# Kept Woman/Chapter 13

Lillian was making out her Christmas list. Mary Jackson, her baby, Theresa, Hymie, Louise, Billy, Anna, Clifford, Hubert, too, of course, but she wouldn't put him on the list because he might look it over and see that she was planning to get him a bathrobe. He was sitting across the room from her, listening to the radio. She glanced over at him and wondered for the millionth time how he found comfort in that strange position of his. Always when he listened to the radio he sat with his body describing a straight line from his heels to the back of his neck. His bottom touched the edge of the chair in a most casual manner and his hands folded behind his head just where the top of the chair-back lent a trifling support. She looked away from him and back at the list.
Well, stockings were all right for Mary. They were useful but not insultingly so. She could give her six pairs in different shades. The baby was easy. No need to worry about his gift now. Woolly dogs and rubber lions and things like that were always displayed in the stores and she could choose one when she got there. Theresa was a bit of a problem. You couldn't give her underwear or anything like that because she sewed so darn well that nothing you could buy would be good enough for her. Maybe perfume or a handbag.
Lillian wrote both perfume and handbag beside ​Theresa's name with a question-mark after each. She'd buy Hymie a pocket lighter. That would be nice. Now Louise. What could she get Louise? Underwear would be all right for her. Two teddies and maybe a slip also. She'd get Billy a cigarette case. Anna next. She knew that Anna wanted a set of lace covers for her bedroom suite, but she hated to give anything like that. It seemed such a waste to give a girl anything for her home. Well, maybe she'd give Anna underwear too. It was best anyhow to buy Anna and Louise the same things. And she'd give Cliff a cigarette case too. That seemed all right. Now was there any one else to whom she really ought to give something?
Hubert switched off the set suddenly and stood up. "They've got an opera on," he said peevishly.
"On all the stations?" Lillian asked.
"No, but the other ones are just as bad. Their idea of entertainment gives me a pain. What are you doing?"
"Making out my Christmas list."
"Christmas list!" His tone implied that he had never heard of such madness.
"Sure. It's the fourth of December or maybe the fifth. Somewhere around that anyhow. Gee, Theresa's all finished with her shopping and Louise started already."
Hubert came over and stood beside her, looking down at the back of a milk bill upon which Lillian had been writing.
"Say," he said, "you didn't give Billy and Hymie anything last year and you didn't know Cliff. How come you've got them all on the list?"
​"Well, I thought it would be nice to give them something, don't you?"
"I think it's kind of foolish."
"Why?"
"Oh, Christmas is a lot of bunk anyhow. It's for women and children. The department stores get fat on it and that's all it's good for."
Lillian said nothing nor did she cross the men's names off the list. She sat tapping her pencil against the arm of the couch while Hubert re-read the list.
"Is Mary Jackson going to open a stocking store?" he asked.
"Why?"
"You got six pairs of stockings down for her. Gee, two are enough."
"It's cheap-looking to only give her two pairs."
"I don't know. Helen's got a friend, a Mrs. Winters, who's worth a hell of a lot of money, and she gave Helen two pairs of stockings for Christmas one year."
"Maybe she's stingy," Lillian suggested.
Hubert shook his head. "No, I don't think she is. She gave our kid a wrist watch the year he graduated that I bet cost her fifty or sixty bucks. I don't think two pairs of stockings look cheap."
Lillian's lips curved into an expression of annoyance. She crossed out the generous six she had written and inscribed above it a cramped little two.
"You got enough underwear down for Anna and Louise, too," Hubert proceeded. "Gee, you must think we're in the silk business."
​"Now don't tell me I can give a girl less than two pieces of underwear," Lillian said.
"I seen the time when Mrs. Winters gave Helen one combination or teddy or whatever the heck you call it."
"Now you've rung Mrs. Winters in once too often on my Christmas list." Lillian looked up at him with displeasure. "What's all this about anyhow? Don't you want me to give any Christmas presents?"
"Sure, I don't care, but I think you're overdoing it. We haven't any silkworms spinning cocoons for us nor any cigarette case factory."
"Why, Hubert, I never knew you to be like this before. Don't you like the crowd any more?"
"Certainly I do. Give them presents if you want, but, hell, don't forget we've been giving them presents all year."
He walked away from her then and she could hear him in the bedroom switching on the light and looking through the closet for his slippers.
