Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [218]
“I’d hate to tell you what I had to do to get that,” May said through her teeth, biting the thermometer. She added, “Not what you’re thinking, however, from your expression.” Willie hastily changed his expression with an effort of his face muscles. “Well, now, let’s see.” May held up the thermometer toward the window. “Why, not bad at all. Mere 101.2. Let’s go horseback riding in Central Park.”
“You get into bed. I’m going to call a doctor-”
“Now, dear, don’t go rushing around making kettles of hot water and bathing your arms to the elbows. I’ve seen a doctor. I’m supposed to rest and take aspirin. The question is, what’s the schedule? When do you have to go home to your mother?”
“The night is ours.” Willie sounded insulted.
“Oh? That’s wonderful.” She came to him and put her arms around his neck. “Is it all right if I lie down, then? We can have a nice old chat-and I’ll be all bright and beautiful for the evening.”
“Of course.”
“Well, then, you look out of the window for a minute. It’s a gorgeous view.” Willie obeyed. On the window sill across the air shaft, three feet away, were two bottles of milk, a tomato, and a package of butter, surrounded by little ridges of snow. The brick wall was black with grime. Behind him he heard quick feminine rustlings.
“All right, dear. Come and sit by me.” May’s dress and stockings were draped on a chair, and she was propped up on the bed, under the covers, in a gray rough bathrobe. She smiled wanly. “Hedy Lamarr, all set up for the seduction scene.”
“Darling,” Willie said, sitting and taking her cold hand, “I’m sorry I came at such a bad time-sorry I didn’t let you know-”
“Willie, you’re not half as sorry as I am. Only it’s done, and there’s no help for it.” She clasped his hand between hers. “Dearest, I know you must have pictured me in a warm pink vacuum at home, writing you letters, and reading yours over a thousand times, and otherwise in a state of suspended animation. But that isn’t what happens. Fathers get pleurisy, and stockings get holes in them, and I have to scratch for cash, and fellows make passes at me-which I can’t even get too mad about because it proves I still have a stock in trade-but I’ve really been a pretty good girl.” She looked up at him with shy weary eyes. “I even pulled a B-minus average on the midyears. Got an A in Lit.”
“Look, why don’t you sleep? You knocked yourself out at that audition-”
“Which was a bust-I couldn’t even see straight, waiting for you to show up-”
“Do you have to work tonight?”
“Yes, dear. Every night except Monday, the contract says-if Mama and Papa and May are going to eat-a lot of girls are just dying to substitute-”
“Why didn’t you let me know you were in trouble? I have money-”
A look of fear came over May’s face. She pressed his palm. “Willie, I’m no charity case-maybe I’m overplaying the scene, trying to cover up for looking so ratty. I’m in fine shape financially and every other way-I just have a lousy cold, see-haven’t you ever had a cold?” She began to cry, pressing his hand against her eyes. Warm drops trickled down his fingers. He held her close, and kissed her hair. “Maybe I’d better sleep. I am really shot,” she said, in a low dry voice, her eyes hidden against his hand, “if I stoop to turning on the tears.” She looked up at him and smiled. “What would you like to read? Troilus and Cressida? The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard in French? Trevelyan’s History of England? They’re in that pile on the table-”
“I’ll take care of myself. You turn in.”
“Why don’t you go out and catch a movie? Better than sitting around in this mousehole, listening to me snore-”
“I’ll stay here.” He kissed her.
She said, “This is wrong. You’ll catch God knows what plagues.”
“Go to sleep.”
“Some