# Bad Girl (Delmar)/Chapter 13

By the twentieth of December, Dot's perfidious stomach had settled down to a condition resembling normal. If she took no more than chicken broth, crackers, an occasional poached egg, gelatine, and food of that type, she had no difficulty at all. This new-found ability to eat though pregnant drove all interest in the approaching Yuletide right out of Dot's mind. She bought two pairs of black silk stockings for Edna. A tie with collegiate stripes of red and blue seemed just the thing for Eddie, and it was only a dollar. She worried for a whole day about Maude and Sue. Money was not too plentiful, what with the approaching confinement; besides, she didn't feel like shopping; but suppose they gave her something. Wouldn't that be terrible, if they gave her a present and she didn't have one to give them? She grew quite alarmed over the situation. A girl like Maude you'd have to give something kind of expensive to, and money had to be watched closely. Still, how would Dot feel if Maude gave her something? At length she decided that Maude and Sue would have no Christmas so far as she was concerned. If either of them gave her anything she would frankly tell them that they had to excuse her as she was saving money for her baby.
The stockings and the tie had been bought in the little department store whence Dot's pink curtains had come. She wouldn't have faced the downtown crowds this year for anything in the world. On a sudden impulse she ​added a carton of cigarettes to Eddie's tie. It was their first Christmas together. Too bad it couldn't have been more festive.
It would be the first year that Dot had ever passed without a Christmas tree. Well, they'd have one next year, and then there'd be somebody to enjoy it. Let's see, the baby would be five months old next Christmas. Sure, plenty old enough to enjoy a tree. He'd probably be able to eat one of those candy canes, too, but she wouldn't give it to him without asking Dr. Stewart. She made up her mind that she'd never give the baby anything without asking Dr. Stewart if he could have it.
The return of her stomach's self-possession led Dot and Eddie to accept the invitation to Sue's party. Neither of them remembered that an agreement had been reached by which Sue was to lose the Collinses as guests. In talking it over, Dot had reminded Eddie that Pat and Sue were to be married on the twenty-seventh of December. This was really Sue's last good party. Yes, Dot must make an effort to be present. So they went.
Sue lived on the top floor of a five-flight walk-up. The house was on Brook Avenue. The Cudahys had six rooms. It was very nice to give a party there, because the hall was very long and the kitchen was almost a block's walk from the parlor. This permitted Sue's mother to damn all the trouble to which the guests were putting her without the possibility of the guests hearing her. Also, there was a sort of alcove which opened out from the parlor. When renting the apartment, the agent had called it a music room, but he knew and the prospective tenant knew that it would be used for a bedroom. Tonight the bed in the so-called music room was used for wraps, and the first to arrive would perforce be the last to depart.
Off the hall were two other bedrooms and the bath. Mrs. Cudahy was all for putting lights in the bedrooms. ​She was a broad-minded woman, and she knew there was no harm in these petting parties, but she was also a methodical woman. Everything in its place was her motto. A bedroom was no place for a petting party, and she darkly suspected that there were couples in there. With the couples who were leaning against the walls in the hall she had no argument. But it wasn't nice to go hide where nobody could see you at your deviltry. She took the matter up with Sue. Nothing came of it, however, except another quite unexpected marriage on the same day as Sue's.
There had been no attempt made to decorate the parlor. A piano and a framed photograph of Bill Cudahy, who was a traffic cop, was enough decoration for any room in the world, at least in Bill Cudahy's estimation. But the dining-room had been decorated. There was a huge red-and-green bell dangling from the chandelier. It was one of those bells that are only a flat half bell at the time of purchase but can be opened with a quick, deft gesture and transformed into a thing of beauty and frequently a joy forever to its owners. It is a splendid buy. There is no holiday for which a bell doesn't make a nice decoration.
Holly was scattered promiscuously about the room. Each picture had a clump of holly peeping out from behind it. There was mistletoe over the doorway. Mrs. Cudahy had misjudged her guests.
The table was resplendent with a paper table cover. Mrs. Cudahy had only at the last minute decided to be high-toned. By that time the stationery man had been out of covers bearing Santa Claus and his reindeers. There hadn't been anything appropriate for a wedding either. So Mrs. Cudahy took what he had. It was a crinkly white cover with the Father of his Country done in gold and white on two corners and red, white, and blue rosettes on the others.
