“Elizabeth,” Robbie said. He was confused between trying to look hurt and trying to see if anyone heard what she was saying.
“Even the boy in my corner drugstore.” Elizabeth looked at him for a minute. “Daphne Hill,” she said. “My God.”
“I see,” Robbie said, with a significant smile. “Daphne Hill.” He turned when he saw the waitress coming. “Miss,” he said loudly, and to Elizabeth, “I think you ought to have another drink. Cheer you up a little.” When the waitress looked at him he said “Two Martinis,” and turned back to Elizabeth, putting on the smile again. “I’m going to drink my breakfast,” he said, and then he reached over and touched Elizabeth’s hand. “Listen,” he said, “Liz, if that’s all that’s bothering you. I was a dope, I thought you’d figured I’d done something wrong about the minister. Listen, Daphne’s all right. I just thought we needed someone around who’d brighten the place up a little.”
“You could have painted the wall,” Elizabeth said tonelessly. When Robbie stared she said, “Nothing,” and he went on, leaning forward seriously.
“Look,” he said, “if you don’t like this Daphne out she goes. There’s no question about it, after all. We’re in business together.” He looked off into space and smiled reminiscently. “I remember those days, all right. We were going to do wonders.” He lowered his voice and looked lovingly at Elizabeth. “I think we still can,” he said.
Elizabeth laughed in spite of herself. “You’ll have to go down the stairs more quietly,” she said. “My janitor’s wife thought you were the man who leaves skis out in the hall. She nearly broke a leg.”
“Don’t make fun of me,” Robbie said. “Elizabeth, it really hurts me to see you let someone like Daphne Hill upset you.”
“Of course it does,” Elizabeth said. Robbie suddenly impressed her as funny. If only I could keep on feeling like this, she thought, even while she was laughing at him. “Here comes your breakfast for you to drink,” she said.
“Miss,” Robbie said to the waitress. “We’d like to order our lunch, please.”
He handed the menu ceremoniously to Elizabeth and said to the waitress, “Chicken croquettes and French fried potatoes.” Elizabeth said, “The same, please,” and handed the menu back. When the waitress had gone Robbie picked up one of the Martinis and handed it to Elizabeth. “You need this, old girl,” he said. He picked up the other and looked at her; then he lowered his voice to the same low affectionate tone, and said, “Here’s to you, and our future success.”
Elizabeth smiled at him sweetly and tasted her drink. She could see Robbie debating whether to toss his off all at once or to sip it slowly as though he didn’t need it.
“If you drink it too fast you’ll be sick, dear,” she said. “Without your breakfast.”
He tasted it delicately and then set it down. “Now let’s talk seriously about Daphne,” he said.
“I thought she was leaving,” Elizabeth said.
He looked frightened. “Naturally, if you want it that way,” he said stiffly. “Seems sort of rotten to hire a girl and fire her the same day because you’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous,” Elizabeth said. “I never said I was.”
“If I can’t have a good-looking girl in the office,” Robbie said.
“You can,” Elizabeth said. “I’d just like one who could type.”
“Daphne can take care of the work all right.”
“Robbie,” Elizabeth said, and then stopped. Already, she thought, I don’t want to laugh at him any more; I wish I could feel all the time like I did a minute ago, not like this. She looked at him carefully, his red face and the thin greying hair, and the heavy shoulders above the table; he was holding his head back and his chin firm because he knew she was looking at him. He thinks I’m awed, she thought, he’s a man and he’s cowed me. “Let her stay,” Elizabeth said.
“After all,” Robbie leaned back to let the waitress put his plate in front of him, “after all,” he went on when the waitress had gone, “it isn’t as though I didn’t have the authority to hire someone for my own office.”
“I know,” Elizabeth said wearily.
“If you want to start a fuss about some small thing,” Robbie said. The corners of his mouth were turned down and he refused to meet her eyes. “I can run my own office,” he repeated.
“You’re scared to death I might leave you some day,” Elizabeth said. “Eat your lunch.”
