What's for Dinner? by James Schuyler (diy ebook reader txt) 📗

time. People’s. You’re not being very nice to me this evening.”

“Either we stick to our plans without any hanky-panky about stalled engines, or all deals are off. I’m very fond of you, Mag, or we wouldn’t be where we are, but Maureen Delahantey is a very noticing sort of a person, and I won’t have Lottie upset. She’s never going to know about this.”

“I said before that I understood that. I’m sorry if I was naughty—just this once. But it was fun, having you drive over to pick me up.”

In the Delehantey’s bedroom Maureen, who was brushing her dark lustrous hair, said, “Did you notice, during the bidding, that at one point Mag started to call Norris Bartram?”

“So?” Bryan was laying out his clothes for the morning. He was a careful dresser.

“It struck me as funny.”

“What’s so funny about it? I suppose all her life she’s been used to having Bartram as her bridge partner. Seems natural enough to me.”

“It wasn’t so much that, as the way she caught herself and looked when she said it. She seemed to try to hide what she’d said, if you know what I mean.”

Bryan gave his rich laugh. “One thing I know,” he said, “is that I do not see Norris Taylor as the heavy lover. In fact, I wonder if he’s still able to do justice to that juicy wife of his.” Maureen was sitting in her slip, and he gave her shoulder a love pinch that made her squeal.

Down the hall, in the twins room, things were not going too well. Michael was in his brother’s bed, but Patrick had moved up his heavy thigh and covered his parts. Michael tried to get his hand underneath, but couldn’t.

“I’m trying to sleep,” Patrick said, in a pretend-asleep voice.

“Come on,” Michael muttered.

“Go way.”

“No.”

“We’re supposed to be in training,” Patrick said.

“Don’t be a jerk,” Michael said. “The book says all that stuff about an orgasm making you weak is a lot of hooey.”

There was a light rap. Michael was back in his own bed, quick and quiet as a wink.

“Are you boys talking in there?” It was Biddy.

“Hunh?” Michael said. What’s that Gran?”

“Well, just don’t let your parents hear you talking. It’s late enough, in all conscience.”

2

“I imagine most of you have met our new guest, Mrs Judson,” Dr Kearney said to the group assembled around the table. Those who had not, introduced themselves. Mrs Judson was a thin woman in the midst of life—an unhappy one, judging by the drawn expression of her face. Her husband, a portly man, was seated a little to her left and behind her.

“I’m Sam Judson,” he said. “Just call me Sam, everybody does. Sam Judson used cars and rentals, it’s not above three blocks from here.”

“Why Norris,” Lottie said, “we once rented a car from Mr Judson, the time we had all that trouble with the old Dodge. How fortuitous.”

“Yes,” Norris said. “I remember. A fine car, as I recall it.”

“No rental from Sam Judson’s will ever give you any trouble. We pride ourselves on that. But I’m not here tonight to promote business, so I won’t give you the sales pitch.”

Mrs Judson sighed. “What is it we’re supposed to do?” she asked of no one in particular.

Lottie shivered nervously. “We talk,” she said. There was silence, then Mrs Brice spoke.

“I haven’t had any night medication for two nights now. No, it’s three. I slept pretty well, considering.”

“Sounds like progress to me,” Dr Kearney said. He gave her a smile.

“Can I go home?” Mrs Brice asked.

“We’ve gone into that before, Mother,” Mr Brice said. “Not yet a while.”

“I wonder, doctor,” Lottie said, “if you haven’t changed my medication too soon. I feel so apprehensive all the time.”

“You’re experiencing discomfort, I take it,” Dr Kearney said.

“No, it’s more than discomfort. I feel apprehensive, I feel anxious, I feel as though something horrible is going to happen, and it’s right inside my head. This afternoon I would have given my hope of heaven for a drink—a good stiff glass of vodka. Or gin. Anything.”

“I wouldn’t mind a stiff drink myself,” Mr Mulwin said. “And I’m going to have one when I get out of here. Alcohol is no problem for me.”

“It could get to be one,” his wife said, “if you don’t take it easy.”

“You said that on purpose to torment me,” Lottie said to Mr Mulwin. “Why are you so hateful all the time?” Norris patted her arm. Lottie was kneading her hands in her lap.

“He was only bragging,” Mrs Mulwin said. “It’s a way some men have, and he’s one of them.”

“Why do you come to these sessions?” Mr Mulwin asked his wife. “You only stir me up.”

“Lately everything stirred you up. That’s why you’re here.”

“I’m not stirred up either,” Mrs Judson said. “I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

“Problems,” Mr Brice said. “Perhaps you’re a little like Mrs Brice here—withdrawn, I think they call it.”

“I know,” Lottie said, “there must be some medication you could give me that would help me through this ghastly period.”

“We’ll talk that over,” Dr Kearney said, “in your private session.”

“But that’s not until tomorrow. Oh Norris, they’re torturing me.”

“Oh dear,” Mrs Brice said, “I don’t like to see you like this: you’re such a kindly, collected person. I’m sure they’re only trying to do what’s right.”

“It’s not enough. I’m the one who knows how I feel.”

“I don’t want to get like her,” Mrs Judson said. “Take me home, Sam. I’ve changed my mind.”

“Don’t worry,” Bertha said, “you won’t get like her. She’s an alcoholic, though what that’s a symptom of, who knows? Change of life is my guess. You have some other problem. My problem is acting freaky. I just wanted to be myself, play my records, stay up all night, it wasn’t anything wrong. But the other students couldn’t bear it. My own roommate moved out on me.”

“You’re damn right I’m an alcoholic,” Lottie said, “I think I always will be. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to take