I realized, with a sudden pang of conscience, that I was doing exactly what Mary had feared Lucy would do—I was snooping. I went quickly to the other door, removed the key, and stepped out into the hall. I could hear the other two still arguing the liquor question in the kitchen as I locked the door and took the key along to the desk in the hall. It was another antique, with lovely mellow lines and a soft glow on its surfaces that showed hours of careful polishing.
I opened the top, found the little drawer, and dropped the key in, and then turned away with a sigh of relief for duty done.
I went along to my room and took off my hat and busied myself with the rest of my unpacking.
I had just finished when Lucy pushed in without bothering to knock. She cast a dismayed look about the room and protested in the usual shrill squawk, "But, Eugenia, my dear, I always have this room. Mary always puts me here when I stay with her. I mean, it's like my own."
"I don't wonder you like it better than any of the others," I agreed. "I looked them all over and picked it out myself."
"But—?"
"So you'd better go and find the next best before Smith gets it."
"Oh." She tapped her front teeth with about two inches of crimson fingernail and then brightened. "Well, it's all right—I'll take Mary's room. I know she'd want me to have it."
"It's locked," I told her. "Mary said she was keeping it locked because Smith might throw one of his rowdy parties and a stray drunk might wander in and ruin that beautiful lavender carpet."
She looked at me blankly for a moment and then gave a sudden loud giggle. She dashed out of my room, leaving the door open, and yelled, "Ken! Where are you? Ken!"
I heard her open a door, and poor Ken's exasperated voice: "Lucy, get the hell out of here—can't you see I'm disrobing?"
"Oh, don't be a lemon," she said impatiently. "Listen, how about throwing a party? We've loads of room here."
"We'll discuss it in the morning. Good night, Lucy." A door closed firmly, and I figured that she'd been shut out. I heard her bang into the remaining bedroom, and then she had to come out again and drag her suitcase in, muttering furiously from time to time.
I went to bed and settled myself with a book, because I didn't expect to sleep too early, after my nap on the little balcony. I was mistaken, as it happened, because I went to sleep sitting up against my pillows, with the book fallen to my lap and the bedside lamp burning brightly.
I woke up at three o'clock with a stiff neck and a very active hunger. I didn't think there was any food in the place, but the pangs were so insistent that I decided to go and see if at least there were some cookies.
I got into a gown and my slippers and crept along to the kitchen, where I turned on the light. I hunted around until I found a box of soda crackers— which seemed a feast, when I had expected nothing—and I decided to go and eat them out on the little balcony and look at the stars.
It was nice out there—dark and quiet and peaceful, and I sat down, with my feet propped on the other chair, and munched contentedly.
After a while the glass doors of the other apartment opened, and John Emerson stood there—talking back to someone in his living room.
"You were completely mistaken," he said coldly. "It was that damned black eye."
CHAPTER THREE
I DROPPED THE box of soda crackers in sheer surprise, and John Emerson turned quickly and looked at me.
"Oh." He stepped out onto the balcony and closed the doors behind him. "You're up late. Miss Gates."
"So are you," I said, stretching an arm down for the cracker box.
"Well, yes—but I've been playing bridge, and that takes time."
"I've been reading," I explained courteously, "and that takes time too."
The conversation bogged down at that point, and I wondered why he didn't return to his living room and go on with the peculiar argument, until I realized that he probably didn't want to continue it while I was there, since I'd almost certainly overhear it. I decided that he was simply waiting for me to go. Most likely it was a girlfriend in the living room, and he was having an interesting tiff with her—and here I was interfering. Maybe they wanted to come out onto the balcony to make it up.
I sighed and stood up. "Well, all right," I said absentmindedly, "I'll go to bed."
He looked at me more fully and asked with a faint amusement. "Why? There's no particular hurry, is there? Suppose I leap the barricade, and we can talk for a while."
"Oh no," I said hastily. "I mean it's too late, and anyway, I ought to be getting some sleep."
