J.W. went there a couple of times, and occasionally they’d take some delegate from the peace conference who’d be mightily impressed by their knowledge of the inner life of Paris. J.W. was enchanted by the old French songs, but he said the place made him feel itchy and that he thought there were fleas there. Eveline liked to watch him when he was listening to a song with his eyes half closed and his head thrown back. She felt that Robbins didn’t appreciate the rich potentialities of his nature and always shut him up when he started to say something sarcastic about the big cheese, as he called him. She thought it was disagreeable of Eleanor to laugh at things like that, especially when J.W. seemed so devoted to her.
When Jerry Burnham came back from Armenia and found that Eveline was going around with J. Ward Moorehouse all the time he was terribly upset. He took her out to lunch at the Medicis Grill on the left bank and talked and talked about it.
“Why, Eveline, I thought of you as a person who wouldn’t be taken in by a big bluff like that. The guys nothing but a goddam megaphone…. Honestly, Eveline, it’s not that I expect you to fall for me, I know very well you don’t give a damn about me and why should you?… But Christ, a damn publicity agent.”
“Now, Jerry,” said Eveline with her mouth full of hors dœuvres, “you know very well I’m fond of you… It’s just too tiresome of you to talk like that.”
“You don’t like me the way I’d like you to… but to hell with that… Have wine or beer?”
“You pick out a nice Burgundy, Jerry, to warm us up a little…. But you wrote an article about J.W. yourself… I saw it reprinted in that column in the Herald.”
“Go ahead, rub it in… Christ, I swear, Eveline, I’m going to get out of this lousy trade and… that was all plain oldfashioned bushwa and I thought you’d have had the sense to see it. Gee, this is good sole.”
“Delicious… but Jerry, you’re the one ought to have more sense.”
“I dunno I thought you were different from other upperclass women, made your own living and all that.”
“Let’s not wrangle, Jerry, let’s have some fun, here we are in Paris and the war’s over and it’s a fine wintry day and everybody’s here….”
“War over, my eye,” said Jerry rudely. Eveline thought he was just too tiresome, and looked out the window at the ruddy winter sunlight and the old Medici fountain and the delicate violet lacework of the bare trees behind the high iron fence of the Luxemburg Garden. Then she looked at Jerry’s red intense face with the turnedup nose and the crisp boyishly curly hair that was beginning to turn a little grey; she leaned over and gave the back of his hand a couple of little pats.
“I understand, Jerry, you’ve seen things that I haven’t imagined… I guess it’s the corrupting influence of the Red Cross.”
He smiled and poured her out some more wine and said with a sigh:
“You’re the most damnably attractive woman I ever met, Eveline… but like all women what you worship is power, when money’s the main thing it’s money, when it’s fame it’s fame, when it’s art, you’re a goddamned artlover… I guess I’m the same, only I kid myself more.”
Eveline pressed her lips together and didn’t say anything. She suddenly felt cold and frightened and lonely and couldn’t think of anything to say. Jerry gulped down a glass of wine and started talking about throwing up his job and going to Spain to write a book. He said he didn’t pretend to have any selfrespect, but that being a newspaper correspondent was too damn much nowadays. Eveline said she never wanted to go back to America, she felt life would be just too tiresome there after the war.
When they’d had their coffee they walked through the gardens. Near the senate chamber some old gentlemen were playing croquet in the last purplish patch of afternoon sunlight. “Oh, I think the French are wonderful,” said Eveline. “Second childhood,” growled Jerry. They rambled aimlessly round the streets, reading palegreen yellow and pink theatre notices on kiosks, looking into windows of antique-shops. “We ought both to be at our offices,” said Jerry. “I’m not going back,” said Eveline, “I’ll call up and say I have a cold and have gone home to bed… I think I’ll do that anyway.” “Don’t do that, let’s play hookey and have a swell time.” They went to the café opposite St. Germain-des-Prés. When Eveline came back from phoning, Jerry had bought her a bunch of violets and ordered cognac and seltzer. “Eveline, let’s celebrate,” he said, “I think I’ll cable the sonsobitches and tell ’em I’ve resigned.” “Do you think you ought to do that, Jerry? After all it’s a wonderful opportunity to see the peace conference and everything.”
After a few minutes she left him and walked home. She wouldn’t let him come with her. As she passed the window where they’d been sitting she looked in; he was ordering another drink.
On the rue de Bussy the market was very jolly under the gaslights. It all smelt of fresh greens, and butter and cheese. She bought some rolls for breakfast and a few little cakes in case somebody came in to tea. It was cosy in her little pink and white salon with the fire of brickettes going in the grate. Eveline wrapped herself up in a steamerrug and lay down on the couch.
She was asleep when her bell jingled. It was Eleanor and J.W. come to inquire how she was. J.W. was free tonight and wanted them to come to the opera with him to see Castor and Pollux. Eveline said she was feeling terrible but she thought she’d go just the same. She put on some tea for them and ran into her bedroom to dress. She felt so happy she couldn’t help humming as she sat at her dressingtable looking at herself in the glass. Her skin looked very white and her face had a quiet mysterious look she liked. She carefully put on very little lipstick and drew her hair back to a knot behind; her hair worried her, it wasn’t curly and didn’t have any particular color: for a moment she thought she wouldn’t go. Then Eleanor came in with a cup of tea in her hand telling her to hurry because they had to go down and wait while she dressed herself and that the opera started early. Eveline didn’t have any real evening wrap so she had to wear an old rabbitfur coat over her eveningdress. At Eleanor’s they found Robbins waiting; he wore a tuxedo that looked a little the worse for wear. J.W. was in the uniform of a Red Cross major. Eveline thought he must have been exercising, because his jowl didn’t curve out from the tight high collar as much as it had formerly.
They ate in a hurry at Poccardi’s and drank a lot of badly made Martinis. Robbins and J.W. were in fine feather, and kept them laughing all the time. Eveline understood now why they worked together so well. At the opera, where they arrived late, it was wonderful, glittering with chandeliers and uniforms. Miss Williams, J.W.’s secretary, was already in the box. Eveline thought how nice he must be to work for, and for a moment bitterly envied Miss Williams, even to her peroxide hair and her brisk chilly manner of talking. Miss Williams leaned back and said they’d missed it, that President and Mrs. Wilson had just come in and had been received with a great ovation, and Marshal Foch was there and she thought President Poincaré.
Between the acts they worked their way as best they could into the crowded lobby. Eveline found herself walking up and down with Robbins, every now and then she’d catch sight of Eleanor with J.W. and feel a little envious.
“They put on a better show out here than they do on the stage,” said Robbins.
“Don’t you like the production…. I think it’s a magnificent production.”