Gee, he was acting funny. It wasn't that he was stingy. A fellow just couldn't become stingy overnight. Lillian thought the matter over for a minute or two and found a solution which pleased her. Hubert was a great man. He knew when it was time to discontinue the generous hand-outs. For just so long he had been willing to play the helping hand and believed that now he had done enough. He wanted her to imply with modest gifts that he had given up the Santa Claus business. He was the kind of man who knew how and when to retreat gracefully. That took character and clear ​figuring. She had never guessed that though he appeared to distribute favors loosely, in reality he had carefully kept count. He had probably set aside a certain amount to squander on these friends of hers and it was now used up. She felt sorry for the Fishers and the Sullivans, but after all, Hubert had been as generous as one could reasonably expect. She felt proud of him and very meek as she revised her Christmas list. When he came shuffling back to the living-room in his brown felt slippers she smiled at him like an adoring but chastened wife. The ways of rich men are inexplicable at times and perhaps a little cruel, but one must accept them.
The new list omitted Hymie, Billy, and Clifford. Really it wasn't necessary to give them presents. It provided two pairs of stockings for Mary, one teddy for Anna, and one teddy for Louise. Theresa was definitely set to receive a handbag, and Mary's baby was slated for one woolly dog. Alternative choices looked a bit extravagant, Lillian thought. She wanted Hubert to see that she had grasped his meaning at once.
She did all her Christmas shopping on Dyckman Street. Twenty dollars covered everything but Hubert's gift. It cost her another ten dollars for his bathrobe. She hoped he would like it. It was red and gray and looked very warm. She had bought everything out of her monthly allowance. Hubert would return what she had spent on gifts. All of course except the ten dollars for the bathrobe. She wanted that to come out of her own money.
Christmas Eve was very gay. Lillian had a tiny tree. ​The radio set was temporarily dispossessed so that the tree could stand on its table. It didn't take long to trim the little tree, but it was fun just the same. Hubert was satisfyingly enthusiastic about the bathrobe and he gave Lillian a bottle of perfume, a cigarette holder, and an enormous box of candy.
The Sullivans came over, bringing a bath-mat which was to Hubert and Lillian with best Christmas wishes from Anna and Cliff. The Fishers brought a half-dozen Victrola records with Christmas greetings. Theresa and Hymie dropped in to say Merry Christmas. They brought no gift, and Theresa received the elaborately boxed present which Lillian handed her without embarrassment. The Mosses had twenty-one relatives who had to be remembered at Christmas; so they left out their friends through sheer necessity. Theresa knew perfectly well what her friends thought of her, but she couldn't bring herself to explain about the relatives.
Hymie, however, had a flask of rye with him. He was able to give everybody a drink. There were toasts all around, a few bursts of song, and many Yuletide wishes more wordy than sincere. Then the Sullivans had to go. They were expected at Anna's mother's house. The Fishers followed soon after. They were going to a party.
Hubert looked at the clock. It was half-past nine. He said to Hymie, "What are you people doing tonight?"
"We're going over to Fordham," Hymie said. "My sister has a lot of kids. I'm playing Santa Claus there at ten o'clock. We have to beat it."
​"Oh," said Hubert.
"Why?"
"See, I got to go home," Hubert explained. "It's Christmas Eve and I got to go. I thought maybe if you weren't doing anything, you know—Lillian will be all alone."
"Well, she can come with us," Theresa said. "Go ahead, Lillian, get into your things."
"No," Lillian shook her head. "Thanks just the same."
"Why not?"
"Oh, I'll read or something. I won't mind, honestly."
"Why don't you go?" Hubert urged.
"Go on. I'd fit in fine in a family gathering."
"They're all right," Theresa said. "They're regular people. They won't sing carols or pray or anything. Come on. At midnight there's a big feed and loads of fun. Come on."
Lillian shook her head. The Mosses had to go, for Hymie knew the children would be waiting and his sister worried that he was lying drunk and unconcerned somewhere.
Hubert put on his hat and coat. "Gee, Lil," he said, "I hate to do this."
"Oh, don't be silly. Beat it, will you?"
He took two packages from the table. One was the twin of Lillian's enormous box of candy. The other was a pair of fur-lined gloves.
"Good night, Hubert. Merry Christmas."
"Same to— Oh, gee, Lil, what are you going to do with yourself?"
​"Read for a while, then go to bed. I'll be all right. Don't worry about me."
"Good night, Lil. Gee, don't you think the Fishers or the Sullivans should have asked you along like Theresa did?"
"Why should they?"
"Well, the Mosses did."
"Oh, that was just a bowl of cherries. They knew I wouldn't come. People aren't little gods, Hubert. They do what's going to make things most pleasant for themselves."
