Letty Fox (20 page)

“But you gave her a job, and all the while you were pretending to be my friend.”

“Look, little girlie, she came to London; she's used to my business, and I like to do a good turn. I'm giving her a good salary so that she can learn languages and get to the Continent as she wishes. I'm really helping you.”

“Why can't you tell him to leave her?”

“Well, you know my respect for you, but—”

We saw a great deal of Joseph Montrose. Mrs. Montrose came once only, seemed pleased with the flat, and went away giving vague invitations to dinner. She did not care for Jacky or myself, that was plain. But Pauline and Phyllis were invited to dinner at their house the very next week, and came home, gracelessly roaring with laughter over the house, the way dinner was served, and the manners and conversation of beauteous Mrs. Montrose. She was beautiful, but dead. Her dinner was dead, all drowned in water. She had a butler and two sons, all dead, with etched British accents.

The following week Joseph Montrose visited Phyllis and Pauline, but not us, to my mother's surprise and mortification. After this, Pauline and Phyllis went out a good deal with Montrose, and at times Pauline would come to my mother and say, “Joe is coming this afternoon to see Phyl; I think we'd better give Phyl a chance to talk to him alone, don't you? She is so good with men.”

This went on for some time. We would shut our door. Pauline would go out. Montrose would come and hold long conversations with her, and also short silences, for Montrose was a hurried man. He was a bull-necked but fair-skinned and clear-eyed man at this time, about thirty-eight, broad, stubby, muscular, with a jutting chin; the nose a solid promontory over a slender, pretty, but manly mouth; a sweet flitting smile; the face of a hasty, egotistic sensualist.

It was not long before Aunt Phyllis began to think of marrying him; and then, when Pauline was in, we would be called in for a conference with them. Sometimes we all sat there on the chairs and divan, Pauline, Mathilde, and two little girls, and we listened breathlessly to the love dialogue of the previous day as told by Phyllis. He said Ada, his wife, had never made him happy, but kept a sour, dull home, had never loved him, and had nothing to say; she was always asleep. He was looking for a wife and would make Ada divorce him; he was madly in love with Phyllis.

“He talks about nothing but love. He's very passionate.”

“Does he really know anything about it?” asked my mother. “He's always so quick—”

“He said he never loved before; this is the first time. He says I have hooked him. He says I am the oasis in a Sahara.”

On other days Montrose seemed far away; Phyllis doubted his truth. What should we all do? Montrose was paying for Phyllis's education, but he was mean, Phyllis thought. He wrote to Grandmother Morgan asking to be repaid, every month regularly. Phyllis had already slept with him many times; she saw no way out of it. He was not her first lover. She did not love him, but she liked him. It was entirely a question of whether he was to be trusted, and whether he would divorce his wife. If he did so, he would be able to give Phyllis all that she wanted. Mrs. Montrose herself had diamonds, furs, silks that she never used, plate that she never used, a big house in which she never entertained.

“I'd be very different; he'd enjoy life with me.”

“Perhaps he's afraid of the expense, after all,” said Mathilde; “he's a wise child, and you say yourself—”

Pauline had one piece of backward wisdom, “Phyllis should not have slept with him so soon.”

Pauline never was able to follow this advice herself. Pauline said further, “He took me in a taxi this very week to buy the bracelet for Phyl, and I'll be honest with you, he made me a proposal in the taxi.”

“What sort of a proposal?” asked Phyllis, merely with curiosity. “What sort do you think? Not to get married!” Pauline laughed. “I said I was your friend.”

None of us believed this, of course, but I could see Mother and Phyllis had no feeling against Pauline. They sat thinking Montrose over as a marriage proposition.

“He has this weakness,” said my mother; “he is a Don Juan. You'd never have a moment's peace.”

“What would I care, really?” said Phyllis. “All I want is to get married, then I'll manage very well. I expect him to leave me free, too, after all. He's already quite old for me; I'd have a good time.”

“I don't think you ought to go to her for dinner,” my mother said heavily.