Robbie picked up his fork. “Naturally,” he said, “I feel that it would be a shame to break up a pleasant partnership just because you were jealous.”
“Never mind,” Elizabeth said, “I won’t go away anywhere.”
“I hope not,” Robbie said. He ate industriously for a minute. “I tell you what,” he said suddenly, putting his fork down, “we’ll try her out for a week and then if you don’t think she’s better than Miss Wilson she’ll go.”
“But I don’t—” Elizabeth began. Then she said. “Fine. That way we can find out exactly how she’ll suit us.”
“Splendid idea,” Robbie said. “Now I feel better.” He reached across the table and this time patted her hand. “Good old Liz,” he said.
“You know,” Elizabeth said, “I feel so funny right now.” She was looking at the doorway. “I thought I saw someone I knew.”
Robbie turned around and looked at the doorway. “Who?”
“No one you know,” Elizabeth said. “A boy from my home town. It wasn’t the same person, though.”
“Always think you see people you know in New York,” Robbie said, turning back to his fork.
Elizabeth was thinking, it must have been talking about old times with Robbie and the two drinks I had, I haven’t thought of Frank for years. She laughed out loud, and Robbie stopped eating to say, “What’s the matter with you, anyway? People will think something’s wrong.”
“I was just thinking,” Elizabeth said. Suddenly she felt that she must talk to Robbie, treat him as she would anyone else she knew well, like a husband almost. “I haven’t thought about this fellow for years,” she said. “It just brought a thousand things back to my mind.”
“An old boy friend?” Robbie said without interest.
Elizabeth felt the same twinge of horror she might have felt fifteen years ago at the suggestion, “Oh, no,” she said. “He took me to a dance once. My mother called up his mother and asked to have him take me.”
“Chocolate ice cream with chocolate sauce,” Robbie said to the waitress.
“Just coffee,” Elizabeth said. “He was a wonderful boy,” she said to Robbie. Why can’t I stop myself? she was thinking, I haven’t thought about this for years.
“Listen,” Robbie said, “did you tell Daphne she could go out for lunch?”
“I didn’t tell her anything,” Elizabeth said.
“We better hurry then,” Robbie said. “The poor kid must be starving.”
Frank, Elizabeth thought. “Seriously,” she said, “what did you and the minister decide?”
“I’ll tell you later,” Robbie said, “when I get my ideas straight. Right now I’m not so sure what we did decide.”
And he’ll spring it on me suddenly, Elizabeth thought, so I won’t have time to think; he’s just promised to publish the minister’s poems at his own expense; or he’s gone out of town, will I deal with it; or someone’s going to sue us. Frank wouldn’t have been in a place like this, anyway, if he’s eating at all, it’s some place where everything is quiet and they call him “sir” and the women are all beautiful. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” she said.
“Of course it doesn’t,” Robbie said. He evidently felt it was necessary to add one final clinching touch before they went back to Daphne Hill. “As long as we can fight it together, we’ll come through everything fine,” he said. “We work well together, Liz.” He stood up and turned to get his coat and hat. His suit was wrinkled and he felt uncomfortable in it, from the way he moved his shoulders uneasily.
Elizabeth finis
hed the last of her coffee. “You get fatter every day,” she said.
He looked around at her, his eyes frightened. “You think I ought to start dieting again?” he asked.
They came up in the elevator together, standing in opposite corners, each looking off into space, through the iron grillwork of the elevator, into something private and secret. They had gone up and down in this elevator four or six or eight or ten times a day since they moved into the building, sometimes happily, sometimes coldly angry with one another, sometimes laughing or quarreling furiously with quick violent phrases; the elevator operator probably knew more about them than Elizabeth’s landlady or the young couple who had the apartment across the hall from Robbie, and yet they got into the elevator daily and the elevator operator spoke to them civilly and stood with his back to them, riding up and down, entering briefly into their quarrels, possibly smiling with his back turned.
