Root of His Evil (9 page)

About four-thirty the house phone rang, and I answered. “Mrs. Bernard Hunt and two other ladies in the lobby, calling on Mr. Harris.”

“Will you tell them that Mr. Harris is indisposed at the moment and ask them if they would care to see Mrs. Harris?”

“Just a moment, Mrs. Harris.”

By that time Grant had come into the foyer of the apartment where the house phone was, looking very puzzled. “There’s nothing the matter with me. Who is it?”

“I think it’s your sisters. I’m just giving them a little lesson in manners. Funny, considering their position in society they wouldn’t know about such things themselves.”

The desk was on the line again, then: “Mrs. Harris?”

“Yes?”

“They’ll be right up.”

He didn’t make any sense out of it, but I pushed him into the bedroom and told him to wait five minutes before he came out. The buzzer sounded then. I counted three slowly and in between kept saying to myself: “Don’t talk about the weather!—Don’t talk about the weather!
—Don’t talk about
the weather!”—Then I opened the door. The three of them were standing there and at once I had a chilly feeling because written all over them, with a big S, was Society. That is, with the exception of the one that turned out to be Mrs. Hunt, who had at least something else besides that. She was not as tall as the other two, who looked like blobby imitations of Grant, and she was a little better-looking and had more shape and zip. I found out later she slightly resembled her mother, and while she was the snootiest of the three, she did seem to have some little spark of humanness, or humor, or whatever you would call it. I tried not to overdo it. I merely looked pleasant, glanced from one to the other, and said: “Mrs. Hunt?”

“I am Mrs. Hunt.”

“I’m the new Mrs. Harris, and I think you must be Grant’s sister. I’ve heard him speak of you a number of times.”

I held out my hand and she took it, and then introduced the other two, whose names were Elsie and Jane, but I was careful to address them as “Miss Harris.” Mrs. Hunt’s name turned out to be Ruth, but again I called her Mrs. Hunt. By that time I had got them into the living room and all four of us had said we were so glad to meet each other, which certainly was not true on my part and I don’t think it was true on theirs, but I had tried to get them into a position where there was nothing else they could say. I asked them to sit down but at once Mrs. Hunt turned to me and burst out: “But how is poor Grant? My dear, don’t tell me it’s made him—
really
ill?”

“Oh, he’s all right. I’ll tell him you’re here. I only said he was indisposed so you’d have to call on me instead of him.”

That one landed between her eyes just where I aimed it. She blinked, then laid her hand on my arm. “My dear—of course, of
course!
But the papers said something about your being employed, and it didn’t occur to me you’d be home.”

That one landed between
my
eyes, and I half admired the fast way in which she had come back at me. But I laughed very gaily and said: “Oh, I’m employed, but we’re on strike.”

“Oh, how
thrilling!”

It come like a chorus from all three of them and on that we sat down. I had an awful second when I didn’t know what I was going to talk about next, but my eye happened to catch the arrowheads and I began to gabble as fast as I could about the strange Indian collection I had come to live with, and this had a most unexpected result. They all chimed in about how stupid the Indian idea was and how I had to cure Grant of it, and this was not at all what I thought, but I thought it advisable to say it was all so unfamiliar to me I didn’t know how I felt about it, and about that time Grant came in.

They all jumped up and I think they had expected to throw their arms around him and offer condolences for the terrible thing that had happened in his life, but as he looked just as big and healthy as ever and merely said hello, without any particular fuss, they sat down again and it was a little flat. So I thought perhaps as I had put them in their places a little, at least to my own satisfaction. I had better set out a little hospitality. I got up and asked: “May I give you some tea?”

“Oh no, my dear, don’t even think of it. We’ll have to be going in a few minutes anyway. We just stopped by to—”

“—Call on the bride—”

“Certainly!
But don’t even
consider
going to any trouble about us.”

That was Mrs. Hunt, and the other two chorused along with her. Grant got up and went out. I did some more babbling about the Indians and in a few minutes he was back, carrying a tray with a bottle of Scotch on it, a seltzer siphon, some glasses and a bowl of ice. “Tea is a little out of date, Carrie. I think we’ll offer them something more modern.”