“Wouldn't it look funny if we refused? She quite likes me and she loves Pauline. Pauline has ingratiated herself.” Phyllis laughed, “Besides, don't you realize I don't really want her husband? I'm just looking for someone eligible. I'd be very pleased to get someone else.”

Pauline approved of this; my mother, herself, did not see how she could turn down Mrs. Montrose's rare invitations. Mrs. Montrose pitied her for her misfortunes, and had many hard words to say about my father leading a wicked, wanton, adulterous life. But my mother's cold sorrow did not please her. Mrs. Montrose preferred the two lively women, Phyllis and Pauline. Mrs. Montrose loved to turn her old dresses, boasted to Joseph of her thrift. Pauline saw it infuriated him, and she helped Mrs. Montrose to remake several old gowns, in order to help on Phyllis's chances.

Grandmother Morgan had sent over a few checks to reimburse Montrose, but now felt she must come over herself to see how her investment was going. Mother, following Pauline's advice, had lied, saying she and Solander were living together and asking for money for household furnishings; the money had not come, but Grandmother Morgan cabled suddenly that she was coming to London on her way to Paris before the opening of the new season, and this was followed by a short, lively, and ill-spelled letter, in which Grandmother advised Phyllis to keep Montrose at arm's length and told my mother that Grandmother would try to mend her marriage for her. She also wanted to get away from Mr. Porlock, who was pressing her to name the wedding day; she added a postscript:

I'm tired of Eddie (Porlock). He isn't a real sport. I couldn't settle down with him. He doesn't see I need life. He talks about Darby and Joan which means old people living old. Not for me. Also, what is always the case, there's another man, that opened my eyes to Eddie. The boys are against this new man, Sid, and I want to see what you think, Pauline, with your experience. Love to Mattie and Sol. Cissie Morgan.

My mother at once telephoned my father, and told him that to save her face he must at least live with her for a few weeks; Grandmother was coming over, and expected to see the family reunited. Eventually my father promised to see what he could do. Another cable arrived, giving my grandmother's sailing date, and Mother, feverishly, in tears, begged my father to have a home for herself and us, if even for the few days her mother would be in London.

Cissie Morgan had one lover after another, begging her to marry him; Phyllis looked after herself, and what would
she
look like—worse than even Stella, the old maid. And, said my mother, if my father wished to avoid endless family discussions, even if he did not want to live with her, the best thing would be for him to pretend to live with his real wife for a few days. And then she said, sobbing, he could go back to the woman who suited him so well.

My father agreed to take some rooms in a central London hotel for a few days. Since he was not rich, and had to send money to his mother, pay for our rent and expenses and keep a home for
Die Konkubine
going, he could not afford more than two rooms in the hotel; one was for us, and one for Mother and himself. Nevertheless, he did not join her when it came to the point; they parted each night after long discussions which lasted till three or four in the morning.

My mother was never able to lie, and when Grandmother arrived in a new outfit, with new furs, and when Grandmother had completely thrashed out the Phyllis-Montrose situation, with Pauline and Phyllis, my mother began to cry (in our new hotel rooms, and while my father was away at business) and told the whole story, that she had lied and that even this was a facade, a sham for Grandmother.

“Does he sleep with you?” asked my grandmother at once. My mother was weeping.

“Of course he sleeps with her,” said I, who was reading a book in the corner; “they have only one bed, and he doesn't sleep with us, and he stays here until two in the morning.”

Grandmother smiled and patted my head. She gave me a tenshilling note and told me to go down to the sweets counter in the hotel and buy myself anything I liked, a box of chocolates, a big doll. As soon as she thought I had gone, or even before I had closed the door, she said squarely to my mother, “Well, Mathilde, he's yours; he'll never go back to her if you have sense.”

“Oh, heavens,” said Mother, “it's so dreadful.”

Grandmother said firmly, “Women are supposed to have children anyhow. What are you doing in life? She hasn't had the sense to have a baby yet. Until she does he'll never marry her. He's too poor to keep more than one family. Wear him down. And the other thing.”

“He'll say I've trapped him.”

