# Kept Woman/Chapter 10

Billy and Louise had dropped in for a quiet evening. Billy had sung two numbers for them which he intended to use on his next program, nine-fifteen Wednesday morning. Louise said it was silly for him to rehearse so much as nobody listened anyhow at that hour. Her argument was that if the station actually had an audience at 9.15 a.m. they certainly wouldn't put Billy on the air.
"Aw, shut up," said Billy. "You ought to have seen the mail I drew down from my broadcasts. I had a letter from a dame up in Connecticut who heard the program and asked me to sing some of her favorites next time. She sent me a list of the songs she liked. I got it here somewhere. Then there was a man wrote and said I sung as good as Al Jolson. In fact he said that he didn't like Jolson. Don't you ever worry that nobody's listening to me, kid."
"Oh, I wasn't worried," his wife assured him.
Hubert laughed impartially as the Fishers insulted each other. He got a kick out of their arguments. It was easy seen that they didn't mean a thing by what they said. Just good kids, all the time fooling.
Lillian had grown a wee bit tired of the never-ending squabbles. She sat frowning at Billy as he gave them a little illustration of Louise's dumbness.
"And the Chink waiter says to her, 'No, ma'am, we ​don't serve no American dishes at all'; so the Madame here speaks up and says, 'All right, then bring me some spaghetti.' Ain't that the limit?"
"Well, I didn't know," Louise protested. "He did say that they didn't sell American food but he didn't say they only had Chinese. How was I to know?"
"Oh, how do you know that it won't snow in August?"
"It has," Louise solemnly remarked.
Billy howled.
"You're just so damn ignorant," Louise proceeded, "that you won't learn when somebody is trying to teach you. Up at my aunt's farm in August of the year that my cousin Minnie had little Martha it snowed!"
"Where's your aunt's farm? In Iceland?"
"You know it ain't, you dope. Many's the time you've been to Aunt Carrie's and she fed you damn good, too."
"Speaking of food," Lillian put in, "I'll make some waffles."
She had taken to waffle-making at every lull in the conversation. There was something very elegant about sitting at the table and preparing food on a nice, shiny electrical apparatus. It made Lillian feel like a magazine lady who always has a white-capped maid at her beck and call and sits down to breakfast at a table which she painted herself in an idle moment and found dry before her guests arrived.
Nobody questioned the merit of Lillian's waffles. They were pretty, yellow-brown, and had indentations in the proper places. They were successful because they looked successful. Everybody ate two waffles and drank ​two cups of coffee. Lillian observed as she lighted a cigarette that Hubert would have to run to the store before breakfast as there was now no butter.
"What are you people going to do tomorrow?" Louise asked.
"I don't know," said Lillian.
"And you don't care, I suppose."
"Nope." The answer was not intended to be an admission of reckless despair. Lillian was merely trying to avoid a long and tiresome discussion of how she would spend her Tuesday.
She was surprised when Louise patted her tenderly on the shoulder and said, "I don't blame you for being fed up."
"What should she be fed up about?" asked Hubert, sourly.
"Aw, she's crazy," Billy put in. "Why don't you keep your mouth shut, Louise?" It was evident that Billy knew what to expect.
Louise ignored him and addressed herself to Hubert. She smiled warmly as she spoke and her manner was that of an ingenuous friend whose frank opinion has been requested. "Well, I mean the way you live, Scotty. Honestly, Billy can tell you that I was never happy before he and I were married. A man doesn't mind that kind of thing but girls do. I bet right now that Lillian is miserable."
"What's the matter with you, Lou? Drunk?" asked Lillian.
"There," said Louise, triumphantly, "that proves my point. See, she won't admit that she's unhappy."
​"Well, why should I say I am if I'm not?"
"But you are, Lillian, you know you are."
Lillian became annoyed. "I'm not unhappy," she insisted. "I've got more than you have out of life."
"No," Louise disagreed in sad and pitying accents, "I have Billy."
"But I don't want Billy."
"No, you want Hubert. And have you got him?"
"Certainly I have."
"How do you know you have? How can you be sure that he'll always come back to you from his visits to his family?"