I got up, took the bottle of Scotch and, as gracefully as I could, pitched it out the window. It seemed the longest time before it broke in the court beside the apartment house. When I heard it crash I turned to him. “That’s for correcting my manners.
I
am offering them
tea.”

There was a long and extremely dismal silence. Then Mrs. Hunt wriggled in her chair a little, “I guess we take tea.”

“I guess you do.”

I went out and fixed tea and canapes, which turned out very well, considering what was there to make them with, for I had had no chance to go out and do any marketing at all. Then on the tray I put a bottle of rye and a bottle of brandy and went back in the living room. “Now we have tea, rye and brandy. Which can I give you?”

Mrs. Hunt smiled sourly. “Tea, darling.”

But the taller one, Elsie, jumped and said: “Oh, the hell with it! We’ve got to say it, so why keep this up? Give me a slug of rye, will you, dear sister-in-law, so I can really fight? Make it double, it’ll save time.”

The other one, Jane, closed in on the liquor tray and grabbed the bottle. “Two.”

“Three,” said Mrs. Hunt.

Grant got up. “Oh, hell—let’s all have a slug of rye.”

So we all began to laugh and they got up and grabbed canapes without waiting for me to pass them, began wolfing them down and grunting that they were pretty good. Then we all had a slug of rye, including myself, a most inadvisable step on my part, as I found out afterwards, for while my restaurant work had made me very expert at serving liquor, I hadn’t much experience drinking it. But it all seemed so comical at the time, us hating each other the way we did and at the same time sociably having a drink so we could fight, that I wanted to be a good sport, and so gagged mine down too. Then we all sat down and Grant hooked one knee over his chair and growled: “Well, get at it.”

Mrs. Hunt got at it without any further encouragement. She jumped up, charged over to Grant and shook her finger right under his nose. “You big slob! What do you mean by doing a thing like this? Haven’t you any regard for us? Haven’t you any regard for
her?
Don’t you know you’ve ruined her life?”

That was where I jumped up, for the liquor was reacting on me in a most unexpected way and leading me to do something I practically never do, which is lose my temper. “Who asked you to take up for me? You can confine yourself to your own ruined life or you’ll get something that will be a big surprise! I may look small, but I’m perfectly able to throw all three of you down every flight of stairs, in this apartment house, and if there’s any more of that kind of talk out of you I’ll do it.”

“Where did you get all that muscle—carrying trays?”

“Yes! And milking cows on my stepfather’s farm, and a whole lot of other things you never did.”

“Set ’em up in the next alley,” said Grant. “Let’s all have another drink.”

So we all had another drink, and this time when Mrs. Hunt started in, it was on me. “Oh, you needn’t be so tough. We’ve all got to arbitrate, you know.”

I wanted to yell at her some more, but all of a sudden it seemed to be too much trouble, and also my tongue felt woolly and thick, so all I said was: “Whass arbitrate?”

“Now we’re gett’n somewhere,” said Jane, and her tongue seemed to be thick too.

“Arbitrate,” said Mrs. Hunt in a very waspish way, “means that for the sake of appearances you have to take us to your bosom and pretend to like us, and we have to take you to our bosoms and pretend we like you, although we don’t at all. We’d like that distinctly understood. We think you’re terrible.”

“Oh, thass all right. I think you’re terrible too.”

So then everything became extremely cloudy in my mind and yet wholly delightful in a way, because I said the most awful things to them, and they said the most awful things to me, and then we would have another drink and laugh very loudly and start all over again. So then there was a great deal of talk about a cocktail party which Mrs. Hunt would give for me within three or four days because, as she said, a cocktail party practically required no manners at all and I would disgrace them less in that way than at any other form of entertainment she could think of. So I said I thought that was swell and a great deal better than a dinner party would be, because at a dinner party I might get up and begin to serve just from force of habit, and if I ever got hold of a plate of soup I might let her have it in the face. So then Grant said, “Set ’em up in the next alley,” which seemed to be about the only remark he could make all afternoon, and Mrs. Hunt said she would give anything to be able to throw soup with such accuracy, and I said it was really no trick at all, that all it needed was something inspirational to aim at. So then Elsie said: “The rye’s all gone. Never mind about the soup, redhead, get the cork out of the brandy.”

