House Party Read online

  The general turned an apoplectic color and moved toward Betty, his hand upraised. She looked at him coldly and said, "Be careful, Daddy, it's awfully hard to scramble this many eggs, and if I spilled this pan you'd only have to send out for more."

  Stunned, the general tried a new attack. "Paul Ames! That la-de-dah, pitcher-drawin' young scamp. A few years in the Army'd do wonders for him."

  "Certainly did wonders for you," Betty said. Then she added, "I should think you'd be pleased. You've always been so anxious for all possible alliances with the Ames family. You certainly seemed to be . . "

  At this the general broke down. He began to sob, and Betty could see that he was really in earnest. "Betty, sweetheart, Little Soldier. I gotta get away. You gotta come with me. Can't you see what that Vi’let has planned fer me? Betty, you gotta save me. You gotta help me. That woman's a menace. I'd rather face a Sherman Tank. She's a reg'lar vampire. You gotta help me get away from her. Betty, I'm not a young man any more. The ole ticker ain't what it yoosta be. I . . ."

  "Excuse me, Daddy," Betty said drily, brushing past him, "I want to get those covered dishes,"

  "Betty! Can't you hear me? Don't you care? Ain't you gonta lift a finger to save me?"

  "Save your Betty asked. "Save you? Why, Daddy, you've always been a devil with the ladies!"

  "Betty. That Vi'let'll eat me alive! That type is always the worst You gotta help yer old father, you . . ."

  "Speaking of eating, Daddy, I must get these things over to the bath house while they're hot. Just give me a hand out to the car, will you?"

  "Betty!" the general bleated.

  She loaded the back of the car with food and plates and forks and cups and paper napkins. She remembered cream and sugar, butter and a pot of jam. She remembered canned fruit juice and milk for the children. The general was still blubbering as she got into the car.

  "Betty," he sobbed, "ain't you plannin ta cook my breakfast again today?"

  "Come along with me, if you like," Betty said, "there's more than enough."

  "Into the jaws of that man-eating Vi’let? Not on yer tintype!"

  "Oh, she's not as bad as all that, Daddy. Besides, she's very rich. She could make you mighty comfortable. In fact, with all her money at your disposal, you could probably give me the half of Mother's money that's mine by law."

  "Betty! That my Little Soldier would let mere money come between us . . ."

  "Well, you could, couldn't you? Good-bye, Daddy, and in case you're gone by the time I get back . . ."

  "Betty!"

  She started the car and was gone.

  Back at the bath house, life was stirring. Everyone was awake, except Felicia, who had retired into a dressing room to sleep for a few more hours. Fraulein had returned from the station in a taxi-cab, ostensibly to resume her duties with the children, but when she saw that the house was missing she became so frantic over the fire, over the loss of her mementoes, over the way the place looked, that she could do nothing but waddle around shrieking shrill expletives in German.

  The young people and Violet were down on the beach. Violet had whimpered about the state of the dress she was wearing and said something about dear Walter, but otherwise she had been quite cheerful. "The only bath anyone is going to get this morning is down at the water," she called gaily, as she put on an especially inappropriate bathing suit of mustard yellow taffeta. She had led the procession of bathers. Kathy, once again in her little white pique suit, followed. Then Elly and Joe and John and Paul. Bryan looked so stunned and so beaten that Mrs. Ames told him to go swimming and cheer up. Claire, painfully emaciated in a suit that was never meant to get wet, tagged along after him. Manning hadn't been in the mood for swimming at all, but a whiff of himself and his clothes, still redolent of lobster shells, oily salad greens, avocado, beets and beer, convinced him that bathing was essential.

  Mrs. Ames, sniffing softly to herself, remained on the bath house porch with Uncle Ned. Sturgis looked even older than Uncle Ned and he fussed and fumed around his employer, trying vainly to make the hair lie down, the moustache curl, to put a shine on the shoes and make the apricot silk dinner suit look a little less outlandish in the sunshine.

  Uncle Ned, usually one of the noisiest and most demanding of masters, sat still and subdued, offering neither comment nor cooperation. Fang lay next to him, his purple tongue lolling out on the floor of the porch.

