Evan Connell - Mr. Bridge

“Your mother has always lived a decent life. I thank the Lord that’s not a thing to be ashamed of. I don’t know what sort of a life you are living.”

“I don’t know either. I need to find out.”

“By sleeping with men?”

She had been leaning toward him, her eyes gilded with anger. Now she drew back. “You don’t — oh good God! Are you serious? Do you actually think little Bobby made love to me?”

“What else am I to think?”

“There are times when you sound like Mother.”

“If this person was not — as you call it—‘making love,’ what was he doing in your apartment overnight? Why was he there? That’s what I want to know.”

“He had a tiff with his lover. He came over about twelve and asked if he could stay with me.”

“Are you telling me this man is homosexual?”

“Well, if he isn’t,” Ruth said, “I never hope to see one.”

He shook his head. “I do not understand these things. I am not ignorant of them, but I have never been able to understand them. Where did you meet this person?”

“At times you are positively incredible.”

“I insist on knowing.”

“This ‘person’ works in the office. He’s been very sweet to me. He’s one of the sweetest boys I’ve ever known. When I first got here I don’t know what would have become of me if it hadn’t been for Bobby.”

“Your mother and I did our best. Apparently our best was not good enough.”

“Oh, stop the crap. You’re driving me wild.”

“As I am sure you know, I can compel you to return to Kansas City.”

“And both of us know how much good that would do. Don’t we?”

He continued as though she had not spoken: “I shall let you remain here on one condition. You are going to promise me there will be no more of this sort of thing.”

“No more of what? Letting Bobby stay at my place?”

“Exactly.”

“I won’t turn him away. Bobby saved my life.”

“Nonsense. You may very well have felt alone when you first arrived and this friend of yours behaved considerately. I appreciate that. However, you are not obligated to let him, or anyone else, sleep in your apartment, and I will not stand for it. Do you hear me?”

“I’m staying in New York.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Let’s change the subject.”

“Very well. But let me remind you, this matter is not settled.”

“Oh God. Oh God,” said Ruth.

“Suppose you tell me about this drama class. Has your application been approved?”

“I thought I mentioned last time I wrote.” She paused to light another cigarette. “I audited some classes and they were just unbelievably dreary.” She brushed her hair away from her eyes. “Steve insists I have a natural talent for free verse. It’s very challenging.”

“Oh? Who is ‘Steve’?”

“Steve Cook. I wrote you about him. He’s ad manager for Houyhnhnm. He’s marvelous. Perfectly marvelous. I really felt terribly presumptuous showing him my things. He’s met Auden and all those people and knows something about simply everything on earth. But anyway he said they showed unique promise and originality, and he’s taking them to the poetry editor. I really am terribly excited. Appearing in Houyhnhnm would be absolutely tremendous — you have no idea!”

“Well, fine, fine. I hope something comes of it. Now, Ruth, I have no intention of belaboring this subject, but one thing must be clearly understood. You are not to permit this man to stay in your apartment overnight again.”

“If one of your friends needed help would you turn him away?”

“My friends happen to be men and women I have known and respected for many years. They are not odds and ends of humanity. They are not homosexuals, thieves, gangsters, or any of the rest of it. They are fine people whose friendship your mother and I value greatly. They are people we enjoy having in our home. They are people we are not ashamed to introduce to anyone.”

“I am not going back with you,” she said almost musically. “I am not. I am just not.”

“Suppose we have dinner,” he said and snapped his fingers at the waiter. He was not satisfied with the conversation. The situation had not been resolved. He was puzzled as well as exasperated because Ruth always had seemed more pliable than Carolyn, less temperamental and obstinate, certainly much less quarrelsome, yet now she was behaving in a way that Carolyn would never dare. He thought of Douglas — stubbornness in him like the grain in wood — and knew that these characteristics of his children were his own. None of this came from their mother. Her qualities were of another sort, and she was predictable. He noticed Ruth looking at him with amusement, but he saw no reason to smile.

During dinner she suddenly remarked: “Guess who I ran into? Harvey Glatz.”

Mr. Bridge lowered his knife and fork. “The devil you did! What was he doing here?”

“He lives here now.”

“He does, does he? I didn’t know that. What sort of business is he in?”

“He’s a furrier.”

“Is he! Well, let’s hope you haven’t taken to buying furs,” he laughed. Then he continued: “I wasn’t aware you knew young Glatz. If I did, I’d forgotten. He was some years older than you.”

“I didn’t know him. I was at the ballet last Tuesday with Steve when he came up to us at intermission and told me his name and said he was from Kansas City.”

“So! How is he doing?”

“Brooks Brothers suit. Shoes by Florsheim. Pergolesi tie. He’s lost most of his hair. How old is he?”

“I’d have to think. I suppose Harvey must be thirty by now, or, if not, he’s close to it. He’s a nice young man. He’s all right. His father was a nice man, too. Every member of that family is decent.” He paused a few moments with a thoughtful expression. “Well, that was quite a coincidence. Glatz Jewelry is still at the same location on the street floor of my building. How many years they’ve done business there I have no idea. They occupy a larger floor space than any other company in that building. Great God, I couldn’t begin to estimate how much money that firm makes. There were four of those men originally. They were Lithuanian Jews. One of them died several years ago and another one, I understand, is in Germany. I expect his people must be quite worried. He went over there to try to get some relative out, and I don’t believe they’ve heard from him. Lord knows what could happen, the way things are these days. Then there was Harvey’s father, Milton, who was the one I knew best. He was a fine, upstanding man. I was sorry when he passed away. The fourth one of those brothers is the man who runs the business now. I see him occasionally. He has a daughter.”

“Harvey thinks quite a lot of you.”

“Oh?” Mr. Bridge said, and reached for his wine glass. “Well, I’m glad to hear that. I always liked young Harvey.”

“He told me something about you.”

“He did? What was that?”

“He told me you once did some legal work for him.”

“Yes, that’s so. I did. Quite a while ago.”

“Did you send him a bill?”

“Why do you ask?”

“He told me that when he didn’t get a bill from you he called the office, and Julia said ‘Forget it.’ ”

“I told her not to send him a bill.”

“You never charged him?”

“No, I didn’t. He was a nice young fellow who was in the midst of some difficult times. I believe he was having personal problems and at the same time was attempting to set up a little business in Kansas City and needed every penny he could lay his hands on. He sent us quite a nice basket of cheese and candied fruit that Christmas. You may remember it.”