"--such as asking for Paul's presence at the +bridge table, because Paul was, fortunately, a very good player, and +now and then turning aside the shaft of one of Letty's observations. + +Formerly, Harold had gone out to play bridge. Letty had jeered at +the game. Since the birth of the baby, however, bridge night once a +week on the maid's evening out had become an institution. Letty said +she was tired of spending the evening alone with Harold and if they +had people in there was nothing else to do. Only it was difficult to +find partners among their close friends. The Lindens played, but +they lived in the suburbs. Grace and Blake contented themselves with +sitting on the couch and mocking. + +To-night Paul had, at Letty's behest, spent an hour telephoning to +his club and among his acquaintances to find a fourth. And they had +finally been obliged to commandeer a new admirer of Letty's. By +profession he was a teacher of shorthand in a high school, but a +youthful tramp journey to Africa had seemed to give him a lien on the +words "romance" and "adventure," which he used incessantly. He also +wrote sonnets. His given name was Leroy and, being fully sensible of +his outward characteristics, the girls called him "li'l Leroy." It +was perfect. It satisfied even Grace's keen quality of derisive +description. She got any amount of amusement from the phrases he +used--"I love to roam; I love to wander"--with a dreamy swaying of +the head and swooning of the eyes--and from his habit of using the +word "child" when he addressed women, delicately, tenderly, dropping +it like a crystal from the heights of Olympus to a well-loved mortal. +At the same time she took him quite seriously as an admirer of +Letty's and a man with a literary background who wrote sonnets. + +It was to li'l Leroy, since the others knew it anyway, that Grace +announced she had begun a novel. + +She caused the bridge game much strangled irritation by distracting +his attention to discuss some incidents of the plot. Harold rose +finally, crying that the game might as well be broken up. + +"So it might," she agreed with a snigger. + +And she and li'l Leroy turned their backs on a wrangle over eighteen +cents, which Paul and Letty claimed to have won, to engage in an +analysis of the story. It had been begun on the advice of Grace's +literary agent, who always instructed tyros to write novels first and +short stories afterward, as the latter were then apt to sell for +bigger and better prices. + +"It's a novel about a girl who--wants to--belong to herself--to be +free," Grace informed li'l Leroy. + +"_Not_ autobiographical!" she emphasized, raising her voice and +turning her eyes upon the card table. "The girl is to come from a +small town. And she's _not_--to write. I think I'll make her an +illustrator." + +She paused. Her eyes wandered from face to face, insistent on +comment. + +Diana, as a professional, felt called upon to ask in a richly +derogatory voice, "How would you get the small-town stuff? You never +lived in a small town." + +"Oh--that will be just--for the opening chapters. Anita is giving me +some stuff--and Blake, too. He was brought up in a small town, you +know." + +"Are you putting Blake in?" + +"No, indeed!" said Grace vigorously. She proclaimed: "Blake is +_not_--to have--any place at all in this book. I'm making the man--a +publicity agent for a movie company. He's to be dark--and to wear +glasses. I know everyone'll look for a resemblance--but I defy +anyone to find it." + +Dee, who was not much in Grace's confidence, having considered her in +the past a fool to "waste her time on a married man," now lowered her +voice in the expression of a new alliance. She was learning for +herself. "How's the status quo?" she asked, with warm sympathy. + +"Oh." Grace drew away and shrugged. "As usual." But she could not +resist the lure of Dee's attention and explained, after a pause, "She +has heart disease." + +Dee rolled her eyes to heaven. "They always develop something! +Walter's wife was undecided whether to develop t.b. or cancer, as a +matter of pride, you understand--not that she wasn't at bottom quite +ready for a divorce herself." + +"No. It's heart disease all right," said Grace coldly. She might +show a sardonic good sense about the loves of others, but she +resisted any effort to undermine the solemnity of her own. + +"Then perhaps you won't have to bother. She might die." + +"Wives _never_ die," declared Letty. "I know. Aren't I a wife? +Even if they have cancer they don't die. Look at Ruth's boy friend's +wife. She's had cancer for years and she won't die." + +"As someone says somewhere, 'They only die--in happy marriages,'" +quoted Grace. Her eyes fixed themselves on space, taking on their +mournful depths. "It's just as well this way, I suppose," she said +at length. "I don't see that marriage is any more--happy. Less, in +fact." + +"What's that you said about Ruth?" queried Dee. "Is his wife still +alive? Why, she's had cancer for at least five years--that I +remember. I've already lost my faith in God. _Don't_ let me lose my +faith in cancer," she implored them, rolling the morsels of words on +her tongue and lavishly rolling her heated eyes. "In spite of what +you say," she added with fervent decision, "I'm taking no chances. +Marriage is very convenient, you have to admit. Walter has it all +arranged to go to Mexico. Millard and I are all set for Reno. And +we're to meet and marry in California." + +"It ought to be a slogan for the tour companies: 'Get divorced and +see the world,'" commented Letty. + +Dee appreciated the wit of this as well as anyone. She began a racy +account of how Millard and she were rehearsing the way he was to +strike her (before witnesses) en route to Reno. "He's so afraid to +hurt me." To a question, she grew sober in the midst of her +radiance, as one might at a party at the mention of a dead comrade. + +"Twelve years," she replied gravely. "Mal's very much upset. I'm +sorry for him. But what can you _do_?" + +And, having remembered to pay this tribute to the dead, she went on +with the opulent wit of her recital. + +The men said nothing. They were a little shocked by the +conversation. Besides, it did not concern them. It dealt with +women's matters. + + + + +CHAPTER FOURTEEN + +Grace nearly always went "out" in the evenings. All the girls whom +she admitted to equality and who admitted her to equality went "out." +It was the basis on which attractiveness and status were judged; it +was a rigid convention, a game which one had to play in her sphere +under peril of social neglect, just as in some circles it is +necessary to play bridge for the same reason. Thus, Anita, when she +came home later than usual, would find her curled up on the couch, +horn-rimmed spectacles outlining her enormous eyes, the lamp shining +on her book in those November twilights (so like heads just sprinkled +with iron gray) as she read intently and chewed hard candy +reflectively to the luxurious sound of running bath water. Grace +enjoyed books, current ones by preference, since these had the +additional use of keeping her up with current literary talk. If she +were going "out" with Blake or the second-best young man of the +moment, a dinner or afternoon dress would most often be spread out in +the bedroom, as denoting the intimacy rather than the display of the +engagement. These second-best young men formed a slow procession +that advanced in single file, as it were, each member halting, +involving Grace's spare attention for a while, then making way for a +successor. + +If, however, Grace were just having a "date," the dress would usually +be an evening dress, with, beside it, the brocaded, furred cloak that +Mrs. Kline, in token of reconciliation, had fashioned out of Grace's +old sealskin. The escorts on such nights were merely pawns in the +game of going "out"; were chosen for their utility, the money they +had, the places they could take one to, rather than for their charm. +And on such nights Grace would stay out exceptionally late, making +the most of her chance to be escorted to the new fashionable +restaurants and dance places and night clubs. She was not a +"drinking woman." Her set did not frequent speakeasies, except from +curiosity. + +At first it was a source of wonder to Anita how Grace could find +sufficient entertainment for so many nights, but she learned that it +was very simple really. Grace had no desire to abandon herself to +pleasure. She used pleasure for her own purposes. Grace did not +seek for conviviality, or for amusement. She only sought to be +present. She liked, as a matter of business, to see all the motion +pictures that were talked of. Although she relished the theater, she +had to see plays also so as to be able to pass her measured opinions +on them. The theater and the movies were vital matters to the people +she knew. A large part of their talk was of plays and players, and +Grace had a memory for and a store of information about these as +perfect and detailed as a boy's memory for the showings of athletic +teams. + +Between routine work, avocations, and social life, it might be +considered difficult to fit in the writing of a novel. But there is +always Sunday, when one does not have to go to the office, and when +even social life disintegrates. Grace wrote her novel on Sundays. +She planned it according to a simple mathematical formula: twenty +chapters--twenty Sundays--five months. She applied herself to it +with the astute, persistent, and organized vigor which she carried to +all her undertakings. + +She had not used the depths of intelligence suggested by her +beautiful eyes, her clear, grave, deliberate diction, she had not +used her assured bearing, her wide circle of acquaintance as well as +her concrete accomplishments (some articles on motion pictures +printed in large magazines)--she had not used all these to no +purpose. They had all helped to "plant the idea," as she said, that +she was "a young writer of promise." She was also prominent. She +was seen often at luncheon in the places where one should be seen at +luncheon, in the Algonquin and later in Sardi's. She was seen at +first nights, where she greeted and was greeted. She believed the +compliments which important people paid her and, divesting them of +any qualifications, repeated what had been said to her in a +simplified and exaggerated form. + +She had some acquaintance among publishers and these she arranged for +her agent to sound. One she impressed sufficiently with her beauty, +her tactful certainty, and her knowledges to extract a contract and +an advance from him. It was a good idea, he agreed, to write a novel +about a girl who wanted to be "free." The novel about girls who want +to be "free" is as hardy a perennial as the novel about +newspapermen's adventures among womankind. + +Then Grace proclaimed that she was writing a book in every quarter +where she had or could get entrée. She knew reviewers, she knew +colyumnists, she knew a few critics. She exhibited her loot among +her friends. So-and-so would run her picture, and another person had +promised to print a preliminary announcement; she had met a critic +from Cleveland who would say nice things about it; she knew some +bookshop owners who had bound themselves to feature it in their +windows. She only hoped the "breaks" would be "right," and that she +could establish the beginning of one of those settled and accepted +reputations which, from her publicity work, she knew to be so +valuable. + +On Sundays Grace would put a meaningful question to Anita: "What +are--your plans for to-day?" It implied that Anita, according to the +original pact, was to keep out of the way as much as possible. If +she could not go out, she would sit and read in the bedroom. + +Whenever Grace had a free evening, it was also arranged that Anita +should make a date and disappear between the hours of seven and +twelve. Her dates were nearly always with Dennis. She and Dennis +would go to dinner, then to the theater, or, if the cold chanced to +be fine and clear, they would first walk up and down Fifth Avenue. + +In the Fifties this street at night has the hush and luxury of deep +carpets; the shops amble by and the lovers amble, and the faint +lights among the glassed-in treasures seem to amble too. They +stopped to gaze in great show windows, shining and magnetically +smooth as the smooth backs of cats. They examined the titles of rows +and rows of books. They stood long before pictures. Fifth Avenue +would be growing stiller. All nevertheless would be throbbing +softly, thrumming steadily with the steady flow of the motor cars, +echoing the powerful note that lower down and one street west pulsed +so insistently, struck so heavily, pounded hard and loud on the ear, +while roundabout new buildings bloomed like great white roses in the +sky and the lights of towers and windows chanted their golden melody +in all shades, from amber to topaz, from pearl to copper color, and +the excitement of all was overwhelming. Oh, they understood very +well why people lived in cities, pooling their small forces palpably +so that a turbulent, ceaseless, diversified river of force should +tear them along, so that its mighty roar should deafen them to the +faintness of their individual rhythms, so that from the resonance of +its composite power they might extract some slight vibration of +strength in their weakness. + +Late at night they would return, clambering up the musty stairs that +had only one pale bulb to light them, halting at the silent door. +Before Anita could use her key, it opened on an interior permeated +with warmth and electricity, framing Grace in the doorway, a Grace +glad to see them, tired of being alone. Or they would find her +tapping out the last words on the typewriter. A bag of hard candies +was spilled on the shabby gray paint of the table among a clutter of +sheets. The terse light summed up her hair and her cheeks and her +plain tan jersey dress, her "office uniform," leather-belted and +collarless. But no laconism of