Today he said, “Weather still bad?” and Robbie said, “Worse than ever,” and the operator said, “There ought to be a law against it,” and let them off at their floor.
“I wonder what he thinks of us, the elevator man,” Elizabeth said, following Robbie down the hall.
“Probably wishes he could get off that elevator for a while and sit down in an office,” Robbie said. He opened the door of the office and said, “Miss Hill?”
Daphne Hill was sitting at the reception desk, reading the mystery Elizabeth had left to go out to lunch. “Hello, Mr. Shax,” she said.
“Did you take that off my desk?” Elizabeth said, surprised for a minute into speaking at once without thinking.
“Wasn’t it all right?” Daphne asked. “I didn’t have anything to do.”
“We’ll find you plenty to do, young lady,” Robbie said heartily, the brisk businessman again. “Sorry to keep you waiting for lunch.”
“I went out and got something to eat,” Daphne said.
“Good,” Robbie said, looking sideways at Elizabeth. “We’ll have to make some arrangement for the future.”
“Hereafter,” Elizabeth said sharply, “don’t go into my office without permission.”
“Sure,” Daphne said, startled. “You want your book back?”
“Keep it,” Elizabeth said. She went into her office and closed the door. She heard Robbie saying, “Miss Style doesn’t like to have her things disturbed, Miss Hill,” and then, “Come into my office, please.” As though there were real partitions, Elizabeth thought. She heard Robbie go quickly into his office and Daphne pound her deliberate way after him, and the door close.
She sighed, and thought, I’ll pretend they’re real partitions; Robbie will. She noticed a note standing against her typewriter where she had left it with the letter to Mr. Burton still half-finished. She picked up the note and read it with heavy concentration to drown out Robbie’s employer voice on the other side of the partition. The note was from Miss Wilson, and said:
“Miss Style, no one told me there was a new girl coming and since I’ve been working here so long I think you should have told me. I guess she can learn the work as well by herself. Please tell Mr. Shax to send me my money at home, the address is in the file as he knows. There was a call from a Mr. Robert Hunt for you, will you call him back at his hotel, the Addison House. Please tell Mr. Shax to send the money, it comes now to two weeks and an extra week for notice. Alice Wilson.”
She must have been mad, Elizabeth thought, not to wait around for her money, she must have been furious, I guess Daphne was the first to tell her and she felt like I did; he’ll never send her any money. She could hear Robbie’s voice saying, “It’s a terrible business, the most heart-breaking I know.” He’s talking about free-lance writing, she thought, Daphne probably wants to sell her life history.
She went out of the door of her office and around to Robbie’s and knocked. If Robbie says, “Who is it?” she thought, I’ll say “The elevator man, come up to sit down for a while.” Then Robbie said, “Come on in, Liz, don’t be silly.”
“Robbie,” she said, opening the door, “Miss Wilson was here and left a note.”
“I forgot to tell you,” Daphne said, “and I didn’t get a chance yet anyway. She said to tell Mr. Shax to send her money.”
“I’m sorry about this,” Robbie said. “She should have been told yesterday. It’s a damned shame for her to find out like this.” Daphne was sitting in the one other chair in his office and he hesitated and then said, “Sit here, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth waited until he started to hoist himself up and then said, “That’s all right, Robbie, I’m going back to work.”
Robbie read Miss Wilson’s letter carefully. “Miss Hill,” he said, “make a note to send Miss Wilson her back pay and the extra week she asks for.”
“I don’t have anything to make a note on,” Daphne said. Elizabeth took a pad and pencil off Robbie’s desk and handed it to her, and Daphne made a solemn sentence on the first page of the pad.
“Who is this Hunt?” Robbie asked Elizabeth. “Your old boy friend?”
I know I shouldn’t have told him, Elizabeth thought. “I think it’s an old friend of my father’s from home,” she said.
“Better call him back,” Robbie said, handing her the note.
“I shall,” Elizabeth said. “Don’t you think you’d better write Miss Wilson and explain what happened?”
