Mildred Pierce - James M. Cain [35]
"Why certainly!"
"Principle? She's got principle plus. Say, that meringue looks two inches thick."
By noon, the lemon pie was a few smears of filling in an empty plate, and by one o'clock, all three pies were gone. By three, Ida had opened up on Mr. Chris, with everybody standing around, to watch the result. She said just look how them pies went. She said the lemon was gone before she could even turn around, and one customer wanted a second cut, and she didn't have it to give him. She - said it was just terrible what the people said, when Mildred's pies ran out and she had to serve the bakery pies. To all of this, Mr. Chris made no reply whatever, merely hunching over his desk, and acting as though he was deaf. Ida plowed on, louder and louder. She said there was one lady, in a party of four, that wanted to know where they got such wonderful pies, and when she pointed out Mildred, she was that amazed. Mr. Chris twisted uneasily, and said not to bother him, he was busy, and—
"So that's what you was up to!"
He jumped up, and found Anna's finger not six inches from his nose, leveled at him as though it were a six-shooter. Giving him no time to recover, she went on: "So that's why you bee-n asking all them questions about Mildred! That's why you been foxing around! And who told you she made pies, I'd like to know? Well can you beat that. Every time you take your eye off him he's up to something!"
To this not unflattering harangue Mr. Chris at first returned a blank stare. Then he burst into loud laughter, and pointed a derisive finger at Ida, as though it was a great joke on her. Ida professed to be highly indignant, that he should "let her go on like t-hat" when he knew about Mildred's pies all the time, and had already made up his mind to take them. The more she talked the loUder he laughed, and then, after he had wiped his streaming eyes, the bargain was struck. There was a little difficulty about price, he trying to beat Mildred down to thirty cents, but she held out for thirty-five, and presently he agreed. That night Mildred stood treat to Ida and Anna in a speako Wally had taken her to, and helped Anna pick up a man at a nearby table. Still with her first half dozen pies to make, she drove home very late, full of a gulpy love for the whole human race. -
On the strength of her new contract, she had a phone put in, and began to drum up more trade with the neighborhood customers, on the theory that a few extra pies were no more trouble, but that the extra money would be so much velvet. For pies one at a time, she had charged, and still charged, eighty-five cents each. Shortly, as a result of the neighborhood trade, there dropped into her lap another restaurant contract. Mr. Harbaugh, husband of one of her customers, spoke of her pies one night at the Drop Inn, a cafeteria on Brand Boulevard, not far from Pierce Drive, and they called her up and agreed to- take two dozen a week. So within a month of the time she went to work as a waitress, she was working harder than she knew she could work, and still hold out until Sunday, when she could sleep. Taking care of the children was out of the question, so she engaged a girl named Letty, who cooked the children's lunch and dinner, and helped with the washing, stirring, and drudgery that went with the pies. She bought two extra uniforms, so she could launder all three at once, over the weekend. This chore, however, she did in the bathroom, behind locked doors. She made no secret of the pies; she couldn't very well. But she had no intention that either the children or Letty should know about the job.
And yet, tired as she was most of the time, there was a new look in her eye, even a change in her vocabulary. Talking with Mrs. Gessler, she spoke of "my pies," "my customers," "my marketing"; the first personal pronouns predominated. Unquestionably she was becoming a little important, in her own eyes, at least, a little