The Jack Finney Reader

by Jack Finney

Eve turned and said, A highball, please, her eyes murderous, and Tim, with a final bump, went back into the kitchen. Still flustered, but inwardly amused, Eve resumed her conversation, realizing that she was suddenly more relaxed, and she knew Tim had anticipated that.

  Carrying a tray of drinks, Tim came into the living room and began serving them to the new guests. When he reached Ann Darrow, she smiled at him, and Eve heard her say, You're a magnificent dancer, Mr. Ryan. Tim looked at her blankly, and she nodded over his shoulder at a large mirror on the opposite wall. I enjoyed every moment and movement, she said.

  Glancing over his shoulder, seeing the mirror which gave her a perfect view of the hall in which he had been standing, Tim flushed.

  I do all kinds of funny things at parties, he said. Stick around till I start wearing the women's hats. Then he moved on with his tray.

  But Eve was annoyed, and when Tim brought her her drink, she thanked him without looking up. She told herself that it wasn't his fault, but still she resented this girl's seeing him do what she had not been meant to see him do. And for the girl actually to remark about it, Eve thought, was an inexcusable intrusion.

  In the center of the room, Tim slapped his empty tray against his leg. Okay! he said. Everybody start having delirious fun. Don — he pointed at Don Wechsler — make a witty remark. He turned to Jack Greer, a small, blackhaired, good-looking man. Put a lamp shade on your head, Jack; be funny. Alice, get drunk and pull your hair over your eyes. Ted — he swung to Ted Weiner, a big, shy man sitting silently on the davenport with his wife — make a pass at Miss Darrow. Miss Darrow, slap his impertinent face. Now, all together — everyone spill your drinks and scream, 'Yippee!'

  They laughed and replied; someone offered to squirt the guests with seltzer; Ed Yount, an old friend of Tim's and the one bachelor present, invited Ann Darrow to the kitchen, rolling his eyes; then, accidentally, Alice Mellett did tip over her nearly empty glass. Blotting it up with a napkin, she noticed the inscription. ‘The Jukes Family,’ she read, adding in agreement, and the most degenerate branch at that. A few moments later, when Don Wechsler discovered the fortune cookies and read aloud from the little slip — You are a natural born slob; abandon all hope, Eve saw that her guests had a pleased look in their eyes. They were having a good time, she realized, and suddenly she felt very fond of Tim. Watching him make his way toward the kitchen, tall and slim, his movements casual and relaxed, Eve felt that he was easily the handsomest man in the room, and she was very aware and proud that this was her husband.

  All the guests had arrived and the party was in full swing. People were making their own drinks now, and there were several people in the kitchen. At the front windows, Jack Greer and Ruby Weiner stood talking quietly. There were people around each end of the davenport; and at the radio cabinet Eve stood talking to Grace Bergstrom and Fay Greer.

  Tim came in from the kitchen and joined the group at the end of the davenport nearest Eve. Noticing this, she became aware of their conversation.

  — all his suits at Brooks Brothers', Alice Mellett was saying, ever since he was in college. Can you imagine it?

  Well, her husband said pompously, why not? Glancing at Ed Yount and Ann Darrow, he shrugged complacently. They're expensive, but you can't beat 'em for wear or solid good looks. How about it, Tim? he said confidently.

  Well, Tim. agreed reluctantly, yes. They are for you, anyway; you live in the right place.

  What do you mean?

  Tim frowned. Well, I knew a guy had a pretty unfortunate experience with a Brooks Brothers' suit. He was like me when I first came to New York; I didn't know a Brooks Brothers' suit was something special. I'd never even heard of the ‘Brooks' look’ — the narrow lapels, unpadded shoulders and superconservative cut. Like me, this guy didn't realize they were practically a uniform for Eastern college men and rising young executives in banks, Wall Street and advertising agencies. Fact is, he was foreman in a brass foundry and lived in New Jersey, a really impossible situation. Tim shook his head sadly.

  So when he walked in off the street, bought a Brooks' suit, and wore it out of the store, the poor guy couldn't get home. He turned west toward the New Jersey ferry, and that suit just swung him around and headed for Grand Central Station and the more expensive Westchester suburbs, the pants legs pulling him along in a busy executive's stride.

