House Party Read online

  "No we can't. If you think I'm going to sit here quietly and watch my man driving out of my life forever, you've just got another think coming. We're going to get at the bottom of this right now and . . ."

  "Forget about it, Elly," Joe said, throwing his bag into the back of the car. "Come on, Bryan, I'm ready."

  "You two will be ready when I'm ready and not before," Elly said. She snatched the keys out of the ignition and popped them down the front of her dress.

  "Elly!” Bryan said. "You're making a scene!”

  "You think this is a scene? Well, it's nothing compared to what I'm going to . . ."

  "Elly!" Mrs. Ames said from the door. "Darling, what's the matter? I could hear you all the way back to the kitchen."

  "Mother," Elly said. "Mother, Bryan said something to Joe and now Joe doesn't want to . . . Oh, Mother!" She rushed into her mother's arms and burst into tears.

  "Mrs. Ames, Bryan's right. I have no business marrying Elly. Now, please let me telephone for a taxi. I've got to go."

  "I'm afraid you can't. The telephone company shut it off," Mrs. Ames said.

  Joe shot Bryan a curious glance and Bryan flushed hotly.

  "Mother," Elly sobbed, "m-make Bryan tell me what he said. Make him . . ."

  "I think we'd all better go inside," Mrs. Ames said, "where it's a little more private."

  "Now, listen, Mother," Bryan began.

  "Shall we all go in?"

  "Listen, Mrs. Ames " Joe said, "I really can't stand any more of . . .”

  "Come in, please, Come, Elly, darling."

  The morning room was hot and airless with all the doors and windows closed. Elly huddled tearful and sniffling on the sofa next to her mother. Joe sat miserably on a rickety chair and Bryan sat at the desk, fidgeting with the ornaments and looking annoyed.

  "Now, Bryan, I believe that you have refused to allow Joe to marry Elly. Why?"

  Bryan smiled. "That's ridiculous Mother. Elly's of age. Naturally I can't refuse to allow her to do anything. The word 'no' never passed my lips, did it Joe, fellah?"

  "No, it didn't," Joe said dully.

  "It's simply that I don't give this marriage my blessing and . . ."

  "Give it your blessing?" Elly cried. "Who do you think you are, the Pope?"

  "That's just an expression, sweetheart," Bryan said, smiling warmly at Elly. "I don't think this marriage is a good idea for reasons which I told Joe frankly and squarely. He agrees now. He also wants to go and we're holding him here against his will."

  "He wasn't so damned anxious to go before you got hold of him!" Elly said.

  "Bryan, dear," Mrs. Ames said. "Just what are these reasons of yours? I think it would only be fair for Elly to know them. After all, this concerns her, too."

  "You're damned right it concerns me!"

  "Hush, darling."

  "Very well, I’ll be perfectly happy to give you my reasons. First there is the question of money. Joe, you make how much a week?"

  "Seventy-five a week."

  "And what are your prospects for the future in your job?"

  "Eighty a week."

  "Bryan," Mrs. Ames started, "I don't see why Joe's salary is that vital. There are other jobs. He's young. He . . ."

  "My God, Bryan," Elly cried, "if it's only money, I know what Joe makes. That's plenty for us—with my salary. Besides there's the book and more books after that and . . ."

  "Elly," Bryan said patiently, "you should know that very few authors get rich on . . ."

  "Some do," Elly said. "Who cares anyway? I don't need a lot of money to be . . ."

  "It's true, Elly, that the money angle is the least important of all my objections. But some money is essential. You will have to live somewhere, eat, wear clothes. If you have children . . ."

  "You bet your boots we'll have children!"

  "They will have to be cared for and fed and educated. All that takes quite a lot of money."

  "Bryan," Elly said, reasonably, "please don't go entering my unborn sons in Yale. We'll worry about college when the time comes. Until we have to face that problem, we can find some cheap little place to live in. We'll get along just fine. Other people do."

  "But you are not other people, Elly. You've been raised with certain standards. There are certain things you were born to expect from life."

  "Such as?"

  "Such as security, comfort, a way of life which people of our background and . . ."

  "Things such as happiness, too, Bryan?" Elly asked.

