Джеймс Кейн - Mildred Pierce

“Then I’ll be expecting you.”

“Around ten.”

By seven thirty not one customer had showed up, and Mrs. Gessler abruptly suggested that they close, and begin getting Mildred dressed, if she was still fool enough to go to the damned party. Mildred agreed, and started her preparations to lock up. Then she, Mrs. Gessler, Mrs. Kramer, Pancho, Josie, and Sigrid all burst out laughing at the discovery that there were no preparations — no dishes to wash, no bottles to put out, no cash to count. Mildred simply cut the lights and locked the door, and as the others went scuttling off into the night, she and Mrs. Gessler climbed into her car and drove down Pierce Drive. It was a little windswept, a little rough from the stones that had washed down on it, but otherwise as usual. Mildred parked close by the kitchen door and dived inside, then held out her hand to Mrs. Gessler.

She was surprised to find Letty and Veda there. Letty had been afraid to start home, and timidly asked Mildred if she could spend the night. Veda, due long ago at the Hannens’ for dinner, a party, and an overnight visit, said Mrs. Hannen had called to say the party had been postponed. At this, Mrs. Gessler looked sharply at Mildred, and Mildred went calmly to her room and began taking off her uniform.

By nine, Mildred was powdered, puffed, perfumed, and patted to that state of semi-transparency that a woman seems to achieve when she is really dressed to go out. Her hair, waved the day before, was fluffed out softly; her dress adjusted to the last fold and flounce; her face fashioned to the fish-eyed look that marks the last stage of such rites. Letty was entranced, and even Veda admitted that “you really look quite nice, Mother.” Mildred stood before the full-length mirror for a final critical inspection, but Mrs. Gessler disappeared for a final look at the night. When she came back she camped on the bed, and looked moodily at Mildred. “Well, I hate to say it after taking all that trouble over you, but I wouldn’t go to that party, if I were you.”

“Why, for heaven’s sake?”

“Because it’s bad out there. You call that idiot up and tell him you’re not coming.”

“Can’t.”

“Oh he’ll understand. He’ll be relieved.”

“His phone’s disconnected.”

“It would be. Then send him a wire. It won’t be delivered till tomorrow, but it’ll prove you got manners.”

“I’m going”.

“Baby, you can’t.”

“I said I’m going.”

Irritated, Mrs. Gessler ordered Veda to get the trench coat she wore to school, and her galoshes. Mildred protested, but when Veda appeared with the things, Mrs. Gessler went to work. She pinned Mildred’s dress up, so it was a sort of sash around her hips, with a foot of white slip showing. Then she put on the galoshes, over the gold shoes. Then she put on the evening coat, and pulled the trench coat over it. Then she found a kerchief, and bound it tightly around Mildred’s head. Mildred, suddenly transformed into something that looked like Topsy, sweetly said good-bye to them all. Then she went to the kitchen door, reached out into the wet, and pulled open the car door. Then she hopped in. Then she started the motor. Then she started the wiper. Then she tucked the robe around her. Then, waving gaily to the three anxious faces at the door, she started the car, and went backing down to the street.

Turning into Colorado Boulevard, she laughed. Snug in her two coats, with the motor humming smoothly and the wiper chattering cheerfully against the glass, she thought it funny that people should get so excited over a little rain.

Heading down into Eagle Rock, she was halted by two men with lanterns. One of them came over, and in a hoarse voice asked: “Pasadena?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t get through. Not without you detour.”

“Well? Which way do I go?”

He took off his hat, swooshed the water out of it, then quickly put it on again and gave intricate directions as to how she was to drive up to the hills, then turn and follow along the higher ground until she came to Colorado Boulevard again. “That is, if you don’t hit washouts. But believe me, lady, unless you got to get there tonight, it’ll be a whole lot better to turn back.”

Mildred, perfectly familiar with the road, took up her journey again. She came to a washout, where part of the hill had slid down on the road, but one track was still open, and she slipped easily by. She came back to Colorado Boulevard at a point not far from the high bridge, so popular with suicides at the time, and went splashing across. At the traffic circle she turned right into Orange Grove Avenue. Except for a few tree limbs that had blown down on it, and a lot of leaves, it was clear. As she rolled over its shining black expanse, she laughed again at the way people got all worked up over nothing.

On the portico of the Beragon mansion a light was lit. She turned in through the pillars and followed the drive up past the big trees, the iron dogs, and the marble urn. She parked at the steps, and had hardly cut the motor when Monty popped out of the door, in a dinner coat, and stared as though he could hardly believe his eyes. Then he yelled something at her, popped in the house again, and emerged, carrying a big doorman’s umbrella with one hand and dragging a gigantic tarpaulin with the other. The tarpaulin he hurriedly threw over her hood to keep the rain out of the motor. The umbrella he opened for her, and as she made a nimble jump for the portico, said: “God, I had no idea you’d show up. It didn’t even enter my mind.”

“You put the light on, and got all dressed up. If you don’t look out I’ll begin wondering who you were expecting.”

“All that was before I turned on the radio and heard what it’s really like out there. How in the hell did you get here anyway? For the last hour it’s been nothing but a story of bridges out, roads blocked, whole towns under water, and yet — here you are.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear.”

Inside, Mildred saw the reason for the tarpaulin he had produced so unexpectedly, quite as though he kept such things around in case they were needed. The whole place was under gray, ghostly cloths that covered rugs, furniture, even paintings. She shivered as she looked into the great dark drawing room, and he laughed. “Pretty gloomy, hey? Not quite so bad upstairs.” He led the way up the big staircase, snapping on lights and then snapping them off when she had passed; through several big bedrooms, all under cloths as the drawing room was, to a long narrow hall, at the end of which was the tiny apartment where he lived. “This is my humble abode. How do you like it?”

“Why it’s — quite nice.”

“Really servants’ quarters, but I moved into them because I could have a little fire — and they seemed cozier, somehow.”

The furnishings had the small, battered, hand-me-down look of servants’ quarters, but the fire was friendly. Mildred sat down in front of it and slipped off the galoshes. Then she took off the kerchief and trench coat, and unpinned her dress. His face lit up as she emerged like a butterfly from her very drab cocoon, and he turned her around, examining every detail of her costume. Then he kissed her. For a moment he had the old sunny look, and she had to concentrate hard to remember her grievances. Then he said such grandeur deserved a drink. She was afraid that with a drink she couldn’t remember any grievances at all, and asked if they hadn’t better wait until the Ewings got there. “The — who did you say?”

“Isn’t that their name?”

“Good God, they can’t get here.”

“Why not?”

“They live on the other side of Huntington Avenue, and it’s three feet deep in water, and — how in the hell did you get here? Haven’t you heard there’s a storm going on? I think you were hiding two blocks up the street, and just pretended to drive over from Glendale.”