  Ed Young nodded. I remember that case; a salesman was later fired, drummed out, for not making the man show proper credentials. In the station the suit stopped at a newsstand, the poor guy picked up a tabloid, tucked it under his arm, and that Brooks Brothers' sleeve shot indignantly straight up, and the tabloid fell down to the walk.

  Right, Tim said. The only way he could get his arm down was to shove a Wall Street Journal underneath it. Well, sir — he looked back at Jerry — that suit carried him into a train and clear out to Bronxville, where they got off and stood waiting. One after another, all the other Brooks Brothers' suits passed by and stepped into the waiting Buicks, MGs, and properly aged station wagons.

  Dusk was falling, a chill wind had sprung up, and as the last car left and it was obvious no one was waiting for them, that suit just wilted. Sagged on his frame like a wet sack, its spirit broken. And do you know that suit was never the same? Tim stared down at his glass. Wouldn't even hold a press after that. The guy would put it on, fresh from the cleaner's, and the thing would just droop, an expatriate, abandoned by its kind. It died soon after.

  I hope — Ed Yount looked questioningly at Tim — that he gave it a decent burial?

  Yes, he did — in a Brooks Brothers' box. And as he lowered it gently, he was certain he heard, from the direction of Connecticut and Yale University, the faint, ghostly strains of The Whiffenpoof Song. Jerry Mellett was sipping his drink, trying to look bored, but his wife and Ann Darrow were smiling. Tim turned away, winking at Jerry.

  He's enjoying his own party, Eve thought; he's a good host and good company. She watched the group follow Tim with their eyes as he crossed the room toward the pair at the window.

  Presently Eve left Grace and Fay and moved about, talking to her guests, feeling her drinks a little, noticing that as time passed, the groups divided and re-formed. The guests were mixing and she felt the party was going well. Don Wechsler walked toward the kitchen as big Ted Weiner came into the living room carrying a drink to his wife, who was sitting on the window sill talking to Tim and Jack Greer. Crossing the room, Eve stopped for a moment and stood alone in the center of the room, pleasantly aware of the sustained hubbub of talk and the occasional fragments of conversation that emerged from it. From somewhere she heard a man's voice say excitedly, … greatest player the American League ever had, but he never got the. publicity! From across the room, a woman's voice said shrilly, … taxes go any higher, we'll make our own whisky! Someone called, Read the fortune! and Eve heard Al Bergstrom's slow, deep voice read, You will be elected Vice-President, impeached and assassinated.

  Still seated on the davenport, Ed Yount was earnestly explaining something to Alice Mellett, Ann Darrow sitting quietly beside him; and Eve realized that she was somehow pleased to see Ann and Ed together. But as Eve watched, Ann Darrow casually stood up, took a few peanuts from a dish on the table, then strolled over to join the group at the window. Reminding herself that as hostess she shouldn't stay by herself, Eve turned, too, to walk toward the windows. Then she checked herself, aware of a confusion in her motives, and she suddenly wondered if she'd have joined Tim if Ann Darrow hadn't.

  So instead, Eve joined a group near them; Al Bergstrom, the little fortune slip still in his hand, was talking to Fay Greer and Teressa Wechsler, and he turned slightly to include Eve in what he was saying. Six of them, he continued, and I'm not fooling, they'd howl all night. Well, for a couple nights I threw rocks at them; big pebbles from the sunporch roof. But then the old lady complained; not only was I cruel to her miserable cats, but I was cluttering up her garden with rocks, she knew it was me, and I had to stop. But I've got 'em now. He la
ughed triumphantly. It's the perfect crime at last. Ice cubes! Every night now, I take a tray of them upstairs; they're just the right size for easy throwing and perfect aim. And I am slowly braining her repulsive cats without leaving a shred of evidence. In the morning they're crouched under her porch, maimed and bleeding, the ice cubes have melted long since, and the old lady knows I'm doing it and is going nuts trying to figure out how.

  In the pause following Al's story, Eve became aware of the conversation behind her. Jack Greer was saying, Everyone's a psychiatrist nowadays. Any cabdriver can analyze you. And everyone knows what a neurosis is, and everyone has one. If you don't count stairs or tug at your ears, you tap cigarettes, or — Al Bergstrom began another story about his neighbor, and Eve resolutely returned her attention to him, refusing to eavesdrop on the group Ann Darrow and Tim were with, even though Tim was speaking now.

