Эд Макбейн - Mothers and Daughters

“I don’t even know this fellow,” Amanda said from the stall.

“So what difference does that make? Will you please get out of that shower?”

Amanda turned off the water, pulled off her shower cap, and said loftily, “It makes a difference to me.”

“Here’s your robe.”

“I haven’t dried myself yet.”

“Dry yourself in the room. They’ll be here at eight.”

“I don’t care what time they’ll be here because I’m not... Gilly, I’m wet! I can’t put a robe on when I’m...” but Gillian had thrown the robe over her shoulders and was pulling her toward the door. “Gilly!” she protested, but somehow they were in the corridor, Amanda clutching the robe around her, Gillian sweeping her along toward their room. Amanda walked directly to her own bed, sat heavily in the center of it, crossed her arms over the front of the robe, and said, “Now stop it, Gillian. I know what I want to do.”

“And what’s that? You’re getting your bed all wet.”

“I don’t care about the bed. I want to stay home tonight.”

“Why?”

“I have work to do.”

“What work?”

“On the arrangement. It’s already a week over—”

“It’ll wait another week. Besides, you can knock it off in ten minutes, and you know it.”

“I can’t! I haven’t even begun any of the intricate scoring, and I couldn’t hope to—”

“You can do it tomorrow. This is Saturday night, Amanda. Date night. All across America, in cities, in towns, in hamlets, in shanties , for God’s sake, it’s date night! Since time immemorial—”

“Don’t get dramatic, Gillian. I can’t stand it when you start emoting.”

Gillian threw a towel at her and said, “Dry yourself. We haven’t got much time.”

“I’m not going.”

“You have to go. I promised Brian you would.”

“Brian is an ape.”

“He’s very sweet-oh. Besides, you’re going with his friend, not him.”

“His friend is probably an ape, too.”

“His friend is a lawyer.”

“Good for him.”

“And besides, he isn’t even Brian’s friend. He’s his brother’s friend.”

“Whose brother?”

“Brian’s.”

“Then how does Brian know him?”

“He doesn’t. They’re in the army together, this fellow and Brian’s brother, and Brian’s brother asked this fellow to stop off in Talmadge to say hello on his way to New Haven, and this fellow was good enough to do that, and Brian thought he should try to get him a date for tonight. So the least you can do—”

“I don’t owe Brian anything. He’s your boy friend.”

“He’s not my boy friend. He’s just someone I see every now and then.”

“All the more reason why I shouldn’t—”

“My God, Amanda, you’d think we were leading you to the electric chair!”

“I just don’t like the idea of you and Brian making dates for me. Or... of fixing me up with... with soldiers. What does Brian think he is? A... a... a marriage broker?”

“Who’s asking you to marry this fellow, huh? Is anybody asking you to marry him?”

“No, but...”

“All I’m asking you to do is to help out your roommate when a soldier — a soldier , Amanda, a member of the armed forces—”

“Here we go again.”

“—fighting a war to preserve our freedom, took the trouble to come all the way from—”

“He was on his way to New Haven, anyway.”

“—from Arizona to deliver a message from Brian’s brother. The least we can do, Amanda—”

“What was the message?”

“How do I know what the message was? He’s very handsome, Brian said.”

“Who is?”

“This fellow. Matthew Anson Bridges. Isn’t that a marr -velous name?”

“No. I detest people with three names.”

“Get dressed, Amanda.”

“No. I’m staying here.”

“Here’s your underwear, Amanda.”

“I don’t even know him.”

“Amanda, there is such a thing as a blind date, which is a common American custom and not at all degrading or shameful. Will you please put on your bloomers and stop wasting time?”

“I loathe the word bloomers.”

“Amanda, it’s almost six-thirty.”

“I’m in no hurry, Gillian.” She paused. “What’s he like?”

“I haven’t met him. Would you like Brian’s description of him?”

“For whatever it’s worth, yes.”

Gillian immediately hunched over into the hulking pose of a gorilla, her arms trailing, her jaw protruding. She began shuffling around the room, alternately scratching her head and her chest. When she turned to face Amanda, her eyes carried the blank stare of a subspecies animal.

“Uh...” she said. “Uh... he’s about... uh... six feet two inches in his socks, Gillian... uh... and he has this black hair, yeah, and these brown eyes and... uh... oh yeah... a black mustache and—”

“A black mustache!” Amanda shrieked.

“I’m only quoting Brian,” Gillian said, straightening up and walking directly to Amanda’s closet. “He’s also a captain in the Judge Advocate’s office and doing work someplace in Arizona. He has a great suntan, Brian said.”

“How old is he?”

“Twenty-six,” Gillian said, opening the closet door.

“Twenty- six! ”

“Well now, just what’s wrong with twenty-six?” Gillian asked, turning, her hands on her hips.

“Twenty- six! ”

“Yes, twenty-six, twenty-six. What shall we do, bury him?”

“Twenty-six with a black mustache,” Amanda said, and she pulled a face, her eyes flaring with new determination. “No. Absolutely not.” She took her robe from the bed and pulled it on over her bra and panties. “No, Gillian. I’m sorry. No.”

“Which dress do you want to wear?” Gillian said from the closet.

“I’m not going.”

“Wear the yellow. It’s a good color for you.”

“I’m not going. You can call Brian and tell him...”

Gillian threw the yellow taffeta onto Amanda’s bed and went to her dresser. She opened the top drawer, rummaged about in it for a moment, and then said, “Haven’t you got a pair without a run?”

“Gillian, I have no intention of—”

“Amanda, put on your stockings and your dress and your shoes and stop behaving like a silly little—”

“Gilly, he is twenty-six years old, and—”

“Yes, and he has a black mustache, and he forecloses mortgages on widows’ homes, and you are going to that stupid Falling Roses Ball with him if I have to carry you there unconscious. Yes!”

The green eyes flashed for an instant, and then the impish grin claimed Gillian’s face.

“Come on, Amanda,” she said gently. “Have a heart. I promised Brian.”

Now, sweeping about the floor in the arms of Matthew Anson Bridges, Amanda was forced to admit that he didn’t seem terribly old after all. And he did have a marvelous suntan, and a very soft way of speaking, she supposed that was because he came from Virginia. She had never known a Southerner before, and somehow Matthew Anson Bridges — it was strange, she couldn’t think of him as just a first name, she had to link all three names together, the way she had first heard them — Matthew Anson Bridges reminded her of all the stories she’d read about the Old South. She could almost visualize him astride a horse, assuring a plantation widow that his troops were only in pursuit of the Yankees, Ma’am, and would not loot or pillage. And yet he didn’t have a real Southern accent, it was simply a soft way of speaking. Well, she supposed all educated Southerners spoke that way. He danced very well, with a firm guiding hand in the small of her back, and a very light grip on her free hand. It didn’t seem at all like dancing. Their feet seemed to be slightly above the floor of the gym, not touching anything really. There was almost a feeling of flying, weightless, in the arms of Matthew Anson Bridges, sweeping about the floor now.