“You are supposed to. Why do you think laws were made? Otherwise all our fine feathered friends would be running out on us all the time. Your father, you know, Mattie, had some cutie or other the whole time as far as I know. I simply took no notice. Men invented the tourist business. We can't take notice of that. The only trouble with modern women is they take it to heart. Forget it. You marry a man. You expect him to keep on bringing you candy and flowers. Forget it. You can't get men to wear their home address on their—collar. Never mind, though dogs they are! Don't be a fool! You've got to get yourself another baby. Wear him out. If you don't take this chance, I can't do anything more for you. I can't worry about you at my time of life. I've got Phyllis to get off; I'd like to marry that old maid of mine. What am I doing with an old maid?” She laughed, and moved her chair “You must be anemic, Mathilde, and Stella's too tough, too bossy.” After a moment, she added, “But Stella had bites, don't fear, she had her chances, but she's difficult to please. Now Sol himself—”

My mother said, “Oh, don't rake that up. I didn't take Sol from Stella. That's her imagination.”

“Suppose you did? I wouldn't blame him. You're better looking and you used to dress lovely. Not now. You ought to brighten yourself up a bit. Get yourself a new hat—I'll pay for it—”

“Oh, Mother, surely you don't—a hat! What's the use!”

“I know what I'm talking about. You get yourself a new costume and a new hat and put on a bit of powder, and don't forget—the other thing—”

“Oh, I don't see what all this is. I want a man to love me. I love him.”

“You talk like a high-school girl. That's all over, for the time being. Wait till you're an old woman like me.” She laughed knowingly, “Right now, Mattie, you've got to think about your future and getting some security for the little girls. You don't want them to be insecure? It's your duty. I have no sympathy with this about love between decent, married people, with children to bring up. I want to see you with a good rent-payer, a good provider, a man to keep you in nice clothes and send the children to nice schools, and give them nice clothes too, so they can meet the right boys. It's selfish to keep crying about love, love. Look at Sol. He talks about love, love. Do you care about that? You see? You don't care about his love, love.”

She laughed solidly, “I'm the one who can afford it, love, love. I can pay for it. I've got the time and money. I wouldn't be so crazy— knock my head against a stone wall before I had money in the bank?” She laughed aloud, “Go on, wake up, you crazy fool, you're just a kid. When you're forty or forty-five, it'll be time to think about necking and—” her voice softened—“love—and men—and all that. But you've got to get Sol back right now and that's the whole problem. Leave the rest to God. He'll take care of a decent woman, who takes care of her family life.”

“Then I'm to have no life of my own!”

“You must sacrifice yourself for Tootsy and Jacky,” said Grandmother heroically. “I swear to you, Mattie, I never had anything serious to do with a man till all you children were grown up. I had a sense of duty.”

I heard my mother crying, and ran off downstairs. As there was a doll there which cost twelve-and-sixpence, I gave the woman seven-and-sixpence for it, telling her Grandmother would pay for the rest. When she gave me the change, I bought some bull's-eyes, licorice, and a pair of Irish crocheted gloves, just my size. When I ran upstairs and showed these to my grandmother, impudently laughing and cuddling her solid thighs, she stared a moment. Then her clear, brown eyes smiled. She turned to my mother who was looking forlornly at me, and said, “Mathilde, just look at this kid! Come on, kiss Grandma, you little monkey. What'll you be now? An embezzler, a counterfeiter? Signing my name to checks? You'd better not, you little devil. I'll warm your little tail for you. Don't you do so any more, do you hear? Mathilde, I wish your kid was in your place for a week or two. She'd get her daddy back, wouldn't you, Letty?”

“He will come back,” I said.

“How do you know?” Grandmother asked.

“He's sick of Persia,” I said, noticing how keenly this hurt my mother, and laughing somewhat. “She nearly had a baby and she was sick, but he didn't want the baby, so he'll leave her now.”

“Little imp of mischief,” said my mother, breathing hard, staring at me. “How do you know this? Who is Persia?”

“Someone told me,” I said.

“Who, who told you?”

“I heard Lily telling Grandma Fox in New York.”

“By the way,” said Grandmother Morgan thoughtfully, turning to my mother, “have you heard from Mrs. Fox?”