light could squelch the soft glow of +her hair, eyes, skin, and the beads at her throat. She would shuffle +the last sheet in with the others and turn, stretching, satisfied. +"Look. I did eight pages to-night." + +And, if she were not expecting Blake, who objected to the smell of +smoke about her, she would ask for a cigarette and relax and give +them her news. She always had some news. "Blake asked Letty to +choose my Christmas present with him. It's his own idea. Guess +what? A diamond wrist watch!" She sniggered lengthily. "I really +didn't expect--what we said the other night to have _that_ effect." + +Or: + +"I had to buy Christmas things for Blake's child to-day. And what a +job that was, too! Still, it's not so bad as Ruth Frick. She has to +help choose--_hats_--for Carl's _wife_." + +Sometimes she would put her finger to her lip, and after a silence +they would become aware of a pounding next door. It was the +lady-next-door, of whose profession they could not help acquiring +some knowledge, quarreling with her Jack. "He's been hammering on +the door and threatening to kill her all evening," murmured Grace. + +Between giggles and in hushed accents, they speculated on the +possibility of a murder. Grace always followed murder trials in the +papers with an absorbed curiosity, with an open and defiant +understanding of the ways in which the skeins of a life might be so +tangled as to importune that sort of cutting. She had once told +Anita how, in the early days of her love for Blake, wrought up to a +final frenzy of harassment by her mother's insistence, she had +grabbed a kitchen knife against her. + +Then Dennis would insist that one of them read aloud from a poetry +anthology. He had a racial streak of artistry, formless and +unformulated, as all his ideas and opinions were, and though he +preferred Francis Thompson and Clarence Mangan, he could listen +tirelessly to almost any sort of poetry. If neither Grace nor Anita +would read, he would read himself, in a stumbling sing-song, +mispronouncing or eliding half the words. But if he came to a line +or verse that struck him--Anita noticed how often it was apt to be an +admirable line--he would raise his voice as his only way of giving +unusual expression. + +This was on nights when Dennis remained actually sober throughout. +On other nights he appeared to escort Anita to dinner a little +"mellow," after his description, became more mellow in some +restaurant where he was known and served accordingly, and could not +be prevented from finishing the evening in a speakeasy. Anita, in +order to avoid a scene in public, would be obliged to let him see her +home. + +Dennis would then take up his station on the couch and announce that +he meant to spend the night. Wilting a little under stony stares and +firm commands, he would plead with much native pathos that he felt +"so womanless" when he woke up of mornings, sick, in his hotel room. +At first Grace was on his side; she advised caution but she was ready +to put her tolerance on record. Soon, however, she also became +obdurate, because she had learned something of the female company +which Dennis kept intermittently. Grace would have pitied Anita if +Dennis had been swerved from her by more imposing attachments and she +would have been far more interested in Dennis, but nothing lowers a +man so much in the eyes of most women as the fact that he is +attracted by her inferiors. No humiliation is more resented by a +woman in love, at once removing her triumph over other women in at +least having set up for her lover a criterion to which all those +others must conform hereafter, and at the same time forcing her to +brush elbows in his memories with women she would not choose to +associate with in actuality. + +Grace felt a bit patronizing toward Anita. Whatever Blake's faults +were, he did have good taste in women. Still, she thought Anita had +better hold on to Dennis. Since men are not like foxes and the scent +of the last victim merely makes the trap more alluring, he might at +least be used to catch more eligible admirers. Only, Anita, not +notable for patience, saw so much of him that Grace was curious about +the exact state of her emotions. She would have been surprised to +learn that Anita had plenty of patience of a sort, that she could +bear any set of circumstances provided she had marked off in her +mind, like a date in a calendar, when it should end. + +The novel was finished in April. After Grace had found a striking +tide by searching through volumes of familiar quotations, it was +delivered. + +Then, Grace made up her mind to go abroad. The time was propitious. +For expenses, she had her advance on the novel. She knew someone who +would get her concessions from a steamship company. Things were very +dull in the office; a periodic wave of economy had swept over it from +the coast and Mr. Graves would be thankful if she took a leave of +absence without pay during the summer months--in fact she was afraid +he might require this of her and so it would be best to anticipate of +her own accord. + +The only flaw was that she did not want to leave Blake. "These long +separations!" she said sagely. "It has always been my opinion that +one should--stick around." However, leaving thus on the crest of +accomplishment, at the height of her glory, she felt that this would +be the time when Blake would miss her most and most long for her +return. This would be the time when he would apprehend how many +potent affairs of her own might call her from his side. + +She departed on a Saturday morning, amid all the rites of farewell. +Grace herself religiously observed occasions for ceremony among her +friends. She generally kept them for the reason that people +generally do, not because she wished to exactly, but in order to +safeguard her own ceremonies from the forlornness of neglect. + +Blake stood somewhat aloof from the group on deck of which Grace +formed the focal point. It was one of the smaller boats, and there +were only a few conspicuous-looking passengers, "interesting people." +Now and then some girl or a man by himself would glance at Grace, +choosing her and approving of her as a fellow traveler. No one would +have dreamed that her traveling costume had been gathered with so +much thought and taste; still, just because its harmony was so +simple, it caught the attention of more expensively dressed women, +who wondered what trick of modishness lay in the crisp pleats of her +navy-blue printed silk, its suede belt, and the stockings which were, +after all, just stockings but which seemed so exquisite on her legs, +so in accord with the soft and graceful lines of what were, after +all, merely suede shoes. + +Mrs. Kline, who dressed well herself but with no such imaginative +attuning to the event as Grace, could be seen gloating over Grace's +"outfit," Grace's companions, and Grace's "friend," her title for +Blake. Mrs. Kline knew him now. She even took a veiled +semi-proprietary interest in him, as token of her approval, always +asking after his health and his activities, especially now that his +plays had been successful and he, a real playwright, provided her +with free tickets to them. What inkling she had of the situation was +not known, probably not even by Mrs. Kline herself, as she would not +care to define suspicions which would force her to destroy her new +amity with Grace and with so much of a personage as the playwright +friend. Grace thought that her mother knew because she no longer +questioned. To give Mrs. Kline a chance to further hide her head, +Grace had suggested that marriage was so unsatisfactory, in view of +the comments that Mrs. Kline herself made, that she preferred her +independence. Mrs. Kline seemed to agree. As Grace said, "She +agrees--if driven to it. She prides herself on being very modern. +She has to pretend to agree, anyhow, seeing how--extraordinarily +unsuccessful her own marriage was. And it was one of those real love +matches too! She tells all her friends it's only--natural--I should +hesitate." + +At the sound of the first warning, Mrs. Kline proudly ceded Grace's +final farewell to Blake. They clung together in wordless last +promises, in last assurances drawn from each other's lips and arms. +Mrs. Kline, keeping her eyes carefully off the pair, looked from one +to the other of Grace's friends with a touching triumph. They might +be safely married, but which of them would be relinquished--and only +for a few weeks, too--so unwillingly? + +Blake was tight-lipped. It was the first time that he had been left +behind, not Grace. Without waiting for the others, he plunged from +the leave-taking directly into the crowd that shoved down the +gangplank. + +Grace delayed Letty for a moment. "Look after him, will you? Make +dates with him, Let." She had asked them all to "take care of him," +partly so as to feel that he was safe within the bosom of her circle, +partly because she was really worried lest he be left alone. It was +Grace who had welded both of them into the group by her greater +sociability that thus became another asset since, if Blake were to +lose her, he would miss her twice as much, for herself and for the +circle of companionship in her wake. + +When the boat had gone Anita had the good luck to elude Mrs. Kline, +whose eyes were swollen and whose tongue was feverish with the +necessity for pouring out in sympathetic ears a résumé of the +tributes paid to Grace. She set out for home, climbed the four +flights of stairs, opened the door upon unexpected order--due to the +efforts of Mrs. Kline, who had superintended the packing--and sank in +relief upon the chafed gray velours of the couch cover. + +They had no time to bother with the dressing and undressing of the +apartment. Summer and winter--except for the time when Grace had had +an orgy of repainting and the other time when she had added a gray +carpet and a daybed in a burst of extravagance--the furnishings +remained the same. The place was a bit close now. Some roses sent +Grace too early and stuck into a milk bottle in the kitchenette sink +were dropping a withered perfume. Anita disliked odorous flowers. +She got up and flung them into a bright yellow waste basket and, as +the basket overflowed with rubbish discarded by Grace, she set it +outside the door. After a moment she rose again and picked up some +bits of tissue paper and ends of twine that clung to the gray wicker +armchairs. She looked into the bedroom whose dowdy odds and ends +Grace had never thought it worthwhile either to banish or adorn. It +was quite clear. Nothing of Grace remained. The furniture, the +bowls and books and pictures, all of Grace's choosing and owning, +were yet neutral enough to transfer themselves readily to the +personality of the present occupant. Even the photograph of Blake in +a silver frame seemed to have been placed on the bookcase only as an +impersonal adornment. + +The telephone rang. It always rang, ft seemed to Anita, when she had +a moment to herself in the house. She did not feel like rising +again. In any case there was no real need to answer it; the call was +sure to be for Grace and Grace had gone. She let it ring unanswered. +To Anita, who disliked the telephone, there was a great feeling of +release in this. + +She did not have to answer the telephone if she did not like. She +did not have to go out, according to the unwritten code that had +grown up between her and Grace; she did not have to go out even with +Dennis, retaining him as an escort from a sense more of duty than of +pleasure, because of a cowardly conformity to the social routine that +was now expected of her. Grace's social scheme left no room for +voluntary solitude for herself or anyone about her. Now that Anita +was freed from it, she could see what a strain had been the constant +necessity for going out, for making dates as a definite scheme of +life, a scheme imposed on her, without a word, by Grace's example and +assumption, by her own human fear of the incomprehension, the pity, +the contempt, meted out to the dissenter. + +Dates! Anita, having for nearly two years scrutinized a succession +of dates--Grace's elaborate ones, as well as her own more modest +ones--was sure that for herself the amount of effort involved in +dates would be too high a price to pay for any entertainment or any +tributes to her vanity she might get out of them, or for any use she +might subtly make, as Grace did, of the "dated" men. So much +trouble! So much purposeful dressing; so much calculated listening +and admiring; so much amiability; so much pliancy; so many bores to +put up with; so many inane opinions to agree with; so many fumbling +approaches to avoid or make fun of or be irritated by. And for what? +For a meal, a couple of dances, a couple of drinks which like as not +one didn't want, for two hours at the theater, for a telephone call +next day or next week, and for the ability to exhibit the fact that +one could entice. All in the wistful hope that once in a blue +moon--oh! once in a very blue moon, perhaps--one would happen on a +personality that was in harmony with one's own, whose companionship +would be not a distraction from but an enhancement of pleasure; on +that rare bird, a man with charm; on that even rarer bird, a modest +man; on a conversation that required the activity of one's own mind; +on love making that called for more than toleration. + +The energy Grace expended on dates! The energy she expended on +Blake! Anita understood that such effort might be expedient and no +more onerous or even less onerous than effort spent on any other of +the affairs of life for many women to whom marriage remained not only +the most accustomed but the most profitable profession. But it was a +profession which Grace's mind struggled to reject; she did not intend +to be "only a wife," she proclaimed. Yet the obsession which +possessed her, that she must not lose Blake, the instinct which urged +her to adopt every means to secure herself to Blake, which bade her +follow him regardless--would that obsession