In the center of the table was a large cake with oceans ​of glossy white frosting. At an earlier hour there had been some writing on it in raised frosted letters, but Sue had a small brother. Mrs. Cudahy hadn't wanted the nuisance of serving a lot of people; so she arranged for them to help themselves when prompted by their own desires. There was a ham on the table with a sharp knife beside it. One supposed that she had no aversion to one's using the same knife on the boiled tongue. There were crackers, bread, pickles, and a bowl of innocuous punch that was made from adding water to fruit juices which were already half water. Some bananas and apples lay unconcernedly in a glass bowl on the sewing-machine. They were no part of the party. They had arrived long before the party and expected to witness Sue's wedding. Dot knew they were no part of the party because there was no lace doily under their bowl.
The noise in the parlor was something terrible. A great many girls have sharp voices. The trip down the hall blunted them somewhat; so Pat Macy stood in the dining-room eating a great many crackers. Mrs. Cudahy thought him a hog and said as much. Pat merely said, "All right, pardon me," and returned to the parlor. No hard feeling between him and Mrs. Cudahy.
In the parlor the party was in hysterics at the antics of the party clown. He was giving his own impression of a husky-voiced fellow trying to sell cough drops. He was awfully funny. And so willing. He recited ever and ever so many comic poems and sang a song. The song proved a foolish move on his part, for it reminded six or seven other guests of their own accomplishments. One, a chap named Bernstein, with a remarkable Jewish accent, thought of his customary contribution to things of this sort before anybody else did.
"Say, Brownie," he shouted across the room, "reminds you of my 'Fireman' song, don't it?"
​The room promptly seethed with requests for Mr. Bernstein to sing his "Fireman" song. It seemed that Mr. Bernstein didn't want to. It seemed that he couldn't be coaxed or bribed to sing his "Fireman" song. It seemed that after all he would sing it.
Mr. Bernstein sang his "Fireman" song. Miss Eiden sang "The Sunshine of Your Smile." Mr. McDonald recited an Edgar Guest poem. Mr. Mont played Rachmaninoff's Prelude in G Minor.
Mr. Collins and Mr. Macy went up on the roof and talked about the coming baseball season as compared to the last.
The little variety program had not been completed when Maude McLaughlin dropped in for a minute or two. Ted was at her side and he caused a sensation with his tuxedo, derby and white scarf which showed just the correct amount of itself above the collar of his black overcoat. Maude was far less smart-looking than her escort. The gold net dress under her velvet wrap would have been several stains better for a cleaning, but this fact didn't make the girls in their plain, informal frocks feel any better.
She was quite cordial, however, despite her dressy clothes. She had a smile for everybody to whom Sue introduced her, and to some she even said a few words. Sue sent her most dependable messenger to the kitchen with an order for drinks.
"Maude McLaughlin just came in with her fellow," the messenger panted to Mrs. Cudahy. "Sue wants drinks right away."
"To hell with Maude McLaughlin and her fellow," said Mrs. Cudahy.
But the drinks arrived. Maude drank hers with a slow, unenthusiastic air. It seemed that she and Ted couldn't stay a minute. They were going on somewhere else. They ​just wanted to wish Sue a Merry Christmas and congratulate Pat on the approaching wedding.
After five minutes of staring at Maude, Sue's guests picked up the party again and continued it. Under cover of the noise and crowd, Maude sought out Dot, whom she found on a camp stool close to the piano.
"Hello, Kid," she whispered. "How are you?"
Dot's eyes had seen the ham with its fat and sugary coat and had telegraphed a vivid description of it to Dot's stomach. Dot was miserably undecided about the matter. One ought to go home if one was going to be ill, but it was a terribly long ride, and subways and street cars are awful places to be ill in. Still, a party is no place for such things.
She looked up at Maude—Maude with her air of being superior to her surroundings, Maude who wore gold net and asked after a person's health. As though she really cared.
"I'm fine," she said and smiled whitely.
Maude leaned over her. "Did you see Griegman?" she whispered.
"Yes."
"Would he do it for you?"
"He'd do it for anybody, wouldn't he?" Dot asked. "I wouldn't let him, though. I've knocked all that craziness out of my head. I'm going to have my baby."
"Somebody told you about a woman's true mark of distinction and forgot to mention the pain." Maude was smiling humoringly down at Dot.
Dot looked across the room. It was hard for her to meet a person's gaze when she was going to say something nasty, and Dot had made up her mind to be nasty.