I said good night to him and went in, thinking that perhaps it wasn't a girlfriend after all, but just his mother-in-law. And his wife had run off with Mary's husband. I shook my head and wondered what she looked like, that she'd have to pick poor old Homer to flit with.
I went to bed and to sleep and dreamed of a black eye that floated through the atmosphere in lonely menace.
I awoke to a lively clatter of dishes in the kitchen and a cheerful smell of bacon and coffee. I got up and hurried along to the bathroom—and then hurried right out again, because it stood in need of cleaning and tidying before I could bathe there. I cursed Smith and Lucy impartially for the mess of damp towels and dissolving soap and made up my mind to eat as much of their bacon and eggs as I could stuff into me, to get even. As it happened, it didn't work, because they had provided amply for me.
Lucy, with every red curl in place and her face painted on for the day, trilled a cheerful good morning at me. "I was just going in to see if you'd died. You'll get fat if you lie around in bed all morning. Ken went out and bought some supplies, and I cooked breakfast for us—isn't it fun? And we're going to throw a party."
I groaned, and Ken looked up at me.
"Don't be so grim. Don't you ever get any fun out of life? Look at Lucy." I looked. Dyed hair, girdle and figure fighting it out, false teeth, and the age of fifty just around the corner, if it hadn't already caught up. "Very nice," I said politely.
Lucy narrowed her eyes at me, and Ken said significantly, "If you were one of my privates I'd fix you."
"Sergeants are all the same. Bullies."
"It relieves your inhibitions to be a bully," Ken said, turning the gas off under the coffee. "Now if I were a lieutenant I couldn't do any bullying."
"I suppose that's why you're not a lieutenant."
He had picked up two plates of bacon and eggs and started toward the dining room with them, but he put them back on the kitchen table, turned to me, put his hands around my neck, and squeezed.
"Smile," he said ominously.
I smiled, and he released the pressure just before my eyes popped out. "I love brute strength," Lucy said wistfully. "Don't you, Eugenia?" I opened my mouth, but Ken loomed over me and waved a large finger under my nose.
"No more sarcasm. This family has got to pull together. Sweetness and light—at least on the surface."
We carried the food into the dining room and sat down at the table, which Lucy had arranged rather elaborately. Ken looked it over and said. "Ahh no, Lucy—you'll have to cut corners, or the kitchen detail isn't going to like it."
"Who's the kitchen detail?" I asked sharply.
"Well, you are," Ken said, "naturally. I went out and bought the stuff. Lucy cooked it, and it's up to you to do the dishes." I shook my head.
"Listen, Sergeant. I was invited to this breakfast—but hereafter, bear in mind that I go out for all meals. I'm here to rest, and I intend to rest. I'm not even going to clean my room or make my bed—except once, and that's when I leave."
"Incredible," he said, staring at me. He raised his great shoulders and dropped them again. "I couldn't stand that, so I suppose I'll have to make your bed for you myself."
Lucy let out a yell of laughter. "But, Ken—how marvelous! Will you make mine too?"
"You girls are sissies," he said disgustedly. "We don't have any housework problems in the Army—the boys do it all themselves, and have plenty of time le
ft over for other things. It needs a little organization and system, that's all. It would be downright damfoolish to go out for all our meals—it's too expensive, and the meals would be no good and insufficient. Now if you girls will only give me a hand we can have decent food and a clean house, and still have plenty of time for fun. Come on, we'll clear these dishes away first." He put on a frilled and embroidered apron that was hanging behind the door in the kitchen and started to wash whatever articles were within reach of his long arms. It was all Lucy and I could do to keep him supplied with dishes and to get them wiped, and in no time at all he had finished and was mopping up the pool of water he had made around the sink.
He removed the dainty little apron, which was now drenched and wilted, and made for the hall.
"Come on, girls—I want you to watch me, and I'll show you how a bed should be made."
He went to my room and started his demonstration by pulling all the bedclothes off the bed and starting from scratch. He put the bottom sheet on and stretched it so tightly that I feared it would rip, and then he started to fool around with the corners. He said you should always make square corners with your sheets, and that we'd better pay particular attention.