Robbie looked dismayed, and then he said, “Miss Hill can do that this afternoon.”
Elizabeth, carefully not looking at Daphne, said, “Fine idea. That will give her something to do.”
She closed the door quietly when she went out and closed the door of her own office after herself to give the illusion of privacy. She knew that Robbie would listen to her talking on the phone; she had an odd picture of Robbie and Daphne, sitting silently one on either side of Robbie’s desk, two heavy serious faces turned slightly to the partition, listening soberly to Elizabeth talking to her father’s old friend.
She looked up the hotel number in the book, hearing Robbie say, “Tell her we’re all sincerely sorry, but that circumstances beyond my control, and so on. Make it as pleasant as possible. Remember to tell her we’ll consider her for the first new job we have here.”
Elizabeth dialed the number, waiting for the sudden silence in Robbie’s office. She asked the hotel clerk for Mr. Robert Hunt, and when he answered she made her voice low, and said, “Uncle Robert? This is Beth.”
He answered enthusiastically, “Beth! It’s fine hearing your voice. Mom thought you’d be too busy to call back.”
“Is she with you? How nice,” Elizabeth said. “How are you both? How is Dad?”
“All fine,” he said. “How are you, Beth?”
She kept her voice low. “Just grand, Uncle Robert, getting along so well. How long have you been here? And how long are you staying? And when can I see you?”
He laughed. “Mom is talking at me from this end and you’re talking at me from that end,” he said. “And I can’t hear a word either of you is saying. How are you, anyway?”
“I’m grand,” she said again.
“Beth,” he said, “we’re very anxious to see you. Got a lot of messages from home and all.”
“I’m pretty busy,” she said, “but I’d love to see you. How long are you staying?”
“Tomorrow,” he said. “Just came in for a couple of days.”
She was figuring quickly, even while her voice was saying, “Oh, no,” with heavy dismay. “Why didn’t you let me know?” she said.
“Mom wants me to tell you everyone sends their love,” he said.
“I’m just sick,” she said. Guilt drove her into accenting her words violently. “I don’t know how I’m going to get to see you. Maybe tomorrow morning somehow?”
“Well,” he said slowly, “Mom sort of had her heart set on going to Long Island tomorrow to see her sister, and they’ll take us right to the train. We thought maybe you’d come along with us tonight.”
“Oh, Lord,” Elizabeth said, �
��I’ve got a dinner appointment I can’t break. A client,” she said, “you know.”
“Isn’t that a shame,” he said. “We’re going to a show; thought you might come along. Mom,” he called, “what’s that show we’re going to?” He waited for a minute and then said, “She doesn’t remember either. The hotel got tickets for us.”
“I wish I could,” she said, “I just wish I could.” She thought in spite of herself of the extra ticket they had been careful to buy, the two old people alone for dinner pretending they were celebrating in a strange city. They saved tonight for me, she thought. “If it had been any other person in the world, I could have broken it, but this is one of our best clients and I just don’t dare.”
“Of course not.” There was so long a silence that Elizabeth said hastily, “How is Dad, anyway?”
“Fine,” he said. “Everyone’s fine. I guess he sort of wishes you were home now.”
“I imagine he’s lonesome,” Elizabeth said, careful not to let her voice commit her to anything. She was anxious to end the phone call, dissociate herself from the Hunts and her father and the nagging hints that she should go home. I live in New York now, she told herself while the old man’s voice continued with a monotonous series of anecdotes about her father and people she had known long ago; I live in New York by myself and I don’t have to remember any of these people; Uncle Robert should be glad I talk to him at all.
“I’m so glad you called,” she said suddenly, through his voice. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Of course,” he said apologetically. “Well, Beth, write to all of us, won’t you? Mom is telling me to give you her love.”
They hang on to me, she thought; they’re holding me back, with their letters and their “Yrs. afftly.,” and their sending, love back and forth. “Good-bye,” she said.
The Lottery and Other Stories Page 15
