Mildred Pierce - James M. Cain [33]
She held aloof from the restaurant itself, and the people connected with it. This wasn't entirely due to her ideas of social superiority. In her own mind, she was highly critical of the kitchen, and was afraid to get drawn into talk, for fear she would say what she thought, and lose her job. So she confined her observations to Mrs. Gessler, and every night gave a savage account of the way things were done. Her special grievance was the pies. They were bought from the Handy Baking Company, and Mrs. Gessler often laughed loudly at Mildred's description of their uninviting appearance, their sticky, tasteless filling, and their hard, indigestible crusts. But in the restaurant she held her peace, until one day she heard Ida bawling out Mr. Chris. "I'm that ashamed to put it on the table! I'm that ashamed to ask a customer to eat it! It's just awful, the pie you put out here, and expect people to pay for it." Mr. Chris, who took all bawlings-out with a martyred shrug, merely said: "Maybe a pie is lousy, but what you expect, times like these now? If he no eat, see me, I hokay a new check." Mildred opened her mouth to take Ida's side, and hotly proclaim that a new check wouldn't make the pie taste any better. But at that moment it flashed through her mind that perhaps the real remedy was to get the pie contract herself. With the chance to make these precious dollars, her whole attitude changed. She -knew she had to capture Ida, a-nd not only Ida, but everybody else in the place.
That afternoon she was rather more helpful to the other girls than strict ethics demanded, and later, at lunch, sat down with them and got sociable. Meanwhile, she reflected what she was going to do about Ida. She was working that evening, and after the place closed, noticed Ida hurrying out with a glance at the clock, as though she mi-ght be catching a bus. Holding the door open, she asked: "Which way do you go, Ida? Maybe I could give you a lift."
"You got a car?"
"Anyway, it goes."
"Me, I live on Vermont. Up near Franklin."
"Why it's right on my way. I live in Glendale."
The iciness was gone by the time they climbed in the car. As they parted, Mildred asked Ida if she'd like her to stop by and pick her up, on the way over in the morning. From then on Ida had a ride, and Mildred had a better station, and more importantly, she had Ida's ear, with no possible interruptions, Lor a considerable time every day. They became bosom friends, and somehow the talk always got around to pies. Ida was bitter indeed at the product Mr. Chris offered his customers, and Mildred listened sympathetically. And then one night she innocently inquired: "What does he pay for those pies?"
"If he pays two bits, he's being swindled."
"Yes, but how much."
"I don't know . . . Why?"
"I make pies. And if he pays anything at all, I'd meet the price and make him some that people would really want to eat. I'd make him some that would be- a feature."
"Could you do it, honest?"
"I sell them all the time."
"Then I'll find out what he pays."
From then on, pies became a feverish conspiracy between Mildred and Ida, and one Sunday Mildred drove over to Ida's with a fine, wet, -beautifully-made huckleberry pie. Ida was married, to a former plasterer not working at the moment, and Mildred suspected that a pie might help with the Sunday night supper. Next day, during the luncheon rush, while Mr. Chris had stepped over to the bank -to get more change, Ida stopped Mildred in the aisle, and said in a hoarse stage whisper: "He pays a straight thirty-five cents for them and takes three dozen a week."
"Thanks."
That night, Ida was full