Will's friends certainly provided one continual round of pleasure, if
dissipation may be classed under that head. I was brought to wonder how
they found time for "the petty round of irritating concerns and duties"
of life. They appeared always to be dining or lunching out. One met them
in the various restaurants at all hours, drinking round upon round of
cocktails, and polishing them off with cognac. The Pompeian room at the
Annex between five and six in the afternoon is Chicago typified. The
artistic gentleman who conceived the decorative scheme of the Pompeian
room had a sly sense of the eternal fitness of things. He also knew his
Chicago. The great bacchic amphorae--copies of those classic receptacles
utilized as relief stations by old Romans who had wined too well--are
concrete reminders of his sense of humour. I have seen more women in
Chicago under the influence of liquor than in any other city in the
world. This probably accounts for their low standard of morality as
well as for the emotional debauches in which they indulge.
There was one couple typical of the class of high-flyers in which
Chicago abounds. The husband was a throat specialist with a splendid
practice. He was popular among stage-folk. Will had met the doctor and
his wife during a former engagement. The wife expressed herself as
"strong for" Will. Scarcely a day passed without a telephone message or
a call from Mrs. Pease. She would drop in at the most inopportune times.
"Don't mind me," she would say, settling herself comfortably. "I've seen
gentlemen in dressing-gowns before. That red is very becoming to your
peculiar style of beauty, sir. Nothing if not artistic."
Mrs. Pease was a tall woman, built on the slab style. She affected
mannish tailormades and heavy boots. When she sat down she invariably
crossed her legs. The extremities she exhibited were not prepossessing.
She was also expert in innuendo and _double entente_. She flirted
outrageously with Will and made me feel like the person in the song,
"Always in the way." In fact I came to the conclusion that wherever we
went I was accepted as a necessary evil--among the women. There was
always a "pairing off" after dinner or supper; surreptitious
_rendezvous_ in the obscure cosey corners; _sotto voce_ conversations,
not intended for my ears. I found myself getting the habit of talking
stupid nonsense with persons in whom I was not interested, simply to
cover the follies of the others.
The men flattered me. Flattery is a habit with men; they think most
women expect it--and they do. After a little practice a woman can tell
to a certainty just what a man is going to say under certain conditions.
How can any one be flattered by the saccharine platitudes which are
ground out automatically like chewing-gum from a slot-machine? So few
women have a sense of humour. They have less self-respect.
Chicago lake-wind claimed me for a victim. I came down with a bad
throat. Will insisted upon my consulting his physician friend. He was a
handsome chap--this popular Doctor Pease--as blonde as Will was dark,
but already marked with the ravages of dissipation. He had a genial
raillery which made it almost impossible to take him seriously. I did
not know whether it was a part of the treatment to unbare my throat and
shoulders and sound my lungs and to let his hand linger on the uncovered
flesh, but I didn't like it. Neither did I believe my age, my weight and
my bust measure had any connection with my throat trouble. Of course I
didn't tell Will anything about it, but the next time I needed treatment
I asked him to accompany me. Will liked the doctor, so I kept my own
counsel.
One noon-day Mrs. Pease telephoned that they were going off on a motor
trip for a tour of the country clubs, at one of which they had planned
to dine. They wanted me to join them and after the matinee they would
send a car to pick up Will, and return him in time for the evening
performance. I told Will I did not want to go, giving the excuse that my
throat was still sore. Mrs. Pease answered that the doctor said the air
would do me good and that he would be responsible for me. I endeavoured
to compromise by promising to meet them at the theatre after the matinee
when they picked up Will, but the doctor himself came to the 'phone and
Will decided for me.
When the telephone announced the arrival of the party I went down to the
reception room, where I found the doctor awaiting me. He bundled me
into my great fur coat and insisted upon my wearing a fur cap his wife
had sent me. He cautioned me to wrap up well, as the car was an open
one. When we went out, as I supposed, to join the others, I was
surprised to find that the doctor was alone.
"The rest of them have gone on ahead," he answered my enquiring look. "I
was detained at the office and told them not to wait on us. We'll
overtake them if the car is in good shape."
I felt strangely uncomfortable as I took my seat beside him in the
racing machine. He secured the robes about me with his easy familiarity
and tucked me in with a good deal of care. As he seated himself at the
wheel and drew on his gloves he smiled at me and asked whether I was
timid. He said he made it a rule to kiss a woman whenever she screamed.