"Oh, shut up, Louise," shouted Billy. "You're a God-damned idiot. These people can attend to their own affairs."
"Hubert is mine as much as Billy is yours," Lillian said. "I know he is."
"You don't know it and you can't know it till you two are married."
"You can't keep Billy from leaving you just because he married you."
"No, but I can lose him and still be respectable."
"That's a fool's satisfaction," said Lillian.
"Well, maybe I'm a fool," Louise mused pleasantly, "but I know you're not happy and you never will be till you're able to stop worrying over whether somebody's chasing your automobile or not."
"Listen, let's not talk about it any more, Louise. You'll only get me sore, and we've been good friends."
"That's why I brought the matter up, because we are ​good friends. Do you think Theresa Moss or Anna or Mary Jackson would think enough of you to bring it up?"
"Huh," said Billy. "Now you're mentioning girls who know how to mind their own business."
Lillian got up from the table with a firm purposefulness. "How many numbers will you sing on your next program, Billy?" she asked.
"About five, I guess."
"Gee, that's a lot to get down pat." Lillian spoke absently as she wiped off the waffle iron. She was wondering what Hubert was doing. He had left the kitchen. Had he gone to bed? Or was he just sitting sulkily in the living-room? She hoped he had not gone to bed. She wanted to speak to him. Oh, how she wanted to speak to him.
"I'll help you with the dishes, Lillian," Louise said. "I hope you're not sore at me."
"No, don't be silly. I don't get sore. Put that maple syrup business in the ice-box, will you? Watch out! Oh, that's all right. I'm always spilling something myself. I'll wipe it up. It's sticky, that syrup. It should have really stuck to your hand."
She kept talking as she washed the dishes. Never once did she permit a silence to fall. Billy had not left the kitchen but sat listening to Lillian and casting angry glances at his wife. He said nothing till the last dish was back in the closet and the last spoon returned to the drawer.
"Come on, Louise. Time to go home," he said then.
​"Oh, not so early," Lillian entreated. Her plea was a bit too earnest. Even the Fishers could see that she desired nothing so much as their departure.
"Yeh, we got to go." Billy wasted no time in getting his coat on and brushing Louise ahead of him to the door. No need to linger tonight and hint about the Nash. He wasn't going to bother about Jamaica tomorrow. He would have to stay in town Wednesday on account of the broadcast; so he might just as well take tomorrow off, too, and haunt the music publishing houses.
"Good night, Scotty," Billy called.
"Good night," Louise echoed.
Hubert's voice came from the living-room. "Oh, are you going? Good night."
He did not come out to see them down the stairs.
"I guess he's mad," Louise said.
"No," Lillian assured her. "I think he's just starting one of his well-known naps."
The Fishers knew that she didn't think that at all. They went out without making any arrangements for future meetings.
Lillian flew to the living-room. Hubert was sitting motionless on the couch staring at the opposite wall. He looked grave and thoughtful, like a man waiting in a doctor's reception room.
"Did you hear what she said to me?" Lillian asked him.
"What did she say?"
"What did she say! What's the matter with you? Are you crazy?"
​"Oh, you mean in the kitchen? I thought she'd said something new. You didn't seem to mind that. You've been friendly with her since she said it. I heard you laughing and talking out there."
"Of course I laughed and talked. I wouldn't let her know that she had hit me at all."
"Well, it hit me and got me damn sore. I've been sitting here thinking about it. How does she get that way, butting in on our business?"
Lillian lit a cigarette and fell into a chair. The chair's insides groaned and sagged beneath her weight. "It made me wild," she said, "to think that Louise of all people can feel sorry for me. I hate people to pity me, least of all somebody like her."
"Why somebody like her?"
"Because she lived with a fellow and then married him. Nobody feels so pure as some bum who's just got done sinning. And to think she's got the chance to be sorry for me. I swear the idea makes me so sick I could die."
Hubert leaned down and began to unlace his shoes. "What made me sore," he said, "was her butting in and saying that you was unhappy."