and that instinct leave +her much of herself to withhold from the common plate? Perhaps such +an obsession, such effort, was inevitable. It might be inevitable to +set one's passion on a pedestal, then break one's neck trying to get +to it. Anita only knew that, for herself, in the midst of any love, +no matter how enthralling, she would always retain a sneaking +suspicion of its comparative insignificance to her. This suspicion +was to her like the most trifling chink in the wall of a prison, +unmarked by all but the prisoner, but to become for him the means of +his escape. A fatal sense of proportion, the ruin of many and many a +love affair, would always hinder her. + +At present she did not care if she never made another date, never +went "out" again in her life. As for Dennis, someone would marry him +pretty soon, Grace said, "unless you hurry, the first little sap who +makes up her mind will get her hooks into him." Which, Grace +intimated, was a pity on general principles, as little saps with +their simple certainties and serviceable rules-of-thumb were apt to +get away with so much, get the best end of everything. For once, +Anita thought, Grace was right. And she would miss Dennis, too; she +admitted that she was not unmoved by him, but was he, on the whole, +worth for her the bother of maneuvering a marriage or the greater +effort of glamorous love as she had observed it? It was beautiful, +she insisted to herself--it must be beautiful. Grace and Blake were +as devoted to each other as two people could well be. +Only--only--neither could she hide from herself the under side of the +pattern, which she had been forced to examine, the under side where +there was no gloss and knots were tied. + +Grace would say, of course, that she was a fool to "miss the +experience." Grace quite granted that there were experiences other +than sexual. She was skeptical of the theory of sexual experience as +a sort of patent cure-all, particularly for the ills of women, with +an inherent, magical power of enrichment possessed by no other +eventuality, causing talented women to rise from the pillow geniuses, +vixens to be transformed into saints, naïve souls into women of the +world, and mean spirits into generous. At the same time, her +imagination of the universe did not venture much beyond the realm of +sex and she took it for granted that an experience was a certain +concomitant of an action and necessarily nourishing. + +To Anita there was nothing at all so inevitable about the value of an +experience; it was merely the sum total of the delicate adjustments +between a character and a situation, and that sum total might be for +good or evil, for value or worthlessness, depending on the +individual. She was influenced sufficiently by Grace's point of view +to half-agree that perhaps she was a fool "to miss the experience." +But the idea rebounded as harmlessly as a rubber ball from the +granite common sense at the bottom of her nature. She simply could +not see how a night with Dennis Meloney could make her a better +woman. And the experience of marriage with Dennis Meloney would +certainly make her a more bitter one. + +Before she went off to lunch she took a last reassuring look about +the place. Nothing was there to question, to collide or interfere. +She was free to leave, and when she was ready she would be free to +return. It was left alone like all space, and when she reëntered she +would be alone in it, as in all space. The thought clutched at all +the unrestrained and unrestrainable particles of her being and tugged +her upward like a balloon. At the same time she paused in fear, with +a premonitory chill, feeling the first weight of solitude press down +upon her heart. + + + + +_Book III_ + +GRACE KLINE ANDREWS + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +One Sunday of the following March Grace set out to walk from her +house to Letty's. She had been waiting now for three months since +the event which even Grace had never fully dared to expect and which +had caused her incredulous friends to exclaim as with one gasp, "What +a marvelous break!" Blake's wife was dead. + +But still Grace waited. Even in her work she felt becalmed. Her job +had chosen this time to vanish; her book had sunk almost without a +ripple, and she could not, as ordinarily, generate within herself +sufficient power to counteract these circumstances. The best she had +been able to do was to maintain the noise of activity, to keep the +engine whirring on the same spot. She went about indefatigably as +usual; the difference was not yet visible to the naked eye. She gave +no hostages to failure; she wrote; she got odd jobs of publicity; +whatever she economized on, she was careful not to economize on her +appearance. Meanwhile, the circle of her friends stood about, +cocking ears and eyes inquiringly and impatiently for the climax. +They had been present a long time at this affair and did not hesitate +to let her know that they would feel cheated unless it came to a +fitting close. Renie Harrington suggested, when she had Grace up to +dinner to observe with her own blue, ingratiating, cutting eyes, that +"it would be so convenient to be able to put them at last into one +bedroom on week-end visits." There were bets laid as to whether or +not a marriage would occur. + +Grace was taciturn. Drawing herself up with that retreat of her chin +and advance of her eyes which had the effect of holding the other +person at the end of a very long arm, she said with dignity, +"I--don't know--what--our plans--will be." + +Only Letty knew. As in the very old days when Grace had rushed up to +the one-room-and-alcove harbor on Riverside Drive to spill tears on +Letty's glossy spreads, and had cramped herself into the living-room +couch of nights to cry in peace at Letty's house, so the road led +back again to Letty. + +Grace marched along briskly, decisively, but her cheeks were hollow, +the skin drawn tense and translucent over them, while her eyes, twice +as huge, the narrow coat from Paris patterned all over in orange +wools and brown wools and held tight across her flat body, the gleam +of queer, fragile stones set in spidery silver at her throat--all +these conspired to resolve her into a new aspect, to give her a +jeweled, plumaged, bird-of-preyish look. + +On Sundays, the maid's day off, Harold and Letty spent the morning +providing their baby with fresh air in Central Park. Grace knew +where to look for them, just past an entrance by a little summer +house. Harold was reading the Sunday papers within, while Letty +walked slowly without, keeping pace with her little girl. She was +about two years old, dressed in a short green wool coat and bonnet, +and she shoved herself around in a tiny pen on wheels. Grace looked +her over indulgently, admired her with preoccupation. Then the two +girls sat down on a bench, while the child jerked herself back and +forth by their knees. + +For a long time Letty listened, nodding now and then. Too many +confidences were deposited with her; she was a strongbox to her +friends. And these confidences were all so simple really. They all +boiled down to the fact that the man one wants is always the most +difficult man to get, and that was no news to Letty. + +"It's not that I'm not--sure of Blake in a way," concluded Grace. +"But he's so--evasive. He _won't_ see." + +Letty nodded briefly. "I know." + +"Well, I'll tell you what I can do," she said at length in a +matter-of-fact tone. "If you like I'll make a date with him and talk +to him like a Dutch uncle. I'll tell him that he's causing you a lot +of unnecessary trouble and worry and embarrassing you before your +friends and that it really is about time he realized it. I think +that should work. Blake likes me." + +"Yes, he does," agreed Grace. Some such plan had been in her mind. +She gave a long sigh of relief but added almost at once, "Don't be +too--don't rub it in, Let. Be a little careful. You know--you +can't--bludgeon Blake." + +"Oh, of course," said Letty, shrugging. "I'll be tactful. Little +Mrs. Tactful Fix-It, that's me." + +The two girls looked into each other's faces. Letty's eyes wavered +before the intent appeal, the clutching hope, in the countenance of +Grace. She stared at the asphalt path, dejected, somewhat petulant +before the present necessity and the final futility of her errand. +Why did Grace have to clutch so? And she could no more feel why than +one with full control of his muscles can feel why a person in a +nervous spasm is powerless to unclose his fingers. She had to stop +and search for reasons in her mind and from them argue herself into +sympathy. She had to remember that to share a home with Harold and +only Harold, to have him and him alone there in the morning and there +at night, had once seemed to her the most blissful of all +eventualities. Consciously there was no accounting for this +sentiment now; the veiling, aching glamour effused from, old times, +old feelings, rose ever and ever more wanly on the horizon and ever +and ever more imperceptibly faded like receding smoke. But far be it +from Letty to counsel anyone against even the slight sustenance of +distant smoke! She said in a lower voice, "I suppose I might as well +make the date right away--can't Monday; got a date with li'l +Leroy--Tuesday maybe--and talk to him and get it settled." + +Grace and Blake were married a week later. Blake had always liked +and trusted Letty. Once she had set before him, with a directness +that--as she was not involved--could be at once persuasive and +unexacting, what Grace's feelings were and what his inaction seemed +to mean to outsiders, he had understood. He was surprised. He +supposed he had always intended to marry Grace, that she was aware of +his intentions, and that therefore the need for action nullified +itself. Some day he supposed they would find themselves standing +before a justice of the peace who probably would fall from heaven +before them at the propitious moment. He was rather resentful to be +confronted with the reality of arrangements while he was in the midst +of a mild, unmarried peace, while they were both free, he thought. +Still, if delay made Grace miserable, he agreed with Letty that they +might as well get it over with. He only stipulated that, lest his +haste should seem indecent or suspicious to his parents, the nuptials +should be secret until he had had a chance to "plant the idea" in +their minds. Grace thoroughly comprehended such a plan. As for his +state of mind, it no longer hurt her though it would always make her +sigh. After so many years, she had still to scheme in order to +convey to him subtly, so as not to frighten or antagonize him, what +to her were the plainest phases of human relations. So it was. And +so, no doubt, it would always be. + +The morning of the wedding was dank and gray. Grace awoke earlier +than usual, dressed in a sticky half-light, and tramped through the +living room to bang the coffee pot on the gas stove. A good deal of +methodical noise always followed her risings and Anita, shaken out of +sleep by the hangings and tramplings, stared at her resentfully from +the daybed. Since the loss of her job Grace had developed a +systematic mania for avoiding the purchase of meals. She collected +lunch dates and she collected dinner dates and she had taken to +fixing her own breakfasts. Anita could only admire the resourceful +way in which she circumvented ill fortune, but in the mornings it was +quite a nuisance. + +The coffee boiled; Grace shut the bedroom door and spoke through the +telephone, very low. By prearrangement, she was calling up her +mother, who had exacted a promise to be at least told of the +marriage. Grace said over the phone, "Ma? How--_are_ you? ... Well, +I'm calling according to schedule.... Yes. To-day." She gulped her +coffee over the sink in the kitchenette. Although she went back and +forth from bedroom to bathroom to kitchen, crossing the living room +every few minutes, she avoided Anita, who lay with eyes half shut and +the bedclothes pulled tight and warm about her. The latter was +accustomed to Grace's intervals of self-sufficient hauteur. They +meant that things were entirely satisfactory with Grace at the moment +and she had no need of encouragement. Anita would ask no questions. + +There were three rings of the bell and Anita heard Grace trample +through the bedroom, down the short hall, and the sound of a brass +key in a brass lock. + +Letty was waiting downstairs in the chill, early-morning grimness +that overlaid the street. People passed, silent, preoccupied, bent +on work and nothing else. From the Fifth Avenue corner came gigantic +hammer blows, hard, spiteful, even, one, then an--other--then +an--other ... then the long, raucous shriek, the bellow tearing raw +flesh from raw flesh, of a riveting machine. Grace was aware for the +first time that the old houses near Fifth Avenue, guarded by plaster +statues of lions and angels, by moldy lawns and rusted iron +gates--the house where Diana Reece had once had a studio, where Grace +had gone to draw fresh, sheer stockings over her white legs on the +way to new, exciting dates with new, exciting men in the days of +Harry Strauss; where she had borrowed Dee's key and met Blake in the +days when he used to return to Brooklyn for dinner; where Anita had +once lived as a ghost--those houses had vanished and the steely ribs +of a skyscraper were being riveted together in their stead. They +must have been demolished some time ago but Grace had never noticed. + +"Look, those old houses are gone!" she exclaimed to Letty. + +They paused and peered up and down the street. Two new structures +had been built across the way, where there had once stood a modest +red and white brick hotel and some rooming houses. They were of +sandstone, beetling as far as possible over the sidewalk, projecting +as high as possible into the sky. They were tipped with gold and the +long strips of windows straight up and down, divided by strips of +sandstone straight up and down, glinted iridescently. The old +brownstone fronts and the old red-brick fronts and the small, white, +rebuilt houses seemed compressed to suffocation between skyscrapers +at the head and impending skyscrapers at the foot. + +"The street's changing so," said Grace rather wistfully. + +They turned the Sixth Avenue corner, continued past the El station +and so down to Blake's house. Grace rang three times. This street +was still serene with glossy shops composed behind their shut doors +and their smooth displays, with a limousine dozing before the tall, +white apartment building across the way and next to it a sedate +little gray dwelling sleeping with shuttered windows behind a No +Parking sign. All the speakeasies in all the basements of all the +sere-looking brownstone houses were closed at this hour. + +Blake came down rather pale and cold, a little hoarse, blinking. He +never rose so early. They caught a taxi to the Tube station at +Herald Square. Letty giggled. "We're off at the post," she said. + +The train to Newark was not as deserted as they had expected and a +headachy light oozed through it. What weird people to ride to Newark +at such an hour--old women with newspaper bundles that somehow hinted +to the senses of pickles, men in overalls with pitted noses. What +_for?