Marjorie Morningstar (36 page)

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Morgenstern said to the father. “Maybe we ought to stay for a
while.”

“Why don’t you? It’ll be fun,” Marjorie said.

The father said, “Rose, I don’t want to drive at night.” His manner was listless.
He was avoiding Marjorie’s eye.

Mrs. Morgenstern said, “Well, when will the bullfight be over, four o’clock? It’s
only a two-hour drive to Seth’s camp. We’ll stay for the bullfight. Wait till you
see Samson-Aaron. You’ll die laughing.”

“Is it something so new to see the Uncle make a fool of himself? I can do without
it,” said the father.

Marjorie stood. Her mother’s word always prevailed in these disputes. “Fine, I’ll
see you later. Come to the lawn early and get good seats.”

“Where are you going?” said the mother.

“My bungalow. I have to change costume.”

“I’ll go with you.” The mother pushed back her chair. “I’d like to see where you live.”

They left the father sitting at the table gloomily rolling his cigar between his lips.

“That Noel is certainly talented,” said Mrs. Morgenstern, walking by her daughter’s
side across the lawn. “Where did he learn to sing like that?”

“Oh, he doesn’t really sing well.” The sun was baking hot on Marjorie’s head, but
a breeze plastered her clothes, chilly and clammy, against her skin. Her legs were
strangely light as she moved them. Under the strain of fatigue and headache, and the
emotional tension of the weekend, Marjorie’s sense of reality was giving way. Things
seemed to be happening about her in a brightly colored noisy dream. “It’s just that
he’s unaffected, which makes him more refreshing than most singers.”

“But his piano playing is certainly unusual. Why, he could make a living just doing
that, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Morgenstern.

“He organized his own band when he was nineteen,” said Marjorie.

“You don’t say. It’s amazing. The man can do everything, can’t he? You should have
seen him at the rehearsal this morning with the Uncle and the bull. He’s very clever,
the things he thinks of.” They passed into the shady path through the trees. Marjorie
glanced sidelong at her mother, wondering what all this was leading to. “I’ll tell
you though, Marjorie, it worries me the way the Uncle carries on. It’s like he behaves
at a wedding, you know, jumping, dancing, in this heat. The man is over sixty and
he weighs a ton and he acts like I don’t know what, a college boy, a crazy man.”

“Mom, you can’t do anything with Samson-Aaron. That’s just how he is.”

“I got him to do something. He’s lying down now, resting before the show. I told that
Greech what I thought of him. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself, making an old man
do strenuous monkey business like that,’ I said. That Greech, he looked at me with
that face like a devil, but he didn’t say a word. He knew I was right.”

“He didn’t make Samson-Aaron do anything,” Marjorie said. “The Uncle wanted to be
the toreador. It’s an honor. And it’s fun.”

“That’s how much you know. They’re paying him a hundred dollars to do it.”

Marjorie was astounded. “Who told you that?”

“It’s so. When they asked him to do it he said no, and finally Greech offered him
a hundred dollars. So then he said yes, the old fool, because he wants money to buy
things for Geoffrey’s baby.”

“Mom, they’re not paying him. Greech never would. The Uncle is doing it for the fun
of it. He told me that himself.”

“He told
you
. Me he can’t put off with such stories—”

“Here’s my bungalow.”

Marjorie took a quick shower. Turning off the water, she heard her mother humming
It’s Raining Kisses
. She wrapped a towel around herself and dashed dripping out of the bathroom. “
That’s
the song. Noel’s song. The one you said you never heard of.”

“I know.” Mrs. Morgenstern was lounging on one elbow, on her daughter’s bed. “He played
it for me this morning. Of course I knew it. I just didn’t remember the name or the
words.”

Marjorie said warily, “You became real chummy, didn’t you?”

“Don’t stand there soaking wet in a draft, dry yourself and put on your clothes.”

Marjorie took fresh underwear and the new costume into the bathroom. She said through
the open door, “How did he happen to play the song for you?”

“We got to talking after the rehearsal. He’s very charming, that Noel. I don’t blame
you for falling for him. If I were a few years younger I might try to give you some
competition.” Mrs. Morgenstern laughed.

Marjorie came to the door, holding the towel around her, to look at her mother’s face.
“Mom, do you really like Noel Airman?”

“Listen, he could charm a cigar-store Indian. Of course I like him, I can’t help it.”

“But you don’t approve of him.”

