Mildred Pierce - James M. Cain [86]
Heading down into Eagle Rock, she was halted by two men with lanterns. One of them came over, and in a hoarse voice asked: "Pasadena?"
"Yes."
"You can't get through. Not without you detour."
"Well? Which way do I go?"
He took off his hat, swooshed the water out of it, then quickly put it on again and gave intricate directions as to how she was to drive up to the hills, then turn and follow along the higher ground until she came to Colorado Boulevard again. "That is, if you don't hit washouts. But believe me, lady, unless you got to get there tonight, it'll be a whole lot better to turn back."
Mildred, perfectly familiar with the road, took up her journey again. She came to a washout, where part of the hill had slid down on the road, but one track was still open, and she slipped easily by. She came back to Colorado Boulevard at a point not far from the high bridge, so popular with suicides at the time, and went splashing across. At the traffic circle she turned right into Orange Grove Avenue. Except for a few tree limbs that had blown down on it, and a lot of leaves, it was clear. As she rolled over its shining black expanse, she laughed again at the way people got all worked up over nothing.
On the portico of the Beragon mansion a light was lit. She turned in through the pillars and followed the drive up past the big trees, the iron dogs, and the marble urn. She parked at the steps, and had hardly cut the motor when Monty popped out of the door, in a dinner coat, and stared as though he could hardly believe his eyes. Then he yelled something at her, popped in the house again, and emerged, carrying a big doorman's umbrella with one hand and dragging a gigantic tarpaulin with the other. The tarpaulin he hurriedly threw over her hood to keep the rain out of the motor. The umbrella he opened for her, and as she made a nimble jump for the portico, said: "God, I had no idea you'd show up. It didn't even enter my mind."
"You put the light on, and got all dressed up. If you don't look out I'll begin wondering who you were expecting."
"All that was before I turned on the radio and heard what it's really like out there. How in the hell did you get here anyway? For the last hour it's been nothing but a story of bridges out, roads blocked, whole towns under water, and yet—here you are."
"Don't believe everything you hear."
Inside, Mildred saw the reason for th& tarpaulin he had produced so unexpectedly, quite as though he kept such things around in case they were needed. The whole place was under gray, ghostly cloths that covered rugs, furniture, even paintings. She shivered as she looked into the great dark drawing room, and he laughed. "Pretty gloomy, hey? Not quite so bad upstairs." He led the way up the big staircase, snapping on lights and then snapping them off when she had passed; through several big bedrooms, all under cloths as the drawing room was, to a long narrow hall, at the end of which was the tiny apartment where he lived. "This is my humble abode. How do you like it?"
"Why it's—quite nice."
"Really servants' quarters, but I moved into them because I could have a little fire—and they seemed cozier, somehow."
The furnishings had the small, battered, hand-me-down look of servants' quarters, but the fire was friendly. Mildred sat down in front of it and slipped off the galoshes. Then she took off the kerchief and trench coat, and unpinned her dress. His face lit up as she emerged like a butterfly from her very drab cocoon, and he turned her around, examining every detail of her costume. Then he kissed her. For a moment he had the old sunny look, and she had to concentrate 'hard to remember her grievances. Then he said such grandeur deserved a drink. She was afraid that with a drink she couldn't remember any grievances at all, and asked if they hadn't better wait until the Ewings got there. "The—who did you say?"
"Isn't that their name?"
"Good God, they