  But a moment later she heard Tim, in the middle of a sentence, emit a sharp, high-pitched sound. Yipe, yipe! he shrilled suddenly, then continued quietly and conversationally. Now Eve had to listen to him.

  It's very rare, Tim was saying earnestly. It's called an unconscious neurosis, and it's something very few people have heard about. I never did till my psychiatrist explained it.

  An unconscious neurosis? Jack Greer said doubtfully.

  Yeah, said Tim. Everyone has the conscious kind, some nervous habit or other. But you know you're doing it. But my psychiatrist explained that I've got this — Yipe! Yipe, yipe! he shrieked suddenly — unconscious neurosis. He tells me, Tim continued worriedly, that I don't even know what it is.

  Eve shifted her position to see the Weiners staring open-mouthed at Tim, Ann Darrow frowning, and Jack Greer regarding him with a skeptical leer.

  Well, personally — Tim shrugged — I don't believe him. How could I possibly — Yipe! — be doing something, several times a day as this head doctor claims, without even knowing — Yipe! Yipe, yipe! — I was doing it? He turned gravely to Ted Weiner, who stared down at his glass.

  He tells me he can cure it, if I'm patient, as long as no one tells me what it is. He's warned Eve not to tell me, and I've racked my brains trying to figure out what I'm —Yipe! — supposed to be doing.

  Eve turned, walked up to Tim, and put a hand on his arm. Before I forget it, darling, she said, do you really feel I should — Eeep! Eeep! — see this psychiatrist of yours? They all burst out laughing, and Tim put an arm around her waist.

  Of course not, he said, and I think I'll quit seeing him, too. Personally, I thing we're the only normal, uncomplicated — Yipe, yipe! — people in this room.

  So do — Eeep! — I, said Eve, and without a word they turned from the others then and crossed the room toward the big leather chair, which was empty at the moment.

  Eve sat down with a sigh of relief and looked up at Tim. Nice party, don't you think?

  Yeah. He stood quietly smiling down at her, and she sat relaxed, her head back against the chair; and for a few moments they regarded each other in companionable silence.

  Then Ann Darrow appeared beside them and sat down on the footstool next to Eve's chair, smiling up at Eve. I'm glad I came, she said, and I wanted to thank you both for having me.

  I'm glad you could come, Eve said.

  Thanks. The Wechslers promised me you wouldn't mind, and — she looked up to include Tim in what she was saying — since I'll be spending some week ends with them this summer, they thought we should get acquainted.

  Again Eve felt her smile stiffen, but she said, Oh, fine. It'll be nice to see you again. Then Ed Yount appeared in the kitchen doorway and called to Tim. Tim reached down, squeezed Eve's hand, and joined Ed in the kitchen.

  Ann Darrow said, I think your husband is wonderful.

  So do I, Eve replied, and was instantly annoyed to realize that her tone was cool and that this girl, she was certain, had noticed it.

  Eve heard a man's voice, cutting through the buzz of conversation, low, quiet and angry, and she looked up, surprised to see Al Bergstrom and Jack Greer, across the room in facing chairs, leaning intently toward each other, Al Bergstrom's heavy face flushed with anger. As a political party, he was saying, it hasn't stood for anything decent in seventy-five years. Jack answered, his voice cold and biting. That so? he said. And what do your heroes stand for? I suppose you think — Eve turned and looked toward the doorway, but Tim was still in the kitchen.

  As though thinking aloud, Ann Darrow continued, You meet a lot of men in show business, and so many of them are professional charmers, smooth and so practiced they can turn on the charm without even thinking about it. She smiled pleasantly at Eve. But your husband could give them lessons in the real thing. I like him, she added frankly, coolly regarding Eve, waiting for her reaction.

  Eve was confused. She did not want to say, So do I, again but her brain refused to furnish any other reply. Across the room Jack Greer said, Nuts, his voice heavy with contempt. You guys are all alike. All you can do is — Eve glanced at the kitchen doorway, and Tim was there again.

  Eve watched him walk over to the bitter little argument in the corner of the room. He stopped, smiled at the two men, and sipped his drink, but they glanced at him only briefly. Al Bergstrom opened his mouth to speak, and Tim suddenly — voice sharp and loud — said, Bang! and the two men looked up at him, startled.

