Chocolates for Breakfast Page 18

  “It’s hotter in the living room,” Courtney said.

  “I know. Let’s go into the library. It’s quiet there, and we can talk.”

  Although it was against all her principles of coktail party behavior to confine herself to one person, Courtney agreed. The young man, for all his critical airs, interested her. The defense of cynicism was one she often applied when she felt ill at ease, or when she was meeting someone. She ignored it and sensed that, at least, Charles was more intelligent than most of the boys at the party.

  There were two other couples in the library, and the quiet conversation was a relief from the noise and congestion of the living room. Charles brought the shaker of martinis with him.

  “You know,” he said as they sat down, “there’s something about this crowd that always puts me in a sort of cynical mood. I knew Peter would be upset if I didn’t accept his invitation, though.”

  “You probably feel a little ill at ease with them,” Courtney commented.

  “No,” he said thoughtfully, “I really don’t think that’s it. For my first two years at Yale I was very much a part of the Crew, as you put it. Then I looked at my marks, and I looked at my friends, and I suddenly asked myself, why this self-destruction? Why this drinking to get drunk? We’re not middle-aged and beaten; there really isn’t any reason for it. So I stopped seeing them and set myself to the task of becoming a lawyer. There’s something about the conviction that they’re lost, and the self-pity, that makes me angry whenever I’m with these people. It’s not that I don’t like them. If I disliked them, I wouldn’t be here. But they’re wasting so much by being angry with the world. That’s what makes me mad.”

  “Yes,” Courtney said. “You have a point. I’ve felt a little the same way myself.”

  “I hope you don’t think I’m being supercilious when I say all this,” he said with a smile.

  “Only a little,” she said.

  “Well, it’s just such a damned waste. There isn’t any reason for it; they just lack courage. They criticize their parents, and blame them for their own drinking and sleeping around, and still they allow themselves to be supported by the parents they despise.”

  Courtney thought of Janet. “Well, there might be a little more to it than that.”

  “Not if they have any real self-respect,” he said. “After I got in trouble with the deans at Yale, when I got in with this crowd, the parents sent me a long letter telling me that as long as they were paying the bills I was there for an education, and I’d better mend my ways or they’d withdraw their support. My father is a very conservative Boston lawyer,” he added, “with all sorts of ideas on the importance of education and the fact that education has to be earned, and he wasn’t going to put up for a moment with high bar bills and low marks. So I told him to go to hell,” he smiled, “and continued my pattern of life, putting myself through by writing papers and tutoring other students.”

  Courtney looked at Charles with a new interest. He was not as she had first thought a “straight arrow,” a supercilious prig. He had simply refused to compromise. Courage was something she had always admired, and she liked his reaction to the situation which all Janet’s friends had met and had answered simply by getting themselves kicked out of college.

  “You know,” she said, “it’s a funny thing, but the fact that you continued living it up makes me respect you more than if you had gone straight-arrow.”

  He studied her for a moment. “Yes, I suppose that is what would appeal to you. Not that I earned my own way, but that I continued to be an alkie. I suppose you measure a man by his fondness for alcohol.”

  “No,” she said hastily. That wasn’t the impression she had meant to give at all. Now he was classifying her as one of the Crew he despised. “That isn’t what I meant.”

  “Well, I had thought somehow that you weren’t one of the group. I suppose I was wrong. That’s the trouble with young girls, they think the measure of a man is the measure of alcohol in his blood.”

  Courtney stood up, angry.

  “The martini was delightful,” she said, “but the criticism I can do without.”

  “And now you’re going to leave,” he said. “I didn’t mean that as a criticism, really. I’m always putting my foot in my mouth.”

  “Yes, I’m going to leave.”

  “Well, there’s nothing I can do about it,” he sighed. “Women always take things personally. But I do wish you wouldn’t go.