That was not a propitious beginning, I thought. The doctor drove
skillfully, although recklessly.
The boulevard system of Chicago is an excellent one. We covered miles of
smooth paving, from which the snow had been removed, before we reached
the country roads. After he had "let her out a bit" and showed me what
she could do, he slowed up and turned to me with a little laugh, "That's
going some, isn't it?" It struck me at the time that "going some" was
probably the motto on the city's escutcheon. Everybody wants to be
faster than everybody else.
The air _was_ exhilarating. My face tingled from the contact with the
wind. The doctor's glances made me uncomfortable. "You look like a
rosy-cheeked boy," he said. "I'd like to bite you." I silently thanked
the stars the car was an open one.
Farther on we stopped at a country club. The doctor said it was a long
time between drinks. As we drove into the club-grounds I noticed another
motor under the shed. I hoped it might belong to other members of the
party. The doctor made straight for the shed. When I looked at the deep
snow, and only a narrow path cleared to the club house, I apprehended
some silliness on the part of my host.
Disregarding his suggestion to sit still while he put up his machine, I
climbed down and picked my way over the slippery path. I had not gone
far when the doctor overtook me and, seizing me from behind, lifted me
in his arms. Not even the presence of the men shovelling snow prevented.
My first impulse was to free myself, and I believe I administered a kick
or two. The more I remonstrated the more he laughed. The picture of
making a ridiculous show of myself made me submit to being carried the
rest of the way.
After ushering me into the living-room the doctor had the good sense to
leave me alone for a while. By the time he appeared I had sufficiently
recovered my equilibrium to receive him frostily. My dignity was lost on
him. He pulled up a great armchair in front of the roaring fire and bade
me drink the hot scotch the waiter at that moment brought in. A subdued
titter from an obscure corner of the room sent the doctor in search of
other occupants. He discovered them behind a screen.
"Aha!" he greeted them in mock-seriousness. "Discovered!"
"Stung"; responded a masculine voice. "So this is why you wouldn't join
our party, eh? You sneaked off by yourselves. I didn't think anybody but
me would have the nerve to try this place so soon after the snow-storm."
"Neither did we!"
"For Heaven's sake don't give us away, will you?" It was the woman who
spoke.... "Who've you got with you?" she added in a lower tone.
"O, a little friend of mine," answered the doctor. "Come over and meet
her. I think you know her husband--Hartley, the actor."
I fear the couple whose _rendezvous_ we had discovered were not
impressed with the popular actor's wife. My conversation was limited to
monosyllables. The omission, I fancy, was not serious. They had their
own topic of conversation. It revolved chiefly around the tenth
commandment. In fact, one might conclude with perfect assurance that the
seventh and the last of the commandments are the _raison d'etre_ of all
conversation among that set.... I lost count of the drinks. The doctor
said that in the future he would provide Maraschino cherries by the
bottle for my especial delectation.
When we left the club it was dark. The doctor's friends went at the same
time. They had a chauffeur. The doctor's bloodshot eyes made me wish we,
too, had one. The cold air, happily, set him right. He drove more
carefully than earlier in the day. Perhaps he recognized his own
condition. Once he slowed down and looked at his watch.
"We're going to be late," he said. "I've half a mind to telephone that
we've picked up a puncture and have gone back to town for repairs. What
do you say?" He appeared to be turning the matter over in his mind, but
I could see that he was not taking me into consideration.
"No, we can't do that," I said without too much emphasis. "Mr. Hartley
would be worried."
He smiled at me as he replaced his watch. "Yes, I guess you're right; it
will have to wait until some other time." He patted the covers above my
lap. "Little Girl," he murmured, rather too tenderly. I was glad I could
not see his eyes. The car shot ahead. For the next half hour I had a
bewildering sense of flying over the snow-clad earth, coming now and
then in contact with it as the car struck a rut. The lights, striking
against the stalactited branches of the trees and foliage, scintillated
like the tiara of a comic-opera star--or the Diamond Horseshoe on
society night at the Metropolitan.
We were the last ones to arrive at the country club where we were to
dine. This time the doctor dropped me at the door. Someone was drumming
the piano as I came in. By the time I had taken off my wraps the doctor
joined me. There was a general noisy greeting when we entered the great
hall. Nearly all of the women I had met before. "I thought the doctor
had smashed you up," one of them said. "Or punctured a tire and gone
back to town," another added, giving the doctor a broad wink.