  Speaking of guns, Tim said squatting down beside them. The men smiled reluctantly. I am reminded of the time I bought a .22 target pistol. It's a story of no interest and no point, and as a matter of fact it never happened at all. What I really want, Al — he turned to Bergstrom — is to get you into the kitchen for another drink. You've got a lot more drinking to do before we let you out of here tonight.

  Al was silent for a moment; then he nodded slowly. Okay, he said, rising. I guess it's a good idea.

  But Jack Greer stood up, too, his face sullen. Just don't forget — he began; then Tim leaned toward him and whispered in his ear. Greer, looking startled, glanced hastily around the room, then quickly walked out, while Tim and Al Bergstrom turned toward the kitchen.

  The two women watched them cross the room, then Ann Darrow again turned to Eve. I wonder what he said to him? For a moment she sat looking at Eve; then she smiled, shaking her head admiringly. He's terrific, she murmured, and calmly she said an outrageous thing. I think I may take him away from you. For the fraction of a second, her eyes mocking and challenging, she stared at Eve; then Ann smiled winningly, as though to say that of course she was joking, and rose to her feet. If I may, I think I'll have just one more drink, she said, and walked out to the kitchen.

  Eve sat in motionless fury for a long moment, then involuntarily expelled her breath with an angry sigh and realized she had been unconsciously holding her breath, as if she had been holding back an answer. For a moment she was bitterly angry with herself for failing to make some contemptuous and devastating reply. Trying to calm down, she told herself that this girl was beneath contempt, that her remark had simply been stupid, a joke in poor taste. But Eve's reasoning wouldn't work; she felt, instead, that she had been warned, and the frightening, defeating realization came over her that sometimes these things actually happened, that husbands were lost, were taken away. This girl was beautiful and young, intelligent and talented, and if for no other reason but to test her ability, she might actually try to do what she had said she would.

  Listening for it, Eve heard Tim's voice in the kitchen. Taffyapple, Wyoming, he was saying, and the sole industry is retreading old tennis balls. Eve didn't think this was funny, but the group in the kitchen laughed, Ann Darrow's delighted laugh rising above the others. A picture formed in Eve's mind. She saw Tim leaning negligently against the refrigerator and Ann Darrow looking up at him, her beautiful face alive with pleasure. One man left town, Tim continued, to study commercial art. He designs streetcar transfers and theater tickets. Ed Yount's voice said, And he has a sister who poses for tattoo designs. Eve made herself get up, cross the room to the davenport, sit down beside
Alice Mellett and talk.

  The party went on. Presently Jack Greer and Al Bergstrom were sitting on a window sill, looking faintly sheepish and talking quietly. Ted Weiner had pulled the radio cabinet slightly out from the wall and was pointing down at the wires at the back, solemnly explaining something to Teressa Wechsler.

  A burst of laughter came from the kitchen, and the group came wandering slowly into the living room. It's true, Tim protested, laughing. I've been scribbling on subway posters for years; it's my hobby. I'm sure you've seen my work. But now I've modernized. I use rubber stamps — big ones a foot long. Every dirty word in the language, in Old English script. I've got tooth-blacker-outs in various sizes and a complete set of stencils for retouching brassière ads. They stopped, Ed Yount, Tim and Ann Darrow, in the center of the room. I can now add mustaches, eyeglasses and inscriptions to every ad on a platform, with time to spare. I figure that with practice I can cover the whole East Side subway system, local and express stops, between dawn and dusk. It used to take me a week, using old-fashioned methods. Now Eve and I can get out to the movies or have an evening at home now and then.

  Eve saw that Ed Yount was forming a reply; they were performing — actually competing — she felt, for Ann Darrow's amusement, and when she saw Jack Greer rise from the window sill, glancing at his wrist watch, and beckon to his wife, Eve felt a sudden sense of rescue and relief. The Greers crossed the room toward Eve, and seeing them, Tim joined her and received their good-bys.

  The Greers left, and when Tim and Eve turned from the door, the Bergstroms and the Weiners were standing behind them, waiting to leave. And then, within minutes, the party was over. Ed Yount and the Melletts left next, and after they had gone, the Wechslers and Ann Darrow were ready to go. Eve wondered what Ann Darrow might say upon leaving, but she merely thanked them, gracefully and prettily, for having asked her. They all agreed to see each other in the country the following week end; then the door closed, and the apartment was suddenly silent.