"Oh, well, maybe you can't understand my part of it. You ain't a girl. You don't know how a best friend always likes to have something to pity you for and how you'd sooner have strangers know about your blue moments. Gee, I bet she was in a rush to get married just so she could pull that song and dance tonight. The little bitch."
​"Well, don't worry about it any more, Lil. You needn't worry about me leaving you."
Lillian sighed with exasperation. "I don't think you're going to leave me," she said. "But that's got nothing to do with the case. I'm talking about Louise pitying me because I ain't respectable and certain of my future."
"Well, you can be certain of your future. I'm not going to leave you, I told you."
"Jees, you're turning this into a scene in which I beg you not to leave me! Shall I get on my knees? Don't you see that if you and I live together till we die of old age, I'll always be in the same position? I'll always be some one for married girls to pity. Cripes, Mary and Theresa probably pity me, too. Any damn fool with a marriage certificate can feel sorry for me even if she's married to some plug who can't buy her a pack of safety pins."
Hubert's face puckered into an expression of pain as he pulled off his shoe. He stood it under the couch with the heel pointing outward and regarded it interestedly for a moment or two before beginning on the next shoe.
"I wouldn't care," Lillian proceeded, "if Louise was somebody who had a right to be sorry for my soul. If she was a sweet innocent or something like that. But she's got the crust to be married for a couple of months and come rushing and telling me that I'm miserable because we're not respectable. And the idea, her saying that she never was happy till she got married."
Hubert was having a little difficulty in getting the ​second shoe exactly on a line with the first. In fact, it was only when he toed them to a crack between two floor-boards that he met with any sort of success.
"Jees, that Louise of all people should get a chance to be sorry for me."
Hubert didn't as a rule smoke cigarettes, but he went to the humidor and got one now. He had a feeling that this was all going to prove very trying. Lillian stared at his stockinged feet as he walked. He always wore gray socks. As she looked at them now, it occurred to her that there must be some reason why he always wore gray socks. She wanted to ask him but thought if she did right now he would get telling a story that would lead them far from the situation to be considered. Well, she'd ask him some other time.
"And the way that she pretended that she was doing me a favor by bringing that up," Lillian murmured.
"Oh, well, she's dumb, Lillian. Wasn't that a scream about her with the Chink and the spaghetti?"
"That sounded like her all right. Gee, I can't get over that. She's sorry for me. That gets me wild."
"Well," said Hubert, comfortingly, "you can't be pleased all the time. We can't have everything."
"I don't see why we can't."
"Because God or whoever it is who's dealing the cards don't give royal flushes all the time."
"I didn't mean everybody in the world when I said 'we.' I meant you and I. I don't see why we shouldn't have everything."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean why shouldn't you and I be married? Helen ​isn't a wife to you. She doesn't love you. Why can't you tell her about us and have her divorce you?"
"Oh, she wouldn't."
"How do you know she wouldn't?"
"I know Helen."
"Oh, horse-radish. You can't know in advance what she'd say if you asked her. And what can she do to you if she refuses? There's no harm in asking."
"Say, I know her almost as long as you've been on earth. I know what she'd do if I asked her."
"What would she do?"
"She'd say no."
"Well, if that's all she can do it's worth trying, isn't it?"
"What's the use when I know she'll say no?"
"You mean she'll be satisfied to stay married to you knowing you're living with another woman?"
"Sure. She hasn't let me come near her in an age anyhow. So it won't make any difference."
A sudden silence came down over the little cream-colored room. Lillian sat puffing on a new cigarette. Her face wore an angry, defiant look. Even her hair stood out in a warlike flare. Hubert had long since thrown his cigarette on a tray where it lay smoking and smelling. Hubert's expression was one of deepest solemnity. Cigarettes always made him a little ill.
Lillian cast a glance at him. Was he thinking it over? If he was, he evidently thought that anywhere within a week or two would be time enough to announce his decision. He gave no sign of thinking swiftly. She sighed and resorted then to a coward's plea.
​"If you cared for me," she said, "you'd ask her."
"Then Louise was right. You ain't happy."
