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

her chair, which had a plastic seat, and joined the circle. After more introductions she said, “You ladies seem to have so much to say. I haven’t. Please pretend I’m not here.”

“What attractive beads,” Maureen said to her.

“They were my mother’s,” Mrs Judson said. “They’re real amber.”

“So I see,” Maureen said.

“I’ve always been partial to amber,” Biddy said, “though I never had any of my own. My grandmother’s set went to one of my aunts. You can rub it with wool and make sparks. At least, I think so.”

Mrs Judson looked alarmed. “Oh, I don’t think so. At least, I’ve never gotten any shocks from it.”

“Sparks,” Biddy said, “not shocks.”

“Oh dear,” Mrs Judson said.

“May I have another cigarette, Maureen?” Lottie asked.

“My dear, you are smoking up a storm. Why don’t you keep the pack? I have a carton at home.”

“If you’re sure . . . there’s a cart that comes around later and I can buy some. If I can’t drink, I suppose I might as well go up in smoke. Excuse me. I’m afraid this transition period is making me rather tiresome.

Bertha passed by. She was wearing a dress for a change, instead of a wrapper. “Hen party,” she said, continuing on her way to the phonograph.

“That was Bertha,” Mrs Brice said. “She’s one of those problem young people you read about in the paper. I must say, I think she’s beginning to make real progress.” She lowered her voice. “She used to have these kind of fits, and would lie on the floor in the corridor, dead to the world, to all appearances. I found it quite alarming and pitiable, but the doctors seemed to think it was just some sort of attention getting device.”

“There’s no harm in Bertha,” Lottie said, “though one of these evenings I’d like to wash her mouth out with soap.”

Mrs Brice giggled. “I’ll hold her while you do it.”

“There’s nothing worse than a vile mouth,” Biddy said. “Do you remember the time Bryan did just that to Patrick? Or maybe it was Michael. And I believe all the boy said was, excuse me, damnation.”

“I think it was more the tone and spirit in which it was said that angered Bryan,” Maureen said. “He’s never been one to use much strong language himself; at least, not in front of the boys. He’s a little hard on them at times, but he sets a good example.”

“Firmness,” Biddy said, “my father was a great believer in firmness.”

“So was mine,” Lottie said. “I wonder if that isn’t why I’m here. My parents have been gone a long time, but sometimes I still feel an urge to rebel against them. Especially my father. Imagine, a grown woman of my age, and yet sometimes I think of something he said or did, or wouldn’t let me do, and I quail. The more I think about him the less I like him, which seems silly, when he’s dead. I’m almost glad that Norris and I never had any children, to rear and have grow up and resent you.”

“That’s just your nerves talking,” Biddy said. “I’m sure you were a very devoted daughter. I can always tell. My father was strict, and I’m grateful to him for it. I grew up knowing right from wrong and with certain ingrained habits: regularity, for instance.”

Maureen laughed. “Biddy certainly is regular, she never deviates an iota from her schedule. We don’t need a clock with Biddy in the house, always the first one down to put the kettle on.”

“Oh the Delahanteys and their tea,” Lottie said, “they’re famous for it.”

“I’m like that,” Mrs Brice said. “I wouldn’t know any peace of mind if my chores weren’t done on time. I didn’t make a plan when I married and took up housekeeping—the habits just grew. You know what I mean, every Monday morning at ten I find myself sorting out the laundry.” She sighed. “Only, with just Mr Brice and myself, the chores don’t take up enough time. Some afternoons are very empty.”

Maureen and Biddy looked sympathetic, but asked no question. Mr Mulwin came over to the coffee urn, near which they were seated.

“Oh Mr Mulwin, let me introduce you to my friends,” Lottie said.

“Haven’t got the time,” Mr Mulwin said, taking a paper cup and filling it with coffee. “Got to call my office and see who’s sneaking off to lunch early.” He headed for the pay phone in the hall.

“He’s the terror of the ward,” Lottie said. “Sooner snap your head off than look at you. But I’m determined to break down his defenses. Underneath all that bearishness, there’s an ordinary human being.”

“I admire the way you’re not afraid to tackle him,” Mrs Brice said. “He scares me half to death, just the way he looks at you.”

“He’s mean,” Mrs Judson said. “I don’t like mean men.”

“I get the impression from Mrs Mulwin,” Mrs Brice said, “that he was always a pretty stern proposition. One of those men who has to have everything just so and complains a lot if it isn’t. One can see that Mr Taylor, if I may say it, is the soul of consideration.”

Lottie laughed. “Oh, Norris has his little quirks, but by and large we rub along together pretty well. He likes his meals on time, that’s for certain. Norris tends to expect the worst, and since that rarely happens, he doesn’t get upset too easily.” Lottie paused. “My husband is a very forbearing man,” she said in a different tone of voice.

“You never know what he’s thinking,” Maureen said, “unlike my Bryan. With him to think is to speak. In fact he doesn’t always stop to think.”

“It’s better that way,” Biddy said. “You always know where you stand with Bryan. He’s not one of those hush-hush men who keep you guessing. I’m not referring to Norris, Lottie, I have my own husband in mind. It didn’t happen often, but ever and again I’d just know something bothered him, and often it would be days before I got