  Courtney shrugged and went with her martini into the living room. She had enjoyed talking to Charles, his sanity and his ability to hold an intelligent conversation were refreshing to her. She felt that she would have liked to get to know him better. He was very attractive, too. But she didn’t need criticism from anyone; there was no necessity to take that, and certainly not at a cocktail party. For the first time since she had walked into the kitchen, she missed Anthony. She wished he were here. There was no criticism from Anthony.

  “Yes, Cynthia is coming out at the Cotillion. Well, face it, all it takes to come out at the Cotillion is money, and that’s about all she has—”

  “Look, darling, I promise I won’t pass out on you, really. We’ll just go up to the apartment and have a couple of drinks—”

  “The Stork. Oh, God, no, I’m getting so sick of the Bird; it’s just filled with a lot of prep-school kids these days. What about going to P. J. Clarke’s?”

  “Yes, sweetie, you really have lost weight, you look marvelous in that dress. I’ve been on a diet, but unless I go on the wagon, I don’t suppose I’ll ever lose weight, and I simply can’t be on the wagon in the summer, the heat is too ghastly, and in the fall there are so many parties, right into the Christmas season—it’s really a drag—”

  Again Courtney retreated into the kitchen. She hadn’t really wanted a martini after all. She poured the dregs of her drink down the drain and fixed herself a Scotch.

  “My God, Court, was that a martini you threw out?”

  “Oh, hi, George, I didn’t see you,” she said.

  “Perfectly sinful, to waste a good drink. Say, we haven’t seen you in a month. Where have you been keeping yourself?”

  “Oh, I’m being kept by a mad Italian nobleman,” Courtney laughed.

  “Really? Congratulations, darling, but you should try the French.” He grinned. “Seriously, we have missed you. Say, how long have you been here?”

  “Oh, about half an hour.”

  “Well, why haven’t I seen you? Who took you away to make mad love upstairs?”

  “I was talking with Charles Cunningham, in the library.”

  “Oh, Charlie. He’s a great guy, brilliant lawyer. He’s turned kind of straight-arrow lately. Used to be a real alkie, but he shaped up.”

  “Yes, he is kind of straight-arrow,” Courtney agreed. This was more like it.

  “Hey, sweetie, don’t nurse that drink!”

  “The last time I saw you, as I remember, I drank you under the table.”

  “Well, try again. I’ll match you. But nursing drinks is not allowed.”

  “All right; I’m game.”

  “Come on out into the living room, and I’ll watch you get bombed.”

  “No, I’ll always outdrink you, sweetie.”

  Courtney and George proceeded to match each other for drinks in quick succession, and Courtney found that very soon the conversations did not seem quite as trivial, and she no longer missed Anthony. In fact, she found that she was enjoying herself. Several hours later, she again found herself in the kitchen, taking George’s brief absence as a chance to drink some ice water.

  “Courtney, sweetie”—the Count wandered in unsteadily and kissed her passionately—“I love you.”

  She disengaged herself from his embrace.

  “I love you too, sweetie, but don’t be so vema—vehement in your demonstration.”

  “Oh, God, those syllables are too much for me,” the Count responded. “I’ll go make love to Janet.”

  “Mmm-hello,
darling,” Peter put his arms around her and kissed her, taking his cue from the Count. “Why haven’t we ever had an affair?”

  “You’re never sober enough,” Courtney laughed.

  “Everyone seems to be kissing Courtney,” said a quiet, familiar voice. Charles held his martini to one side and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ve been looking all over for you. I see you’ve been catching up with the rest of the party,” he observed.

  “Oh, the straight-arrow again,” said Courtney. “I’m just about to leave.”

  “Marvelous. Then I’ll take you home. I’ve canvassed the group and found no one quite so intelligent or attractive, so I’ve been in search of you.”

  “George is taking me home,” Courtney said coolly.

  Charles smiled. “I just passed George on his way to the men’s room, and he seemed a little bombed. I think I’d better take you home.”

  “I appreciate your solicitude,” said Courtney, “but George is taking me home.”