Lucy and I got bored after a while. She went in and made her bed, and I went along and made Ken's, and then we drifted back, but he was still working on his masterpiece, so we went off again and did a little dusting. In the end we found him dreamily regarding the neatly made bed, but I noticed that Mary's fancy spread was folded over a chair.
"Wonderful!" I said, peering around his elbow. "What about the spread? Shouldn't we put that on to keep the sheets clean?"
"You can if you want to," he said reluctantly, "but it seems all wrong to cover up a smooth job like that."
"All right," I agreed, "anything for art. We'll leave it the way it is."
"Good." He straightened up and turned away. "Now what else has to be done?"
"Not a thing, dear," said Lucy, and patted his arm. "Eugenia and I puttered around a little, and the place looks charming, so let's plan our party."
"What about the marketing?" Ken asked sternly.
I snatched up a book and fled to the little balcony.
It was nice out there, and I relaxed in one of the chairs and lit a cigarette. From inside the apartment I heard Ken bellow, "For God's sake, who did this?" and figured that probably he had discovered his bed, which I had made without square corners. I propped my feet on the other chair and looked at the adjoining section of the balcony. The thing was an architectural mistake, I thought, and a bad one. There was no privacy for either side, and it was a perfectly simple matter to step over the barrier and enter the next apartment for whatever fell purpose you might have in mind. However, I wasn't paying the rent, so I yawned and opened my book.
Three minutes later Mrs. Budd stepped out onto the balcony. She glanced at me, found me absorbed in my book, and said, "Don't let me disturb you, my dear—you go right ahead with your reading."
I said, "Thanks," and concentrated deeply.
She allowed two minutes to pass and then observed, "You know, you remind me of my daughter—she has hair like yours, that sort of golden brown. Such a pretty girl. And even though she says so herself, I know she never ran off with that old stick of a Homer."
CHAPTER FOUR
I LOOKED AT THE woman and wondered how any daughter of hers could have turned out a beauty. Her figure was clumsily heavy, and she had small eyes and a big nose. Her iron-gray hair was arranged in various rolls and swoops—and with all this, she had the audacity to wear a yellow dress and red shoes.
"I don't quite understand you," I said after a moment. "Why wouldn't your daughter be with Homer if she told you she was? Did she telephone?"
"No." Mrs. Budd raised her yellow bosom on a long sigh. "She sent a card from Binghamton, but there wasn't very much on it just that I was not to worry, that she and Homer had eloped and she was feeling fine."
"It does seem odd," I agreed. "Mr. Emerson is so attractive, while poor old Homer—"
"But that's it—exactly!" Mrs. Budd broke in eagerly, and it was obvious that she felt a tremendous relief in being able to talk of what troubled her— even to a total stranger. "John is attractive, and I know he liked the women and all that, but he was a good husband to Betty. She used to get furious when he paid any special attention to some woman, but I kept telling her that she should overlook those things and keep her home together. She had no patience, though she always said she'd sooner he overlooked a few of her faults, and she wasn't going to be bothered keeping a second-grade home together. I thought and said that she was wrong—but she wouldn't listen. Of course, I know she'd have left him before if it hadn't been for her little girl."
"There's a little girl?" I asked, surprised.
Mrs. Budd nodded. "She's at camp just now. But whenever Betty talked of going to Reno she always planned to take little Eleanor with her. Every time she got really serious about it John always talked her around and promised to behave himself. As a matter of fact, he was behaving pretty well—for him, that is—when Betty suddenly ups and runs off with that awful old Homer." She paused for a moment, and added with less melancholy, "Mary was fit to be tied."
"But you don't think that she did run off with Homer?"
"No, I don't—it isn't reasonable, and I think it was just some sort of a blind."
I shook my head at her. "Every girl has her pride, and you can't convince me that anyone would admit to running off with Homer, unless it were sad fact."
