“And never been kissed …?”
She laughed, not at the cliché but her answer.
“Raped, you mean.”
She was facing him and saw that he was shocked and then amused and then something else.
“Oh, for God’s sake, don’t look at me that way, I’m not a bad girl.” He blushed and she climbed back through the door and took his hand. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”
She led him down a long corridor intermittently lined with mirrors, and showed him room after room. He admired the soft, pastel rugs and the smooth blend of modernistic with period furniture.
“This is my room,” she said, holding the door open for him, “you mustn’t mind the mess, it isn’t all mine, most of the girls have been fixing in here.”
There was nothing for him to mind, the room was in perfect order. The bed, the tables, the lamp were all white but the walls and the rug were a dark, cold green.
“Well, Jake … what do you think, suit me?”
“I never saw anything like it, my sister wouldn’t believe me if I told her … but I don’t like the walls, if you’ll pardon me for saying so … that green … they look so cold.”
She looked puzzled and not knowing quite why, she reached out her hand and touched the wall beside her dressing-table.
“You’re right, the walls I mean, they are cold.” She looked up at him and for a moment her face was molded in such an expression he was not quite sure whether she was going to laugh or cry.
“I didn’t mean it that way. Hell, I don’t rightly know what I mean!”
“Don’t you, or are we just being euphemistic?” It drew a blank so she sat down on the side of her white bed.
“Here,” she said, “sit down and have a cigarette, what ever happened to your drink?”
He sat down beside her. “I left it out in the bar. It sure seems quiet back here after all that racket in front.”
“How long have you been in the navy?”
“Eight months.”
“Like it?”
“It isn’t much concern whether you like it or not.… I’ve seen a lot of places that I wouldn’t otherwise.”
“Why did you enlist then?”
“Oh, I was going to be drafted and the navy seemed more to my likin’.”
“Is it?”
“Well, I tell you, I don’t take to this kind of life, I don’t like other men bossin’ me around. Would you?”
She didn’t answer but put a cigarette in her mouth instead. He held the match for her and she let her hand brush against his. His hand was trembling and the light was not very steady. She inhaled and said, “You want to kiss me, don’t you?”
She watched him intently and saw the slow, red spread over his face.
“Why don’t you?”
“You’re not that kind of girl. I’d be scared to kiss a girl like you, ’sides, you’re only making fun out of me.”
She laughed and blew the smoke in a cloud toward the ceiling. “Stop it, you sound like something out of a gaslight melodrama. What is ‘that kind of girl,’ anyway? Just an idea. Whether you kiss me or not isn’t of the slightest importance. I could explain, but why bother? You’d probably end up thinking I’m a nymphomaniac.”
“I don’t even know what that is.”
“Hell, that’s what I mean. You’re a man, a real man and I’m so sick of these weak, effeminate boys like Les. I just wanted to know what it would be like, that’s all.”
He bent over her. “You’re a funny kid,” he said, and she was in his arms. He kissed her and his hand slid down along her shoulder and pressed against her breast.
She twisted and gave him a violent shove and he went sprawling across the cold, green rug.
She got up and stood over him and they stared at each other. “You dirt,” she said. Then she slapped his bewildered face.
She opened the door, paused, and straightened her dress and went back to the party. He sat on the floor for a moment, then he got up and found his way to the foyer and then remembered that he had left his cap in the white room, but he didn’t care, all he wanted was to get out of here.
The hostess looked inside the drawing-room and motioned for Mildred to come out.
“For God’s sake, Mildred, get these people out of here; those sailors, what do they think this is … the USO?”
“What’s the matter, was that guy bothering you?”
“No, no, he’s just a small town moron who’s never seen anything like this before and it’s gone to his head in a funny kind of way. It’s just one awful bore and I have a headache. Will you get them out for me please … everybody?”
She nodded and the hostess turned back down the corridor and went into her mother’s room. She lay down on the velvet chaise lounge and stared at the Picasso abstract. She picked up a tiny lace pillow and pushed it against her face as hard as she could. She was going to sleep here tonight, here where the walls were pale rose and warm.
A MINK OF ONE’S OWN
(1944)
Mrs. Munson finished twisting a linen rose in her auburn hair and stepped back from her mirror to judge the effect. Then she ran her hands down her hips … the dress was just too tight and that’s all there was to it. “Alteration won’t save it again,” she thought angrily. With one last disparaging glance at her reflection she turned and went into the livingroom.
The windows were open and the room was filled with loud, unearthly shrieks. Mrs. Munson lived on the third floor, and across the street was a public school playground. In the late afternoon the noise was almost unbearable. God, if she’d only known about this before she signed the lease! With a little grunt she closed both windows and as far as she was concerned they could stay that way for the next two years.
But Mrs. Munson was far too excited to be really annoyed. Vini Rondo was coming to see her, imagine, Vini Rondo … and this very afternoon! When she thought about it she felt fluttering wings in her stomach. It had been almost five years, and Vini had been in Europe all this time. Whenever Mrs. Munson found herself in a group discussing the war she invariably announced, “Well, you know I have a very dear friend in Paris this very minute, Vini Rondo, she was right there when the Germans marched in! I have positive nightmares when I think what she must be going through!” Mrs. Munson said it as if it were she whose fate lay in the balance.
If there was anyone in the party who hadn’t heard the story before she would hasten to explain about her friend. “You see,” she would begin, “Vini was just the most talented girl, interested in art and all that sort of thing. Well, she had quite a bit of money, so she went to Europe at least once a year. Finally, when her father died she packed up her things and went for good. My, but she had a fling, and then she married some Count or Baron or something. Maybe you’ve heard of her … Vini Rondo … Cholly Knickerbocker used to mention her all the time.” And it went on and on, like some historical lecture.
“Vini, back in America,” she thought, never ceasing to revel in the wonder of it. She puffed up the small green pillows on the couch and sat down. With piercing eyes she examined her room. Funny you never really see your surroundings until a visitor is expected. Well, Mrs. Munson sighed contentedly, that new girl had, for a rarity, restored pre-war standards.
The door-bell rang abruptly. It buzzed twice before Mrs. Munson could move, she was that excited. Finally she composed herself and went to answer.
At first Mrs. Munson didn’t recognize her. The woman who confronted her had no chic up-swept coiffure … indeed her hair hung rather limply and had an uncombed look. A print dress in January? Mrs. Munson tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice when she said, “Vini, darling, I should have known you anywhere.”
The woman still stood in the threshold. Under her arm she carried a large pink box and her gray eyes looked out at Mrs. Munson curiously.