Mildred Pierce - James M. Cain [138]
She was so pleased at the way she imitated Mr. Chris's dialect that she started to laugh, and they all started to laugh. Then Bert said if she felt like making pies again, just leave the rest to him. He'd sell them. Veda laughed, pointed at her mouth, whispered that 'she'd eat them. Mildred wanted to jump up and kiss her, but didn't.
The doorbell rang. Letty went to answer it, returned in a moment with a puzzled look on her face. "The taxi man's there, Mrs. Pierce."
"Taxi? I didn't order any taxi."
"Yes'm, I'll tell him."
Veda stopped Letty with a gesture. "I ordered it."
"You ordered it."
"Yes, Mother."
Veda got up from her untouched turkey, and calmly faced Mildred. "I decided some time' ago that the place for me is New York, and I'm leaving in a little while from Union Air Terminal, in Burbank. I meant to tell you."
Bewildered, Mildred blinked at Veda's cold, cruel eyes, noted that Veda was now talking in her natural voice. A suspicion flashed into her mind. "Who are you going with?"
"Monty."
"Ah."
All sorts of things now began to flit through Mildred's mind, and piece themselves together: remarks by Mr. Hobey, the Sunbake promoter, the big forgiveness scene in Reno, featured by the newspapers, the curious appearance of Mr. Levinson at her wedding. Then, while Veda still stood coldly smiling, Mildred began to talk, her tongue licking her 11ps with quick, dry motions like the motions of a snake's tongue. "I see it now. . . . You didn't lose any voice, you just thought faster than anybody else, that night. . . . If you could make me say I choked you, then you could break your contract with Pleasant, the company that gave you your first big chance. You used to sing full chest, like a man, and you could do it again, if you had to. So you did, and you made me swear to all that, for a court record, so the newspapers could print it. But then you found out you'd gone a little too far. The newspapers found out about Monty, and that wasn't so good for the radio public. So you came to Reno, and had pictures of yourself taken, with me in your arms. And at my wedding, to your father. And you even invited that Levinson to be there, as though he meant anything to me. Anything to cover up, to hide what had really been going on, the love affair you'd been having with your mother's husband, with your own stepfather."
"Anyway, I'm going."
"And I know perfectly well why you're going. Now the publicity has blown over a little, you're going to sing for Sunbake, for $2,500 a week. All right—but this time, don't come back."
Mildred's voice rose as she said this, and Veda's hand involuntarily went to her throat. Then Veda went to her father, and kissed him. He kissed her, and patted her, but his eyes were averted, and he seemed a little cold. Then she left. When the taxi door slammed, and it had noisily pulled away, Mildred went to the bedroom, lay down, and began to cry. Perhaps she had something to cry about. She was thirtyseven years old, fat, and gettin'g a little shapeless. She had lost everything she had worked for, over long and weary years. The one living thing she had loved had turned on her repeatedly, with tooth and fang, and now had left her without so much as a kiss or a pleasant goodbye. Her only crime, if she had committed one, was that she had loved this girl too well.
Bert came in, with a decisive look in his eye and a bottle of rye in his hand. In masterful fashion he sloshed it once or twice, then sat down on the bed. "Mildred."
"Yes."
"To hell with her."
This remark only served to step up the tempo of Mildred's sobs, which were approaching a wail already. But Bert took hold of her 'and shook her. "I said to hell with her!"
Through the tears, the woe, Mildred seemed to sense what he meant. What