  "Naturally. And that is one of the things which I don't think you'll find. You see—as I explained to Joe, here—you two come from entirely different worlds. Well, it isn't easy to say, but, just let's look at some of the differences. Elly, you were born in a suite in the Lenox Hill Hospital . . ."

  "Oh, I recall that vividly," Elly snapped.

  "Horrid food," Mrs. Ames murmured. She looked worried and embarrassed.

  "Then, Elly," Bryan continued, "you were taken to our house in town—twenty rooms and two elevators . . ."

  "And dreadful draughts," Mrs. Ames said dimly.

  "Mother, please don't interrupt!" Bryan looked annoyed.

  "I'm sorry, dear."

  "You spent your summers out here. You went to Miss Chapin’s School . . ."

  "Which was a dump!" Elly said.

  ". . . and then you were sent to St. Timothy's . . ."

  "A prison."

  ". . . and finally to Smith College. You went to all the really good junior parties, you came out . . ."

  "But, I didn't want to. Mother made me."

  "But it's customary, dear," Mrs. Ames said apologetically.

  "In other words, Elly, from long before you were born you have had all the advantages of money, of breeding . . ."

  "Money, money, money!" Elly shouted. "There you go again, Bryan. You're talking just like a banker about to refuse a loan. I've told you that money doesn't mean a damned thing to me. It never did. There isn't any money left, anyhow. Mother's dead broke. This house is falling to rack and ruin. I live on what I make, just as Paul and Kathy do. You talk as if Joe was trying to get rich quick by marrying me and . . ."

  Bryan turned a dark red. "There's still plenty of money left," he said quickly. "But what you won't understand, Elly, is that more than mere money, we have a heritage, a tradition, a position in society which our family has earned over the . . ."

  "What are you talking about?" Elly shouted.

  "Elly," Joe said quietly, "Bryan is right. What he's trying to tell you is that you're an Ames and a Pruitt and a lot of other aristocratic things. You've got a couple of hundred distinguished ancestors. You're big stuff where it counts the most. Your grandfathers have been presidents of the most respectable private bank in America ever since the Revolution . . ."

  "Before the Revolution," Bryan said, matter of factly.

  ". . . while I'm just a hick from the sticks. I come from a tank town called Mooseheart, which nobody has ever heard of. I went to public schools and the state university. My father was the first person in our whole family who ever went to college. Now he's the principal of the high school in Mooseheart. My grandfather came over from Ireland as a day laborer. I'm not a gentleman and I never will be."

  "Joe," Mrs. Ames breathed, "anyone who says you aren't a gentleman is . . ."

  "Well," Bryan said, "you see—there it is, it's just a question of . . ."

  "Bryan," Elly said, "what would you say if I were to tell you that I'm going to have Joe's baby?"

  Joe's mouth fell open.

  "Elly!” Mrs. Ames cried, catching her daughter's hand. "Oh, darling, why didn't you tell me?"

  "You what?" Bryan shouted.

  "Listen, Elly," Joe said, "for God's sake don't make this any worse by telling a lot of . . ."

  "I said, 'What would you say if I were to tell you that I'm going to have Joe's baby?'"

  "How far along are you?" Bryan asked calmly.

  "N-not very," Elly said.

  "
Oh." Bryan sighed. He continued briskly, "Who else knows about this?"

  "Nobody."

  "Elly, darling . . ." Mrs. Ames started.

  "Be still, Mother! You know nothing about these things!" Bryan said. "Now, listen to me, Elly. Although it was inexcusable for you to get yourself into a jam like this, you don't have to worry. I know how to get the whole thing fixed up. There's a doctor out in North Bergen, New Jersey—a friend of mine told me about him—he's very good, very discreet and he has no trouble with the law. But he's expensive. He'll want four or five hundred dollars—more if he finds out who we are. But thank God we're catching it in time. The operation itself is very simple. Nobody will have to know anything . . ."

  "Bryan!" Mrs. Ames said. "That's illegal. That's murder. It could . . ."

  "Be quiet!" Bryan raged. "As for you," he said wheeling on Joe, "of all the despicable, low . . .”

  "Bryan," Joe said, "Elly isn't telling the . . ."

  "But, Bryan," Elly said loudly, "suppose I wanted to have the baby?"

  "To have the baby?" Bryan said. "Are you out of your mind?"

  "Maybe."

