Флетчер Флора - The Brass Bed

The front door was open, and the screen was unhooked. I opened the screen and walked down the hall to the entrance to the living room, which was on the left, and I could hear Jolly’s voice in the living room. She sounded angry. I turned through the entrance into the room, and there were some dark beams overhead that probably didn’t support anything, and facing me in a chair was Fran Tyler with her legs crossed and a martini in her hand and an absorbed expression on her face. She had a lot of leg, and it was all good. This was very fortunate, because her face was long and mulish with prominent teeth, and so the legs had quite a bit to make up for. They did a pretty good job of it though. On the strength of her legs she got along extremely well, and there were times when her face didn’t seem to have much importance one way or another.

She was looking at Jolly and Sid, and Sid was standing so that I could see his face over Jolly’s shoulder, but all I could see of Jolly was her back, which was very much worth the seeing, so far as that goes. She was wearing a white sheath dress without any shoulders, and her skin was brown from the sun, and her legs were just as good as Fran’s, if not better, and it was pretty obvious that she didn’t have much, if anything, under the dress. I couldn’t see her face, as I said, but I remembered from other times that it was a good face with eyes a little long and cheeks slightly hollow, and as a matter of fact it wasn’t good at all, it was perfect, it was the loveliest face in the world. That was one big difference between Jolly and Fran, among others. On legs they may have been in a dead heat, depending on your prejudices, but when it came to faces, Jolly was way out in front and no question about it.

This was more than you could say for Sid’s face, even if you were a woman and had a bias toward men’s faces as opposed to other women’s. At its best it was only so-so as faces go, and at this moment it was not at its best. It was red and glossy, as if he’d been working up a sweat in a steam bath, and I could see that he was angry and had been hurt by something Jolly had said to him, which is just another way of saying that he was sullen. Whatever it was Jolly had said, he was doing his best to take it like a gentleman, and he was practically certain to succeed in this because being a gentleman was very important to him, and whenever his Id and his Ego got to raising hell with each other, you could count on his Ego coming out on top every time.

Fran saw me and smiled and waved her martini glass at me.

“Sid says he’s a social drinker,” she explained, “and Jolly says social drinkers are pigs.”

Jolly had a black eye. When she turned around I could see it, and it was probably the most beautiful black eye I had ever seen up to that time or have seen since. From a deep blue-black, it shaded outward to a shining purple on her cheek bone.

“So they are,” Jolly said. “Social drinkers are pigs.”

“Why?” Sid said reasonably. “Tell me why in God’s name social drinkers are pigs.”

“Yes,” I said. “I’d like to know myself. Why are social drinkers pigs?”

“They are,” Jolly said. “They’re absolute pigs.”

“You just keep repeating it,” Sid said. “You don’t say why.”

“It should be perfectly apparent why.”

“Well, it’s not apparent. It’s not apparent at all.”

Jolly walked over to me suddenly and kissed me, which meant nothing much in itself, because she frequently kissed all kinds of people.

“Hello, darling,” she said. “I was so upset by this pig that I almost forgot.”

“I am not a pig,” Sid said.

“Of course you’re a pig. You just said so.”

“I didn’t. I said I’m a social drinker, that’s all I said.”

“It’s the same thing. A social drinker is a pig.” She appealed to me. “Darling, don’t you think a social drinker is a pig?”

“Well,” I said, “I came in late and may have missed something. Why don’t you just explain it to us?”

“Certainly. I’ll be happy to explain it. A social drinker is someone who drinks your liquor when he doesn’t even like it or really want it, and he thinks he’s doing you a big favor by being compatible or something.” She glared at Sid, and her black eye gave her a very ferocious look. “Fran likes liquor. Felix does too. And here you are with your damn sense of sociability drinking it up from someone who would enjoy it. Who the hell do you think you are to be taking the liquor right out of Felix and Fran’s mouths? The truth is, you’re not a who at all. You’re a what, that’s what. You’re a pig.”

It was a devastating display of logic, and I was very relieved because now I could be on Jolly’s side logically as well as emotionally. Sid looked at her with his mouth open, and Fran looked at her with a kind of awe, and after a moment Sid lifted the martini he was holding and poured it into his open mouth.

“By God, that was wonderful!” Fran said. “Besides all that other nice stuff, this girl has brains!”

“Yes,” I said. “Sometimes it frightens you a little.”

“Just the same,” Sid said, “I am not a pig.”

“Oh, please don’t be so stubborn,” Jolly said angrily. “It has been explained to you quite clearly that you are a pig, and you just keep saying that you’re not.”

“All right, all right,” he said. “I’m sorry I drank the God-damn martini.”

“You needn’t swear,” she said. “It isn’t necessary to swear.”

“You swore. You said I have a damn sense of sociability, and you asked me who the hell I think I am.”

“That’s different. I had sufficient provocation. I only swear when there is sufficient provocation.”

“Don’t you think I have any provocation, for God’s sake?”

“Provocation! You? You behave like a pig and persist in denying it, and for some strange reason you seem to think this gives you the right to swear at other people. I simply can’t understand how your mind works, Sid. You must be paranoid or something.”

“Well, I give up. I absolutely give up.”

“That’s a sensible attitude. Now you are being reasonable. Why don’t you just pour yourself another martini and behave decently?”

“No, thanks,” he said bitterly. “I have no wish to be a bigger pig than I’ve already been.”

“Oh, I have no objection to your being a pig. I just don’t want you to deny it. It’s for your own good, you know. Everyone should face reality. That’s what all the psychologists say, and it’s true. If you persist in denying things, you wind up with a lot of repressions and things, and it’s very bad for you.”

“How about me?” I said. “Do I get a drink?”

“Darling, I’m so sorry.” Jolly was contrite. “Can you ever forgive me?”

“If you will give me the drink, I’ll see about it,” I said.

“Of course. Is there some left in the shaker, Fran?”

“Yes,” Fran said, “there’s quite a lot left.”

She uncrossed her legs and stood up and began to pour a martini for me, and I went over to get it. Jolly turned on Sid again.

“I hope you’re satisfied,” she said. “You’ve positively made me forget all my manners.”

Sid opened his mouth to say something, but then he must have considered the possible consequences, and he closed his mouth again and came over to get another martini for himself. I had the feeling that he wasn’t getting this one just to be sociable.

“The trouble is,” Fran said, “Sid’s in love with Jolly. He subconsciously enjoys having her give him hell about things. It’s a pleasure to him, I mean. I wonder if it’s a sexual pleasure. I’ve been wondering about that, and I’d like to know. Is it a sexual pleasure, Sid?”