"I hope you don't mean me, Lil."
"Oh, go home, you old fool. You're cluttering up my doorstep."
Hubert laughed and went out. He looked up at the living-room from the garden court and saw that Lillian had turned off the lights on the little tree. He wondered what she was doing. Gee, poor kid, all alone. He wished Helen had gone away for Christmas as she had last year.
At ten minutes past eleven the Mosses were back at Lillian's house.
"Oh," she said as she opened the door for them, "you shouldn't have."
They looked at her and then away quickly. She wouldn't like to be stared at now. Hymie threw off his coat and Theresa unwrapped a bundle of sandwiches and Christmas cakes.
"I don't suppose you have any coffee?" she said. "Hymie's sister wanted me to bring some along in case you wouldn't have, but I'm a great one for gambling."
​"Yes, I have coffee. Though it's a wonder I remembered to go to the grocer today. Gee, Theresa, it's darn nice of you to do this. It's terribly cold out, isn't it? I was just looking out the window a minute ago and I thought it looked positively freezing."
"Yeh, it's kind of cold," said Hymie.
"Well, thank God for steam heat," Lillian went on. "I was just thinking before you came how cold it use to be in our house on Christmas morning when I was a kid. We had stoves, you know, one in every room, but sometimes they weren't so good and us kids used to freeze to death looking at our toys. There wasn't a lot to look at, but you know when you're a kid Christmas seems important and you think it's a great day."
"Yeh, I know," said Theresa.
"Say, Theresa, did you sing 'Oh, Little Town of Bethlehem' in school when you were a kid? You know what I mean, around Christmas time. I was just thinking of that song a little while ago."
"Sure, we sang it."
"So did we," said Hymie.
"It goes 'Oh, little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie'—"
Lillian began to sing and the others joined her. Over the little green table in Lillian's kitchen far into the night they recalled Christmas songs and exchanged stories of long-forgotten Christmases.
When it was very late and the Mosses were sure that Lillian was very sleepy, they left her. She heard their cold motor object strenuously to such treatment but at last agree to take them home. Lillian undressed ​wearily. Funny, she thought, that the Mosses didn't give presents. Just never got the feel of the Christmas spirit, she supposed.
Hubert was back by one o'clock Christmas Day. He and Lillian took a drive, stopping for the Sullivans on their way home. It was a warmish, sunless day. Smoky-colored like autumn. Nobody was in a very good humor.
Clifford wanted a turkey dinner. Hubert wanted to go to the Italian restaurant in Fordham. Anna said it wouldn't be Christmas to her if they didn't have turkey. Hubert said he'd just as leave have spaghetti.
"Maybe they'll have turkey there today," Lillian suggested.
"No, they won't," Anna said. "They didn't have it Thanksgiving."
"But Thanksgiving is just an American holiday," Clifford reminded her. "You know, it's the day the Pilgrims landed here."
"Well," said Hubert, "we'll go to the spaghetti joint and you two can go somewhere and have turkey. How will that be?"
The Sullivans went with Hubert and Lillian and dined on antipasto, spaghetti, and spumoni. Anna said three times that it didn't seem like Christmas at all and Clifford told her not to mind, that next year they'd go to a downtown restaurant and have a swell feed. Lillian felt fearfully embarrassed. Hubert was certainly being strong in his determination not to squander money on the crowd any more.
The Fishers were waiting in the vestibule of Lillian's ​house when they got back there. They had been making calls and both were nicely plastered.
Lillian noticed at once that Anna and Louise were uncommonly chummy tonight. She attributed this strange manifestation to the Yuletide season at first.
But later in the evening Louise asked of Anna, "Did you hear from Claire Rubens today?"
Anna shook her head and frowned slightly.
"I wonder how she got home?" Louise went on.
"Home from where?" Cliff cut in with an elaborate stage delivery. "Was she somewhere unusual?"
"Why. You know, she—" Louise broke off suddenly and there was a moment's silence during which Louise and Anna flushed and Cliff and Billy whistled carelessly and searched their pockets for cigarettes.
Lillian kept her eyes fastened to the little bare spot near the door where the builders had evidently run short of wainscoting. She wished she were anywhere but in this room. She was far more embarrassed than any of the four who sat so uncomfortably grouped about her. She had no business here. They wanted to talk over the party at Anna's mother's house which clearly the Fishers had attended. Oh, why did people have to weave senselessly intricate nets of lies? Why couldn't they be square and say, "Look here, so and so's the case." Damn them for trying to spare a person's feelings and then plunging them into a position like this.