  "Bryan," Mrs. Ames said. "This is Elly's baby and what you're suggesting is . . ."

  "My God, Elly," Bryan said, "how could you go and get yourself into this mess and then have the gall to . . . Well, all right, so you don't want an abortion," he said more calmly. "That can be arranged, too; it costs more money and it's a whole lot chancier, but you could go away somewhere—Europe or Arizona or some little out-of-the-way place where nobody knows you. Mother could go with you. Then when the baby's born it could be immediately put up for adoption. There are thousands of couples—nice people—who want to adopt . . ."

  "Bryan! Have you gone mad?" Mrs. Ames gasped. "Here Elly goes and has a perfectly lovely baby—the first one in the family—and you thrust it off on . . ."

  "Mother, for God's sake, will you try to stop talking like a damned fool . . ."

  "Really, Bryan . . ." Mrs. Ames began.

  “. . . and try to realize how important this is? If this story were ever to leak out, the family would be ruined. The bank. My career. The whole . . ."

  "It doesn't seem to me," Mrs. Ames said, "that anything could be as important as . . ."

  "Listen, everybody," Joe said, standing up. "Let's stop this right now. Elly isn't telling you the truth. There isn't any baby. I've never done anything more than kiss her."

  "I wish you had!" Elly said.

  "If you'll just forget all this and let me out of here . . .”

  "Well, Elly!" Bryan snarled, "I suppose you think all this has been pretty funny, upsetting Mother and me with this childish he about something that . . ."

  "No, Bryan," Elly said, "I don't think it's been one bit funny! I think it's been about the most disgusting five minutes I've ever gone through—and about the most educational. To think that I've spent my whole life thinking you were God's gift to suffering humanity: Bryan Ames, Loving Brother; Bryan Ames, College Athlete; Bryan Ames, Most Likely to Succeed; Bryan Ames, Naval Hero; Bryan Ames, Rising Banker; Bryan Ames, Liberal; Bryan Ames, Gentleman. It sounds like the Tom Swift series, and it's just about as believable."

  "Elly, I . . ."

  "Shut up!" Elly snapped. "I haven't finished! You've been sitting there behind that desk just like a junior bank executive telling Mother and Joe and me exactly where we stand. Well, I'll take over the interview for a while, so you can rest up for when Manning Stone comes in to ask you about Kathy. Now . . ."

  "Manning Stone?" Bryan said. "Marry into our family. That phony?"

  "Phony?" Elly expostulated, "Sure he's a phony. We've got a houseful of phonies! We've got a great-uncle who's a phony international playboy. We've got an aunt who's a phony sub-debutante. We've got a cousin who's a phony wronged wife and mother. Claire Devine is a phony society belle. Even poor old Kathy, for the moment, is a phony glamor girl. But, Bryan, of all the phonies we have on hand, you're the biggest and the phoniest."

  "And what do I pretend to be that I'm not?" Bryan asked.

  "A nice guy. And that's the worst kind of phony you can possibly be. You're a professional nice guy, Bryan, and you're just about as nice as a puff adder!"

  "Elly . . .” Bryan said.

  "You're a display piece, Bryan. And I've got to admit you do a pretty good job of it. For twenty-two years I thought you were the genuine article, and you've fooled other people even longer. Everybody loves you Bryan; everybody always has. Good old Bryan Ames! Always the friendly smile, the polite word, the helping hand. Bryan Ames, the people's friend, the good Christian, the model gentleman. Well, you've certainly proven yourself today. If you're a gentleman, give me a confidence man."

  "Elly " Bryan said, rising, "don't you know how much I love you? Don't you understand what your happiness means to me? I . . ."

  "You don't love anybody but Bryan Ames and you don't give a damn for anybody's happiness except your own. Mother can rot out here in this haunted house for all you care, just so long as she keeps up a front of being the rich and lovely Mrs. Ames—née Pruitt—the way she used to be. You don't care whether she's happy or not just as long as she makes an impressive prop for you. I could be married to a dimwitted degenerate, and you'd be delighted, if he'd gone to the right school and had the right family tree; and especially if he'd inherited a cushy job, the way you did, instead of using his wits to make a career of his own. You don't know anything about architecture, but Paul can spend the rest of his life designing toilet seats, for all you care, just as long as he's employed by a well-known firm and gets his hair cut on schedule. As for Kathy . . ."