"Leila's gone back to town to get Mr. Hartley," volunteered someone
else. (Leila was Mrs. Pease.)
I settled myself in a niche of the chimney-seat, hoping to thaw out
eventually. I was chilled to the very depths of my being, and it was not
altogether physical. There were lots and lots of cocktails before
dinner. Judging from the spirits of the company there had been a few
before we arrived. When I heard that Mrs. Pease herself was driving the
car in which she had gone to fetch Will, I had visions of his being
dumped into a snow-bank or of colliding with a trolley. It seemed an
interminable time until they appeared. We had reached the entree. There
was a noisy greeting and a round of sallies.
"Explain yourself!"
"We thought you'd eloped or got locked up for speeding!"
"Stopped on the road, I'll bet," said the doctor, who had risen and
grasped Will's hand. Will waved to me across the table.
"O, you actor!" came from the woman at my right but one. I recognized
the person who had reproved Will after the supper at the College Inn on
the opening night.
When the champagne was served Will raised his glass to me.
"Drink it--it won't hurt you; you look tired," he said, in a stage
whisper.
"Stop flirting with your wife!" remonstrated Mrs. Pease. "Doc--_Doc_!"
(The doctor was busy with a little blonde lady on the left.) He turned
enquiringly to his wife's bleat. "You're neglecting your patient.
Handsome Willy here says his wife is pale and wants to know what you've
been doing to her!"
The doctor leaned over me solicitously. "Never mind--I'm the doctor."
For the rest of the meal he devoted himself to me.
During the dinner a party of five came in and sat at another table. Two
of them proved to be the couple we had met at the other country club.
The man winked discreetly to the doctor.
"Ye gods!" exclaimed the woman at my left but one. "It's Sid!--and I'm
supposed to be home, sick in bed with a headache!"
She looked at the man I had met and I assumed he was "Sid." "Damn such a
town, anyway, where you can't go out without running into your own
husband. Doc, who's he got with him?" She leered across the room at
"Sid's" good-looking companions.
"Never mind, Bell," soothed the doctor, "neither of you have got
anything on the other."
Bell blew him a kiss. "Dear old pain-killer!" she purred.
A little later "Sid" came over to the table and the doctor joined the
other party. Sid's wife started to introduce him to me.
"I've met the lady," he interrupted, not giving me credit for any
discretion.
"O, you have," she said in an unpleasant tone.
As he passed on behind her chair he said to her _sotto voce_,
"Headache, eh? I like the way you lie."
"O, you go to hell!" was the gentle rejoinder. There was still a trace
of the anger which illuminated her bleary eyes when she turned to me.
"What do you think of him trying to put it over me?"
She steered back to the subject which was on her mind. Where had I met
her husband and when? I told her I didn't recall--that he was probably
mistaken. She knew I was lying. I am sure I don't know why I did it.
Someone started telling funny stories. They were not really funny; only
smutty. The women were more daring than the men. Will always declared
that women were "whole hoggers" when once they started. I presume they
labour under the impression that it is sporty or that it pleases the men
"to go them one better." Ever since Eve was made for Adam's pleasure the
female sex has been as pliable as the original mixture of mud and a
floating rib. Women, generally, are what men want them to be....
As time went by I began to fret lest Will be late for the evening
performance. Finally I caught his eye and he understood my message. He
looked at his watch and jumped to his feet. "Doc, what's the best time
your machine can make? I've got precisely twenty minutes before the
curtain goes up."
"I'll get you there," answered the doctor as he left the table.
"I'll drive him in," called the doctor's wife.
"No, I guess not!" he answered over his shoulder. I devoutly, if mutely,
thanked heaven. I am sure the doctor realized that his wife was "three
sheets to the wind"--to use Will's favourite expression.
I made my adieus and rose to follow Will.
"Where are you going?" called Mrs. Pease. "No, you don't--you don't
shake us like this! Willy, tell your wife to sit down and behave
herself." In vain I expostulated that I must go back to the baby. "Never
mind the kiddie; he's asleep and don't even know he's got a mother." She
followed us into the hall where the doctor and Will were hurrying into
their fur coats.
"You can't go this trip, little lady," and the doctor pushed me out of
the draughty doorway. "There's no room in the car and we're going to
ride like hell." I appealed mutely to Will, who drew me aside.
