'He'd be worse. He'd be a ghoul. Listen. All he knows is that I went around with somebody named Walt--some wisecracking G.I. The last thing I'd do would be to tell him he was killed. But the last thing. And if I did--which I wouldn't--but if I did, I'd tell him he was killed in action.'
Mary Jane pushed her chin farther forward over the edge of her forearm.
'El. . .' she said.
'Why won't you tell me how he was killed? I swear I won't tell anybody. Honestly. Please.'
'No.'
'Please. Honestly. I won't tell anybody.'
Eloise finished her drink and replaced the empty glass upright on her chest. 'You'd tell Akim Tamiroff,' she said.
'No, I wouldn't! I mean I wouldn't tell any--'
'Oh,' said Eloise, 'his regiment was resting someplace. It was between battles or something, this friend of his said that wrote me.
Walt and some other boy were putting this little Japanese stove in a package. Some colonel wanted to send it home. Or they were taking it out of the package to rewrap it--I don't know exactly. Anyway, it was all full of gasoline and junk and it exploded in their faces. The other boy just lost an eye.' Eloise began to cry. She put her hand around the empty glass on her chest to steady it.
Mary Jane slid off the couch and, on her knees, took three steps over to Eloise and began to stroke her forehead. 'Don't cry, El. Don't cry.'
'Who's crying?' Eloise said.
'I know, but don't. I mean it isn't worth it or anything.
The front door opened.
'That's Ramona back,' Eloise said nasally. 'Do me a favor. Go out in the kitchen and tell whosis to give her her dinner early. Willya?'
'All right, if you promise not to cry, though.'
'I promise. Go on. I don't feel like going out to that damn kitchen right this minute.'
Mary Jane stood up, losing and recovering her balance, and left the room.
She was back in less than two minutes, with Ramona running ahead of her. Ramona ran as flatfooted as possible, trying to get the maximum noise out of her open galoshes.
'She wouldn't let me take her galoshes off,' Mary Jane said.
Eloise, still lying on her back on the floor, was using her handkerchief. She spoke into it, addressing Ramona. 'Go out and tell Grace to take your galoshes off. You know you're not supposed to come into the--'
'She's in the lavatory,' Ramona said.
Eloise put away her handkerchief and hoisted herself to a sitting position. 'Gimme your foot,' she said. 'Sit down, first, please. . . .
Not there--here. God!'
On her knees, looking under the table for her cigarettes, Mary Jane said, 'Hey. Guess what happened to Jimmy.'
'No idea. Other foot. Other foot.'
'He got runned over,' said Mary Jane. 'Isn't that tragic?'
'I saw Skipper with a bone,' Ramona told Eloise.
'What happened to Jimmy?' Eloise said to her.
'He got runned over and killed. I saw Skipper with a bone, and he wouldn't--'
'Gimme your forehead a second,' Eloise said. She reached out and felt Ramona's forehead. 'You feel a little feverish. Go tell Grace you're to have your dinner upstairs. Then you're to go straight to bed. I'll be up later. Go on, now, please. Take these with you.'
Ramona slowly giant-stepped her way out of the room.
'Throw me one,' Eloise said to Mary Jane. 'Let's have another drink.'
Mary Jane carried a cigarette over to Eloise. 'Isn't that something?
About Jimmy? What an imagination!'
'Mm. You go get the drinks, huh? And bring the bottle . . . I don't wanna go out there. The whole damn place smells like orange juice.'
At five minutes past seven, the phone rang. Eloise got up from the window seat and felt in the dark for her shoes. She couldn't find them.
In her stocking feet, she walked steadily, almost languidly, toward the phone. The ringing didn't disturb Mary Jane, who was asleep on the couch, face down.
'Hello,' Eloise said into the phone, without having turned the overhead light on. 'Look, I can't meet you. Mary Jane's here. She's got her car parked right in front of me and she can't find the key. I can't get out. We spent about twenty minutes looking for it in the wuddayacallit--the snow and stuff. Maybe you can get a lift with Dick and Mildred.' She listened. 'Oh. Well, that's tough, kid. Why don't you boys form a platoon and march home? You can say that but-hopehoop-hoop business. You can be the big shot.' She listened again. 'I'm not funny,' she said.
