Джеймс Кейн - Mildred Pierce

“Please.”

“They met — well it seems only yesterday, actually it was several weeks ago, at my house. My husband, no doubt you’ve heard of him — he’s a director, and he was considering Veda for a part. And as he so often does with these kids, when we have a little party going on, he asked her over — Veda and her little friend Elaine, another lovely child, Mrs. Pierce. My husband has known her for years, and—”

“Yes, I’ve met her.”

“So it was at my own house, Mrs. Pierce, that Veda and Sam met. And it was simply love at first sight. It must have been, because that boy of mine, Mrs. Pierce, is so sincere, so—”

“You mean they’re engaged?”

“I was coming to that. No, I wouldn’t say they were engaged. In fact I know that Sammy had no such thing in mind. But Veda has somehow got the idea that — well, I understand it, of course. Any girl wants to get married, but Sam had no such thing in mind. I want that made clear.”

Mrs. Lenhardt’s voice was becoming a little high, a little strident, and she waggled a stiff forefinger at Mildred as she went on. “And I’m quite sure you’ll agree with me, Mrs. Pierce, that any discussion of marriage between them would be most undesirable.”

“Why?”

So far as Mildred was concerned, marriage for Veda would have been a major calamity, but at Mrs. Lenhardt’s manner she bristled with hot partisanship. Mrs. Lenhardt snapped: “Because they’re nothing but children! Veda can’t be over nineteen—”

“She’s seventeen.”

“And my boy is twenty. That’s too young. Mrs. Pierce, it’s entirely too young. Furthermore, they move in two different worlds—”

“What different worlds?”

Mildred’s eyes blazed, and Mrs. Lenhardt hastily backed off. “That isn’t quite what I mean, Mrs. Pierce, of course. Let us say different communities . They have different backgrounds, different ideals, different friends. And of course, Sam has always been used to a great deal of money—”

“Do you think Veda hasn’t?”

“I’m sure she has everything you can give her—”

“You may find she’s been used to just as much as your boy has, and more. I’m not exactly on relief, I can tell you.”

“But you didn’t let me finish , Mrs. Pierce. If Veda’s accustomed to wealth and position, so much the more reason that this thing should not for a second be considered. I want to make this clear: If Sammy gets married, he’ll be completely on his own, and it will certainly be hard for two young people, both born with silver spoons in their mouths, to live on what he can earn.”

Having made this clear, Mrs. Lenhardt tried to calm down, and Mildred tried to calm down. She said this was the first she had heard of it, and she would have to talk to Veda before she could say what she thought. But as Mrs. Lenhardt politely agreed that this was an excellent idea, Mildred began to have a suspicion that the whole truth had not been told. Suddenly and sharply she asked: “Why should Veda feel this way about it, and your boy not?”

“Mrs. Pierce, I’m not a mind reader.”

Mrs. Lenhardt spoke angrily, the color appearing in her cheeks. Then she added: “But let me tell you one thing. If you, or that girl, or anybody, employ any more tricks , trying to blackmail my boy into—”

“Trying to — what?”

Mildred’s voice cracked like a whip, and for a few moments Mrs. Lenhardt didn’t speak. Apparently she knew she had said too much, and was trying to be discreet. Her effort was unsuccessful. When her nostrils had dilated and closed several times, she exploded: “You may as well understand here and now, Mrs. Pierce, that I shall prevent this marriage. I shall prevent it in any way that I can, and by legal means, if necessary.” The way she said “necess’ry” had a very ominous sound to it.

By now the reality behind this visit was beginning to dawn on Mildred, and she became calm, cold, calculating. Looking up, she saw Arline at her dusting again, her ears bigger than ever. Calling her, she told her to straighten the chairs at the next table, and as she approached turned pleasantly to Mrs. Lenhardt. “I beg your pardon. For a moment I wasn’t listening.”

Mrs. Lenhardt’s voice rose to a scream. “I say if there are any more threats, any more officers at my door, any more of these tricks she’s been playing — I shall have her arrested, I shall have her prosecuted for blackmail, I shall not hesitate for one moment, for I’ve quite reached the limit of my patience!”

Mrs. Lenhardt, after panting a moment, got up and swept out. Mildred looked at Arline. “Did you hear what she said?”

“I wasn’t listening, Mrs. Pierce.”

“I asked if you heard what she said?”

Arline studied Mildred for a cue. Then: “She said Veda was trying to blackmail her boy into marrying her and if she kept it up she’d have the law on her.”

“Remember that, in case I need you.”

“Yes’m.”

That night Mildred didn’t go to Laguna or to Beverly. She stayed home, tramping around, tortured by the fear that Arline had probably told everybody in the restaurant by now, by uncertainty as to what dreadful mess Veda had got herself into, by a sick, nauseating, physical jealousy that she couldn’t fight down. At eleven, she went to her room and lay down, pulling a blanket over her but not taking off her clothes. Around one, when Veda’s car zipped up the drive, she took no chances on a locked door, but jumped up and met Veda in the kitchen. “Mother!... My, how you startled me!”

“I’m sorry, darling. But I have to talk to you. Something has happened.”

“Well — at least let me take off my hat.”

Mildred went to the den, relieved that she had smelled no liquor. In a minute or two Veda came in, sat down, lit a cigarette, yawned. “Personally, I find pictures a bore, don’t you? At least Nelson Eddy pictures. Still, I suppose it’s not his fault, for it isn’t how he sings but what he sings. And I suppose he has nothing to do with how dreadfully long they are.”

Miserably, Mildred tried to think how to begin. In a low, timid voice, she said: “A Mrs. Lenhardt was in to see me today. A Mrs. John Lenhardt?”

“Oh, really?”

“She says you’re engaged to marry her son, or have some idea you want to marry him, or — something.”

“She’s quite talkative. What else?”

“She opposes it.”

In spite of her effort, Mildred had been unable to get started. Now she blurted out: “Darling, what was she talking about? What does it all mean?”

Veda smoked reflectively a few moments, then said, in her clear, suave way: “Well, it would be going too far to say it was my idea that Sam and I get married. After the big rush they gave me, with Pa breaking his neck to get me a screen test and Ma having me over morning, noon and night, and Sonny boy phoning me, and writing me, and wiring me that if I didn’t marry him he’d end his young life — you might say it was a conspiracy. Certainly I said nothing about it, or even thought about it, until it seemed advisable.”

“What do you mean, advisable?”

“Well, Mother, he was certainly very sweet, or seemed so at any rate, and they were most encouraging, and I hadn’t exactly been happy since — Hannen died. And Elaine did have a nice little apartment. And I was certainly most indiscreet. And then, after the big whoop-de-do, their whole attitude changed, alas. And here I am, holding the bag. One might almost say I was a bit of a sap.”

If there was any pain, any tragic overtone, to this recital, it was not audible to the ordinary ear. It betrayed regret over folly, perhaps a little self-pity, but all of a casual kind. Mildred, however, wasn’t interested in such subtleties. She had reached a point where she had to know one stark, basic fact. Sitting beside Veda, clutching her hand, she said: “Darling, I have to ask you something. I have to, I have to. Are you — going to have a baby?”