  Worried about the unusual silence of her ancient kinsman, Mrs. Ames smiled vaguely at him and said: "All right, Uncle Ned?"

  "Gone," he said hollowly. "Everything gone!”

  "Oh, Uncle Ned, I'm so sorry. Truly I am. But everything's covered. We have one of those exhaustive insurance policies. All the stuff in the house, down to the last ashtray is on a big inventory. As for guests’ things, they're covered, too. You can get all new clothes, and a new car . . ."

  "They don't make them like that any longer, dear girl," he said quietly.

  "It's a shame about your car, Uncle Ned—about everything—but that car of yours was giving poor Sturgis a lot of trouble. I know it was. Now you can get back just what you paid for it and I know that was a lot. Why, you could buy a lovely big Cadillac, like Violet's in New York, or even a Rolls or a Mercedes-Benz."

  "No. I shan't be able to, dear girl, I'll be needing the money to live. I've outlived everything now; my friends; my money; even my own life. It's all gone."

  "Oh!" Mrs. Ames gasped. "Oh, Uncle Ned, your memoirs! What about your publishers? What . . ."

  "There weren't any publishers, Lily. I just said there were. There weren't any memoirs, either. Who wants to hear about me?"

  "Everybody, Uncle Ned. Everybody likes to hear about you. Please tell me about the time you were in Marienbad with King Edward and . . ."

  "King Edward was in Marienbad, dear girl. I happened to be in Baden-Baden at the time. No, everything's gone. I'm a poor, destitute, useless old man."

  "I'll help you, Uncle Ned. Without this house to support I have plenty. With the insurance money I'll have even more. Quite a lot, really. Violet will help, too. You know how generous she is. Money won't be a problem."

  "That's good of you, dear girl. You were both always perfect pets and I shall need your help. But as I once said to Sir Osbert Sitwell, 'Man cannot live by . . .' As a matter of fact, I didn't say it at all and I've never met Sir Osbert. But still, Lily, Man cannot live by bread alone. I have nothing else left."

  "But there's your religion, Uncle Ned. Surely that . . ."

  "Even my religion is hardly what you'd call a religion. I only joined because dear Hermione, Duchess of . . . Actually, she wasn't a duchess of anything. But she told me that all the chic people who were left were flocking to the Catholic Church and so I did, too. I never paid much attention to it." Uncle Ned paused and then he brightened. "But come to think of it, Lily, when there hasn't been anybody worth noticing in the congregation I have heard one or two things that made very good sense."

  "Why certainly you have. I happen to be an Episcopalian myself, but . . ."

  "And I might help out once in a while. A lot of other, um, geriatric cases devote quite a bit of time to the Church. I could help lend tone to a charity bazaar or possibly go around and read to people in the hospitals . . ."

  "That's a splendid idea, Uncle Ned," Mrs. Ames said eagerly.

  "Or do you think they'd rather I just talked to them?"

  "Reading, I think."

  "Ah, yes, dear girl. Perhaps there's a little time left for me. Perhaps a little time."

  "Of course there's time, Uncle Ned," Mrs. Ames said, hastily mopping a tear away while he wasn't looking. "Loads of time. Time for you, time for me, time for us all." She thought a minute and said "Time for me. Imagine. Even time for me."

  Bryan came up first from the beach, briskly toweling himself. He looked a little better and there was an air of resolve about him.

  "Well, Mother," he said, "now that it's done, it's done. No use moping about the old place or blaming Aunt V
iolet and her lousy fireworks."

  "Bryan, I thought they were lovely fireworks. Quite the loveliest I've ever seen. I . . ."

  "Mother, this is no time to be frivolous," Bryan said sternly.

  "Isn't it?" Mrs. Ames said. "Odd, I feel so frivolous."

  "Well, that may be all to the good in planning the new place. It's also nice to have an architect in the family. Now since this is to be your home, it should be rebuilt more or less the way you want it . . ."

  "That should be simplicity itself, Bryan," Mrs. Ames said.

  "But since, well, since sooner or later, I'll be, uh, well . . !”

  "We've all got to go sometime. Was that the platitude you had in mind, dear?"