So next thing I knew I was in the bedroom lying down, very sick, and Grant was sitting beside me and they were gone. And next thing I knew, it was very late at night and I was alone there, with my head very clear and a guilty feeling all over me. 1 got up and went into the living room. Grant was there reading. I went and sat down in his lap and he put his arm around me and ran his fingers through my hair. “How do you feel, Carrie?”

“All right. What happened?”

“Oh—my sisters came and you and I and they had a good Kilkenny fight that cleared the air quite a little.”

“What was that about—a cocktail party?”

“Ruth’s giving you one. Friday, I believe.”

“I don’t want to go to her cocktail party.”

“I was a little leery of it, but you seemed set on it, so I kept my notions to myself.”

“Then I said I’d go?”

“ ‘In Karb’s uniform,’ were your exact words, ‘with a napkin on one arm and a pewter tray under the other.’ ”

“Tell me something, Grant. Was I drunk?”

“Stinko. And very sweet.”

“I’ve heard about that all my life, being drunk, and here it had to happen to me today, of all times.”

“It’s all right. I got you to bed.”

“Then I’ll have to go? To the cocktail party?”

“I’m afraid you’re hooked.”

I
F I HAD NO VERY
clear recollection about accepting the invitation to the cocktail party the newspapers quickly refreshed my memory. The first of the next day’s editions had nothing about it but around the middle of the afternoon some of the people Mrs. Hunt called up must have tipped the reporters off, because when Grant’s financial editions came up, there I was again, plastered all over the front pages, with stories of how the family had decided to accept me “on probation,” as one paper put it. I had hardly started to read them when the phone rang and it was Mrs. Hunt. She accused me of calling up the papers and giving them the information, and I promptly accused her of the same, so that was how we discovered that it must have been one of the guests who had done it.

Grant was not at home at the time. He was supposed to be on vacation but had gone down to his office in connection with some matter he had to attend to. It threw me into a highly nervous state again and I wanted to call Mrs. Hunt back and tell her I wanted nothing to do with the cocktail party, or her, or any of them, for that matter, but I kept reminding myself that I had to think of Grant and make an earnest effort to adjust myself to a situation that he couldn’t very well help. I wanted a chance to think, and as the phone had started ringing again, with reporters asking all sorts of stupid questions, I put on my hat and went out.

I didn’t pay any attention to where I was going but next thing I knew I was at Sutton Place. It reminded me of the night Grant and I walked over there and it had all been so simple and gay, so I turned on my heel and started west, toward Broadway. I got as far as Seventh Avenue and turned south toward Times Square. Pretty soon that brought me to the Newsreel Theatre. That seemed to be about the only place I could have any peace in those days, so I bought a ticket and went in.

I was paying very little attention, and had about come to the conclusion that I was going to follow my instincts and not go to the cocktail party, when to my complete astonishment I saw my name appear on the screen with a flash announcement that patrons of the Newsreel Theatre would now get their first glimpse of the Modern Cinderella who had married herself to a million. Then there were shots of the Karb girls on strike and the announcer was rapidly explaining, in a manner very complimentary to me, that while I was now one of the socially elect of New York, I had not renounced my connection with the girls who had followed my leadership in union matters. Then the scene changed to Reliance Hall, with all the girls cheering and me going up on the platform with Mr. Holden, and I certainly had no idea at that time that among the cameras clicking at me was one making moving pictures. Then it changed again to a close shot of me making my little speech to the meeting, and I was surprised how young and unworldly I looked. But at least the green dress was nicely pressed and my hat was on straight and my face was decently powdered, and I thanked my stars I had taken the time to make myself look presentable before going out with the police officer.

When I came to the point where I mentioned my marriage it broke off and there were a lot of quick shots of the girls cheering, and then single shots of a number of girls, one after the other, with the various expressions on their faces, and I did wish they hadn’t betrayed so clearly what was in their minds, which was that they wished they had married a rich man too. Then there was a quick shot of Mr. Holden telling them I had to leave, and then here we came, he and I, down past the cameras, he with his arm around me, guiding me through the mob of girls who were trying to take me in their arms or shake hands with me or kiss me. Then it went into some automobile factory stuff, and I got up quickly and went out. The newsboys were still calling my name and I had a feeling there was no place I could go where I would have any peace and once again I was panicky and frightened.