So Little Time (71 page)

Jeffrey could see it vaguely, and Mr. Gorman was going on. When you had everything going great guns, Mr. Gorman was saying, of course it kept a man busy, and Mr. Gorman didn't mind that. He didn't want to just be sitting around. All Mr. Gorman needed was a whole new deal, as you might say, on tools—and he didn't want to bother Jeffrey about it because Mr. Wilson had other things to think about. So how would it be if Mr. Wilson just forgot about it, and let Mr. Gorman go down to Maxon's and stock up while there was something to stock with?

He could smell the tonic on Mr. Gorman's hair. The country which had nurtured him and Mr. Gorman was so rich, so kindly and so powerful that it could afford to produce a type like Mr. Gorman, and there was nothing like him anywhere else in the world. There was no other place in the world where the sort of friendship which he felt for Mr. Gorman could develop. Mr. Gorman was as good as he was and he was as good as Mr. Gorman. Jeffrey could even understand that his faults were Mr. Gorman's faults. There was no other country in the world where one could shirk hard labor and still live and where one could deal in fallacies and feel that they were real. In many ways he was like Mr. Gorman and so was everyone else, soft and unconscious of inherent values—and now the world was changing. He wondered what people like Mr. Gorman would do about it. The answer to everything lay with Mr. Gorman.

“Well,” Mr. Gorman said, “we've got that straight now, haven't we?”

“Yes,” Jeffrey said, “you go down to Maxon's and get anything you need. I'm not criticizing you, Gorman. Just see if you can't get everything brushed up a little.”

“Sure,” Mr. Gorman said, “sure! Oh-oh, I forgot. I brought you something.”

Mr. Gorman reached to the floor and picked up a small bottle.

“Applejack,” Mr. Gorman said. “Oh-oh, don't ask me where I got it.”

“Thanks,” Jeffrey said, “why, thanks very much.”

“Maybe we could try a little right now,” Mr. Gorman said. “Nothing like a little smile at the end of the afternoon. You sit right there, Mr. Wilson. I'll go out and fetch some glasses.”

Mr. Gorman was back with the glasses and Mr. Gorman was tilting up the bottle. He was saying you wouldn't know what was in it until it hit you.

“Smooth as cream,” Mr. Gorman said.

It was not as smooth as cream and it tasted very badly.

“That's quite a drink,” Jeffrey said. “Thanks ever so much.”

“I'll bet you one thing,” Mr. Gorman said, “I'll bet the picture stars don't have anything like that in Hollywood.”

“No,” Jeffrey said. “That's right. They don't.”

“Someday,” Mr. Gorman said, “I'll tell you what we'll do, Mr. Wilson, when things are kind of slack around here in the winter, I could motor you out just as easy as not to Hollywood.”

“Yes,” Jeffrey said, “you ought to see it. Maybe we'll do it, Gorman.”

“Oh-oh,” Mr. Gorman said, “oh-oh.” And then his expression changed. They were friends again, old friends. “You must be feeling good today, Mr. Wilson. Say, I meant to ask you, when's Jim coming back?”

“He's coming tonight on the 7:02. He has a ten-day leave,” Jeffrey said.

“Say,” Mr. Gorman said, “I tell you what I'll do. I'll stay over and drive you in the station wagon. I'd kind of like to take a look at Jim myself.”

“Why, thanks,” Jeffrey said, “if it isn't any trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” Mr. Gorman said. “I kind of want to take a look at Jim in his uniform and all. You and me, we were soldiers, Mr. Wilson.”

“Yes,” Jeffrey said, “that's so.”

“The old Seventy-seventh,” Mr. Gorman said, “you ought to have been in the old Seventy-seventh. Mademoiselle from Armentières,
parlez-yous
—Well, we've got a soldier in the family. Say, Jim's quite a boy.”

“Yes,” Jeffrey said, “he's quite a boy.”

“I'll tell you, Mr. Wilson,” Mr. Gorman said, “Jim's just common like you and me. I bet at that camp they've been working him like a one-armed paperhanger. Let's have another little smile. Here's looking at Jim!”

“All right,” Jeffrey said, “here's looking at Jim.”