"I was till she said that. I'm not now, knowing that everybody is sorry for me."
"Just because Louise is doesn't prove that everybody is."
"Well, she least of all I like feeling sorry for me. Besides I don't see why we shouldn't be married when Helen makes it plain that she doesn't love you."
"Now, Lillian, I wouldn't say that. Helen is different, you know. She loves me all right, but she ain't the kind to fall all over a person. I'm sure she loves me, that's why I know she won't give me up."
"Well, if you cared for me, you'd at least try."
"All right, I will, Lillian, the next time I see her. I'll fool around with the subject and see how she takes it."
"Why wait, Hubert? Look, put on your shoes now and go home. Spend tomorrow with her and speak up."
"Oh, Lillian!"
"All right, don't do it. Don't ask her at all. And thanks for letting me see how crazy you are about me."
For answer Hubert leaned over and pulled on his shoes. He smoothed down his hair with his hands and clapped his cap on to indicate that he was going to do as she had asked.
"Are you really going?" Lillian asked him.
"Yep. I'll ask her. I don't think it will do much good but I'll ask her."
"Well, it can't hurt to try."
"I don't suppose so."
​He walked around slamming closet doors importantly. He was in search of his suit coat which had been all the time on the couch beside him.
"Listen, Hubert, tell her that she isn't happy either the way things are. Explain to her, you know, she's never understood you and all."
"Yes, I will." He found his coat and put it on with brisk determination. "Well, so long, Lil, I'll be back for supper tomorrow evening."
"Good night, Hubert, I hope everything works out all right for us."
"So do I." He bent over and kissed her. She got up then and followed him to the door.
"Good night, Hubert."
"Good night, Lil. See you tomorrow."
There was a little delay in the garage. The men there had not expected that the Packard would be going out again that night and they had driven it close to the wall with three rows of cars in front of it. Hubert watched as other cars were shifted about to extricate the Packard. He played with the idea of going back to Lillian and telling her that something was wrong with the car and that none of the night men knew how to fix it. But she would undoubtedly tell him to take the Nash then. So long as he was going to inform his wife of Lillian's existence there would be no further need of concealing the roadster.
As a matter of fact Lillian would have done no such thing. Had he returned to the apartment then she would have let him go to bed without another reference to her unfortunate position. She was shocked and fright​ened at what she had done. Hers had never been an aggressive nature. People had always had their way with her. It terrorized her now to think that she had forced Hubert to make this important move. Also she felt abashed at her insolence in taking it for granted that she was of greater moment than Helen. Nothing but a sudden rage could have made her forget herself to such an extent. In sane moments she had always been satisfied with what she had in life and had taken it as a matter of course that Helen should be Mrs. Scott and she "Mrs. Cory." It was all Louise's fault. Something damn nasty would probably come of this. Even the fortune teller had advised against stirring up trouble. Of course fortune tellers were the bunk, but still once in a while they were right. She had gotten a letter from Europe directly after the fortune teller had said she would. It really wasn't for her. It had been put in her mail-box by mistake, but she had gotten it. She wished Hubert would come back for something or other so she could tell him not to go. Perhaps he never would come back at all. Maybe he hated her for her nerve in supposing that he would be willing to let Helen divorce him. She had had crust all right. Holy smokes, she had gone to him knowing he was married and then had whined and complained as though she had been tricked. God damn Louise anyhow.
Lillian went to bed, but she could not sleep. She tossed from one side of the bed to the other. God, what a sap she'd been to start this. She wished that there was some one to talk to so that the night would not seem so long. She thought of getting the Nash and taking a ​ride. She thought it all out, just how she would dress and just where she would go, but all the time she knew full well that she was going to stay in bed.
At fifteen-minute intervals she reached for a cigarette and lay in bed smoking and torturing herself with worry. She had spoiled everything and where had she gotten the crust to do it with? That wasn't like her at all. God damn Louise. She felt that she couldn't live through the hours that must pass before she would know the outcome of her stupidity.
