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

I think,” Mr Mulwin said. “That’s the way I’m built.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Mrs Mulwin said. “You musn’t mind: some things he says to me roll off me like water off a duck’s back.”

“Anyway,” Mr Mulwin went on, “you start it: always trying to be so damned helpful. ‘Oh Mr Mulwin, come learn to play bridge, it’ll do you good.’ I haven’t got time to learn to play bridge, even if I wanted to. And I don’t like fuss budget do-gooders. Why don’t you work on Bertha and Mrs Judson and leave me alone?”

“None of the patients is obliged to talk to the others,” Dr Kearney said, “but it seems a healthy sign to me when they do. Hostility and chronic anger are symptoms.”

“Symptoms of what?” Mr Mulwin demanded.

“Of a nature not at home with itself, I’d say,” Dr Kearney replied.

“Can’t I join one of the other groups?” Mrs Judson asked in a quavering voice. “Maybe I’d make more progress. There’s so much acrimony here.”

“We can discuss that in our private session,” Dr Kearney said. “It’s not altogether out of the question. Though I think you’d find the other groups are also composed of more or less troubled human beings.”

“I don’t feel like a human being,” Mrs Judson said.

“What do you feel like?” Mr Brice asked.

“A dead animal. Well, not quite dead. I wish I could hibernate, like a bear.”

“Summer would come,” Norris said. “It always does. No animal both hibernates and estivates.”

“I’d like to,” Lottie said. “Oh, I don’t mean that, Norris. I want to feel the way I used to, only perhaps I’m too old. I’m tired of feeling tormented, or tormenting myself, or whatever it is that’s going on. I know people get cured of their craving for alcohol, but I don’t believe it, not for myself, not on the inside.”

“It will wear away gradually,” Norris said. “When you’re out of here you’ll be free to drink or not, as you please, and when you find you can do without it, I expect you’ll feel an enormous sense of accomplishment.”

“But suppose I don’t?” Lottie said. “I mean, suppose I do take a drink—go on a quiet lady-like bat? I’d like to go on a toot, right now.”

“If you fall down,” Norris said, “you can get up again. But I don’t think you will. I know you better than that.”

“Why not try yoga, Mrs Taylor?” Mr Mulwin said.

“I may. I’m quite limber for a person my age.”

“That’s out for me,” Mrs Brice said. “I could never contort these old bones into those weird positions. Running the vacuum under the sofa makes me wonder if I’m ever going to straigten up again.”

“Mr Brice should give you alcohol rubs,” Mrs Judson said. “I give them to Sam, and he says they help a lot. Especially after he’s been doing yard work.”

“Let’s play a game,” Bertha said. “Everybody tell one wish—something you want, or wish would happen—any kind of wish. I’ll start. I wish I was a rock star.”

“I wish,” Mr Mulwin said, “we could cut the games and get down to business. If these sessions are doing anybody any good, I’m a monkey’s uncle.”

“You sure are,” Bertha said.

“Everybody knows what I wish,” Lottie said. “You can make it a whisky sour, straight up. While you’re at it, you might as well make it a double.”

“I wish I didn’t have to be here,” Mrs Judson said. “And that people could get along better with each other.”

“I can’t bring myself to say I wish the accident had never happened,” Mrs Brice said, “somehow, it seems irreligious. It would be childish. I guess what I wish is that I could become resigned.”

“That’s not a very positive wish, Mother,” Mr Brice said.

“Maybe not. There isn’t anything I want. I couldn’t say I wish I was a good bridge player. I wouldn’t be sincere. Oh I’ll pick that. I wish I was good at cards. How dreary it sounds to me.”

“Well, Bertha,” Mr Mulwin said, “we played your little game. Feel better?”

“Much. Only you didn’t play it fair. I knew you wouldn’t make a real wish.”

“OK. I wish I could get this cannon ball out of my guts.”

“Stop thinking about it,” Bertha said, “and it will go away.”

“Fat lot you know about it,” Mr Mulwin said.

Chapter VI

1

Norris’s phone buzzed and his secretary said, “A Mrs Carpenter is on the line.”

“Put her through. Mag? What can I do for you?”

“Believe it or not, this is by way of being a business call. I want to make changes in my will. I’ve never been all that crazy about Bartram’s lawyer, he’s sort of an old fuddy-duddy who talks down to me, so I thought, ‘Why not call on a friend?’ You being the friend in question. I know you’re ever so successful, but every little bit of business helps, doesn’t it?”

“Yes and no. You see, Mag, we rather specialize in realty, and don’t do much in the testamentary line.”

“Ah! ‘Don’t do much.’ Then you do do some. Couldn’t you make an exception for a friend? It would give me such confidence, knowing my affairs are in your hands.”

“I’m not a broker, you know.”

“Now, now, don’t tease. Just say, yes, you’ll do me this little favor, and we can make an appointment. I’ll have to get my will out of the vault, and it’s too late to do it today.”

“I see there’s no gainsaying you, Mag. When would you like to come by? Say, tomorrow at three?”

“Tomorrow at three. Perhaps we could have lunch first?”

“That, I’m afraid is out. I’m lunching with a business associate.”

“As a matter of fact, Norris, I’m quite nearby. I came in to shop and I’m at Lathem’s. Can I talk you into coming out for a cup of coffee or a drink?”

“That doesn’t sound so wise to me.”

“Oh, just this once. I’m not setting any precedent: you needn’t fear I’ll call you every other day, trying to lure you away from your desk. I know you’re busy. But just this once.