_ "They can't all be going to get married," said Letty +wonderingly. + +Grace knew a lawyer, an old admirer, who had an office and political +influence in Newark. She had arranged with him to prepare a secret +way for them. They taxied around a gray-green park into a region of +tall, sooty granite. Grace's friend was waiting in his office and +his car was parked on a side street. They walked to it, Grace with +the lawyer and Letty with Blake. Recovering from the blight of the +chilly morning, Letty hugged Blake's arm. "He mustn't get away," she +called back to Grace. + +"By the way, have you got a ring?" said the lawyer suddenly. + +Blake had never thought of it. They halted on the sidewalk and +laughed and laughed. + +"You could use mine," said Letty. "It married me good and fast." + +But Grace's friend stopped at a jeweler's and insisted on buying one +for her. A thin circlet of white gold. "It's a wedding present," he +declared with a smirk. + +Blake was still sleepy. Grace was nervous and curious. + +The judge into whose chambers they were ushered mistook Letty for the +bride. When his error was pointed out he turned but languidly to +Grace, appearing to feel that she would do as well. He asked each +whether they had been divorced. It seemed that he had a prejudice +against marrying divorced people. He was so sure there would be a +divorce somewhere--"He smells a divorce," Grace murmured to Letty--so +sure that he would not have to bother after all, that he hardly +looked up at them before this question. + +There was an element of triumph in replying that Blake was a widower. +Even the judge raised an eyebrow and devoted one whole glance of +interest to Blake alone. "I thought he was going to say, 'Well, +aren't you the lucky guy!'" giggled Letty afterward. In five minutes +the ring had been slipped on Grace's finger. The judge noticed at +last that she was good-looking and he kissed her. + +"Ugh! One of those nasty, wet kisses," said Grace to Letty, +scrubbing her mouth with a handkerchief the minute the door closed +behind them. + +The lawyer thought they ought to have a breakfast, but Letty had had +hers and Grace wasn't hungry and Blake professed to distrust New +Jersey coffee. The lawyer shook hands with them. He stood on a +street corner, hesitating between sentiment and skepticism, and +finally discarded the former as likely to amuse such sophisticated +people. He wished them luck with a wink and left them. + +"Well, you're married now," said Letty to Blake. + +"I know. I've been married before," retorted Blake. + +Grace and Blake were both disposed to be glum on the ride back. Even +Letty was pensive. Though they joked and Grace sniggered and Letty +giggled from time to time, the vows that had been uttered struck them +all with a sense of disappointment. Beside the glamorous shadow of +the unwritten, unspoken, yet irresistible promises that those two had +been conscious of so long at every meeting, the vows, articulated at +last, became disconcertingly meager and pallid, as a cherished +thought, a lovely symbol in the mind, forms itself into but a +sentence of the usual words, the common and oft-repeated figures of +expression, when put down on paper. + +Blake left them, after kissing Grace lightly, to finish his morning's +sleep which the wedding had interrupted. Letty hailed a taxi, +squeezed Grace's hand, and left to finish her morning's duties which +the wedding had interrupted. And Grace, that having been attended +to, set out in earnest to find herself a new job. + +As the marriage was such a very secret one, Anita did not learn of it +for several days. + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +Though it had not been discussed between Blake and Grace, it was +taken for granted that the difference in their status would be only +one of convenience. There was even a certain novelty? a certain +spice, in the fact that they could now listen to the footstep on the +stairs with the serenity of those who know that a wedding certificate +can, hey, presto! be produced, like the serenity of a magician who +knows that he can at will produce the vindicatory rabbit from his +coat sleeve. For enough of the tradition in which they had been +reared lingered on, like the rites of a religion in which no one now +believes or the grammar of a language that no one now uses, to +necessitate the devices of secrecy when both the reason for and the +secrecy itself were gone. + +A honeymoon certainly had no place in their ideas. Soon after the +wedding Blake and Jerry went off to Havana. Afterward, Jerry refused +to believe in the marriage on this account; he said no bride would +have let a bridegroom roam so freely. When finally convinced, he +could not recover from the injustice of a state of things that caused +him to have more trouble with the girls he didn't marry than Blake +had with the girls he did marry. + +On Blake's return it happened that Grace had an opportune invitation +to visit friends opportunely far away. There was no reason for her +to refuse, as she claimed the same freedom that Blake did. In +consequence, when she came home their reunion crystallized into a +motor trip with the Moseses. Grace was rather amused at the +simplicity of a trick, not quite conscious on her part--and such an +old-fashioned trick! She supposed she would have to plan for these +marital vacations, exactly as Beatrice Fairfax advised. + +Blake had bought a car. Years of suppressed desire seemed to lurk +behind his proud engrossment with it. He would keep to the wheel +each day as long as possible, ignoring the protests of Harold and +Letty, who had had to bring their child, and becoming more and more +irritated by the fretfulness of the child. Grace, too, began the +journey by annoying him. It was raining when they started, and after +lunch in a small Connecticut town Grace and Blake went into the first +shop to buy a slicker for her. The rural shopkeeper looked from one +to the other in some surprise when Grace opened her purse to pay. +Blake pushed in front of her and threw the bills on the counter. He +walked out of the shop, Grace following, smiling, sighing resignedly +to herself. They were so silent for some time afterward that Letty +finally demanded to know the reason. But Blake would not answer. + +Grace said quizzically, "It's because I can't get used to +being--legitimate." + +And, in truth, the restiveness between them had its source, as she +guessed, in the uncertainty of her own attitude. She had long ago +accepted the fact that Blake never wanted all of her at any one time, +that he was scared and bewildered by and resentful, too, of any hint +of a self that lay beyond the part which suited his mood of the +period, refusing to regard it as another hue in the spectrum of a +personality but considering it, in the way in which a man considers +those traits in a woman which do not coincide with his own +expectations, as blameworthy or inconsistent. + +On this journey, the first they had ever been able to take together, +Grace was abstracted with searching for what part of her antagonized +Blake now, so as to eliminate it and substitute that which he might +expect now. She had not thought he wished her to act "wifely," as +she would put it to herself. Indeed, she had felt that while, with +her, he saw no other way that could so fittingly make the world take +for granted their attitude toward each other, the marriage had come +before he had quite had time to think that he had decided for +himself--that he was irritated by the idea of compulsion--and it +behooved her to keep her state of wifehood as much in the background +as possible. The scene in the shop seemed to offer a clue of another +sort. But it was hard to reconcile his offense at a small motion of +independence before the world with the gloomy silence in which she +remembered he had received news of the final loss of her job. She +had not blamed him then at all, discerning in his silence his +memories of an economic reliance that had oppressed him in the past. +She was well aware that her attitude of self-sustenance in every way +had been one of her chief attractions at first, in contrast to the +then irksome attitude of his wife. + +Not yet having come to any conclusion about his present mood, she +took refuge in patience. She did not hear, she did not see, she was +as unobtrusive as possible, she said nothing. It rained during the +first two days in which they traveled about Connecticut and +Massachusetts. + +When they reached the seaside hotel that Blake had chosen, the sun +came out, a glad and powerful ally that caused Grace to loosen her +armor. She came down to breakfast cheerfully next morning, fortified +by a marcel. Letty and Harold were feeding their child with a great +deal of parental care and merriment. Grace did not mind. She was +fond of the little girl and laughed as indulgently as Letty when the +child banged her spoon on the plate or dropped oatmeal with a pensive +preoccupation over the tablecloth. On Blake's appearance, they had +all eaten and were sitting back, in the sun. + +"Hullo," said Grace, quite forgetting her disguise. + +And Letty, who had been taking her cue from Grace, commented briskly, +"How come you're up so early in the morning?" + +"Probably wants to get some golf. The links here are good," said +Harold. + +They all looked toward him eagerly to share their good spirits. + +"I don't want to get some golf," said Blake with emphasis. "I did +want to get some sleep, but Grace being one of those risers with the +dawn, I suppose that's out of the question." + +Grace's eyes turned slowly from one to the other of the Moseses as +she adopted her special tone, at once resigned and explanatory, for +Blake's idiosyncrasies. "Blake has such a hate on mornings. I tried +not to make any noise," she murmured. "I walked about in stocking +feet, honest to Ga-awd!" + +"Is that so? They sounded more like bricks," said Blake. He +examined her closely. "Was it for that marcel you got up? I might +have known. That will be Grace's initial step on entering Heaven, +won't it, Grace? As soon as St. Peter opens the gates you'll sweep +past to locate, by instinct, the nearest beauty parlor, won't you, +Grace? How does your instinct work in that respect, by the way? Is +it by the sense of smell you locate them or by a sense of direction? +Tell us." + +This was one of Blake's humors which Grace recognized and knew how to +combat, or rather how not to combat. She was even a little gratified +at his acute observation of details concerning her; if habit had +sharpened, it had at least not dulled his awareness of her. She +could even smile at the pungent truth of some of his remarks, albeit +it was a rueful smile. + +"And he used to rush up to me on the street and say how beautiful I +was," she interpolated under her breath to the others. + +Blake snorted. + +"If you want to quarrel on your honeymoon, far be it from me to +prevent you," said Letty. "Harold and I started ours with a grand +scrap. Remember?" + +It was Harold's turn to look rueful. + +"There were some awfully cute bellboys in the hotel," explained Letty +with a giggle, "and Harold thought I paid too much attention to them. +But don't fight about a marcel," she besought Blake. "Save that for +when you've been married a long time like us. It'll come in handy +then. Now, it seems so--so picking!" + +That last had been a mistake, as Letty understood instantly. Anger +with Blake was a state of ice, not of heat. Instead of quickly +bursting with it, he slowly froze about his anger, locking it +securely within. They were all chilled by him, even the child who +had been trying to reach his place across the table with her spoon. +He glowered at her so that she began to wail. Blake rose and flung +down his napkin. "I'd better leave this happy domestic circle," he +said, and walked away. + +Harold was too wise to open his mouth. Across the table the two +girls glanced at each other and Grace shrugged so as to convey her +bafflement to Letty. Nevertheless, she went quickly upstairs and +subjected her face and hair to the mirror. Any criticism of her +looks, even this which she knew arose from other reasons, was sure to +terrify Grace. The wave was a bit too tight. This reflection filled +her with an unease which all Letty's reassurances could not still, +which a pale yellow felt hat, pressed down till the brim met her +eyebrows and, in the sun, enhancing her skin to a brilliance that +made it a plastic materialization of the brilliant air and deepening +her eyes to soft midnight, could not remove. Only the visual +admiration of the lobby and the beach, the impression which she made +on other people, finally brought back her composure. + +She wore her hat hopefully to lunch. But Blake, though freshened by +golf, still clung to his ill-will; there was no one like Blake for +remembering what had annoyed him. As the child had been the last +focal point of irritation, he surveyed her mannerisms very coldly. +Grace thought it had been a pity to bring the child, but after all it +was Blake who had planned this trip for all of them. If anyone's +fault, it was his, and she rebelled against the shafts that, flung at +her, she knew were meant for the Moseses and the child. Letty knew +too and was tired of being tactful. "What an oil can of a husband +you turned out to be," she said crisply. + +The long day drew to the close which might have been foretold. Letty +and Harold sat morosely over the dinner table; the child had been put +to bed, and Grace was in a state of mounting and stifling resentment. +She was so very quiet that she might have been on the verge of tears. +Blake thought so. She went up to their room very suddenly. When, +some time later, he followed, he expected to find her in that +condition which would finally thaw a mood of which he himself was +tiring but which he had, from early childhood, learned to rely on +others to evaporate for him. + +Grace was just finishing her evening toilette. It always soothed her +to look after herself physically. She slipped a barrette about her +hair at the nape of her neck, smoothed down the waves which enclosed +the now clear forehead, the cheeks that seemed rounder, in a sleek, +soft frame. She was pleased with the effect and studied it for a few +moments in the glass. She turned to him and would have spoken but +remembered and swallowed the words. He spoke for her. + +She considered the glass without expression, very still. + +He spoke again with a sneer. + +"All right," she said evenly. "You can torment me as much as you +like. But when it gets too much for me, I have a way--to make you +sorry." + +He was so taken aback that he laughed out loud. + +"What'll you do?" he said. + +She made a small, menacing nod to her reflection in the glass. "I +know what I can do." + +This time she planted her eyes full on him, eyes so dry, huge, +shooting such a triumphant brilliance at him from the hard pupils and +the distended, gleaming whites, that he blinked. He watched them +with a half-amused curiosity turning into a vague alarm. "Tell me. +What will you do?" + +"Nope. I won't tell you," she said. She curved her lips about the +secret which seemed to give her a malicious pleasure. "Only, if you +ever make me do it, you'll be sorry." + +He remained silent now, she could see, really worried. Stealing +looks at her from time to time, the set of her face scared him. And +she was so dry-eyed. It was not that Grace cried easily, but he +seemed to recollect that no fault of his, or at least nothing that +had been a grave fault to her, had been revealed to her hitherto +without his being able to measure the extent of her hurt and his +pardon in the melting of her eyes and the upwelling and flow of her +tears. Now he was at a loss. She had not been hurt--could not be +hurt--as her actions and demeanor declared to him--so how could he +sue for pardon? A phrase he had once used to her, in the need of the +moment, not half-meaning it but using it because it rose to his lips, +returned to thrust itself at him, to become fatefully clear--like an +old prophecy. "When you don't cry any more, I'll know you don't care +any more." And this explanation was so apparent to him that he grew +quiet and pale with it. He waited, sunk in imagination, watching her +move about the room, more and more anxious for some sign that might +reassure him. + +At length, as she made no such sign, he was forced to remind her of +what he had once said. The words dropped from his lips +involuntarily, as a tentative inquiry. But, falling slowly from his +lips, stumbling across such a wide distance, they reached her, these +words with their old associations, like old friends in some dire +trouble whom one must at once, without question, comfort and aid. So +she was placated. + +He had behaved very well after that, Grace told Anita. She said with +a smile that changed into the motions of her deliberate snigger on +further thought: "I had no idea what I would do, you know. I just +said it on the spur of the moment to _stop_ him. He was +getting--unbearable. And--you know how--you can frighten a person +more by a threat if you don't--don't define it? If they don't know +just--where--they're going to be hit? Blake was very scared. He +pretended to tease me about it afterward, but just the same I could +see--he had it on his mind.'" + +She paused. Her lips drew together in a resolute line and in her +new, slower tone there lingered a trace of vindictiveness. She had +just picked up a clock from the dresser and her fingers grasped it +tightly as she faced Anita. + +"But when he kept asking me what I meant to do, joking about 'my +little mystery,'" she added, "I started to wonder what I really could +do--if it came to that--what really would punish him. And now--I +know." She halted again, savoring her victorious secret with her +eyes and her smile. + +She would have continued even without the prompting question, had to +continue, would have ignored and overridden any interruption, like an +actress finishing her speech regardless of all distractions. + +"It occurred--to me," she said, and articulated each phrase slowly, +"that--all I would have to do would be to go to his mother, who +thinks--he is so very perfect, and tell her the whole story--how we +lived together long before Edith left him, in what circumstances the +baby was born, and why he _didn't_--get called Junior!" + +She laid the clock down firmly on top of a suitcase and concluded, +"She'd never recover from the shock." + +"Oh, you wouldn't actually do that," said Anita. + +"I might," said Grace with a shrug. + +They were packing up to leave the apartment. Grace as usual "knew +someone" who would take it off their hands, as it had been decided +that she should move into Blake's place. + +"I don't think I'll take that--or that," Grace said, flinging old +things into a corner. "Can you use this?" She held up a dressing +gown that Anita had long admired. + +"What do you want for it?" said Anita. + +Grace hesitated. "It's old--but it's still good." She was torn +between her first generous impulse to give and the later impulse, +fruit of experience, not to give without a return. Anita had always +been careful, she hardly knew why, not to permit Grace's first +impulses to win, never to accept without a return, and the return she +preferred to make, the return that seemed to her least complicated, +was of money. She hazarded a price. It was too much, but somehow +she had always rather give Grace too much--in money--than too little. +It eased her conscience. + +Grace handed over the dressing gown. She closed the last suitcase. +She felt a little uncomfortable about accepting the money, Anita +could see, and when she had put it into her purse she said suddenly, +with the effect of having found a way to make the transaction fair, +"It's not time for the moving men yet. Let's go down. I'll buy +you--a soda." + +Anita smiled. + +They stepped over the luggage. Grace searched for her keys. From +the hallway Anita could see the sad, dead spaces of the living +room--piles of shapeless furniture, heaps of miscellaneous débris. + +With a final bang, the door swung to. + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +They were to continue to see a great deal of each other, as Grace was +not the sort of old-fashioned spouse who is swallowed up by her +husband's life. And at first she did manage to meet Anita often, +usually when she was troubled and wore what Anita had begun to think +of as her "bird of prey" aspect, the signal for some new worry or +some new need. She couldn't make any dates, she confided in a tone +which tried to be humorous while her eyes exhibited her very real +concern. Admirers, both long-established and potential, had suddenly +vanished. Or, if she chanced upon one, as she did several times on +the street and in restaurants when Anita was with her, their +withdrawal was obvious enough to embarrass Anita. They were glad to +see Grace; they looked at her with pleasure. Then, when, on leaving, +Grace fixed her eyes on them and said, "Why don't you--call me +up--sometime?" or, with a measured insistence, "Let's have--a date +soon--shall we?" their uneasiness became apparent in the wandering of +their eyes and the hasty indefiniteness of their replies. + +"Do you see? They couldn't run from me worse if I had the plague!" +exclaimed Grace. + +Another time, at a dinner party, she sat next to a one-time boy +friend who had not been entirely tractable in his day because of +doubts as to her status. Such overtures as she cared to make now, +however, had been circumspectly passed by. "My Gawd! You ought to +have seen the _respect_ with which he treated me," said Grace, with +some alarm in spite of her satisfaction. + +She applied to Anita: "Letty says it's because I've just been married +and they think I can't want to make dates with other men, that I'm +only--kidding them." Her eyes implored Anita for serious +consideration. + +Anita thought it might be so. + +"If they only knew!" wailed Grace. + +"Blake has a girl now," she said disconsolately. "A nice little +chorus girl. He has quite a crush on her. He says it's such fun to +use the old line and tell the old stories to some girl who drinks +them in as if they were new." An indulgent smile hovered about her +mouth. "I know--just how he feels." + +After a pause she was struck by a thought which, it occurred to +Anita, probably had been in the back of her mind all the time. She +raised her eyes and tested the ground with her phrases. "I +thought--I might even start something--with Dennis," she said. "I'm +that desperate!" She added, "That is, if you don't mind." + +Anita could not help chuckling. "You'd better apply to Dennis." + +"Oh, Dennis!" said Grace confidently. + +But Anita was not so sure, since Dennis was in the throes of the very +fate Grace had foreseen. The very girl of her prophecy apparently, a +sweet, firm little creature, whose tactics Anita noted with +admiration, had Dennis in tow, or so nearly in tow that it didn't +matter. He went about proclaiming over convivial tables, "To think +that a sweet little girl like that should care for a bum like me!" + +However, it was not long before Grace came to call on Anita in a +happier frame of mind; she had a job, a better job than the old. She +wanted to borrow Anita's house in order to entertain a new swain that +evening. Blake had planned to stay in and work, thus making her own +home unavailable. + +"It feels so strange to have to borrow apartments again," she +complained. "Ironic, isn't it? For the first time since I left Ma I +haven't--even a nook--I can feel is quite my own." + +She looked around Anita's room with the disappointment with which it +always filled her. The house stood in the old Chelsea district on a +block that was still pimpled with tenement houses. Though it shone +to the point of bedizenment with varnish and fresh paint, it was a +rickety, meager little house. And Anita's home was so bare--bare +floors, nearly bare walls, painted furniture and not much of it that +seemed stripped to the bone; color, charming and harmonious color, +that decorated instead of softening. The vague, comfortable, and +comforting quality in a room that makes one sink into it and wish to +stay in it, the quality meant by "lived in," which has nothing to do +with taste, which means only perhaps that the room is accustomed to +people, needs them, is ready to adapt itself under their eyes to +whatever they require of it--this quality was missing here. Grace +was always a little on the verge of leaving in Anita's home. + +The second summer of their marriage, the Andrews' went to London to +put on one of Blake's shows. Grace's return was heralded by such a +vigorous determination to get Anita to go apartment hunting with her +and by such a mound of worries in connection with her father and +mother-in-law, who had moved East with Blake's child, that the mere +sound of her voice began to bring to Anita the immediate, warning +reflex, "What does she want now?" By the following year, Anita +barely knew that Blake had thought of taking a house in Great Neck, +buying a house, perhaps, as Grace informed her dejectedly in the +course of a sudden telephone call. This overture brought the same +reflex with it, had the sound of a distress call from a proud liner +to a humble little tramp steamer which never would have got the least +attention otherwise. Anita had long ago resolved not to make initial +advances to Grace because, unless these came at the propitious +moment, Grace did not trouble to disguise their inconvenience. A +remnant of gratitude still caused her to feel that she ought to come +when whistled to, but she was so disinclined that Grace had been +compelled to offer inducements other than that personal company which +is usually considered sufficient for old friends. + +"Well, since you can't have dinner with me," she had said at last +incredulously, "if we do take the house, you must come out for a +week-end. I'll let you know." + +Nor did Grace forget. Anita was an assistant now, instead of a +secretary, and one day, in the absence of the chief, the employment +bureau's press agent "hung" a story on to her. The afternoon that +story appeared, Grace called up to congratulate and to give a +definite invitation. It seemed more than a coincidence to Anita. +What a perfect scent for success Grace had! Nevertheless she felt +ashamed almost at once of so cynical an appraisement and scolded +herself. It was kind of Grace to ask her out; it was indeed a long +time since they had seen each other. She agreed to call for Grace on +Saturday afternoon. + +Grace was working for a theatrical producer and had her name on the +elevator directory, her name on the door, a stenographer and a room +almost to herself, concrete evidences of her rise