“This war,” Mr. Gorman said, “I tell you how I look at it. Don't you worry about Jim. We're not going to get into this war.”

“Well—” Jeffrey began, and then the door to the hall opened. It was Madge.

44

My Son as Much as Your Son

There was nothing to say about it, and nothing to do about it, because Madge had known he was going to have a talk with Mr. Gorman, and there he was having a drink with Mr. Gorman.

“Oh,” Jeffrey said, “oh, hello, Madge.”

Madge had just come in from bridge or lunch, judging from her dress, but he did not know how long she had been in the house because he had not heard the car. Jeffrey stood up and Mr. Gorman stood up.

“Well,” Mr. Gorman said, “it's kind of a mean hot day, isn't it, Mrs. Wilson?”

Madge did not answer.

“We've just been going over everything,” Jeffrey said. “We've been having quite a talk and everything's going to be a lot better, isn't it, Gorman?”

“It's going to be okay,” Mr. Gorman said. “We've got it licked, Mrs. Wilson. You're going to be surprised.”

Madge did not answer. At first her silence gave Jeffrey acute uneasiness, until he saw that it had a distrait quality. All at once he saw that Madge was not thinking about Mr. Gorman, that she had not even noticed the glasses, although he was very sure that she would notice them eventually. Her manner filled him partly with apprehension and partly with relief. Something else had happened in the house which had made Madge disturbed. Jeffrey's first thought was that the couple might be leaving, but Madge was usually competent and cheerful when couples left.

“Jeffrey,” Madge said, “can I see you for a minute?”

It was always serious when Madge wanted to see him for a minute.

“Well,” Mr. Gorman said, “I've got to be gitting. Don't give it another thought. I'll hop right to that right away, Mr. Wilson.” Mr. Gorman opened the door to the lawn very quickly and closed it behind him softly and efficiently. It was clear that Mr. Gorman also knew that something had happened. It was not his funeral, and he was glad to be gitting.

Jeffrey was aware that Madge was trying to compose herself, as though she were making a gymnastic effort. For an instant he had a wild sense of guilt. He was thinking that sooner or later you had to pay for everything. He was thinking that it must be about California and Marianna Miller and he had often thought what he would tell Madge if the matter ever came up; but it was not the proper time and place there in his room at the end of the afternoon just when his mind had been concentrated on having a talk with Mr. Gorman, and then he had forgotten exactly what he was going to tell Madge about Marianna Miller.

Madge was still composing herself. He wished that Madge would not always try to be calm and a perfect lady when something serious happened.

“Jeffrey,” Madge said, and then stopped.

“Yes,” Jeffrey said, “Madge, what is it?”

“A telegram has just come from Jim,” she said and she stopped.

If it wasn't one thing it was another. He had often wondered whether other people's lives were as complicated—and now he had to turn from what he thought it was to something else. It was like being hit from behind when he heard her speak.

“Jim?” he repeated. “What about Jim?”

Madge spoke very slowly. She was very calm and obviously wanted to consider every angle.

“Jeff,” Madge said, “will you close the windows, dear? I don't want everyone in the world to hear what we're saying.”

Jeffrey turned and closed the windows quickly with a sense of frustration and dread. At the same time he was thinking it was not fair of Madge not to tell it quickly.

“Go ahead, Madge,” he said, “what about Jim?”

Madge looked about the room. He wished to heaven she would stop trying to compose herself.

“Jeff,” Madge said, “he's bringing that girl.”

She looked at him steadily, waiting for his reaction. When he did not answer, he saw her forehead wrinkle and Madge's voice, though very quiet, assumed a higher note.

“That girl, Jeffrey,” Madge said, “that Sally Sales.”

Jeffrey felt his shoulder muscles relax. He wanted to sigh but he did not.

“Oh,” he said.

The wrinkles on Madge's forehead grew deeper.

“Jeff,” Madge said, “do you know anything about it?”

“What makes you ask that?” Jeffrey asked. “How should I know anything about it?”

“Then he never told anybody,” Madge said. “At least I think he might have told one of us and not just sent a telegram.”

Jeffrey put his hands in his pockets and took them out again.

“Madge,” he said, “he probably just got the idea. He wanted to see us and see her too.” He stopped and looked away from Madge and out of the window. “He's only got ten days' leave, you know.”