  "Well, yes. And if I were given my choice, I'd say something along the lines of a modified French pavilion. Of course it costs so much to build nowadays that it couldn't be quite so large, but . . .”

  "But I'm not going to rebuild. There isn't going to be any old Pruitt Place and no new one, either."

  "Mother! There's always been an old Pruitt Place!" Bryan was shocked. "It's our home!"

  "You're very rarely in it, Bryan. It's been my prison ever since your father died and if I'd set that fire myself, I couldn't be more pleased with the results."

  "Mother!"

  "Bryan, for a young man of thirty-two, you have remarkably nineteenth-century ideas when it comes to . . .”

  "Mother, does the tradition of our family mean nothing to you? The place where our ancestors . . ."

  "Bryan, darling, do stop harping on these ancestors of yours. They weren't all that good. Dear Papa, for example, was just a clever robber baron who saw a good thing in steel and made the most of it. You don't even remember him, but let me tell you he was a real boor. And don't forget that we got this land free of charge. If we hadn't there wouldn't have been an old Pruitt Place. Dear Papa put up that eyesore just so he could out-swank the rest of the robber barons. Otherwise, there would never have been a house on the property and that's as far back as the tradition goes."

  "But, Mother, think of our place in the community. We owe it to the people out here to . . ."

  "Darling, we don't owe the people out here anything. They don't want anything. They just want to live and let live. That's all I want, too. I don't know where you ever got such feudal notions, Bryan. Certainly not from me. You sound more like my father than my son."

  "Mother, I'm the head of this family and . . ."

  "Now, listen, Bryan, sooner or later we're going to have to have a little family meeting to decide just what is to be done, I think that this is as good a time as any. Would you just run down to the beach and fetch Paul and Kathy and Elly?"

  "But, listen, Mother . . ."

  "Bryan. Do run and get the rest of them.”

  With her children gathered around her in their wet bathing suits, Mrs. Ames cleared her throat and began to speak. "I—I feel like an awful fool calling this council. It's the first time I've ever done it, so you must forgive me if I make a few false starts or get off the track."

  "What Mother means to say . . ." Bryan said.

  "Bryan, I know quite well what I mean to say," Mrs. Ames continued a little more surely. "It's perfectly pointless to tell you that the house is gone. You can see that for yourselves. I hope that none of you has lost anything that's irreplaceable. We'll all have to get into the city as best we can. I'll stay at the Colony Club or move in with Violet until I can find a place to live."

  "You could rent the Cunningham house down the road," Bryan volunteered. "They're in Europe."

  "Thank you, Bryan, but I think not. I'm quite relieved to be rid of one big house without involving myself with another. Now " she continued, "Bryan suggests that I rebuild this house or something nearly as opulent. I find the idea distressing, but we'll put it to a vote. How many of you really like coming out here? Hands, please."

  Bryan alone raised his hand.

  "That's very interesting, Bryan, since you come here least of all. Then, does anyone honestly see why I should saddle myself with another big house to run? This is what I plan to do. This tract of land is six square miles. It has driven me nearly into the poor-house and virtually to drink. There are how many acres to a square mile?"

  "Six hundred and forty," Paul said.

  "Thank you, dear. Paul has an idea for a kind of housing development which would not be unattractive to anyone. In fact, I shouldn't mind living in a nice, efficient little house on a full acre of land myself."

  "With a lot of riffraff?" Bryan said.

  "It's nice to know, Bryan,” Mrs. Ames said with a certain amount of irritation, "that our great liberal is still with us. In any case, Paul has this scheme which I think is a good one. I was planning to help him raise the money to get some land out here. But owing to the happy catastrophe brought on by Violet and the Aurora Borealis Gunpowder Company, I happen to have six square miles to give away. That's how many acres, Paul?"

  "Three, nearly four thousand acres."

  "Very well, then. The old Pruitt Place will shortly become a place for four thousand families to live. It's a . . ."

  "You can't do that, Mother. I'll stop you. I'll stop you by law!" Bryan said.

  "And just how do you propose to do that, Bryan? I'd be interested to know."

  "This place is mine. At least it's as good as mine. It's family property and I'm the oldest. It would come to me, anyhow."

  "Really, Bryan!" Kathy said.