“I didn’t say that either. Go put on your clothes.” When Marjorie was out of sight
the mother said casually, “What’s the matter with his arm?”

A thrill of alarm ran from Marjorie’s scalp to her heels. “There’s nothing wrong with
his arm.”

“He holds it funny. His left arm.”

“He does not.”

“Well, it’s marvelous the way he’s learned to use it and hold it and everything, but
it’s a little crippled, isn’t it?”

The daughter was in the doorway in her underwear, her face blazing, her eyeballs white-ringed,
her teeth bared. She said in a thick voice, “If you’re going to object to Noel because
of something that happened to him at birth, something that he couldn’t help, something
that he’s overcome with the most incredible willpower I’ve ever seen, I warn you I—”

“Why do you keep saying I object to him?”

“You do, you do, you do!”

“I don’t.”

“You
don’t
?”

“No. I said I like him and I do. What’s the matter? Should I swear to it on the Bible?
Why are you staring at me? Am I such a stupid idiot that I can’t possibly appreciate
a remarkable young man?”

“It would be the first time,” said Marjorie, peering like a frightened animal at her
mother.

“This is the first time you’ve showed up with one. Sandy Goldstone I said was a nice
boy and a good catch, and he was. I never said he was a genius. This fellow Saul Ehrmann—I’m
sorry, I can’t stand that ‘Noel’ business—is somebody. I would be a fool to tell you
otherwise.”

Marjorie steadied herself with a hand on the doorway. She had taken two more aspirins,
and was feeling more and more disembodied and tranced. She combed her mind for the
gritty contradiction that was haunting her, perceived it, and pounced on it. “So.
He’s just dandy, is he? That’s why you sent Pop out this morning to bribe me with
a western trip to leave South Wind tomorrow. Because you like Noel so much.”

“Yes. It’s exactly the right thing for you to do,” the mother said calmly. “Don’t
I know how you feel about me? You’re still looking at me as though you’re waiting
for me to pull out a knife, or something. That’s why I told Papa to suggest it, I
thought he might have better luck with you. He did fine, didn’t he, the great diplomat!
I have to laugh. It’s an easy thing to say, be diplomatic. For years he’s been saying
I’m not diplomatic. Darling, wait till you have to be diplomatic with a daughter in
love with some good-for-nothing, or with her mind made up to do something stupid.
You’ll see. Get dressed.” The mother stood and came to the doorway of the bathroom.
“Do you remember when you showed up with George Drobes? Do you remember?”

“I remember.” Marjorie began to put on her costume.

“Do you remember how you hated me, do you remember the things you called me, for so
much as suggesting that George Drobes wasn’t Clark Gable and President Roosevelt and
Einstein and Julius Caesar all rolled into one Bronx college boy with a red nose?
Do you remember?”

“I was fifteen—”

“It went on till you were seventeen, till two and a half very short years ago, my
darling Marjorie. All right! Now then, was I right or was I wrong? Should I have gone
out and danced in the street when you brought home George Drobes? Was I such a monster
after all, such a devil, such a cold heartless killjoy to picture, to dare even to
imagine for a minute, that somewhere in the world there might be a fellow—a Noel Airman,
let’s say—walking around, who might conceivably be a tiny bit more promising, a tiny
bit more talented, more good-looking, more everything, than the wonderful George Drobes?”

“All right,” Marjorie flared, “what do you want me to do, lick your shoes because
you’re an adult and can see more clearly than a girl of fifteen? I’m not ashamed that
I liked George. I never will be. He was good and sweet and bright, and if he was unlucky
enough to—”

“How does he compare to Noel Airman, darling? Because if not for me, remember, you
never would have met your Mr. Airman. You’d be Mrs. George Drobes of Southern Boulevard,
right this minute.”

“Mom, you’re not being fair. It isn’t in you to be fair,” Marjorie said chokingly.

“No, I’m not fair, I’m not diplomatic, but I just ask you to remember this stupid
habit I have of being right sometimes. Because I’m going to argue with you some more
now for your own good, just as I did then. You told Papa you don’t want to marry Noel.
Don’t tell
me
such stories. You’re putting the best face on it, so as not to look like a fool.
Marjorie, if you’re not honest with anyone else, at least be honest with yourself.
You think you’re going to get this fellow to marry you, and steady down, and use his
talents, and become somebody big. That’s what you really think. Listen, it’s a very
tough job, but it’s possible. After all, how far does the apple fall from the tree?
Judge Ehrmann is a very big man.”