It seemed perfectly clear to him and entirely beyond argument.

“Jeff,” she said and her voice was sharper, “don't be such a fool!”

“Don't get so upset!” Jeffrey said. “There's nothing to be upset about. Why shouldn't he ask her here if he wants to?”

“Jeff,” Madge said again, “can't you see what it
means
—sending a telegram—just bringing that girl here out of the blue?”

He saw what it meant but he did not want her to know it.

“I don't see that it means anything,” he said.

“Oh, God!” Madge said. “Don't pretend you don't see. It means—Jeffrey, he's completely
lost his head about her
.” She took a step toward him. “If we don't do something, Jeffrey—Do you think he's going to marry her?”

“Now, Madge,” Jeffrey began. He did not know what he thought, but she did not wait for him to finish.

“Don't stand there and look so stupid!” Madge said. “He's your son, Jeffrey, just as much as mine. Jeffrey, dear—she's just an ordinary little girl from Montclair. She—”

“Not Montclair,” Jeffrey said, “Scarsdale.”

“All right,” Madge said, “Scarsdale. Jeffrey, we can't let him ruin his life.”

Jeffrey stood looking at her.

“Madge,” he said, “we don't know anything, and besides, do you remember you and me? You're a great one to be talking, Madge.”

But then perhaps no one really remembered, and women were relentless, much more so than men. If she did remember, he saw she did not want to then.

“Jeff,” she said, “you keep saying that. It isn't the same thing at all. You can't just be complacent and superior. Why do I have to worry about it while you sit here and drink with the hired man?”

Jeffrey did not answer. He had known that the scene with Mr. Gorman would not be entirely lost on Madge. She was using it now and he knew she would use it again.

“Jeff,” Madge said, and she took a step nearer. “Jeff—”

“Yes,” Jeffrey said, “what is it, Madge?”

Madge lowered her voice almost to a whisper.

“Jeff,” she said, “perhaps you can say something to Jim. I can't, but you could because you're a man. Perhaps if you just told Jim it would be all right to—live with her—” her face brightened and her voice was louder—“then he might get over it. Don't you think, Jeff—perhaps they're living with each other now?”

Madge's thoughts seemed brutal and unkind to him, though he had to admit that he had entertained the same idea himself. It simply seemed all right for him to think of it but not all right for Madge. Madge should have seen that you could not get over loving a girl simply by going to bed with her at odd moments. It was a fallacy which most nice people seemed to accept.

“You mean,” Jeffrey asked, “you want me to suggest that to Jim?”

“Darling,” Madge said, “can't you be realistic? Anything to get him over it.”

For some reason he could not define, the whole thing was a kind of grim slur on decency, and Jim was not like that.

“Madge,” he said, “I'll be damned if I'll do any such thing.” And then he lost control of his voice. “You leave Jim alone, Madge. Don't you interfere with Jim.”

He saw Madge bite her lip, but Madge was still composed. It was just as well that they had closed the doors and windows.

“Just remember,” Madge said, “he's my son just as much as yours.”

“And you remember what I told you,” Jeffrey said. “You leave Jim alone!”

It had been years since he had been so angry at her—years. There was no way of explaining the mixture of his emotions at such a time.

“Don't shout so,” Madge said. “Do you want all the servants to hear you?”

It was what always happened in a quarrel.

“I'm not shouting, Madge,” Jeffrey said. “I'm simply trying to tell you. I mean it. You mustn't interfere with Jim. You got him into the army. Well, I'm here now.”

There was another moment's silence and then Madge's voice changed.

“Don't lose your temper, Jeff,” Madge said. “You don't know how silly you look—you really
do
when you lose your temper.”

“You leave that boy alone,” Jeffrey said.

“Jeff,” Madge said, “don't shout at me!”

“I'm not shouting at you,” Jeffrey said. “I can handle this.”

He saw Madge shrug her shoulders and the gesture reminded him of Charley in the garage.

“I know,” Madge said. “You manage everything so well, dear, just the way you manage Mr. Gorman.”

“Damn it, Madge,” Jeffrey said. “Never mind about Gorman.”

“He isn't going to marry her,” Madge said. And she bit her lower lip again.