which she felt she +ought to acknowledge ironically so that no one could think she was +proud of them or that they really meant anything to her. + +A new musical comedy was being cast and, as Grace shared her office +with the man who "saw" people for it, she with her appurtenances was +almost swamped by a collection of show folks who stood, sat, chatted, +were quiet, yet nevertheless had all the same attitude and the same +expression--the patient attitude, the waiting face. The man who saw +people, of course, had not yet returned from lunch, might not return +at all that day, as Anita heard Grace reply a dozen times within the +few minutes. At the same time, she was carrying on a telephone +conversation with the press agent for a charity ball who wished her +to urge the cast of _We Are Three_ to attend for the good of the +firm--and the ball. While Anita waited, she concluded the talk, +scribbled some notes on her date pad, and declared, "That's all I'm +going to do for Sweet Charity _this_ bright Saturday afternoon." She +picked up a large, pale blue silky straw hat from her desk and made +for the door, only to be summoned back by a fresh ring of the phone. +It was the dramatic editor of the Weehawken, New Jersey, High School +_Gazetteer_, demanding free tickets to review _We Are Three_. Grace +rolled her eyes in despair and said politely that she was sorry but +this was impossible as the show was selling out. "You see," she +confided gravely, "I would be glad to--oblige you but I am not even +allowed tickets for the daily paper people.... Yes.... Later +perhaps.... Good-bye. Come along," she gasped to Anita, "before any +more pests call up." + +Once outside, she tucked her hat over her hair, using the glass of +the elevator shaft as a mirror, and heaved a great sigh of relief. + +"I can't bear to be around when there's casting," she said. "All +this week I've been grabbing my hat at odd hours and dashing out of +the office. They're so--pitiful! It's no good telling them Mr. +Whoozis won't be in, probably'll _never_ be in. They won't believe. +And they won't go. I don't see how you can stand having people come +to you for jobs day in, day out." + +"Oh, well... It's rather nice anyhow when you have the jobs to +distribute," said Anita. "You ought to know. You've found work for +plenty of people." + +Grace sniggered. "Yes. Blake says I ought to open--an employment +bureau on the side. I've even got into the bad habit of suggesting +girls I run across for his shows." + +She was wearing a pale blue silk blouse and skirt, minutely tucked +and pleated by way of flaunting its simplicity. The color, so +unusual for her, had by its novelty the effect of emphasizing anew +the hazy glow which her skin shed under the summer sun, the gentle +fullness which her cheeks now had. She looked lovelier than ever, +Anita thought, and said so. + +"That's a nice dress you have on, too," said Grace, scrutinizing the +green of Anita's summer jersey. "The nicest I've ever seen on you. +I suppose it's--by way of celebration?" + +The warning signal jerked in Anita's brain while she hated herself +for it. She was liking Grace so much at the moment. + +"And that reminds me," went on Grace, "speaking of jobs and all. You +wouldn't need--a stenographer--would you? My little cousin is +looking for work." + +"No. We've already got one," said Anita shortly. After a moment she +amended: "It's not exactly in my line; we're only supposed to get +work for adolescents or the handicapped. But I run across all kinds +of jobs. I'll--I'll watch out for her." + +"I'll let you know," were words Anita had sworn would never, never +pass her lips. + +They had still to call for Blake at a theater where he was rehearsing +a road company of his last show--he now staged his own shows, Grace +explained. + +They walked a few blocks which seemed surprisingly gay and sunny. +White structures had sprung up everywhere, taking the place of the +squat old tortured frontages--a slender and glittering generation, +slimly arrogant, flaunting a hard chastity of line in a sunlight +that, striking full on every revealed angle, could not abash but only +made them more shining. The theater was new and also white. The +asphalt in front of it had but just been laid and returned to the sun +a million infinitesimal sparks, as if it were set with diamantes. + +They went around by the stage entrance and found some chorus girls +issuing brightly and, just within the open door, talking to Jerry +Barker, a man of whom Anita could observe at first solely the crease +made by fat above the pink-striped collar of his shirt. Coming +nearer, she was disconcerted to recognize Blake. She had seen less +of him than of Grace and had not met him at all these last months. +Hitherto, a slight expansiveness in his bearing and appearance, an +ease of flesh and movement due to prosperity, had been attractive. +But all Anita could think of now was how the flesh had finally spread +and filled every inch of his fine gray suit. Her expression must +have been obvious. Blake said almost at once, in the unconscious +avowal of one who knows just what the fault is for which he desires +to forestall blame, "I'm going to reduce." However, at the same time +he looked at Anita hopefully, as if trying to judge from her face +whether, after all, it would really be necessary to reduce. To +Anita's surprise, he remarked, "You look well yourself" (the first +time she had attracted so much of social amiability from Blake), and +asked them to wait with Jerry while he fetched his car from the +garage. + +They were waiting thus when the principals tripped out. All of them +greeted Jerry and several greeted Grace. Then followed a few chorus +men and finally a last relay of chorus girls. A few of these also +knew Grace and waved to her as they walked into the street. One girl +left her companion for a moment and dashed over. + +"How nice you look, Grace!" she exclaimed, running her eyes over the +large hat and the pale blue of the dress. + +"Thank you." + +"You look so stylish!" added the girl. "Real up-to-date," she +pronounced with an approving nod of her head, and sped away. + +There had been a frigid note in Grace's voice which did not quite +accord with the quizzical glance she gave Anita. "I suppose I'm just +another little-wife-in-navy-blue-georgette to them. Probably because +I wear sleeves in the daytime," she murmured. + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +On the way out, Grace and Anita sat in the back seat, Jerry in front +with Blake. Grace said that Letty had been asking about her and that +soon they must "all get together." Only, it was difficult to arrange +for week-ends; there were so many people one had to invite. + +Anita was embarrassed, sensing a subtle apology which Grace, in fact, +did feel that she owed. Grace had always declared that when she had +a house Anita would be free to come and go in it. She had found, +however, that a hostess who wishes her hospitality to be effective is +like a producer who must choose his players for the contributions +each can make to the success of the show. Anita was simply "not the +type." Grace didn't believe Anita cared. She remembered that she +had asked her up now and then for dinner when no other people would +be present and Anita had not seemed very eager. Nor had Anita ever +shown much interest in the crowd. But she certainly did not wish +Anita to feel, because of the necessary gaps in their social +relationship, that Anita had been dropped as a friend. + +Anita turned the subject by inquiring after Letty. + +Letty did not look so well, Grace said; her hair had a lot of gray in +it. "She says all she seems to do now is take care of her child and +sit around and watch 'us active people.' But Harold is getting to +be--quite the ladies' man. He sends roses to Evelyn Linden whenever +they have a date." + +"To Evelyn Linden? I shouldn't think Harold would be interested in +Evelyn Linden." + +"Harold and Evelyn Linden?" said Grace, and took on her remote look +of having and withholding secret information. "Is _that_ going on? +Oh, my! Apace!" + +Anita knew of old that Grace's omniscience demanded an audience. But +there was a tinge of satisfaction, almost of malice, in her tone +which took Anita by surprise. It was almost as if she enjoyed the +advantage over people of knowing something about them--liked to "have +something on them." + +"Evelyn Linden as good as told Letty," went on Grace after a pause, +"that if it weren't for their friendship the affair would +be--serious." + +"And what did Letty say?" + +"Said it was all right with her. But I don't think she cares for the +idea especially. I notice she and Evelyn don't see so much of each +other. However--that is not why Letty looks as she does. It's +because--she has no one now. She's hunting around, as it were. I've +always said there was nothing like love to improve one's appearance," +she concluded with unction. + +Anita was aware that Grace glanced at her expectantly. She made no +answer. She had begun to suffer from the same strange, harried +tension in Grace's presence that she had felt at their last meeting, +as if she were running a sort of race with Grace's troubles, flying +before Grace's inevitable confidences, yet not being able to avoid +glimpses of them out of the corner of her eye (as one subconsciously +follows the movements of a pursuer) and at the same time being +obliged instinctively to protect her own. + +It was a relief anyhow not to be shown through the house, a temporary +one and therefore, though lavish enough, not considered worth the +showing. Anita had decided that the showing of houses was a mania +inherent in suburbs, to which even people who would never dream of +exhibiting a city apartment succumbed. She was grateful not to be +forced to eulogize her surroundings. The living room was large and +cool as a cave, with half-drawn shades and curtains of a thin beige +silk through which the sun oozed yellowly, and the couch and +armchairs, disposed about the brick fireplace, allowed one to sink as +into feather beds. There was an enormous piano and an only slightly +less enormous radio and a glossy phonograph from which Grace drew the +melodious sorrows of a Negro spiritual. Grace had adopted "Water +Boy" to be intelligently and critically ecstatic over as Anita +recollected she had once adopted the plump little f's of a well-known +illustrator, and she insisted on analyzing the effect of "Water Boy" +upon her soul as she had once insisted on analyzing the effect of the +little f's. + +They ate Virginia ham and spinach and marshmallowed sweet potatoes +and a pudding of a golden flakiness that had slices of rose gelatin +tucked into it. There was a white-aproned Negro cook in the +background and a red-cheeked youngster, a "mother's helper," who +waited on table. + +Blake had apparently turned over his child to Mother Andrews (Grace's +name for her mother-in-law) as the result of an old agreement that he +was to be relieved of all that harassed and be tendered only that +which could be enjoyed. She was mild, pretty, faded, with thin lips, +and she sat obscurely at table. The boy, Jamie, sat by her and +received from her, in an undertone, the few corrections which he +disregarded with an almost exact copy of Blake's manner of disregard. +Grace had said that Jamie was just like Blake. + +He was still a little shy with Grace, and she was not so foolish as +to throw herself abjectly, sweating with the anxiety for approval, on +a child's mercies. She had once explained to Anita that she believed +the best way to get his affection was, with a child as with a +grown-up, always to leave some concrete evidence of good-will. When +Jamie had first come East, and she used to visit him with Blake, she +had never appeared empty-handed. She still returned to the formula +from time to time. To-day she had brought him a book of stories and +pictures of pirates. + +After dinner he came to her side in the living room and took her +hand, looking sideways in embarrassment and flushing a little, in +token of thanks. He wished to have the pictures explained. The two +girls put their heads together to concoct suitable versions under the +watchful eyes of Mother Andrews. She said nary a word. But Anita, +as Grace had managed to convey while they stood for a moment by the +piano and waited for the others to leave the dining room, had used +the word "devil" at table in front of the child. It seemed that +Mother Andrews had revised certain words for Jamie. A devil must not +be termed a "devil" before him but suffered a saccharine change and +become a "monkey." + +The child listened with wide-open, clear blue eyes, across which a +flash, caused by a deep breath, shot now and again. They knew he was +pleased only because he offered, with his sideways look and flush, to +show them how he "took falls." They went to the door and watched him +in the fading light tumble down on the cropped lawn many times and +regain his balance gracefully, swiftly. "You'll have to disown him," +said Grace to Blake. "He'll turn into a hoofer yet." Blake made a +face. Hoofers were people he professed most to detest. The child +looked from one to the other avidly, not understanding but sensing +another reserve that perhaps ought to hedge him in. + +However, in spite of his outward detachment, Blake looked up when +Jamie was sent to bed and waited and bent his cheek forward for the +good-night kiss. The boy went on to Grace and kissed her, too, then +lingered before Anita, who had lit a cigarette. It was the cigarette +that held his attention. No doubt he had been told that every +cigarette was a nail in one's coffin. He looked like that. At +length he made up his mind not to notice her. He hastened by without +so much as a murmur, turning and peering at her as he made his +farewells to the others and sending her one last, clear-blue, +reticent gaze from behind the banister at the foot of the stairs. +Then he could bear it no longer and revealed the judgment which had +been on the tip of his