At length she fell to building air castles. Suppose Hubert wasn't angry at her and suppose Mrs. Scott was willing to bring suit against him? That would be great. She and Hubert could be married and then let Louise try to find something to pity her for. Gee, she'd be respectable and she'd have money besides. She wished she knew Mrs. Scott so she could judge better what the interview would be like.
All night long Lillian wondered, feared, hoped, and cursed. It was dawn when from sheer exhaustion she fell asleep. She slept so soundly that she did not hear the dumbwaiter bell ring to announce garbage collection, nor a half hour later did she hear the iceman trying to split the battery with his violent assaults on the bell.
It was while the iceman was so unprofitably occupied that Hubert sat in the living-room of his house waiting for Helen to come down to breakfast. She had been in bed when he had arrived the night before; so this would be the zero hour when he would tell her that he wanted to be free. He felt hot and uncomfortable. Gee, this would be a job. He wished young Hubert ​were home so there would be an excuse for postponing the scene. God, this would be terrible. The palms of his hands were wet and his mouth was dry. He wished she would come so he could plunge right in and get it over with. He would start by saying, "Look here, Helen, you and I are not really suited to each other." He would look at her then and if she was taking it well maybe he'd also say, "We never were."
And it wouldn't be no lie either. Cripes, what kind of a wife was she anyhow for a guy like him? No pep in her. If she ever laughed she'd crack her face wide open. Lillian was the girl for him all right, and he'd tell Helen that she was. Hell, why be afraid to tell her? She couldn't do anything about it. Come to think of it, he was glad his son wasn't there. Might as well get this thing over. It might prove a little unpleasant and that sort of thing was best attended to right away.
Helen came floating down the stairs. She wore a kind of pink kimono with a train to it and feathery, fluffy stuff all around the neck and sleeves of it. What did she think she was—a movie actress? It did look pretty, though, especially with the collar of the kimono standing up stiff behind her curly white hair.
"Good morning," she said in surprise.
Nellie hurried from the kitchen and handed the morning paper to her mistress. "Oatmeal, Mrs. Scott, or corn flakes?" she asked. "I got both."
"Corn flakes, please, Nellie."
Helen became instantly absorbed in the front-page news. Hubert's eyes were fixed disapprovingly on the doorway through which Nellie had disappeared. What ​kind of training had that girl anyhow? He had been sitting here twenty minutes and she'd never offered him the morning paper and hadn't asked his choice in cereals at all. He'd have to speak to Helen about it. No, there wasn't any sense in that. He'd forgotten for a moment that he'd probably not be coming here any more. If Helen would stop reading he'd tell her right now about Lillian, but there wasn't any use in interrupting her. That might make her mad.
Nellie came to the French doors and announced breakfast. Hubert arose, and Helen, leaving the paper on her chair, said, "Thank you, Nellie," and swept toward the dining-room. She and Hubert collided at the threshold. Helen stepped back and said to him, "Pardon me. By all means precede me." He let her go first, then, but it was nice to know that despite Nellie's actions, Helen knew who was master of the house.
It seemed silly to start talking about Lillian the minute they sat down; so Hubert decided that when he finished his grapefruit he would begin. But Nellie appeared then and he thought perhaps he'd better wait till she had brought the cereal and gone again to the kitchen. It occurred to him, though, that she'd have to return for the cereal plates and to bring the eggs, and that would be the best time, when she had completely finished serving and he and Helen would be left alone.
No sooner had the bacon and eggs been served and Nellie back in her own domain than Helen spoke.
"Did Mr. Flynn give you today off?" she asked.
In his deep absorption in other matters Hubert had entirely forgotten Steve Flynn and the mythical job.
​"Oh, oh, yes," he managed. "I've got a big job, Helen. I'm not a clock puncher, you know. I can take whatever time I like."
"That's good," said Helen.
She was not one to squander words. He knew she meant something. "Why?" he asked.
"Because if you couldn't get off easily I'd have to take my car back."
"No kidding? How's that? What happened?"
"Hubert is going to business down in the city now and I've given him the Oakland for commuting. He doesn't like the trains. That leaves me all day without a car."
"So the kid's going to work, eh? That's great. I'll have to make him a little present. What could I get him?"