  "Stop it, Elly, for God's sake stop it!" Bryan roared.

  "I will not stop it, Bryan Ames! You've developed yourself into quite a personality—regular How to Win Friends and Influence People stuff—and it rings just about as true as a wooden nickel. You've been everybody's best friend for so long that you even believe it yourself. Well, you're a shallow, snobbish, sneaking, slick operator, so full of the glory of your dead ancestors that you haven't even become a living human being!" She stopped for breath.

  "Elly, that's enough," Mrs. Ames said. She looked worn and much older, "Joe, you know that you have my consent to marry Elly. And Elly wants to marry you. I shall never be able to apologize for what you've been put through this afternoon. I won't even try. But if, after what you've seen and heard today, you still want to marry into this family, I-I hope you'll be very h-happy." She pressed her handkerchief to her lips.

  Joe got up and kissed her very gently. "Thank you, Mrs. Ames. I'd still like to. Come on, Elly," he said pulling her toward the door.

  "And Joe," Mrs. Ames said. "I'd like so much to meet your mother. I think she's done a far better—well, a very good job on you."

  "Thank you. I know she'll want to meet you, too."

  At the door, Elly turned toward Bryan, her eyes brimming. "Bryan," she asked softly, "how could you . . ."

  "Come along, Elly," Joe said. He drew her out of the room and closed the door. Mrs. Ames and Bryan were alone.

  26: Adjustments

  "There," Kathy said, turning down the oven. She spoke to no one because she was all alone in the big kitchen. Elly had disappeared some time ago—so like Elly, to dash off leaving the table half set—and Mother had faded away soon afterward. And eventually Aunt Violet, after a lot of foolish talk about that odious General Cannon, had drifted off to her realm of chin-straps, eye pads, frown plasters and lubricating creams. Kathy had prepared the whole dinner—or as much of it as she could this far in advance—all by herself. She didn't mind doing it, either. In fact, she rather preferred it. She had kicked off her high-heeled shoes and padded around comfortably, making radish rosebuds and rolling butter balls. She had thought how, if this kitchen were hers, she would have moved the stove just so, put the sinks here, had cabinets built there to save steps and make the room more efficient.

  Now she sat down at the table and wriggled her toes luxuriantly. Conscientio
usly, she went over tonight's menu: soup, simmering; roast, in the oven; vegetables, prepared; rolls, ready to bake; salad, made and chilling; dessert, in the icebox; table, set; wine bottles, opened; canapés, spread; ice, all set for the cocktails. Kathy was feeling extraordinarily good. She went to the icebox to pour herself a glass of beer and then thought better of it. All day long on only three cans of beer and she wasn't feeling a bit nervous or ill at ease. She sat down again and lit a cigarette.

  She thought idly of the happy days ahead when she'd be Mrs. Manning Stone, of the kitchen she'd have in their apartment—a room about half as big as this one and about twice as big as the little kitchen she had in town. She thought of the exquisite little dinners for two she could prepare when Manning returned, tired from rehearsals or exhausted from long interviews with the drama critics. They wouldn't be these matter-of-fact meat and potatoes meals, but something subtle and faintly exotic, served on Italian damask in ivory candlelight. There would be little pink shrimps, taupe mushrooms, golden breasts of capon. The sauces would hint of cognac and sherry, of basil and thyme and marjoram and dill. She would quit her job and devote her full time to making a beautiful, beautiful home, to cooking beautiful, beautiful dinners, to giving beautiful, beautiful parties for Manning's beautiful, beautiful friends and to raising Manning's beautiful, beautiful children.

  Kathy came back to earth with a jump as John Burgess said, "Can I help?"

  She saw him standing in the doorway, his homely face wreathed in smiles. How much younger he looked!

  There isn't a thing you can do " she said, "except sit here with me and chaperone a baron of lamb. This oven's so cantankerous and old that you have to watch it. And we might have a can of beer together." Kathy got up and went to the icebox, "I might also put on my pumps. There's nothing quite so fetching as slopping around the kitchen in your stocking feet—like a slatternly old Hausfrau."

  "Don't. You look very nice. You look relaxed. Also, I can see the top of your head. It's a splendid top of a head."

  For the first time Kathy realized that he was just as tall as she was—even a little taller.