tongue. "Ladies don't smoke," he said. + +Anita was irritated enough to ask, "Who told you that?" despite +Grace's optic warning. + +"It said so in a book," he replied securely. + +"Is that so?" said Anita, less to the child than for the benefit of +Mother Andrews. "There are a lot of other things in books. For +instance, it says in a book, 'Children should be seen and not heard.' +Do you believe that?" + +They all laughed, even Mother Andrews, and the child himself saw the +point and bent his head a little ruefully. But no one spoke. Blake +wore an air of assent, rather than otherwise, to the child's +prudishness. + +Mother Andrews went up to bed soon after, making various tactful +signals to her husband to remove himself also. She was very good +about that, Grace whispered, in contrast to Dad Andrews, whom Grace +liked better but whose delight in the company of young folks made him +often far too stationary. He sat on for a long time that night, +nice-looking, gentle, youngish, and rather wistful except when the +numerous opinions he had formed about the theater and the traffic +situation, even in so short a period, led him to inject himself into +the talk. Blake set his chin and ignored the interruptions until the +constant calls of his mother from above finally tore Dad away. Then +Grace, sighing with relief, wished to know what they meant to do with +the rest of the evening. "Marie Drum wants us to come over and see +her house," she said, to Anita's alarm. The men debated whether or +not they would work. + +"Or we might go over to Olive Lytell's," added Grace. "I had to see +her at the theater last night and she said she was giving a party." + +"Well, why don't you and Anita go over while we work?" suggested +Blake with unwonted kindness. + +But Grace said decidedly that she would not think of going without +him. + +They went to the Drums' after all because Marie and Ted Drum burst +into the house to fetch them. Ted Drum was--had been--a +song-and-dance man and had been featured in one of Blake's shows. He +was dark, curly-haired. Grace introduced him as "one of those freaks +of Nature who can't read notes and never took a lesson in their lives +but who can play any tune on the piano by ear." Marie Drum +rhapsodized on the subjects of furniture, landscape gardening, the +prices of trees, and the difficulties of getting in touch with their +architect. "He's not at his office for weeks and he doesn't answer +his telephone. Of course, they say he's a dipso and his private life +is smeared all over the place, but I haven't found anyone to suit us +so well. The only way to get him is to send him a night letter to +his home, I've found. He's got to open a telegram." + +"We must remember that," said Blake to Grace--and to the Drums, "I +was thinking of getting him myself." + +Finally, it seemed easiest to go and inspect the Drums' house. + +All bungalows made of pink stucco were exactly like all other +bungalows made of pink stucco to Anita. This pinkness stood against +the sky, dark blue as it should be, and over the house a slim moon +was poised, a wispy, silvery circlet. Marie Drum pointed to it with +pride, as if it had been a stage property. Such a nice moon for a +pink stucco house! Anita followed in resignation, observing the +house from every angle, observing it from top to bottom, observing +"cute" staircases and the patchwork quilt in the guest room and the +Colonial furnishings of the bedroom and the polished purity of the +kitchen and the rosy tiles and pink-embroidered towels of the +bathroom, while Marie Drum tripped on feathery feet (she had been a +dancer), in a huge black hat which never left her head even in her +own home, tripped before them up and down stairs, opening doors and +explaining antiques. Grace asked questions about the furniture, +after which she made an excuse to Anita, "I may have to choose some +myself soon." The Drums had overlooked no accessory that could +contribute to their domestic pride. They had a dog and they even had +a visitors' book. + +The living room was strictly and stiffly Colonial. Balanced sedately +on the high-bred chairs, one breathed one's thankfulness to catch +sight of a grand piano--and then a radio--and then a ping-pong set. +And the white bearskin before the fireplace, spontaneous effusion +from the hearts of Ted and Marie Drum in the midst of glacial floor +spaces, was like a dear, dear old friend. + +While Ted sat down to the piano and strummed popular tunes without +ever having taken a lesson, Marie fluttered about, coralling them to +sign the visitors' book. Grace took up the pen first, unwillingly, +and signed herself, "Grace Kline." + +Marie objected. "Oh, no. Sign your full name. What do you want to +join the Lucy Stone League for?" + +"I _don't_ want to," said Grace. "I don't have to. I can't _get_ +anyone to call me anything but Grace Kline. When the grocer says +'Mrs. Andrews,' I jump. Really." + +She peeped toward Blake, who was listening. "Well, since you +insist..." she remarked and put down an "Andrews." + +Marie Drum stood over her. "And write something--write something +bright under Remarks." Grace hesitated, then added a dash after +"Grace Kline Andrews" and wrote "--By Request!" with a flourish. She +watched Blake read it and handed him the pen. He set down firmly, +"Blake Andrews," and in the Remarks column he wrote, with a snort, +"--By Command!" and threw down the pen. + +Marie Drum had to ponder over the comments for a few moments before +she saw the point. Then she burst into surprised laughter, calling +to the others to come and see. "You little eggs!" she cried. An +elaborate smirk was pasted to Grace's face. She was neither abashed +nor hurt. It was nothing, she knew. He was quite comfortable, +perfectly satisfied. This was just a last obeisance, demanded by the +convention of his youthful creed, toward an unattainable freedom +which it had been part of the creed to yearn for, but which he had +sagaciously never made any attempt to attain and which he would not +know what to do with if it could be attained. She sat down by Blake +on the bearskin and closed her two hands over his arm in an arch +attitude of consolation. They still had moments of embracing in +public, or rather of staging their carefully burlesqued yet absorbed +caresses, but these were no longer so compelling to watch, no longer +acted on the audience as reminders of a love which transcended all +obstacles. The audience was even a little impatient; after all, +Blake and Grace could very well now embrace in private. + +Jerry, who was a good musician, pushed Ted off the piano stool and +began to play a song from the show he and Blake were working on. + +"What do you think of that?" + +Ted nodded and asserted that it ought to be a hit. It made him +think, he said, of "Your Kisses Are Blisses," which had been their +biggest hit. + +"Funny about that," said Jerry reminiscently. "We had every song in +the show picked for a hit but that. Blake was all for 'Is There +Anything a Little Girl Can't Do?'" + +Blake disengaged himself. "I'm still for that," he called. "It's a +good lyric and a good tune." + +"Maybe it was too much for them to remember," suggested Ted. "A tune +ought to be simple, that's my idea." + +Marie interrupted to say that this didn't always follow, naming one +composer of many hits whose tunes were often complicated. They +turned on her in mockery. + +"Yeh, but what tunes!" said Jerry. "That fella knows his classics." + +They began a rapt discussion of lyrics, tunes, what the public likes, +and of what exactly had made "Your Kisses Are Blisses" so popular. +Grace kept still, with her eyes fixed on space. During a pause she +raised them and articulated gravely, "There's--something I +thought--to tell you, Jerry." They all watched her. + +"There's one thing that all hit tunes have in common," she +pronounced, "whatever the other ingredients may be. They may or may +not have words of one syllable, though they usually have. But +whatever else they are, they're all--_definite_. For instance, +'Who--Who stole my heart away?' Or, 'Your Kisses--Your kisses are +blisses.' _One_ thing to settle in your mind." + +There was a long silence while they all somehow felt that they should +ruminate on this. Ted roused himself with an effort to prepare +drinks. Marie Drum said, "We all go to bed early here," so they +stayed only long enough to have some highballs and to play a few +games of ping-pong. And then, since it was merely midnight, they +trooped forth to a lunch wagon near the station to terminate the +night life of Great Neck fittingly with sandwiches and coffee. + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +A real-estate agent called for Blake soon after the lunch-breakfast +to show him some land. Grace, plumped on the couch, was a spot of +orange severely vivid in the midst of the Sunday morning frowsiness +of the living room--flattened, disordered cushions and untidy +carpets; a small green bowl on the piano spilling cigarette stubs and +ashes. She was scanning the Sunday papers to see which of her +publicity stories had got in. Every now and then she pounced on a +sheet, stuck the point of her scissors through it, and neatly clipped +an item. + +"I'm busy collecting li'l items," she said sardonically, "li'l scraps +of pa-a-aper! You go with Blake, Anita, and see the town." + +So, from the back seat of the car, Anita solemnly surveyed the town. +There seemed to be quite a lot of pleasant green grass and blue sky +and sunshine and houses on hills and houses at the foot of slopes and +houses along smooth streets and many vacant lots between. +Occasionally, Blake stopped the car in front of one of the latter, +while he and Jerry and the real-estate agent discussed its special +virtues. They drove a good way out to a point of marshy land through +which the Sound had filtered in pale streamlets and tiny pools. To +one side an arm of the Sound stretched, long, blue, and deep, bearing +yachts on its tranquil surface and many boats and a pier. Blake +indicated the narrow fringe which was Sands Point Casino and another +fringe which was Port Washington. A second agent joined them and +stood with one foot on the running board, calling attention to the +beauties of the landscape and suggesting other spots which they might +see. The car faced the water, which drew their eyes over and beyond +it with the insistence of all horizons. Even the real-estate agents +gazed over their shoulders once in a while. + +"Take Lake Success now," said one reflectively. "Been there yet? +That's a mighty pretty country around Lake Success." + +Anita, who had paid little heed, looked up quickly. The agent's face +was quite blank as he went on to describe another section of this +countryside. She glanced at the other agent and from him to Jerry. +They were both absorbed in the talk. She grinned to herself and +caught a sudden answering glint of amusement from a corner of Blake's +eye, accentuated by the slightest turn of his head, so that it was +like a wink between them. Anita at once forgave him the crease of +fat above the collar of his shirt, blue-striped to-day. + +They returned past a huge stone castle that resembled a church. +Blake halted before it and told Anita to bow her head in +contemplation. "That's Jack Omley's house," he said, mentioning a +wealthy lyric writer. "The house that jack built. Must have cost +around two hundred thousand. I go and look at it when I want +inspiration. It's a monument to book-and-lyrics." + +Jerry clamored to be shown a house that music had built. "It's you +lyric writers who make the jack," he complained. + +After they had called for Grace and delivered up Jamie in terror to +his first social engagement--a children's party given by Mrs. Saling, +young wife of the producer for whom Grace worked ("And what a soft +thing _she_ fell into," remarked Grace, as they left the place with +its curving lawn decorated by gay colored balloons and the party +dresses of children) they spent part of the afternoon looking at more +houses. An airy, delicate, wistful little gray cottage "that +nestled," Grace said; white frame buildings with green blinds; bright +stucco bungalows; houses as precise as little jewels cut out of +glowing brick, with tessellated walks surrounded by clipped verdure; +romantic structures obscured by trees on hilltops--all these Grace +liked. Blake wished to buy a lot and build so that his parents could +live with or adjoining them, while Grace preferred a small, separate +place which they could use for summers. + +They passed by the dwelling of a famous writer, humped on a hill like +a white elephant, which Anita had asked to see, and--just beyond--the +convivial house of a famous editor, where women in all colors of silk +sport dresses and men in shirt sleeves and men in tennis trousers +were playing croquet on the lawn. "That crowd has a perfect passion +for games," said Grace, peering from the car. She knew all the +people and called off their names to Anita: the celebrities of a +certain set in which she did not move though she had cast glances +thereon. + +Blake swerved the car and re-passed. "I suppose you want to get a +glimpse of Raphael," he said to her teasingly, but with a hint of +irritation. Grace did not answer. "Or should it be Rafe now?" +persisted Blake. She smiled a secret, half-complacent smile and +looked at Anita. She said they might as well stop by and visit Betty +Rose Crawford who had the lead in _We Are Three_. "You might be +interested in her," she told Blake and Jerry. "You know--Saling +picked her from a chorus. This is only her second part. She sings +and dances quite well." + +"She wouldn't do for _Boy Friends_," said Blake. "No name." + +"Well, it wouldn't hurt you--to just talk to her, would it? And you +_might_ happen to like her." + +They found Betty Rose Crawford with her hair down her back, sitting +under a striped awning on a sunny lawn. She was being entertained by +the young actor whose house it was and whom she hastened to introduce +with due decorum as her