Джеймс Кейн - Root of His Evil [= Shameless]

Then the guests began to arrive and they were being introduced to me very rapidly and I must say Mrs. Hunt was very graceful and considerate about it and made it seem that everything was in my honor and I almost felt I was welcome. So in a few minutes I was faced with what worried me most of all, which was what to talk about. Once more I had drilled it into myself: “Don’t talk about the weather.” But what else did I know to talk about? This had given me several bad nights, for I try to be honest with myself, and after a great deal of restless tossing around I had come to the realization that I didn’t know anything to talk about. I had never read any books or heard any music or seen any pictures or done any traveling. Of what is called culture I had none whatever. My world had been limited to my work, my savings and the few people I had come in contact with, and that was all I ever talked about with other girls of my kind from morning until night. But certainly I couldn’t begin complaining about the slowness of Karb’s counterman to these people, or criticize the way the cooks neglected to break the soft-boiled eggs, so the waitress had to do it. For Grant’s sake I had to give some kind of account of myself, and I stood there shaking hands, badly frightened as to what it was going to be, when suddenly an idea hit me.

I began telling them about the strike. Luck was with me, for all of them became excited and wanted to hear about it, and so the ice was broken in two ways. I had found something that interested them and that I knew enough about not to make a fool of myself in discussing it, and also it relieved them of any embarrassment they may have felt about mentioning my occupation, and I breathed much easier. When another houseman came with a tray of cocktails I took one and sipped it a little so I could laugh and seem to be having a good time, but I was careful of the amount I drank, for I didn’t want any repetition of what had happened before. One thing helped me a great deal. In my work as a waitress I had trained myself to remember people’s names and use them in speaking to them, as that is the way to get regular customers. So it was no trouble for me to keep all the names straight, even after fifty or sixty people had arrived, and this greatly astonished Mrs. Hunt. I thought it advisable not to tell her how I became so name-conscious, but I could see that she was favorably impressed and also was breathing much easier.

This went on for about an hour and I managed fairly well, for when the strike ran thin one of them would usually say something which permitted me to let them take the lead and I fell back on something which has stood me in good stead before, especially with talkative customers. I professed to be greatly interested, which in a way I was, as I find many things interesting, and asked a lot of eager questions, so that they would do the talking for a little while.

I must have been acquitting myself quite creditably, because Mr. Hunt drifted by one time, leaned close to me and mumbled in my ear: “You’re doing fine.”

I had got separated from Grant, as I wanted to be, since I shouldn’t appear a clinging vine that he had to look out for, and of course Mrs. Hunt was too busy to be paying much attention to me anymore. Then two or three women who were talking to me suddenly stopped what they were saying and glanced over my shoulder toward the entrance from the outer hall. I became aware that a strained hush had fallen over the room. I turned around and there, standing with Mrs. Hunt, was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. She didn’t appear to be over thirty-eight, she was even smaller than I am, with a lovely figure and beautiful high color in her cheeks that you could tell at once was natural. Her hair was blonde but shot slightly with gold so it was very brilliant. Her eyes were a peculiarly vivid green which I could see even from where I was. She had on the simplest summer dress, black with a design in it, and yet with her figure you could hardly take your eyes off it. She seemed to radiate charm and friendliness, and I was still staring at her when Mrs. Hunt came over to me. Her face was drawn and nervous and she didn’t quite look me in the eye when she spoke. “Don’t say I did this to you. She wasn’t even invited. So come on. But I can tell you this much. The worst you can possibly imagine can’t be as bad as it’s really going to be.”

“Who is it?”

“Mother.”

It seemed impossible that one so young could be Grant’s mother, but I later found out she had been married at seventeen and that Grant came along as soon as the law allowed. But in spite of my surprise a chill began to creep up my backbone. I took a deep breath and we crossed the room.

We had no sooner done so than I discovered that the warm friendliness was all on the outside, with none on the inside whatever. She had shaken hands with some woman and stood there talking about a Commander in the Navy and the funny way he used to kick the goals when he was a midshipman at Annapolis, keeping Mrs. Hunt and me waiting and never looking at us at all. Even the woman was getting uncomfortable and Mrs. Hunt was growing more irritated by the second. Suddenly she cut in sharply:

“Mother!.. If you can interrupt that fascinating discourse on the drop kicks long enough—”

“Place kicks, dear. Not drop kicks.”

“They’ll be just plain shin kicks if I hear any more about them — I’d like to present Granny’s new bride, the young Mrs. Harris.”

Mrs. Harris looked at me then and her eyes seemed to shrink into two pieces of hard green glass. She opened her arms, drew me to her and spoke in a voice that fairly throbbed with emotion: “Darling! Oh, I’ve been looking forward so much to meeting you! Every day I made up my mind to pay you a visit but I’ve been so ill — really, you have no idea. Will you overlook it — can you bring yourself to forgive me?”

She didn’t look ill and I didn’t believe she cared whether I forgave her or not, but I thought if she was going to be hypocritical I might as well too, so I made my voice sound as gushy as I could and said: “And I too, Mrs. Harris! I so wanted to call at the hospital the moment I heard you were there but I wasn’t sure you would like it, because so few of us look well in hospitals, do we?”

This dirty crack seemed to surprise her greatly but nothing like as much as it surprised me, so we stood grinning at each other, our arms intertwined, and for a moment neither of us had any more to say. Then a servant came up with a tray of cocktails and she stood there at her favorite trick of making everybody wait. This time it was while she decided what kind of cocktail she wanted. There were Martinis, Manhattans and side-cars on the tray, but of course, after changing her mind for five minutes she had to have an old-fashioned and, just to make it good and complicated, it had to be an old-fashioned made with Scotch. I wanted to get away from her, so, having been audacious about my occupation once with some success, I thought I would try it again and appear to be exceedingly nice to her while at the same time removing myself from where she was. I said: “Oh, Mrs. Harris, do let me make you one. I know exactly how you want it and I’m an expert at old-fashioneds with Scotch — I used to make so many when I was a waitress at the Solon Cocktail Bar.”

Her eyes opened wide, as though this was the most heavenly idea she had ever heard in her life. “Oh, darling — would you?” Then she looked around at everybody and exclaimed: “Isn’t that marvelous? Think of being an expert!” And then to me again: “There’s so much that you’ll have to teach me!”

By that time the big table at one side of the room had been converted into a sort of bar and one of the housemen was mixing drinks while the other passed them around. But of course some of the guests were standing around getting their drinks direct from the bar, so when I stepped over, there was quite a gallery, some of them rather friendly toward me. An old-fashioned with Scotch was nothing new to me, so I put it together very quickly, and when I got through two or three men laughed and gave me a little hand. When I went over with it to Mrs. Harris she was again talking about place kicks, and kept me standing there, glass in my hand. But as though to be very friendly, she raised her hand and without looking around put it on my arm. There was an exclamation from somebody and there went the cocktail all over her dress, and the orange, cherry and ice all over the floor.