  "That's an entertaining theory, Bryan, but not a very accurate one. The old Pruitt Place is not yours. It is not like the Knickerbocker Bank—something that necessarily has to be handed down from father to son. This property was left to me by my father with no strings attached. It is mine to do with as I choose and this is what I choose to do with it. For four hundred years this place has produced nothing but wood ticks and us. Now I intend to make it productive in a number of ways, by handing it over to Paul to fill with his nice cheap houses."

  "For God's sake, Mother," Bryan shouted, "do you want to turn this place into a slum? If you wanted to sell off part of it to make into a decent subdivision with houses in the thirty-to-forty thousand-dollar bracket, for people who could appreciate the place, I might . . ."

  "That is precisely what I do not intend to do. I have the feeling that Paul's people will be just as capable of appreciating this land as your people, Bryan, and more deserving of it."

  "Mother," Bryan said patiently. "Don't you realize that while you're selling this place off for nickels and dimes to a lot of—well, to just anybody—you could unload it on some smart builder for about a million dollars?"

  "I realize that, yes, Bryan. And I am unloading it on a smart builder," she patted Paul's hand. "But not for any million dollars, There aren't going to be any more millions, Bryan. Not for anybody any longer and especially not for you. Paul and Kathy and Elly seem to have surmounted the obstacle of having once been very rich. But not you. You still think of yourself as the crown prince. Well . . ."

  "It isn't a question of money," Bryan said hotly, "it's a question of tradition, position, our place in . . ."

  "Balls," Elly said.

  "Eleanor!" Mrs. Ames said. "That was very coarse. Bryan, all of those virtues you mention spring directly from having either money or the recent memory of it. You've lived with your monarchical dreams for thirty-two years, now, and I dare say you've been about the unhappiest young man I know. With any luck, you'll have another thirty-two years to get over your high-flown notions. At least I hope so! In the meantime, Paul and Betty will be in charge of the place to do with it as they will."

  "Paul and Betty?" Bryan whispered. "Paul and Betty Cannon?"

  "Paul and Betty Cannon," Paul said.

  "But, Mother," Kathy said. "What are you going to do?"

  "Oh, I'm going to do lots of things, darling. I'm going to learn to cook. I'm going to buy a lot of brand-new clothes. I'm going to baby-sit with whatever grandchildren any of you feel up to presenting to me. I'm going t
o get peeled . . "

  "You're going to what?" Elly demanded.

  "Violet says there's a marvelous little woman on Fiftieth Street who peels you. Gets right down to the baby skin. I'll have Nanny and Uncle Ned to look after and Violet to quarrel with. It's going to be a happy life."

  "Where are you thinking of living?" Kathy asked.

  "Well, I was thinking of one of those nice compact little apartments in the new Rabadab building."

  "Mother. Not that!" Paul gasped.

  "Yes. I rather fancy myself in two air-conditioned rooms with a Rabadab Electronuclear Demi-Kitchenette and a closet for my new mink coat. Mother's going to have some fun, kiddies. Mother's going to have some fun."

  "That's the most irresponsible, slipshod . . .”

  "And another thing, Bryan," Mrs. Ames said, "I'm going to see what I can do about helping you to grow up. Even that might be fun."

  The meeting adjourned with the arrival of Betty Cannon and breakfast.

  Everyone but Felicia turned out for breakfast, and except for a certain amount of strain, it was a jolly and wholesome meal. A little too wholesome for Manning. He was clean at last, and not unaware of the stir he was able to create in bathing trunks, he stole silently into the dressing cubicle where Felicia lay sleeping. With the skill that had thrilled so many heiresses, Manning stroked her bare arm, took her hand gently and lifted it to his lips. He could hardly avoid noticing the size of the star ruby on her finger. "My darling," he whispered, "my . . ."

  Felicia's free hand came up from the floor with a blow that sent Manning staggering. "Get out of here, you wretched he-whore! Get out of here and don't ever let me see your smirking face again!”

  There was little else for Manning to do.

  "Delicious breakfast, Betty, my dear," Violet said, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. "But why hasn't your dear father come to share it with us?"

  "Daddy's home packing," Betty said.