  Charles shrugged. “The offer is still open, if you change your mind.”

  George appeared in the doorway, and leaned his arm against it, taking the opportunity to kiss the forehead of a girl who ducked under it as she made her way back to the living room.

  “Ready to go, George?” Courtney asked him.

  “Go? Hell, there’s still some liquor.”

  “Well, I’m ready to go, sweetie,” she said.

  “Then go. I’m going to drink,” George said without concern.

  “Offer’s still open,” said Charles.

  “All right,” she sighed.

  When they got into the cab, Charles looked at his watch.

  “Twelve thirty,” he remarked. “Twenty One,” he said to the driver.

  “That’s not my address,” said Courtney.

  “No,” said Charles, “but that’s where we’re going. I’m hungry as hell, and I think you could use some food.”

  “I’m not bombed,” Courtney said distinctly. “And I was under the impression that you were taking me home.”

  “I know you were,” he smiled. “Marvelous late supper at Twenty One.”

  They were seated in the bar, at one of the small tables with red-checked tablecloths. The last time Courtney had been to Twenty One was with her father. She and Anthony went to the more obscure restaurants, but Twenty One had always been one of Courtney’s favorites. Somehow it was a place that none of the young men she knew took her to; it was somehow too established and conservative, and she felt hesitant at suggesting it. There was something straight-arrow about Twenty One. She was glad they had come.

  “You know,” she said, “despite my objections, I’m glad we came here. This is a marvelous place, and I never come here as often as I’d like to.”

  “It doesn’t appeal to your Crew,” Charles said. “You can neither get loudly drunk or make out here.”

  “I do wish you’d stop referring to them as my Crew,” Courtney said wearily. “As a matter of fact, tonight was the first time in a month that I saw them.”

  “Well, congratulations,” he said. “Seriously, it’s not a good group for a young girl. No matter how well she behaves, if she goes around with them she is suspect. And I can sense that you’re not a Janet Parker.”

  “Janet’s a marvelous girl,” Courtney said. “I told you she was a good friend of mine.”

  “Oh, stop defending her,” he said with annoyance. “I think she’s a great girl, too, but you know perfectly well what I’m talking about.”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I do,” Courtney said soberly. “It’s really too bad that she’s so confused, and that she’s gotten herself the reputation she has.”

  “You know,” Charles said, “a girl could live as Janet lives—and more so, because you have to discount eighty per cent of the stories about her, and nobody would have to know about it. I really think that she wants people to know.”

  “That’s one of the first intelligent things I’ve heard anyone say about Janet,” said Courtney. “She does want people to know. Most of all, she wants her parents to know, to hurt them.”

  “Damned shame. With the family she has, though, it’s not awfully hard to understand. Not that I endorse her behavior,” he said hastily, “but I can understand it.”

  The waiter came over to them.

  “I think I’ll have a chicken sandwich,” said Courtney.

  “Oh, darling, don’t be so unimaginative. This is Saturday night and I have my check in my pocket. Let’s have something gay like crepe suzettes.”

  “That’s a marvelous idea,” said Courtney.

  “And if you’re not averse to mixing the grape and the grain—”

  “No.”

  “—two cognacs.”

  Courtney was delighted. Somehow the gesture reminded her of Anthony, but Charles had a reassuring air of solidity and command about him. She was not acquainted with men like Charles, not young men, anyway—he somehow reminded her of Al Leone—and she felt a little unsure of herself. The idiom of the cocktail party was out of place here.

  “I’m sorry I annoyed you earlier this evening,” he was saying. “I wanted to apologize. I really wasn’t referring to you in particular. I was just in a lousy mood, probably because I felt sort of out of place.”

  This reassured her.

  “Well, please don’t let it bother you. I guess I am kind of young, as you said, reacting the way I did. But that isn’t important. I care much more about the fact that I adore Twenty One and we’re having crepe suzettes. That’s delightful.”

  “Say, Courtney, you have marvelous eyes.”