Lillian said to herself, "The hell with them." She said it many times, but it didn't seem to help.
​The silence in the little room grew unendurable. Hubert was regarding the Fishers and the Sullivans with angry eyes. At last he said, "Did you people all go out together somewhere last night?"
None of the four answered. Lillian said, "What's the matter, Hubert? We don't own them. Aren't they allowed to go out?"
"Well, I think it was a lousy trick," Hubert said. "You knew Lillian was going to be here alone."
"She wasn't alone," Anna replied.
"But you didn't know she wasn't going to be."
"Don't forget you left her alone, big boy," Billy put in.
"Oh, that's all right," Louise said in mocking tones. "He's Hubert."
"I had to go home to my mother on Christmas Eve," Anna said, "just the same as you had to go home to your wife. And I invited Billy and Louise to go with me."
"You could have taken Lillian, too, couldn't you?" Hubert challenged.
"Oh, Hubert," Lillian begged.
Cliff said, "Look, Scotty, we all know the way things stand. Anna's mother is old-fashioned, you know what I mean. She wouldn't understand about Lillian and—you."
"If it hadn't been for that I'd have asked her in a minute," Anna shouted, exultantly.
"Of course," said Billy.
"Of course," echoed Louise.
​"Well, cripes, what did she do, read about Lillian and me in the newspapers? What did you tell her about Lillian for, Anna?"
"She used to know Lillian when we worked together, see? I had to explain about you and her when Lillian started giving me so many things for the apartment."
"Oh, call it a day," said Lillian. "What the hell? I don't care whether I was invited or not. I wouldn't have gone anyhow."
Louise was sitting near Lillian now with her arm about her. She whispered, "I told Anna she should have asked you. 'After all,' I said, 'Lillian's always been a good friend to you.'"
Anna began to cry. "If it wasn't for my mother," she said, "I'd have asked Lillian. Only my mother is so old-fashioned."
"Oh, can it," ordered Lillian. "I'm telling you I don't care. I'm a kept woman and I don't care that I'm not welcome in respectable homes."
"You're as good as anybody else," Hubert blazed. "You're as good as Louise or Anna!"
Anna threw Lillian an imploring glance. Lillian was never one to let her friends down.
"You mean I'm just as good at heart, Hubert. Well, I've tried to be decent to people, but you know some of the older folks still count a girl's goodness by the number of men she's disappointed. Anna didn't mean to slight me. We're all friends. Go on, Hubert, go out and get a bottle of gin."
"I will not," he said. "I'm not going to buy gin for ​a bunch of lice that don't think you're good enough to invite out with them." He strode to the bedroom angrily and slammed the door.
It was a very impressive exit, he thought, and expedient, too. It saved him two dollars.
In the living-room the five sat silent. Anna wept very daintily into her handkerchief. The men looked pensively out the window at nothing at all. Louise and Lillian smoked.
Billy said, "Let's shove off. We're in wrong."
Lillian smiled at him pleasantly. "No," she said. "You know how Hubert is when he gets back from the family. They drive him nearly crazy. He'll be fine again tomorrow."
"I don't want no friends," said Billy, "who are fine one day and call me a louse the next."
He got his coat and Louise got hers. Billy said good night shortly. Louise kissed Lillian and assured her that she would not hold Hubert's outburst against her.
"It positively won't make any difference," she promised. "You weren't responsible for it." The Fishers went home.
The Sullivans followed as soon as Anna was able to patch up her blighted complexion. They left feeling certain that Hubert was not himself and charging Lillian to call them as soon as he was.
Lillian closed the door upon them, turned out the lights, and went to the bedroom. Hubert was in bed but not asleep.
She sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked his hand as she spoke to him.
​"I know you lit into them," she said, "because you think they handed me a raw deal and you think I mind it. I didn't, honest, Hubert. Really. They were right. I'm different. I'm a kept woman, and a girl can't bring me home to her mother's house. I'm a different breed entirely. I don't think I'm not as good, understand. I think I got more guts and more character, but so has some criminals, and you wouldn't want to cart them home. See, I'm kind of an outsider. I'm a kept woman, Hubert; once you get that through your head you'll see the whole thing."
He did not reply for a moment and she prompted him. "See?" she asked.
"You gave Anna and Louise each something last Christmas that cost twenty-five bucks. I think if you'd done that this Christmas you'd have been invited. I think they got sore at the small presents."
"Oh, no, Hubert."
"Yes, I think they did. I think that's why they passed you up."
And all night long he tossed and once he sighed. Very unusual for Hubert.