fiancé, managing also to inform them that her +mother shared the house as chaperon. She was very pretty, +brown-eyed, brown-haired. A faint simper lingered about her mouth as +she talked in a sweet, high voice with the Anglo-American stage +accent. She had the syrupy self-assurance of some stage children, +and, sitting under the becoming colors of the awning, with her +charming hair about her, sending her young man here and there for +chairs and cocktails, chattering back-stage gossip, she put even +Grace in the shade with her utter consciousness of herself as the +center of attraction. She was the sort of girl who signifies her +girlish purity and naïveté by telling, a little humorously, stories +about children (little boys always) who lay flowers at her feet and +old people (old men always) who worship her. After having +interpolated into her talk suggestions of the many business offers +she was always getting, she took them into the house and urged Jerry +to play for her. He played some of the tunes for their new show, +while she hummed them and laughingly took a few dance steps. + +Jerry was ready to be smitten. On the way home he proclaimed that +she was a sweet girl. + +"She's pretty enough. But she wants too much money," said Blake +thoughtfully. "We can get someone better known for that. Nancy +Tuxson, for instance." + +Grace remonstrated. "But she's so homely! For this show, it's my +idea that a pretty girl who's not known is much better than a homely +girl who is known." + +Through dinner they debated the relative merits of Nancy Tuxson and +Betty Rose Crawford and, upon withdrawal to the living room, they +continued against a background of radio and Dad Andrews. Anita sat +and waited. She had seized upon Jerry's announcement that he meant +to borrow Blake's car and drive home that night with an eager +explanation of how she had to rise so early to be on time for work +that it would be much more convenient for her to accompany Jerry. +Grace's objections had been overruled. There was now nothing to do +but wait. Jerry took his place at the piano. Blake chanted the +words of a lyric that he had lately finished while Jerry drummed the +tune to go with it. Blake, Anita inferred, was uncertain of the song +and wanted to know what the rest thought. She said it was very nice. +Grace, however, had heard the words before. She undertook some +helpful criticism. It was a good enough song but it didn't "hit" +her; she couldn't "be crazy about it." + +"It's not up to the standard of the funny songs you and Jerry have +written," she said. + +"It's not meant to be a funny song," replied Blake coldly. "It's an +answer or theme song." + +He and Jerry busied themselves over the piano, Jerry strumming while +Blake changed a rhyme here and a sentence there. They went on to +other tunes. + +"We might as well go upstairs," said Grace. "We're not wanted here." + +"You might as well," said Blake, still frozen. Jerry, from the +piano, promised abstractedly to call Anita when he was ready. She +had no choice but to follow Grace up to her room. + +Grace settled herself on the linen cover of the bed in a field of +green wool embroideries. Anita lingered by the door with an anxious +ear cocked for the first long pause of the piano. + +"They'll be hours yet," Grace assured her. "Move a chair over and +shut the door, will you?" + +Anita sighed within herself and moved over the armchair of maple and +rested her elbows on its graceful arms. There was a silence. She +could feel Grace's eyes fastening themselves in full somberness upon +her. She stared at a rag rug of aquamarine and emerald and apple +green and rose. + +"What do you think of all this?" said Grace directly. + +"Oh, it's all right." Anita, glancing up for a second, repented. +There was that somber appeal in Grace's wide-open eyes which she +never could withstand. It was as if Grace's topcoat of assurance +were blown aside by a puff of wind and revealed her for that moment +in all her nakedness--living tissue eaten alive by all the ants of +care and worry; living tissue, shuddering, covered with the cold +sweat of subterranean fears. "Well, you know, suburbs were never +much in my line--a childhood inhibition, I guess," she said uneasily. + +"Were they ever in mine?" demanded Grace. "It's like a judgment on +me!" she exclaimed. "To get away from Ma and uptown domesticity only +to fall into the clutches of Mother Andrews and--suburban +domesticity. You know Blake's idea, don't you? He'd be--perfectly +satisfied to live out here all the time with Mother and Dad and +Jamie." + +"Not that I'd mind bringing up Jamie," she went on, "or even living +here so much--alone. But it's _Mother_ Andrews who brings up Jamie, +and you see how, don't you? The way she brought up Blake! Of +course, Blake won't see and I can't--interfere. But I have to watch +it. And Mother Andrews! She was crazy about Edith, you know. And +she doesn't say a word, but every time she looks around the house I +can feel her thinking--how much--Edith would have enjoyed all this." + +She paused. Anita did not know what to say. + +"And I thought Blake wanted to be free!" Grace concluded with a +sardonic twist of her mouth. + +After another pause she muttered, "I wouldn't mind being free +myself--if you should want to know." She peered at Anita to see how +startled she might be. + +Anita was, in fact, a little surprised. "You don't mean a divorce, +do you?" + +Grace's eyes became huger than ever and took on the remote depths of +tragedy. "I had--thought of that," she said slowly. + +As Anita did not reply, she lowered her eyes, then refastened them to +Anita's face. "I have--grounds, too," she stated. The effect of her +words, the sudden lift of Anita's brows, was satisfactory. She +added, "Oh, nothing I can actually point to! But--I have my +suspicions. And I would have found out, too," she said with a +reminiscent giggle. "I had almost got it out of Jerry one +afternoon--you can get anything out of Jerry, you know--but Letty +happened to be staying here and she came in and guessed what I was up +to and jumped on me. She said I would resent Blake's cross-examining +a friend of mine about my doings and so I had no right to ask Jerry +about Blake's. I've never seen Letty so--_boiling_ mad!" + +"She was right, too," said Anita. + +"I suppose." Grace shrugged. "I didn't mean to do anything about +it. I just wanted to know. But I'm--practically sure anyhow." + +"Well, it would be very funny for you to rave on the subject of +marital infidelity," said Anita without further ado. + +Grace was not abashed. "So Letty said. But I don't mean to rave. +Only--one can get a divorce on that ground, can't one? It's +something to know." + +"And Blake has changed so," she continued more soberly. "Honestly, I +don't mind this--not much. No, I don't," she repeated to Anita's +slight glance of disbelief. "I get crushes too easily myself--not +to--understand--infidelity, if it's only physical. You know I always +did draw a distinction between physical and mental infidelity," she +reminded Anita. "I don't--like the idea, but I can see how--some +little chorus girl you don't give a _snap_ for can _get_ you +physically. It didn't last long. Only I gave Blake credit for--for +more fastidiousness. You remember the girl who rushed up to me +Saturday--while we were waiting for Blake? That's the one. She's +so--so coarse! And he's changed in other ways. He used to read a +lot, you know, and talk about--things and now----" + +"And he's getting fat," she sighed. + +Anita thought that the piano had stopped below, but as soon as she +half-rose she heard it again. The words that had been shaping +themselves in her mind at last forced themselves impatiently past her +tongue. "Oh, it's not really so bad," she said. "Aren't you rather +dramatizing all this?" + +There was a sudden movement of Grace's eyes; deliberate and +velutinous, they stared into Anita's--simple, as simple as opalescent +windows uncurtained to the world because they need no curtains to +hide their interiors, presenting surfaces full of light and an +embossed blankness behind which anything may be fancied and anything +lurk. "I suppose so," said Grace, and smiled. + +The eyes of the two girls met without passing each other, leaving +them no wiser in words or in the mind, wiser only in inarticulate +imagination. The moment fled and they could not recall just what it +was they had tried to understand but they were pleased nevertheless. +Some of the present constraint vanished and they talked for a while +almost as they had in the old days when, just before going to bed of +nights, they had undertaken to clarify to each other and to visualize +each other's universes. + +"Not that I don't admire your talent for self-dramatization," Anita +said. "It's by making oneself all-important and the things one wants +all-important, after all, that one gets them. That's where I miss +out. I never could make any idea seem important enough to bother +about much, or any person, not even myself. Whereas you exalted the +idea of yourself and Blake together and made everything and everyone +subsidiary to that idea and--you got what you wanted." + +"Not quite," said Grace. + +She added shrewdly, "You always did give me credit for too much +calculation, you know. A lot of things were just--by-products, just +happened. I had some good breaks. But you're right, in a way." + +She thought for a while, moving restlessly. "Oh, I suppose +I'll--settle down," she said, and shrugged. At the same time her +eyes began a new plea to Anita. + +"Sometimes," she said, "I think I might as well drop it all, be a +dependent woman and cling and live in the suburbs and all that. It's +so much easier. But when you've--not been dependent for a long time, +it's hard to change. And then there's Ma. I have to take care of +her." + +She went on slowly, with her insistent eyes enlarging themselves on +Anita's face. "I could have a baby. I'd even--thought of _that_! A +baby might--solve everything. I'd sit around and be supported and +keep house. In that way I'd get rid of Mother Andrews. And Ma would +have to--manage. Blake would get used to the idea. As a matter of +fact, I don't think he'd mind so much any more. He's made a good +deal of money, you know--and he thinks he may get a movie +contract--soon--which will mean more." + +She paused expectantly. Anita was about to dismiss the subject with +a prosaic, "Well, why don't you have a baby then?" but this sounded +too brusque even to herself. She said instead, "Blake might not +mind, but don't you think you might?" + +"Oh--I don't know," said Grace. "I used to be so ambitious. But +sometimes I think all I want--is to sink way down, to have an easy +life, a soft life, money, clothes, good times, not be so--taut all +the time with work and Blake and mother-in-law. I'd like to find +some way of--abandoning myself!" + +She said in a lower voice, while an expression faintly complacent, +faintly defiant hovered about her mouth, and her eyes acted as a +searchlight on Anita's face: "I've been--making a few experiments +along those lines, if you should--care to know. I seem to be--more +sensual--than I used to be." + +Anita didn't care to know and hurried from the verge of further +confidences. "Well, abandon is something one certainly can't plan +anyhow. The minute you plan it, it isn't abandon." + +There was another long silence. Grace sat there, her feet dangling, +her hands in her lap. And at length the words which Anita had felt +would be spoken some time that night emerged from her lips: + +"All the same, I wish--Edith hadn't died." + +They seemed to linger for an instant on the air. + +"It was all so much better then," Grace said. "She would have got a +divorce in time," she explained quickly. "She would have kept the +child, you see, and I--wouldn't be in for all this mess of +domesticity." + +"'Ah! the good old days when I was so unhappy,'" quoted Anita. She +rose and stretched. She was somewhat contrite to be so eager to go +and, turning to Grace, she added, "But I don't think you and Blake +will break up. I hope not. It would be such a pity." + +"No," said Grace, "I don't think so either." She shook her head. + +"I don't really believe I'll ever give Blake up," she admitted +quietly. + +And these, Anita thought, were the most sincere words that Grace had +uttered. Less than most people would she be able to concede that any +drama, in which she had fought and agonized and plotted to build up a +principal part, could ever be trivial. + +Something in her attitude, so still at the moment, summoned from the +past a wraith that rose and fringed and shielded like smoke the +familiar contours of her sweater dress; her clutching eyes; her long, +pliant lips held together with just a trace of hauteur. Did she +remember? Did she remember a girl with big eyes in a thin face, +twisting a handkerchief tight enough to tear it, twisting and tearing +with fingers like teeth, and another girl keeping quiet as a mouse +from sympathy that was greater without words? Was she thinking +perhaps that the misery of that moment had all been wasted? Or was +the misery of that moment some subtle sustenance to her? Did it have +its part in the veiling, aching glamour effused from old times, old +feelings, thus softening now and then the troubled insistence of her +eyes? + +"You know," said Grace, "I really--believe--I wouldn't mind having a +baby. It wouldn't interfere so much with my work. I needn't have a +job. I could--write. And then it would be--an experience. What do +you think?" + +The air of the suburban night filled the interim with the nauseous +singings of mosquitoes and the chitter of insects. Surely Jerry must +be through! She must get home to-night! And the pressure of Anita's +boredom and her distaste was so great that she had an instant when +she could feel her nerves squeezed out of her and swimming before her +eyes: infinitesimal iridescent worms swimming in liquid air before +her. + + + +THE END + + + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77749 *** |