The Cocktail Waitress

“… I don’t know yet.”

“Joan, you’re as bad as Tom. Suppose you stop handing me horseshit too. Why did you call me today? Why did you ask me to lunch? Way I saw it, I was to take a message. O.K., then, I took it. Now you’ve given him hope. So if you go back on the message, he’s been made a fool of. And I’m warning you, he may not take it friendly.”

“… O.K., Liz. Thanks.”

All that took longer to talk out than it takes for me to tell it, and by then the place began to fill up again, this time with the late, after-the-picture-show bunch. As usual, they were younger than the dinner people, and as usual, they began running Liz ragged. In a minute I got up and began filling orders for her-a lot of people knew me, and began calling my name very friendly, not paying too much attention that I wasn’t in uniform. And then all of a sudden in front of me there was Earl, his face trembling with rage. “Mrs. Earl K. White,” he roared, “does not serve drinks in a bar!”

“Mrs. Earl K. White the Third,” I told him. “Let’s use the full thing if we’re going to use it at all. And Mrs. Earl K. White the Third decides for herself where she serves drinks, whether she serves drinks or throws them in somebody’s face that interferes-or tries to interfere.”

I was at the bar, a tray of rickeys in my hand, and he stepped aside, but quick. However, I didn’t walk past him-not yet. “I thought I told you,” I went on, “to call off that snoop you had-and I thought you promised to do it.”

“Snoop? I didn’t need any snoop! A dozen people have called to tell me you were here! That Earl K. White’s wife was serving drinks-”

“The Third,” I said, and walked past him with my tray. I set the rickeys in front of the guests and beckoned Liz to make out the check-I being strictly a bus girl helping out. Then I turned to Earl and told him: “I’m ready now if you are.”

“… Ready for what, Joan?”

“To go home, what else? Having been left alone all evening, I decided to visit with friends-and when they needed help to give it-being in the Social Register has obligations-noblesse oblige, it’s called. But now, as you’ve arrived and made a scene-”

He snapped his fingers in the direction of the vestibule and I saw Boyd come forward. “We’re going home,” he announced. “Bring the car around.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Not for me, thanks,” I said, “I’m using my own car. You may ride with me if you like, Earl, or take yours, as you prefer, but I’m taking mine.”

He was steaming, and I expected him to storm off as he had earlier. Instead, he told Boyd to take the car back on his own, and waited for me to get my jacket. I suddenly realized it was not his humiliation he was here to make sure I knew of, or his embarrassment, or his shame, or any of the things he pretended, but a triumph of some sort, that he had to gloat over with me. There was something he wanted me to know, and he didn’t want me out of his sight until he’d said it. But my realization was vague, as I wasn’t caught up yet, as to what kind of evening he’d had. I just had an uneasy feeling there would be more.

I didn’t know the half.

28

I led outside, opened the passenger door for him and put him in. Then I got in myself and drove home-his home, at least, and the place I had to call home, as I seemed to be living there. I drove around to the garage and put my car away, then walked back to the front door with him. All this time he was holding in whatever it was he wanted to say. As soon as we made it inside the drawing room, he burst out: “What was the idea? Disgracing me? Earl K. White’s wife doesn’t work in a cocktail bar!”

“Earl K. White’s wife did work in a cocktail bar, as Earl K. White well knows-and Earl K. White’s wife can do as she goddam well pleases, and it pleases her, when left alone for an evening, to spend it with friends, and if they need help in the work, to give it. Any more questions?”

“… Why don’t you ask one?”

“Such as which one?”

“Why don’t you ask where I spent the evening?”

“It’s none of my business, that’s why-but since you make it my business, O.K., where did you spend the evening?”

“Massage parlor.”

“You mean, a junior whorehouse?”

“… O.K., call it that.”

“I call it what it is-at least as I’ve heard, in such way as to believe it. And you enjoyed your little visit?”

“You bet I did.”

“Then I’m glad.”

“I thought you would be. You might be interested to know it proved you wrong, and Dr. Cord wrong. I had myself what we can call a massage, two of them, matter of fact-with no fatal results, as you see.”

“That’s wonderful, Earl, but it doesn’t prove Dr. Cord wrong.”

“It doesn’t? I’d say it does.”

“Not if by ‘massage’ you mean what I think you mean, namely a young woman working you over with her hands. All right, she took the towel off at the end and worked a little more than she’s supposed to under the law- you might have died from that, and thank goodness you didn’t. But there’s a difference between that and what you were proposing we do, and if you don’t know what the difference is I’m not going to be the one to tell you.”

“I survived the one, and I would survive the other just the same.”

“You might as well say, I can step off the curb so I can step out a window.”

“You’re saying you think the act with you would be that much more tremendous?”

“I’m saying you do, or you wouldn’t be pursuing it so single-mindedly. Earl, I’ve seen what happens to you when you get excited. A woman you’ve never met and will never see again cannot excite you like your wife, and the touch of a woman’s hand cannot excite you the way possessing her entire body would. You’ve learned something tonight about what your body can withstand, but you haven’t learned enough to say you’re ready for what you want. And the only way you could find that out is too dangerous.”

“And you know that how? You’re an impressive woman, Joan, I don’t say you aren’t-but I don’t recall your having a medical degree. Let me show you something ” He got up and pulled over a little stairway, a mahogany thing no more than eighteen inches high, with two steps on it, for use in front of the bookshelves, which on one side of the room were quite high. “Journal Dr. Jameson lent me-has an article in it, on angina.”

“Won’t change my mind, but all right, show me.”

Fuming, holding onto the shelf with one hand for balance, he climbed up, stood on top, and reached for a narrow volume. Suddenly, instead of getting it, he clutched his chest and turned to face the room. I knew a seizure had hit him, and that if something wasn’t done quickly he’d topple and fall. I got to the stair and wrapped my arms around his legs. Then, “Lean on me, Earl,” I whispered. “Don’t try to step down-lean on me and slide down.”

He did, and then was down on the floor. I’m fairly strong, and was able to half carry him to a chair. Then: “Your pills are by your bed, the way they were in London?”

“Yes! Yes!” He whispered it, and then: “Joan, hurry! For Christ’s sake, get them, quick!”

I hurried. I didn’t even know which room was his, but by opening doors I found it, then found the vial, in the corner at the head of his bed. I grabbed it and ran downstairs. He was still in the chair, in agony. I got him a pill and put it in his hand. He popped it into his mouth, and I could see him roll it under his tongue. He held out his hand for another one and I gave it to him. He popped it in and after a moment his breathing began to ease. Whispering hoarsely, he started in again, as he had in London, about what to do if he should die this time.

“Will you, goddam it, shut up?”

He exhaled hugely, his whole face red and tortured.

“You won’t die this time. I’m here, and I’ll see you don’t.”