What's for Dinner? by James Schuyler (to read list .txt) 📕

two to get into college. I was an A scholar in French myself. I’ve forgotten it all now. Sometimes I wish I’d kept it up, though I don’t know what the use would be.”

“Frankly, French bored me silly,” Maureen said. “It was partly the teacher. I can’t think what her name was, but she was a true old maid of the old fashioned school. She wore her hair in a pompadour brushed up over a rat. She couldn’t keep order in the class room and I’m ashamed to say we took all kinds of advantage of her. I used to sit and draw in my notebook and pass notes to the other girls. How unkind children are.”

“I don’t see why I have to keep hammering away at French,” Patrick said. “I don’t know that I want to go to college.”

“Just see,” Maureen said, “that you don’t say that in front of your father.”

3

“Why yes,” Mrs. Brice said, “a game of bridge might be nice. Today would have been my son’s thirty-seventh birthday, if he had lived.”

“What a sad memorial,” Lottie said, “and how kind of you to tell me. I’d ask Mr Mulwin to make a fourth, only I’m afraid he’d bite my head off. I think I’ll just risk it.” She crossed the sun room to the settee where Mr Mulwin was perusing a magazine. “Oh Mr Mulwin,” she said in a bright voice, “we’re getting up a foursome for bridge. Would you care to join us?”

“Don’t play bridge,” he said, barely glancing up. “Thanks anyway,” he added grudgingly.

“Perhaps you’d like to learn. We’re all very amateur. It’s just to pass the time, you know. Or we could try Monopoly or Scrabble.”

“No games,” Mr Mulwin said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m trying to think about my business. Just because I’m locked in here doesn’t mean I can’t telephone the office and keep an eye on things.”

“But you’re here for a rest, to get you mind off things,” said the indomitable Lottie.

“Now look, Mrs Taylor, I don’t want to be rude, but in a word, bug off.”

Lottie turned on her heel and returned to Mrs Brice. “Well, he didn’t exactly bite my head all the way off. It looks like it will have to be gin rummy.”

“Gin rummy?” Mrs Brice said. “I don’t know how to play that.”

“I’ll teach you.”

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea: it might confuse my bridge. I’m just beginning to grasp that.”

“Did you make those moccasins in craft therapy?” They were assembled of ready cut pieces, decorated with a few beads and were very ugly.

“Why yes, I did. To my great surprise. I’ve never been a bit handy. I don’t know why you take such an interest in me. It’s kindly of you to bother. My son’s name was Theodore, but he was always and only called Thad. His children’s names were Debbie, Peter and Baby Sam. His wife’s name was Marie. It happened on the Labor Day weekend.” Mrs Brice lapsed into silence, and Lottie found herself at a loss for something to say.

Finally she said, “I have a cousin named Theodore, but we’ve always called him Ted. He’s rather a rascal, quite the wit and one for the ladies. He’s never married. At his age I imagine he’s beginning to quiet down a little now.”

Bertha wandered in and joined them. “Is this a sun room or a solarium?” she asked in a truculent voice. “I call it the sun room, but that male nurse just drove me off my bed and said go sit in the ‘solarium.’ I like a thing to be called one thing or the other.” It was pouring out. “Sun room,” she added bitterly.

“I suppose,” Lottie said, “they don’t like us to lie on our beds in the daytime for fear we won’t sleep at night. Then, too, they believe in socializing.”

“Sitting around gabbing.”

“That’s a pretty dress, Bertha,” Mrs Brice said.

“I’m going to play the phonograph,” Bertha said. “Liven this dump up.”

“Please don’t turn the volume too high,” Lottie said.

“I like to be able to hear it,” Bertha said. She went to the phonograph at the end of the room and put on a record which had been popular the year before. She began to do a sort of shuffling dance by herself.

“I’m glad she’s stopped lying around on the floor,” Mrs Brice said. “I used to find it so worrying, that somebody was that sick.”

Bertha went over to Mr Mulwin and said, “Will you dance with me?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to. Besides, I don’t know how.”

“Come on, I’ll teach you. All you have to do is move around to the music.”

“What’s with this everybody trying to teach me something? Now you’re a nice girl, Bertha, but I wish you’d run along.” Bertha shrugged and went back to her shuffling.

“I hope they let me see the hairdresser soon,” Mrs Brice said. “I’m a sight.”

“Would you like me to give you a shampoo,” Lottie offered, “and a set? I’m quite good at it. Your hair takes a very nice wave.”

“You have a visitor,” a nurse announced. Lottie looked beyond her. Mag Carpenter stood in the doorway, her head cocked on one side, and smiling her little smile. She wore a smart rain outfit and carried a furled English umbrella.

“Isn’t this a surprise,” Lottie said, “and such a nice one. How brave, on a day like this. Mrs Brice, Mrs Carpenter.”

Mrs Brice gave a rather mumbled, “Very pleased to meet you I’m sure,” and scurried off.

“I’m going to be perfectly truthful,” Mag said. “I had to drive out this way, and I thought, I’m just going to pop in and find out if I can’t see Lottie, I’m tired of waiting to hear whether she can have visitors. You know what a creature of impulse I am, so I did it and here I am. The nurse couldn’t have been sweeter about letting me in: you seem quite a pet of hers.”

“Here I am,” Lottie said, “in our