"Some women aren't yellow, Maude," she said.
"They're all brave six months before it starts to hurt," remarked Maude.
​"And some are brave straight through. Take that soap box of yours somewhere else, Maude." Dot's young shoulders squared themselves under her pink silk scarf. "I'm not afraid of any pain that millions of other women have stood."
"I'll see you in the hospital," said Maude and walked away. She was vexed with Dot Collins. If Dot had behaved herself and let Maude tell her what to do, Maude might even have given her that red dress that Ted hated so. But there wasn't any sense in doing things for people whose lives you couldn't run. And Dot would be in a fine fix with a baby. Fancy not being able to afford a fur coat and being sap enough to have a kid.
She went over and spoke to Ted. They said good-by to Sue and scattered a smile around the room. Yes, it was too bad that Sue hadn't been able to find Pat, but she could give him their message. Sue took them to the door.
"I hear that Dot is going to have a baby," said Maude.
"Yes," said Sue.
"Isn't she a fool?" Maude demanded of Sue.
"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Sue said. "People know their own business best."
Sue had already received a wedding present from Maude.
"Well," said Maude, "good-by."
Sue walked back to the noisy room and looked for Dot. But the camp stool was empty. Dot's moment of indecision was over. She was standing in the Cudahy's bathroom thanking God that nobody had noticed her sudden departure.
The door opened. There isn't a bathroom in the Bronx with a lock that really works. Mrs. Cudahy stood there looking at Dot wonderingly.
"Did you drink too much?"
​Dot shook her head. "I haven't had anything," she gasped.
Mrs. Cudahy's mouth expressed her suspicions. Her eyes traveled over Dot's figure.
"You're the married one, aren't you?" she asked.
"Yes. I'm going to have a baby."
"Poor child."
Dot's eyes, momentarily red and watery, turned on her. "Why 'poor child'?" she asked.
"Oh, you're so young and tiny. Come, lie down for a while."
Dot permitted herself to be led into one of the bedrooms. Mrs. Cudahy put a cover over her and sat down beside her.
"When's the baby coming?"
"Not till July."
"Oh, well, don't mind being sick. It'll be over soon, and then you'll be fine. You'll eat like an ox and get to be a big strapping girl."
"My doctor is going to put me on a diet."
It was too dark to see Mrs. Cudahy's expression when she said: "That's a lot of tomfoolery. I ate everything I wanted and had a regular baby to show for it. Sue weighed twelve pounds and was the envy of every woman on the street."
Dot shuddered. "Didn't it hurt terribly to have a baby that big?"
Mrs. Cudahy appeared to be thinking it over. "Well," she said after a time, "did you ever have a bad cramp?"
"Yes."
"It's like that."
"Sounds easy," said Dot.
"Well, it ain't like having your nails manicured, but I hope Sue will have one; so you see it can't be so bad, or I wouldn't be wishing it on her."
​"Some women who have had babies," said Dot, "tell their friends not to have them."
"Sure," said Mrs. Cudahy. "My own sister didn't want me to have Sue, but I went ahead and had her, and I got to go get her friends a drink now. You stay here."
Mrs. Cudahy disappeared in the darkness of the hall. There was a faint light in the room which came from the bedroom of the neighbor across the court. Dot could make out the bulk of a bureau and the back of a chair. She lay there thinking. Maude and Mrs. Cudahy and Edna and herself. What advice would she have to pass on to other women? Would she be able to tell some one she liked that having a baby wasn't so bad? Why did Maude make it hard to remember that one night of pain was after all only one night? Of course some women were in pain much longer, but that wasn't frequent. Mrs. Cudahy seemed to think that a big baby was an accomplishment. Dot smiled. Dr. Stewart and she could have a beautiful argument. Mrs. Cudahy probably thought it was silly to bother a lot about doctors. Dot couldn't see where it was silly. If anything went wrong you didn't have to reproach yourself for stinting on expenses. No, she was right, right in having her baby and right in having engaged Dr. Stewart.
The noise in the other room had quieted down some. Mr. McDonald was reciting again. Something about bells this time. Lots of bells. Edgar Allan Poe had written it, Dot heard Mr. McDonald announce. Dot knew about Edgar Allan Poe. He had lived in a little white house in Fordham with a black bird painted on the door. Dot had often wondered if his wife had had many children. If so, the park around the house must have certainly been a convenience to her.