"Stick it out a little longer, girlie. They'll feel hurt if you don't.
You can telephone to the hotel if you're anxious about the boy." He
kissed me lightly. I felt on the verge of rebellion.
"Shall you be late?" I managed.
"No--unless something breaks down on the way. I'm not on until after the
rise, and if necessary I'll go on without my make-up."
"Come on, Hartley!" The doctor was already at the wheel. We watched them
spurt ahead.
"I hope your husband's insured," gurgled one of the women.... I felt
sick and wretched. I wanted to go home, even if it were only a hotel
room. Home was where Boy was. I had a wild impulse of stealing out
unnoticed and asking my way to the nearest trolley line. Then I
remembered I had not a cent in my purse.
The return of the doctor relieved my mind as to Will's safe arrival. I
comforted myself with the thought that the party would soon break up.
The diners across the room had joined us before the return of the
doctor. There was another round of liqueurs and at last someone moved to
break up. "Sid's" wife, whose tongue was getting thick, suggested that
we all go for a drive and end up by having supper at Rector's. There was
general acquiescence. "Let's make a night of it," was the slogan.
While the others were dividing themselves to suit the accommodation of
the various automobiles, Mrs. Pease and I went to the dressing-room.
"Lord! Don't I look a sight?" she exclaimed, scanning her reflection in
the mirror. "That's the worst of booze; it makes me white around the
gills." She daubed on a bit of rouge and patted it over with a powder
puff. I took advantage of our tete-a-tete and asked her if she would be
so good as to arrange to drop me at my hotel on the way back.
"Why, my dear, you're not going home yet; you're going right along with
us."
"I really must not.... Mr. Hartley wouldn't approve, I know. I have not
been well and----"
"Rot! You leave that to the doctor. He'll stop and leave a note at the
theatre.... Doc! _Doc!_ Come here...." The doctor peeped in the doorway.
"O, come in--we're only powdering our noses," Mrs. Pease called to him.
"Say, look here! Mrs. H. thinks hubby might not approve of her going on
with us----"
"I didn't mean--" I began.
"I tell her you'll fix it up with him," she interrupted.
"It's fixed--long ago. I told your husband we'd come for him after the
show. He'll want a bite to eat anyway, and why not be sociable? He told
me to tell you to be a good little sport and wait for him." He laid an
arm around my shoulders and Mrs. Pease, still busy in front of the
mirror, laughed in mock seriousness.
"O, don't mind me!"
"Did Mr. Hartley--did my husband say he expected me to wait?"
"Sure Mike," broke in Mrs. Pease. "Doc, you go pilot that bunch so they
don't butt into my preserves. Saidee is soused, and when Saidee gets
soused she gets nasty drunk." The doctor disappeared. "I can't stand for
women who don't know their capacity," Mrs. Pease continued, working on
her complexion. "You're a wise little gazabo to go slow on the fizz. I
watched you to-night, and the way you manipulated the glasses was a
scream.... Do you know you made a great hit with the doctor? You're
just his style--dark eyes, full bust and not 'higher than his heart.'
... O, I'm not jealous! The Doc and I are on to each other." She winked
at me and led the way to the hall.
"On to each other." ... I mulled over the expression as I watched
husbands and wives pairing off with and showing their preference for
someone else. Everybody seemed to be "on to each other." It was a game
of _stalemates_.
I drove back with the doctor. There was no way out of it without making
a scene. "Sid" and the doctor engaged in a brush along the road. The
reckless speeding fitted in with my mood. There were moments when I
almost wished that something would break and land me with some broken
bones, if nothing more. I was smarting under Will's obvious lack of
consideration; He knew the atmosphere was not a congenial one, yet he
sacrificed me to it without hesitation. I wanted with all my heart to
have him popular and sought after; I was willing to play the game--up to
a certain point. But when the game entailed a loss of self-respect, of
confidence, or of equivocation with one's better instincts, there I drew
the line. It ceased to be worth the candle.
I could no longer shut my eyes to the encroachments upon our happiness
the very exigencies of his profession demanded. My passionate and
childish efforts at blind man's buff were not convincing. The time had
come when my husband and I must have a complete understanding. I must
make clear to him how I felt. After that, if he were still blind to the
dangers which threatened our life--no, I would not dwell on such a
contingency. I felt sure Will would see things at their true valuation.
