Mildred Pierce - James M. Cain [13]
Around six she laid a fire, feeling a little guilty that most of the wood consisted of the dead limbs Bert had sawed off the avocado trees the afternoon he left. She didn't 'build it in the living room. She built it in the "den," which was on the other side of the chimney from the living room and had a small fireplace of its own. It was really one of the three bedrooms, and had its own bathroom, but Bert had fixed it up with a sofa, comfortable chairs, and photographs of the banquets he had spoken at, and it was here that they did their entertaining. The fire ready to light, she went to the bedroom and dressed. She put on a print dress, the best she had. She examined a great many stockings, found two that showed no signs of runs, put them on. Her shoes, by careful sparing, were in fair shape, and she put on simple black ones. Then, after surveying herself in the mirror, admiring her legs, and remembering to bend the right knee, she threw a coat around her and went to the den. Around ten minutes to seven she put the coat away and turned on one button of heat. Then she pulled down the shades and turned on several lamps.
Around ten after seven, Wally rang the bell, apologetic for being late, anxious to get started. For one long moment Mildred was tempted: by the chance to save her food, by the chance to eat without having to cook, most of all by the chance to go somewhere, to sit under soft lights, perhaps even to hear an orchestra, and dance. But her mouth seemed to step out in front of her, and take charge in a somewhat gabby way. "Well my goodness, I never even dreamed you'd want to go out on a night like this."
"Isn't that what we said?"
"But it's so awful out. Why can't I fix you something, and maybe we could go out some other night?"
"Hey, hey, I'm taking you out."
"All right, but at least let's wait a few minutes, in case this rain'll let up a little. I just hate to go out when it's coming down like this."
She led him to the den, lit the fire, took his coat, and disappeared with it. When she came back she was shaking an orange blossom in a pitcher, and balancing a tray on which Were two glasses.
"Well say! Say!"
"Thought it might help pass the time."
"You bet it will."
He took his glass, waited for her to take hers, said "Mud in your eye," and sipped. Mildred was startled at how good it was. As for Wally, he was downright reverent at how good it was. "What do you know about that? Real gin! I haven't tasted it since—God knows when. All they give you in these speaks is smoke, and a guy's taking his life in his hands, all the time. Say, where did you tend bar?"
"Oh, just picked it up."
"Not from Bert."
"I didn't say where."
"Bert's hooch was God-awful. He was one of these home-laboratory guys, and the more stuff he put in it to kill the taste, the worse it tasted. But this—say, Bert must be crazy if he walked out on you."
He looked at her admiringly and she refilled his glass. "Thanks, Mildred. I couldn't say no if I tried. Hey, what about yours?"
Mildred, not much of a drinker under any circumstances, had decided that tonight might be an excellent time to exercise a certain womanly restraint. She laughed, shook her head. "Oh—one's all I take."
"Don't you like it?"
"I like it all right, but I'm really not used to it."
"You've got to get educated."
"I can see that right now. But we can attend to that part a little bit at a time. Tonight, the rest of it's yours."
He laughed excitedly, strolled over to the window, stood looking out at the rain. "You know, I'm thinking about something. . . . Maybe you were right about not going out. That looks wetter than a Chinaman's wash. Did you really mean it, what you said about knocking something together that we could eat?" -
"Of course I meant it."
"Putting you to one hell of a lot of trouble, though."
"Don't be silly, it's no trouble