Hm. Nice and quiet now. Wonder where Eddie is? Presently Dot fell asleep. When she awakened, Mr. McDonald and his unusual talent had departed. The house ​was very still. She jumped up, cold with a sudden unreasoning terror. What had happened? She staggered, stupid with sleep, down the hall to the front room. Every one had gone home save Eddie and Pat Macy. Mr. Cudahy was there now, huge and pleasant-faced, with a wallet full of Christmas greetings from his pet motorists. Mrs. Cudahy was telling about the house they use to live in, and Sue in a low voice was trying to wheedle a ten-dollar bill out of her father.
They all looked up as Dot appeared in the doorway.
"There she is," cried Mrs. Cudahy. "I wouldn't let Eddie wake you up, dear."
Dot smiled with sleepy embarrassment. Funny how people treat you after you've been asleep for a while. A sort of combination of indulgence and harmless contempt.
"It's after two o'clock," said Eddie.
"It's Christmas," said Pat.
Then everybody said Merry Christmas to everybody else, and Sue kissed everybody but Eddie.
"I've been trying to convince your husband that you ought to stay all night," said Mr. Cudahy. "We have an extra bed, and a pair of my pajamas would fit the pair of you."
"No," said Eddie. "We can't stay. Thanks."
He got up and walked over to Dot. "Get your things, Kid, we have to go."
"You're very foolish," said Mrs. Cudahy. "We have that bed—"
Dot walked to the window. It didn't look at all like the Christmas of holiday cards. There was no fleecy white snow sparkling like blue-white diamonds. There was no jolly silver moon beaming on the world. The windows of the surrounding houses were dark, hollow squares. No golden shafts of light came from them, warming the cheerless morning. The streets were deserted. A cold wind ​came singing a harsh song from around the corner.
This was Brook Avenue. She and Eddie would have to walk one block to Willis Avenue and then wait for a car. They ran irregularly at best, and this was two o'clock in the morning. When one came, they'd ride to the subway entrance at One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street and Broadway. It was elevated there. They would wait again for a train which would take them to Dyckman Street. All this time Dot would be sleepy and very cold. Her coat had a fur collar, of course, but it was really a thin coat.
Mr. Cudahy had begun to unlace his shoes. "You ought to stay," he said.
"It's a shame to drag her out tonight," said Mrs. Cudahy.
"Gee, nobody cares about poor me," said Pat.
Mrs. Cudahy laughed. "Are you going to have a baby?" she asked.
Mr. Cudahy jumped from his chair and looked at Dot. "What!" he cried. "Have you been holding such news back from me? Never will you two kids get out of this house now. What! On Christmas morning I shouldn't have a bed for you, and you should go out in the cold with your poor little body uncomfortable and all? On Christmas morning of all times. By God, Mother, give them my bed."
His explosion, half mockery, half something else, brought a sudden silly moisture to Dot's eyes. There were people who respected the rights of the little fellow yet to be.
She looked at Eddie. He was smiling at Mr. Cudahy, but his smile was that of one who still must refuse to accept a favor.
"Oh, Eddie, please let's stay," Dot cried. "I don't know whether Mr. Cudahy's joking or not, and I don't care, but I'm terribly uncomfortable."
​"Up to you," said Eddie.
"What about me?" asked Pat. "I'm damned if I'll brave the cold. Put me out, and I won't let Sue come in my house."
Mrs. Cudahy's brow registered deep thought. "Papa and I will sleep in the music room," she said, "and Dot and Sue can sleep in the big bedroom, and Eddie and Pat can have the small one, and I'll get Jimmie up, and he can sleep on the cot in the music room with us."
Everybody seemed satisfied except Eddie. He looked very much disturbed. Mrs. Cudahy suggested coffee for all before retiring, and as they moved toward the kitchen, Eddie got close to Dot and whispered, "I have something to tell you."
After Dot had nibbled a Uneeda biscuit and gone to bed and while Sue was saying good night to Pat in the dining-room, Eddie came in to see Dot.
"Listen," he said, "I was talking to Pat. He knows a fellow in the furniture business, and he can get a crib wholesale. As long as we're going to have this kid, it's gotta have a place to sleep, don't it? Good night."
He kissed her and sped down the hall to the other room. Dot cuddled further into Sue's nightgown and sighed contentedly.
"Oh, yes, and Merry Christmas," she called in answer to Mr. Cudahy's good night.
Maude McLaughlin seemed an awful damn fool.