  She sighed. “Yes, they’re green. Green. It has been a point of contention all my life. They’re green, they’re unusually large, and I have never yet been out with a boy who didn’t comment on them.”

  He laughed. “You’re great, you really are. I am stopped cold. You know, you must get awfully bored with the boys who were at the party tonight. I can see you’re not one for cocktail party conversation.”

  “As a matter of fact, I love cocktail parties. I never have to think. I never have to say anything I really mean, and I know that nothing I say can be held against me because nobody will remember it.”

  “You have a good point there. You know, I’d like to see more of you. Could you give me your phone number? I’d like to call you, and take you out for a real dinner. We could just sit and talk, and you wouldn’t have to say anything you really mean if you didn’t want to. I promise, despite my forbidding air, to be content with bubbles of conversation.” He smiled.

  Chapter 20

  I had a lovely time at the cocktail party,” Courtney said, stretching her arms above her in smugness and then folding her hands behind her head. “And afterwards I went with that charming boy to Twenty One, and we had crepes suzettes and brandy.”

  “Philistines,” Anthony snorted. “Philistines. I’m glad I got you back before they corrupted you.”

  He stood in front of the window a moment, holding aside the hotel drapes in an attempt to draw some relief from the oppressive midday heat. He turned to her, and she watched him from her front-row seat on the couch. He never turned just his head; his whole upper body turned when he shifted his attention, as though he were conscious of maintaining a sculptural balance of line.

  “I’ve languished without you,” he said sadly. “An evening of wretchedness, pretending to listen to those deadly lawyers. And all the while you were enjoying yourself thoroughly, no doubt being made love to or something.”

  “I like to watch you move,” Courtney said without concern at his petulance. “Come over here and sit beside me.”

  He walked obediently to the couch. She ran her hand with proprietary ease along the narrow, sculptured line of his ribs and hips. He took her hand in his and studied her a moment.

  “I come at your call, don’t I?” he said. “I’ve really lost all my command. My art is being corrupted. I’m behaving like an American lover.”

  “You certain
ly are,” Courtney smiled, “and I’m enjoying it thoroughly. You’re getting jealous.”

  He rose with studied grace, and leaned on the mantel, watching himself and the girl through the mirror.

  “Where shall we have lunch?” he said abruptly. “At the Plaza?”

  “I suppose so,” Courtney said without enthusiasm.

  “Now look.” He walked over to her and took her hands, pulling her up. He stood slightly apart from her and regarded her steadily.

  “I don’t like you this morning,” he said levelly. “You don’t amuse me. You’re behaving very like a woman, which you haven’t since that first evening. I’m afraid I am a little jealous, but that is no reason for you to hold my jealousy aloft like a laurel wreath, proclaiming your triumph. Shall I name you the single greatest error that women make in love affairs? After the first flush has faded from the lover’s face, after they are no longer treated with the deference paid to the new conquest, they attempt to make him jealous, they play the coquette. Particularly American women, who can’t bear the subordinate position they find themselves in.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders, resting his thumbs against the softly modeled collarbone.

  “They end up by spoiling everything,” he said softly. “They make a game of love, they corrupt it, and from that point on everything disintegrates.”

  She watched him solemnly. He dropped his hands and turned away from her, as though it were easier to speak when he was not looking at her.

  “Whenever I have found that happening to me, I have simply ended the affair. Right there. I refused to let it end in ugliness, on the decline, so to speak.” He turned slightly toward her. “So, my dear, you must be very careful. You must guard against your latent feminine wiles. That would be a costly indulgence.”

  Courtney regarded him steadily, running her tongue between her lips for a moment.

  “Do you think that you have so much control over me, that you are so desperately important to me? Do you think that I am so unsure of you? Just because you are my lover, you think you have the right to tell me what to do when no other human being can? You had better watch your step as well. You can’t afford to lose me,” she said defiantly. “After knowing me you’d find yourself quite adrift, my darling Anthony, for all your masculine arrogance.”