Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [215]
Willie didn’t want to answer, but he was cross, and nervous; and telling the mutiny story had shaken his self-control. “Well, this will probably please you very much. I decided that it wouldn’t work. I’ve given it up.”
The mother nodded slightly, and looked down at her lap, appearing to suppress a smile. “In that case, Willie, why are you going to see her? Wouldn’t it be kinder not to?”
“I can’t just ignore her, Mother, like a whore I once spent a night with.”
“You’ve picked up a little Navy language, Willie.”
“You don’t know Navy language.”
“It’s just that you’ll be letting yourself in for a pointless, agonizing scene-”
“May’s entitled to her scene.”
“When are you going to see her?”
“Tonight, if I can. I thought I’d call her now-”
Mrs. Keith said, with doleful amusement, “You see, I’m not so dumb. I’m having the family over tomorrow night. I imagined tonight would be taken.”
“It’ll be the only night. You’ll be all clear on the next four.”
“Darling, if you think I’m happy about this you’re mistaken. I share all your pain-”
“Okay, Mother-”
“Someday, Willie, I’ll tell you all about a man I didn’t marry, a very handsome and attractive and worthless man, who’s still alive.” And Mrs. Keith blushed a little, and looked out of the window.
Willie stood. “I’ll make my call, I guess.”
The mother came, put her arm around him, and leaned her head on his shoulder. Willie submitted. Outside a few thick flakes of snow drifted down through the black branches of the trees. “Darling, don’t worry about your court-martial. I’ll talk to Uncle Lloyd. He’ll know what to do. Believe me, nobody’s going to punish you for doing such a fine, daring thing.”
Willie went to his mother’s bedroom, took the extension telephone from the bedside table, and plugged it into the jackbox in his own room. He called the candy store in the Bronx. While he was waiting for an answer, he shoved the door shut with his foot.. “May Wynn’s not home,” said a flat, vulgar voice, a woman with a foreign accent. “Try Circle 6-3475.”
He called the other number. “Hotel Woodley, good morning,” said the operator.
Willie knew the Woodley well: a shabby theatrical hotel on Forty-seventh Street. “May Wynn, please.”
“Miss Wynn? One moment.” There followed several repeated buzzes, and at last, “Hello?” But it was not May’s voice. The voice was masculine.
“I’m trying to get Miss May Wynn’s room,” Willie said, with a horrid qualm.
“This is May’s room. Who’s calling?”
“My name is Willie Keith.”
“Willie! Well, for Christ’s sake! This is Marty Rubin, Willie, how the hell are you? Where are you?”
“I’m home.”
“Home? Where? San Francisco?”
“I’m out on Long Island. Where’s May?”
“She’s here. This is terrific. Listen, Willie, did she know you were coming? She never said a word- Just a second, I’ll get her up-”
The pause was a long one. “Hello! Willie!”
“Hello, May. Sorry I woke you up-”
“Honey, don’t be silly. I-I can’t believe it! When did you get in?”
Willie had always disliked the threadbare “honey” of show-business chatter, and it grated on him especially when May used it, “and more especially at this moment. Her voice was muffled and high, as it usually was when she had just awakened. “Flew in about an hour ago.”
“Why didn’t you let me know, honey? Gosh-”
“I thought I’d surprise you.”
“I am surprised. I’m flabbergasted.” There was a silence which was very dreadful to Willie. “Well, honey, when am I going to see you?” she said.
“Any time you want to.”
“Oh, dear. Darling, you couldn’t have picked a worse day. I have the grippe or some damn thing, and-we might have lunch-no, wait, there’s something else- Marty, when are we cutting that damned audition record? When can I get away? ... Not till then? ... Oh, Willie, it’s such a mess! There’s this radio show I have to cut a record for-it has to be today-I’ve been doping myself to try to get in some kind of shape-Marty honey, can’t we call it off? ... Oh, Willie, you should have let me know-”
“Forget the whole thing. Don’t get upset,” Willie said, glaring at himself in the