Helen regarded him for a moment without speaking; then she said, "I can use the taxis for getting back and forth from the village, but I want the car for shopping in the city and going up to Stamford to see Wilma Lawrence. So long as you can get off easily, though, I'll just phone the office when I need the car and you can bring it up. If you'll give me the number and do that I'll be able to let you keep the car."
"Well, you can't get me at the office often because I'm in and out all the time. I'll phone you instead."
"Why phone me? Just bring the car when you have a feeling that I'm going to need it."
"No, here's what I meant. I'll phone you every night around nine or ten o'clock that I'm away and you can ​tell me then whether you'll be needing the car next day."
"I'm not always in either."
"You can tell Nellie whether you'll be wanting it or not and she'll tell me. How is that?"
"All right, I suppose, but don't forget to phone or I'll positively take the car back."
"I won't forget to phone."
Helen stood up and started for the door, casting a glance at the clock as she walked. Hubert remained at the table, gazing after her. She was so tall and proud and so damn sure she was doing him a favor. Cripes, he had another car. What would she say if she knew that? She was always trying to make people afraid to talk to her. Who couldn't have the upper hand in a conversation? You only had to be nasty to do that. She had nothing to act superior about anyhow. Who did she think she was?
He finished his breakfast and went to the living-room, where he scanned the morning paper and cursed Helen. When she came downstairs again he'd tell her something. She had him sore now. He'd tell her that there was a girl worth ten of her who worshiped the ground he walked on.
It was over an hour before Helen returned. He had begun to fear that she had gone back to bed. She was dressed for golf when she appeared at the foot of the stairs. Except for her hair she looked absurdly like a girl.
Nellie bustled out of the kitchen. "Shall I phone for a cab, Mrs. Scott?"
​"No, thank you. Mrs. Winters is calling for me. Oh, here she is now." Helen looked into the living-room at her husband. "Hubert," she said, "don't come up here again with that fool worsted doll hanging on the back window of the car. A man ought to have his license revoked for doing a thing like that. It proves he's not responsible."
"All right, I'll take it off."
"Thank you. Good-by."
"'Bye."
Jees, she had a nerve to give orders. So sure, too, that they would be obeyed. Just as though he was afraid of her. Like hell he'd take that doll down. Oh, well, the devil with Helen anyhow. He'd get back to Lillian now. There was a girl who wasn't always acting as though she was somebody a person ought to be afraid of.
Lillian was still in bed when he arrived just before noon. Her pretty face was white and drawn and there were purple smears beneath her eyes. She raised her plump, bare arms to him and wound them about his neck. "Was it bad?" she asked breathlessly. "What did Helen say?"
"It was pretty bad, kid. She threatened to shoot herself if I left her. I tried to reason with her but it was no use. Gee, I pitied her. She's so old, you know, in her ways, and she really has nothing to live for, no interests really outside of me. I gave in, Lil. Gee, we can't let her kill herself."
"No, of course not. But we can be a little freer now that she knows about me, can't we? We won't have to worry about people she knows seeing us together."
​Hubert bit his lip and looked away from her. "Lil," he said, "I had to tell her something to make her stop raving. I told her I wouldn't see you any more. Gee, I had to, Lil. You ought to have seen her. She was like crazy. So we'll have to be just as careful as ever. And I have to phone her on nights when I'm going to be away."
"What's that for?"
"Just to assure her that everything's O.K. I suppose she'll ask me to come up about every time I speak to her and I'll have to do it the next day. But, gee, that's the only thing I can do. I swear I was frightened. Thought she'd take poison or something when I told her how things were."
"I guess it was awful."
"It was, Lil."
"I'm sorry I started it."
"Oh, that was all right. I'd have done it myself when I first met you, only I knew what she was like. The hysterical type, you know, jealous and excitable as hell. I feel sorry for her every time there's something important to talk over. She's so high-strung."
Hubert took his shoes off and stretched himself on the bed beside Lillian. Neither of them said a word for several minutes.
Then: "Say, Lil, we got to take that worsted doll down from the back of the car. It looks lousy."