“I’m not planning to marry him. I’m not planning anything. I’m just
enjoying
myself. That’s what you and Dad can’t seem to understand. I don’t have to calculate
my every move, Mom, I’m not fifty-five, I’m twenty, for heaven’s sake. Noel amuses
me, he’s brilliant, he’s charming, as you say—except you don’t know how charming and
brilliant he is, you can’t begin to imagine—Naturally it’s fun to be around such a
person.”

“All right. Marjorie remains Marjorie. Say what you please,” said the mother. “I’m
not blind. All I’ve got to see is the way you look at him and the way he looks at
you. He’s in love with you, too.”

“I never heard such nonsense,” Marjorie said, and in the wave of gladness that swept
her she thought that her mother was really changing with advancing age and becoming
more likable. Fluffing out her skirt, she walked to the door. “Mom, I’m sorry to break
up this fascinating conversation, but I have to get to work—”

“If you’re a minute late, Greech won’t fire you, for the money he’s paying you. Listen
to me, it’s important. Your friend Noel is so used to girls that he can’t take a new
one too seriously, not even the great Marjorie Morgenstem. Your problem is to make
him be serious. And believe me, the way to do it is to get out from under his thumb.
This way you’re at a disadvantage. You’re always around, you’re working for him. Any
time of the day or night you’re handy if he just snaps his fingers. It’s too easy.
Let him miss you a little bit. That’s the first thing you have to do.”

It was amazing, Marjorie thought, how sometimes her mother could crash to the heart
of a matter. The fact was she had been feeling neglected and piqued during the past
week. Exactly the same ideas had been going through her mind. She had ventured once
to complain to Noel of his inattention. He had laughed heartily at her; he was simply
preoccupied with the fiesta, he said. The explanation was a reasonable one, and she
had accepted it. But she had not forgotten the mood of chilliness, the fear of being
despised and discarded by Noel, that had overwhelmed her for a couple of days.

She said with a laugh that wasn’t very successful, “Well, he’d probably just be glad
to get rid of me if I went out West, and that would be the end of it.”

“Marjorie, if that’s the case, isn’t this the time to find it out?”

“Dad doesn’t like him, I know that. He hates him.”

“He doesn’t hate him. Papa is jealous, that’s all. He doesn’t think any man in the
world is good enough for you. Listen, Marjorie, I won’t fool you. I’m not overflowing
with happiness. A man who changes his name, a songwriter, Greenwich Village—but listen,
you’re in love, you’re almost out of college. His background is fine. He’s strange,
but you’re strange too. My actress!” The mother smiled at her, half fondly, half satirically.

“You really—you do really like Noel, though?”

Mrs. Morgenstern shook her head. “I’m not saying he’s the right man for you. I don’t
know. I did my best for twenty years. Now, it’s up to God.”

“We’ll talk about the trip, Mom. Later. Let me think about it.”

“Think all you want.”

Every seat was taken for the bullfight, and a heavy overflow of spectators sat on
cushions on the grass. The bull ring was a huge three-quarter circle of yellow folding
chairs, five deep on the lawn. At the open end of the circle, near the social hall,
the band in sombreros and charro outfits and eyeglasses sat in a huddle, their music
sheets flapping in the breeze on rickety stands.

Marjorie made her entrance with the other dancers from behind the social hall, laughing,
shouting Spanish, and throwing roses. She was extraordinarily gay. Her mother’s astounding
friendliness to Noel had given her hope that all was going to be well. She swished
her skirt so flirtatiously, and cast such brilliant smiles at the circle of guests,
that many of the men watched her to the neglect of the other dancers.

It was so strange and so pleasant to be dancing on the grass in the summer sunlight!
The ring of guests made a bright show. Earlier in the day they had struck her as a
grotesque lot, skylarking about the lawn in Greech’s cheap sombreros and pink cheesecloth
mantillas, singing snatches of
Rancho Grande
and
Cielito Lindo
, calling each other Pedro and Carmen, affecting Mexican accents, often as not in
the flat singsongs of the Bronx and Brooklyn. It had occurred to her that they were
material for a
New Yorker
story. But now, looking around at them as she twirled and smiled, she thought that
they were exactly like herself, youngsters snatching at fun while they chased the
dream of a happy marriage; chased it through a world that became more of a maze, and
more slippery underfoot, each year. She even had compassionate thoughts for the bulbous
pigs scattered through the crowd, wearing rakishly cocked sombreros.