Mrs. Budd sighed again and settled the amber beads at her neck. "Perhaps—I can't try to explain it—but I know that Betty never went away with Homer. Why, she used to say the most dreadful things about him behind his back—although he was always nice to her."
"Did Mary ever hear from Homer?" I asked curiously.
"Oh no—no indeed! Poor Homer! He'd be afraid even to send her a card." She laughed a little and then sobered up again. "I wish I could hear from Betty again—I've been simply frantic with worry. Of course John's been wonderful. He says I'm to stay on here, always, that I'm needed to take care of Eleanor and run the house, and he declares that he will never marry again, or even bother to divorce Betty."
A neatly uniformed young maid stuck her head through the glass doors and mentioned that lunch was ready, and Mrs. Budd nodded to me and bustled off.
I glanced at my watch and saw that it was only half past twelve, but decided that she probably had to get up early in the morning to get all her talking done.
I considered Homer with a certain amount of interest and reflected that when these absolutely faithful men did stray they usually went off the deep end for keeps—while a philanderer like John probably would never have left his wife. Not that I blamed Betty—I approved her conclusion that it was not worth while to keep a second-grade home together.
I shrugged it away, mentally cursed the architect who had embroidered double balconies onto the building, and picked up my book—but I hadn't even found my place before Lucy came flying out to interrupt me.
She and Smith were making out an invitation list for their party, but they were somewhat short of men—so many in the Army, Lucy apologized—and did I know any that I could get to come out from New York?
I didn't point out that her contemporaries were too old for active or any service; I merely said no, and that since I wouldn't be attending the party they needn't bother about a man for me.
"Don't be such an absolute sour lemon." Lucy shrilled. "You're living here, aren't you? And you'll have to be at the party—naturally. You must know tons of nice men in New York. My dear, if you're afraid of my poaching—"
"Look, Lucy." I said firmly. "I'm not asking any men to come and make free with Mary's apartment, so don't waste your breath over it. And incidentally, have you asked her if you can give a party here? You know how she is about cigarettes and coasters under drinks."
She evaded my eyes and became absorbed in one of her long, glittering nails.
"Oh, Ken'll fix it with Mary. Heavens, she couldn't be unpatriotic enough to object to a soldier enjoying his furlough. In fact, Eugenia, I don't think you're showing the right spirit yourself. There isn't so much we women can do—but I'm helping Ken all I can, trying to cheer him up, not thinking of myself—"
"Take off the false face," I begged. "When are you having your party?"
She abandoned her nail and began to sparkle again. "Tonight. Ken says it has to be, because of that Alice. She has a date with a sailor tonight, and Ken says the sailor might be glad to save expenses, because he's been on leave since a week ago Friday, and he must be down to borrowing by this time. Do you suppose it's this Alice he's engaged to? Ken, I mean."
"No," I said, "it's probably a dark horse. But Alice—now there's a girl who could provide you with extra men."
"Why, didn't I think of that!" Lucy screamed. "Of course! She's the type that has the men lying up against her door, howling. I'll tell Ken."
She bounded off, and I took up my book. I figured I should have about an hour while Mrs. Budd had her lunch—more, if she were the type that took a nap afterward.
I didn't reckon with all the possibilities, though, because I had read only a page and a half when Ken came out and joined me.
"I've been looking everywhere for you," he said aggrievedly.
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I'll hang a bell around my neck so that you'll always know where I am."
He grinned at me. "Someday I'm going to smack you one, just for the fun of it."
"What did you do with Lucy?" I asked idly.
"I chained her to the telephone. She's rounding up the personnel for our party."
"Well, I hope you have a good time," I said. "But it seems like a lot of work and expense for nothing."
"The work and expense are my lookout," he said cheerfully. "The guests are bringing their own sandwiches and liquor, and I'll clean up after then But Lucy says you're not coming."
"No."
"Well, look—as a matter of fact, I wish you would. I need you badly because I want to have eyes only for you all night."
The Black Eye Page 2
