"I've got good news for you, child," he said. "I've been working out a little scheme, just a bit of reorganization, and I've figured where I'll consolidate a few things together into a Women's Welfare Department. You know, the schools, the home economics, the care of babies, the juvenile delinquents and all the rest of it — all to be under one head. And I see no better woman for the job than my little girl."
"Do you mean me?" she asked, without turning.
"No one else but. Just as soon as Gail comes back, I'll get his okay."
She turned and looked at him, her arms crossed, her hands holding her elbows. She said:
"Thank you, Alvah. But I don't want it."
"What do you mean, you don't want it?"
"I mean that I don't want it."
"For heaven's sake, do you realize what an advance that would be?"
"Toward what?"
"Your career."
"I never said I was planning a career."
"But you don't want to be running a dinky back-page column forever!"
"Not forever. Until I get bored with it."
"But think of what you could do in the real game! Think of what Gail could do for you once you come to his attention!"
"I have no desire to come to his attention."
"But, Dominique, we need you. The women will be for you solid after tonight."
"I don't think so."
"Why, I've ordered two columns held for a yarn on the meeting and your speech."
She reached for the telephone and handed the receiver to him. She said:
"You'd better tell them to kill it."
"Why?"
She searched through a litter of papers on a desk, found some typewritten sheets and handed them to him. "Here's the speech I made tonight," she said.
He glanced through it. He said nothing, but clasped his forehead once. Then he seized the telephone and gave orders to run as brief an account of the meeting as possible, and not to mention the speaker by name.
"All right," said Dominique, when he dropped the receiver. "Am I fired?"
He shook his head dolefully. "Do you want to be?"
"Not necessarily."
"I'll squash the business," he muttered. "I'll keep it from Gail."
"If you wish. I don't really care one way or the other."
"Listen, Dominique — oh I know, I'm not to ask any questions — only why on earth are you always doing things like that?"
"For no reason on earth."
"Look, you know, I've heard about that swank dinner where you made certain remarks on this same subject. And then you go and say things like these at a radical meeting."
"They're true, though, both sides of it, aren't they?"
"Oh, sure, but couldn't you have reversed the occasions when you chose to express them?"
"There wouldn't have been any point in that."
"Was there any in what you've done?"
"No. None at all. But it amused me."
"I can't figure you out, Dominique. You've done it before. You go along so beautifully, you do brilliant work and just when you're about to make a real step forward — you spoil it by pulling something like this. Why?"
"Perhaps that is precisely why."
"Will you tell me — as a friend, because I like you and I'm interested in you — what are you really after?"
"I should think that's obvious. I'm after nothing at all."
He spread his hands open, shrugging helplessly.
She smiled gaily.
"What is there to look so mournful about? I like you, too, Alvah, and I'm interested in you. I even like to talk to you, which is better. Now sit still and relax and I'll get you a drink. You need a drink, Alvah."
She brought him a frosted glass with ice cubes ringing in the silence. "You're just a nice child, Dominique," he said.
"Of course. That's what I am."
She sat down on the edge of a table, her hands flat behind her, leaning back on two straight arms, swinging her legs slowly. She said:
"You know, Alvah, it would be terrible if I had a job I really wanted."
"Well, of all things! Well, of all fool things to say! What do you mean?"
"Just that. That it would be terrible to have a job I enjoyed and did not want to lose."
"Why?"
"Because I would have to depend on you — you're a wonderful person, Alvah, but not exactly inspiring and I don't think it would be beautiful to cringe before a whip in your hand — oh, don't protest, it would be such a polite little whip, and that's what would make it uglier. I would have to depend on our boss Gail — he's a great man, I'm sure, only I'd just as soon never set eyes on him."
"Whatever gives you such a crazy attitude? When you know that Gail and I would do anything for you, and I personally ... "
"It's not only that, Alvah. It's not you alone. If I found a job, a project, an idea or a person I wanted — I'd have to depend on the whole world. Everything has strings leading to everything else. We're all so tied together. We're all in a net, the net is waiting, and we're pushed into it by one single desire. You want a thing and it's precious to you. Do you know who is standing ready to tear it out of your hands? You can't know, it may be so involved and so far away, but someone is ready, and you're afraid of them all. And you cringe and you crawl and you beg and you accept them — just so they'll let you keep it. And look at whom you come to accept."
"If I'm correct in gathering that you're criticizing mankind in general ... "
"You know, it's such a peculiar thing — our idea of mankind in general. We all have a sort of vague, glowing picture when we say that, something solemn, big and important. But actually all we know of it is the people we meet in our lifetime. Look at them. Do you know any you'd feel big and solemn about? There's nothing but housewives haggling at pushcarts, drooling brats who write dirty words on the sidewalks, and drunken debutantes. Or their spiritual equivalent. As a matter of fact, one can feel some respect for people when they suffer. They have a certain dignity. But have you ever looked at them when they're enjoying themselves? That's when you see the truth. Look at those who spend the money they've slaved for — at amusement parks and side shows. Look at those who're rich and have the whole world open to them. Observe what they pick out for enjoyment. Watch them in the smarter speak-easies. That's your mankind in general. I don't want to touch it."
"But hell! That's not the way to look at it. That's not the whole picture. There's some good in the worst of us. There's always a redeeming feature."
"So much the worse. Is it an inspiring sight to see a man commit a heroic gesture, and then learn that he goes to vaudeville shows for relaxation? Or see a man who's painted a magnificent canvas — and learn that he spends his time sleeping with every slut he meets?"
"What do you want? Perfection?"
" — or nothing. So, you see, I take the nothing."
"That doesn't make sense."
"I take the only desire one can really permit oneself. Freedom, Alvah, freedom."
"You call that freedom?"
"To ask nothing. To expect nothing. To depend on nothing."
"What if you found something you wanted?"
"I won't find it. I won't choose to see it. It would be part of that lovely world of yours. I'd have to share it with all the rest of you — and I wouldn't. You know, I never open again any great book I've read and loved. It hurts me to think of the other eyes that have read it and of what they were. Things like that can't be shared. Not with people like that."
"Dominique, it's abnormal to feel so strongly about anything."
"That's the only way I can feel. Or not at all."
"Dominique, my dear," he said, with earnest, sincere concern, "I wish I'd been your father. What kind of a tragedy did you have in your childhood?"