For the first time that day I settled back to something approaching a
state of composure. One always feels less perturbed after determining
upon a course of action. I resolved to see the evening through with as
much equanimity as possible. There was something grimly humorous about
the situation: if Will really wanted to make a sport of me I was
"cutting my eye-teeth" with a vengeance.
So engaged was I with my own thoughts I had not noticed that we had
slowed up. Coincidentally the car came to a stop. The doctor rose to his
feet and looked behind him.
"Anything wrong?" I questioned.
"No; I only wanted to make sure the coast was clear."
He knelt with one knee on the seat and pulled the robe about me from
behind. With his free hand he raised my face close to his, and held me
there.
"I'm going to have one kiss from those luscious lips--if it takes a
leg," he said.
The doctor was a strong man. Will had often remarked that no one would
suspect me of having so much strength. Yet I was a mere child in the
doctor's hands. He pinioned my arms beneath the weight of his body. He
kept his lips on mine until the strength oozed out of my finger-tips
from sheer suffocation. When he raised his head it was only to look at
me and breathing hard again to fasten himself upon me with a fiercer
tremor which shook his whole frame.... Only once or twice in all our
married life had Will kissed me like that. I had believed it an
expression of purest love. I realized now that it connoted other
emotions less pure.... "Baby! Baby!... Put your arms around my neck....
You haven't fainted, have you?" ... He lifted me to my feet. I could not
repress a hysterical sob. "There--that's better! I didn't mean to be so
rough, but I'm mad about you. You drive me crazy! Kiss me of your own
free will...."
I succeeded in holding him back while I looked him in the eyes,
struggling to express what my lips refused to say.... "O ... O...." I
finally stammered. "Is it right?... Do you think it's right?..."
Wholly misconstruing my words, he strained me to him and kissed me more
tenderly, endeavouring to soothe me. "Right? Little boy, who the devil
cares whether it's right or not! It's nice, isn't it? Don't you love
it?"
"My husband ... do you think it's right to him?..."
Something of the disgust I felt must have pierced him, for he released
me with a change of expression.
"O, come now--don't spring that old gag on your friend the Doc.... What
do you care as long as he doesn't get on to it?... You know as well as I
do that a good-looking fellow in his profession has it thrown at him
from all sides. You don't think he turns 'em _all_ down, do you? You've
got too much sense for that.... Come on, now ... let's understand each
other.... You're as safe with me as a babe on its mother's breast....
I'll call you up on Saturday and we'll go off some place together ...
where we can talk it over.... God, Baby! I'm crazy about you!..."
* * * * *
When Will and I walked into our rooms at the hotel the little travelling
clock on my bureau pointed the hour of three. I slipped out of the fur
coat the doctor had loaned me and left it in a heap upon the floor. I
don't know how long I stood contemplating space.... Then I heard him
cross the room and pick up the coat. I felt his eyes fastened upon me. I
roused myself and went into the bedroom, where I began to take down my
hair in front of the mirror. Will followed me and I saw that he was
watching me in the glass. After a moment he spoke to me.
"Girlie ..." his voice was kind.... "You'll have to learn to gauge your
capacity.... You're not a tank like the rest of the crowd.... Look at
your face; it's as red as a red, red rose--and has been all evening."
He patted me on the arm and went into the bathroom. I felt as if I were
going to shriek.... _Will thought I was drunk...._ I looked at myself
in the glass.... My face was drawn and there were red burning spots in
my cheeks.... My eyes peered but like two burnt holes in a blanket....
Yes, it was plain to see that I was not myself.... I smothered a burst
of hysterical laughter.... I started toward the bathroom where Will was
preparing for bed. I intended to tell him that in all, during the entire
day, I had taken only one glass of champagne--and that at his
request.... Then I stopped. I did not dare to trust myself.... I knew he
would laugh and pet me and say he had not meant to criticize and then he
would take me in his arms ... and I would cry it all out upon his
heart.... I would tell him the whole miserable experience ... and he ...
what would _he_ do? If he called the doctor to account there would be a
scandal.... It would be degrading.... I could never endure it.... _And
if he did not call the Doctor to account--if he merely cut him without
demanding satisfaction_, I should _despise_ him--I should _hate_ him....
"O, yes you would--you _know_ you would, though you wouldn't acknowledge
it even to yourself" ... it was Miss Burton's voice.... "Take my
advice--better not tell him at all." I switched off the light, so that
Will could not see my face....
* * * * *