58. Good Night
Carolyn was dating a clumsy, bumptious boy with crew-cut hair and an idiotic laugh whose name was Jay Duchesne, and about whom Mrs. Bridge had her doubts. Duchesne chewed gum with awful assurance and reputedly drove too fast, but because she wanted Carolyn to learn to judge people she said nothing, always greeting Duchesne with a neutral smile and saying, “Good evening, Jay. Won’t you have a chair? Carolyn will be down in a few minutes/
“Why not?” Duchesne would answer, and after shaking his own hand in congratulation he would sit and twirl his hat on his index finger and chew gum with a loud snapping noise.
Until Carolyn got in at night Mrs. Bridge would lie awake or would sit up reading. Carolyn knew this and consequently talked to Duchesne in very low tones at the front door; Mrs. Bridge could hear them murmuring because their voices carried much farther in the still night air than they realized. One evening, after they had been saying good night at the door for about an hour, she heard the next-door neighbor’s fox terrier which was often left out overnight begin to growl, and she concluded that Duchesne must be molesting Carolyn. Throwing back the covers she hurriedly pulled on her robe and went to the banister, prepared to call out, but at that moment a cat hissed; with a sigh of relief Mrs. Bridge prepared to go back to bed. Then, however, she heard Duchesne ask Carolyn for a kiss.
“You’re frequently mad,” Carolyn responded.
“Nobodyll find out/’ Duchesne answered.
“You’re an ogre/’ said Carolyn.
Duchesne didn’t think that was a good reason.
“Then, because/’ said Carolyn.
“Why, because?” inquired Duchesne.
“Because, that’s why.”
“Because why?”
After this had gone on for several minutes Carolyn said her mother wouldn’t approve. Duchesne apparently was thinking this over because his chewing gum snapped inces-santly; then he muttered something Mrs. Bridge could not hear.
“But of course not!” Carolyn sounded shocked. “Are you mad?”
“Aw, why not?” Duchesne bleated. “Don’t be a duchess.”
In a very superior tone, then, Carolyn said distinctly, “Because, that’s all. We won’t discuss it any further. And besides, don’t be excruciating/
Duchesne, sounding uncommonly like a musical saw, was heard to say, “Awwwww, awwwww, jeez!”
“I feel terribly sorry for you,” Carolyn said with unnatural compassion. ‘Td like to, you know. Really, really 1 would, don’t you know? So terribly, terribly much, you mad child. Because you’re good/* she said earnestly, “Good!” And Mrs. Bridge, puzzled, tried to recall that particular Inflection because it did sound familiar. She wondered If Carolyn was running her fingers through Duchesne’s hair, or, considering how short It was, over the top. He was working on the chewing gum again. Mrs. Bridge sensed that Carolyn had him on the defensive.
“I am fond of you, Jay. Dreadfully so. I ache, actually. But but “
“Listen, Cork/’ growled Duchesne, man of action, and his big feet scraped on the doorsill. “You want to be a virgin forever?”
“Silly!” said Carolyn.
Mrs. Bridge, clutching the banister In horror, was gathering strength to speak out when the door bumped shut and Carolyn sighed, clearly alone. A moment later the engine roared and the tires squealed out of the driveway. Carolyn went Into the kitchen. Mrs. Bridge, folding her robe more tightly, stood In the upper hall trying to regain her composure. If anyone had asked her such a question she was positive she would have slapped the boy with all her strength, but a moment afterward she thought of the night some twenty years ago when she had barely resisted the pleas of a boy whose very name she had long since forgotten. It was the moonlight that had weakened her, the moonlight and her own desire.
“Carolyn?” she called very softly through the silent house.
The refrigerator door closed. Carolyn walked into the downstairs hall and gazed upward.
“Are you all right, dear?”
“Natch/’
“Did you have a good time?**
“So-so.”
“That’s nice,” Mrs. Bridge said absently, drew the robe more tightly around herself, and started back to bed.
“Mother?”
“Yes, dear?”
“We’re all out of peaunt butter.”
“Oh, thank God!” whispered Mrs. Bridge. Aloud, softly so as not to waken her husband, she called, “I’ll tell Harriet to order some in the morning. Don’t stay up too late/’
59. Suitor
When Harriet, who was at times inclined to insubordination, brought in the breakfast tray Mrs. Bridge exclaimed, “For Heaven’s sake! What on earth happened to you?”
“Couperin,” said Harriet, grinning.
“Oh, goodness! Is he the one with the motorcycle?’
“No, ma’am,” said Harriet vehemently. “I took my last ride on a motorcycle, believe me. Approximately eight or ten weeks back.” She began to feel tenderly about her jaw, on which there was a large purple bruise.
“I certainly hope this was an accident,” said Mrs. Bridge.
“It came about,” Harriet replied with regal poise, “because only last evening it so happened that I and that Couperin had a grave dispute. Couperin, he got the worst.”
The evidence seemed to indicate Couperin had spoken the final word, but Mrs. Bridge decided not to get involved.
“What does he do?” she inquired, to change the subject.
“He is associated with the collection bureau of this city.”
“Tax collectors, or “
“Bureau of rubbish and trash. Then, too, he plumbs a bit. When he is Inclined.”
Mrs. Bridge, beginning to sense this would be one of Harriet’s Insolent days, sipped at the orange juice and then started to butter a slice of toast.
“Last evening,” Harriet continued, wetting a finger and touching up her eyebrows, “I received his proposition/’
This obviously demanded some sort of acknowledgment, even though Couperin or one of the other suitors proposed every Thursday night. “What jarred Mrs. Bridge as much as anything was Harriet’s referring to It as a proposition Instead of a proposal, and every Friday when the subject was mentioned she was about to point out the difference.
“I hope you didn’t accept/ she said, pouring some cream in the coffee.
“Frankly, I was tempted/* said Harriet. “However I declined, as you say. The reason being he chooses to get disgustingly drunk following on the heels of his pay check. I disapprove of that, don’t you?”
“I most certainly do/* agreed Mrs. Bridge, busying herself at the table somewhat more than necessary. Then, as Harriet appeared to be reflecting on the previous evening, she said, “Isn’t that a new hair-do?”