soon.
'Do you know who I like?' he asked.
'Who?'
'I don't know if you're familiar with his work,' he said. 'Charles Demuth.'
Leo Kingship sat with his elbows propped on the table, his fingers interlocked around a cold-frosted glass of milk which he studied as though it were a beautifully colored wine. 'You've been seeing him frequently, haven't you,' he said, trying to sound casual. With elaborate care, Marion placed her coffee cup in the indentation of the blue and gold Aynsley saucer, and then looked across the crystal and silver and damask at her father. His full red face was bland. Reflected light blanked the lenses of his eyeglasses, masking his eyes. 'Bud?' she said, knowing it was Bud he meant.
Kingship nodded.
'Yes,' Marion said squarely, 'I've been seeing him frequently.' She paused. 'He's calling for me tonight, in about fifteen minutes.' She watched her father's expressionless face with waiting eyes, hoping that there would not be an argument because it would tarnish the entire evening, and hoping that there would be one because it would try the strength of what she felt for Bud.
'This job of his,' Kingship said, setting down the milk. 'What are its prospects?'
After a cold moment Marion said, 'He's on the executive training squad. He should be a section manager in a few months. Why all the questions?' She smiled with her lips only.
Kingship removed his glasses. His blue eyes wrestled uncomfortably with Marion's cool stare. 'You brought him here to dinner, Marion,' he said. 'You never brought anyone to dinner before. Doesn't that entitle me to ask a few questions?'
'He lives in a rooming house,' Marion said. 'When he doesn't eat with me, he eats alone. So I brought him to dinner one night'
'The nights you don't dine here, you dine with him?'
'Yes, most of them. Why should we both eat alone? We work only five blocks from each other.' She wondered why she was being evasive; she hadn't been caught doing something wrong. 'We eat together because we enjoy each other's company,' she said firmly. 'We like each other very much.'
'Then I do have a right to ask some questions, don't I,' Kingship pointed out quietly.
'He's someone I like. Not someone applying for a job with Kingship Copper.'
'Marion...'
She plucked a cigarette from a silver cup and lighted it with a silver table lighter. 'You don't like him, do you?'
'I didn't say that.'
'Because he's poor,' she said.
'That's not true, Marion, and you know it.'
There was silence for a moment.
'Oh yes,' Kingship said, 'he's poor all right. He took pains to mention it exactly three times the other night. And that anecdote he dragged in, about the woman his mother did sewing for.'
'What's wrong with his mother taking in sewing?'
'Nothing, Marion, nothing. It's the way he alluded to it so casually, so very casually. Do you know who he reminded me of? There's a man at the club who has a bad leg, limps a little. Every time we play golf he says, 'You boys go on ahead. Old Peg-leg'll catch up with you.' So everyone walks extra slowly and you feel like a heel if you beat him.'
'I'm afraid the similarity escapes me,' Marion said. She rose from the table and went out towards the living room, leaving Kingship to rub a hand despairingly over the few yellow-white hairs that thinly crossed his scalp.
In the living room there was a large window that looked out over the East River. Marion stood before it, one hand on the thick cloth of the draperies. She heard her father come into the room behind her.
'Marion, believe me, I only want to see you happy.' He spoke awkwardly. 'I know I haven't always been so... concerned, but haven't I... done better since Dorothy and Ellen...'
'I know,' she admitted reluctantly. She fingered the drapes. 'But I'm practically twenty-five... a grown woman. You don't have to treat me as if-'
'I just don't want you rushing into anything, Marion.'
'I'm not,' she said softly.
'That's all I want.'
Marion stared out the window. 'Why do you dislike him?' she asked.
'I don't dislike him. He-I don't know, I...'
'Is it that you're afraid I'll go away from you?' She spoke the question slowly, as though the idea surprised her.
'You're already away from me, aren't you? In that apartment.'
She turned from the window and faced Kingship at the side of the room. 'You know, you really should be grateful to Bud,' she said. 'I'll tell you something. I didn't want him to have dinner here. As soon as I suggested it, I was sorry. But he insisted. 'He's your father,' he said. Think of his feelings.' You see, Bud is strong on family ties, even if I'm not. So you should be grateful to him, not antagonistic. Because if he does anything, it will be to bring us closer together.' She faced the window again.
'All right,' Kingship said. 'He's probably a wonderful boy. I just want to make sure you don't make any mistakes.'
'What do you mean?' She turned from the window again, this time more slowly, her body stiffening.
'I just don't want you to make any mistakes, that's all,' Kingship said uncertainly.
'Are you asking other questions about him?' Marion demanded. 'Asking other people? Do you have someone checking on him?'
'No!'
'Like you did with Ellen?'
'Ellen was seventeen at the time! And I was right, wasn't I? Was that boy any good?'
'Well I'm twenty-five and I know my own mind! If you have anyone checking on Bud-'
'The idea never entered my mind!' Marion's eyes stung him. 'I like Bud,' she said slowly, her voice tight. 'I like him very much. Do you know what that means, to finally find someone you like?'
'Marion, I-'
'So if you do anything, anything at all, to make Mm feel unwelcome or unwanted, to make him feel that he's not good enough for me... I'll never forgive you. I swear to God I'll never speak to you again as long as I live.' She turned back to the window. 'The idea never entered my mind. Marion, I swear...' He looked futilely at her rigid back and then sank into a chair with a weary sigh.
A few minutes later the chimes of the front door sounded. Marion left the window and crossed the room towards the double door that led the foyer. 'Marion.' Kingship stood up. She paused and looked back at him. From the foyer came the sound of the front door opening and the murmur of voices in conversation. 'Ask him to stay a few minutes... have a drink.' A moment passed. 'All right,' she said. At the doorway she hesitated for a second. 'I'm sorry I spoke the way I did.' She went out Kingship watched her go. Then he turned and faced the fireplace. He took a step back and regarded himself in the mirror tilted over the mantel. He looked at the well-fed man in the three hundred and forty dollar suit in the seven hundred dollar a month living-room.
Then he straightened up, put a smile on his face, turned and walked towards the doorway, extending his right hand. 'Good evening, Bud,' he said.
Marion's birthday fell on a Saturday early in November. In the morning she cleaned her apartment hastily. At one o'clock she went to a small building in a quiet tributary of Park Avenue, where a discreet silver plaque beside a white door confided that the premises were occupied, not by a psychiatrist nor an interior decorator, but by a restaurant. Leo Kingship was waiting within the white door, sitting gingerly on a Louis Quinze sofa and scanning a management-owned copy of Gourmet. He put down the magazine, rose, kissed Marion on the cheek and wished her a happy birthday. A maitre d'hotel with fluttering fingers and neon teeth ushered them to their table, swooped away a Reserved placard and seated them with Gallic effusion. There was a centerpiece of roses on the table, and, at Marion's place, a small box wrapped in white paper and clouds of gold ribbon. Kingship pretended not to be aware of it. While he was occupied with the wine card and 'If I may suggest, Monsieur,' Marion freed the box of its gold
