Mr. Bridge_ A Novel - Evan S. Connell [18]
20 Cadillac
That winter he decided he could afford a Cadillac. For some time he had been thinking about this, but there were two considerations. First, of course, was the expense. The second was more difficult to evaluate because it had to do with taste. Cadillac quite unmistakably symbolized success, and he did not want anybody who observed him in a Cadillac to assume that he was boasting. So, wanting one, he had told himself it would cost too much. But there came a day when he stopped at an agency to get the brochure, and he arranged for a salesman to bring a Cadillac to the house so he could take the family for a ride.
It was a splendid Saturday afternoon, clear and cold, when the luxurious black machine glided into view. The fat tires squashed sensuously over the icy ruts in the street. Behind the wheel, profoundly aware that he was representing Cadillac, sat Mr. Pulliam the salesman.
After shaking hands with Mr. Bridge, tipping his hat to Mrs. Bridge, and speaking to the children, Mr. Pulliam presented the keys. Then he stood on the front step patting one of the neighborhood dogs and chatting with Harriet while the family went for a drive through Mission Hills.
They were gone about twenty minutes and when they returned Mr. Pulliam inquired confidently whether they had enjoyed themselves.
“Yes, we did,” Mr. Bridge replied.
“You will never buy a finer automobile,” Mr. Pulliam said.
Mr. Bridge frowned. The Cadillac was impeccable, but Mr. Pulliam annoyed him. He turned to the family and said, “Well, speak up. Do you like it, or don’t you? I’m not the only one who’s going to be using it. Shall we see about buying this or look around for something else?”
“It’s okay,” Douglas remarked without much enthusiasm. He had no objection to the car. He was willing to ride in it.
“Well, I certainly like it,” Mrs. Bridge said, modulating her voice to express both her appreciation of the Cadillac and her knowledge that it was terribly expensive.
“What about you two?” Mr. Bridge asked Carolyn and Ruth. He had nearly made up his mind. He was pleased that his wife and son liked the car. The cost troubled him, but he knew he could manage and he felt that the time had come to indulge himself. In the past he had denied himself many things in order to make certain that the family was deprived of nothing. Now, because he had worked hard and was succeeding, and because there were enough securities in the bank so that they would suffer no hardship if he died unexpectedly, he thought he would buy this enormously gratifying piece of machinery.
“It’s gorgeous,” Ruth said, and touched the fender with a fingernail.
“Many of our owners prefer three initials,” Mr. Pulliam observed, pointing to a small metal plate near the door handle. “Although you may prefer two.” He smiled.
Mr. Bridge ignored him because he had interrupted when Carolyn was ready to speak. Furthermore, the suggestion about the initials implied that a decision had been made.
Mrs. Bridge and all three children knew the salesman had miscalculated. Mr. Pulliam looked around helplessly.
Carolyn knew it was her turn to speak. She said in the voice her mother often used, “Oh, it’s awfully nice.”
“I’ll have to think this over,” Mr. Bridge said. “Give me your card in case I decide to call you.”
Mr. Pulliam smiled desperately. He opened his mouth to try again, but after looking up at Mr. Bridge he realized that whatever he said would make matters worse. He smiled once more, handed Mr. Bridge the card as though handing over his sword, slipped into the Cadillac, and drove away stamped with defeat.
For a few minutes Mr. and Mrs. Bridge remained standing on the driveway to discuss the situation.
“He was so sure of himself,” she remarked.
“They’re all alike, every last one of them,” he answered. “If we decide on a Cadillac I’ll go through some other agency. And Lord knows I won’t have my initials on it.”
He continued to think about the Cadillac, but he could not forget the salesman; and the suggestion that he should advertise