Tales From Gavagan's Bar (6 page)

             
So now I am going on my vacation and I don't want him to spoil it by being like Putzi the man. And always he comes here when the Sangerbund is not meeting and changes into a dog again
and goes chasing bitches. But this time, no. I will take him with me in this bag, so the sun does not get at him.

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Mrs. Vacarescu poured the last drops from her bottle of Tokay. It tipped over as she set it back on the table and it rolled to the f
loor with a bump, for at that moment the door swung
open as though under the touch of a heavy hand. There appeared to be nobody there, but before Mr. Cohan could come round the bar to close it, a small and very fat dachshund bounded in, wagging his tail so vigorously that his whole rear end was agitated, and hurled himself on Mrs. Vacarescu.

             
"Here, Putzi!" she called, and stripped back the tarpaulin on the smaller bag. The little dog jumped in and seated himself contentedly. Mrs. Vacarescu replaced the tarpaulin and strode heavily out of Gavagan's.
             

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Mr. Jeffers turned around. "Hello, Mrs. Jonas," he said. "You're looking so beautiful tonight, I wouldn't mind buying you a drink."

             
"Thank you," said the brass-blonde, peering into the back of the room. "Isn't Alvin here yet? Then you can. There's absolutely nothing I need more than a drink. A Presidente, please."

             
She placed one foot on the rail. "Now, now, Mrs. Jonas," said the bartender. "The most beautiful woman in the place you may be, and a Presidente you may have, but you know the rule of Gavagan's. This is a respectable place, and we have tables for ladies."

             
"Oh, all right," said the brass-blonde. "Come on over and join me, Paul. I feel depressed and need company."

             
"What's the difficulty?" asked Jeffers, pulling out a chair for her. "The last dregs of a hangover or complications in your love life?"

             
"Not in mine, but some friends of mine. Do you know the Stewarts? Andy used to come in here a lot. He's that advertising man with Crackerjack and Whiffenpoof or something like that; I can never keep track of those names; and they change them every week, anyway."

             
Jeffers frowned. "I know him, yes. He's the big, solid chap who looks like a movie star. But I don't think I ever met his wife. What's happened to them?"

             
"They're getting a divorce," said Mrs. Jonas. "At least Betty-Jo is, and I don't see what else she can do, because he's just walked out on her and living with a lady wrestler. It's a shame, too, because she was so devoted to him; and Mrs.—the woman who wrote me about it—says she still is and wants him back. But I don't understand it, because he was perfectly crazy about her, too, and would hardly let her out of his sight before he went out there to take over the Chicago office of the agency. I wonder what could have happened. But I guess we never do understand what makes people fall into love with each other, or out of it either. Nobody knew what Andy Stewart saw in Betty-Jo in the first place. She dresses like something that came out of a rag bag; and she can't cook; and though she's quite nice, she's one of the most uninteresting people I ever met. They were married awfully quickly. That's probably why you didn't get to know her."

             
"If I had, I'd probably have thought she was wonderful, too," said Jeffers philosophically, sipping his beer. "With a low-cut dress and a couple of hours in a beauty parlor, any woman can make herself look like the Oueen of Sheba these days."

             
"It helps," admitted Mrs. Jonas, patting her hairdo complacently. "In preparation for my date with Alvin tonight, I went to a new place, and I must say I think they did a good job on me. Not that it matters to you, but it was Mme. Lavoisin's, over on Arcade Street."

             
With a tinkling crash, a glass shattered on the floor behind them. Jeffers and Mrs. Jonas looked around to see a smallish girl in a grey dress, with hair pulled straight back from her forehead, just standing up as Mr. Cohan hurried to mop up the debris of a spilled drink.

             
"I'm dreadfully sorry," said the girl. "But I couldn't help overhearing what you said. About Mme. Lavoisin's. And you mustn't, you really mustn't, go there again. That is, if you're planning on a date with a man. Believe me."

             
"I really don't see why not," said Mrs. Jonas, with a touch of hauteur.

             
"Because that's what happened to Betty-Jo Stewart. I knew
             

             
her, too." The girl laid a hand, which glittered with a diamond-studded wedding ring, on Mrs. Jonas's arm. "And I'm afraid it's going to happen to me." "If you'll explain," said Mrs. Jonas.

             
"Yes," said Jeffers. "Won't you sit down and have a drink with us?"

             
"Can I have another Presidente?" said Mrs. Jonas. "If Alvin gets here late, he deserves to find me fried."

             
The grey girl drew her coat around her shoulders and sat down. "All right," she said. "A Whiskey Sour."

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All right [she continued], I'll tell you. But you must promise never to breathe a word of it to a living soul. Both of you. Because that would be just as bad for me, if people found out and talked about it.

             
I'm Eloise Grady. I used to know Betty-Jo
Stewart well, even before she was married. I even went to college with her, and it was just as you said. She's sweet and easy to get along with, but not very bright, and when looks were being passed around, someone forgot to tell her about it. In fact, the reason I got to know her so well was that we were the two plainest girls in the sorority house and never had any dates. No, [she addressed Jeffers] you needn't tell me how beautiful I really am. I know exactly where I stand. And why.

             
After we graduated, we both came here, but I didn't see so much of Betty-Jo for a while, and I couldn't have been more surprised when I got an invitation to her wedding. I thought she must have picked up some old widower, who really wanted a nurse to take care of his children. But when I saw the wedding itself I found I could be more surprised than at getting the announcement. It was held at the home of his parents. Everything was dripping with money, and frightfully social. But the big surprise was Andy Stewart himself. He was about the last person in the world you'd expect to fall for an ugly duckling like Betty-Jo. And she hadn't changed into any swan, either. But he used to follow her around with his eyes, as though she were the most beautiful object on earth.

             
After they were married, she began inviting me to the house quite a bit, for dinner parties, or just to have a cocktail with her. I thought at first she wanted to do a little refined gloating over the catch she had made, but it wasn't that at all. She just wanted to talk, and she often seemed nervous in a way I couldn't understand. There wasn't any reason for it, either. Andy was as devoted to her as ever and gave her everything she wanted.

             
["Didn't woman's intuition help you out any?" asked Jeffers.]

             
Not at the time, and just for that crack, you can buy me another Whiskey Sour [said Eloise Grady]. The only time they even had anything approaching a disagreement was during that first winter of their marriage, when he wanted to take her to Florida for a couple of weeks and she wanted to stay home. She won, of course. It seemed to make her more nervous than usual. She had me over for cocktails the next day and made me talk to her for a long time. All about being a business girl. You see, I'd just about made up my mind to live alone and like it then. All the dates I got were from men off the bottom of the deck. But Betty-Jo wouldn't tell me what was bothering her.

             
And she just stayed home. Andy wanted to go to the ski carnival at Lake Placid, and she let him go alone, finally. And the next summer, when he wanted to take a house at Southport for a couple of months, weekending himself, she wouldn't do that either. It got to be a standing joke about her being such a town mouse. There just wasn't anything else until the October party.

             
I call it the October party, because it was important to me. It was at it I met Walter—my husband, Walter Grady. Do you believe in love at first sight, Mrs.—did you tell me your name?—Mrs. Jonas? I never did, but the first time I met Walter I knew he was the man I wanted to mam'. I also knew I didn't have a chance. He came with that Reinschloss girl, the blonde. Did you ever meet her? She won a beauty contest later and went to Hollywood as "The Society Star." And it was obvious that she wanted him, too.

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I may have hinted something about it that night—I don't know. But anyway it couldn't have been more than a day or two later, when I was having lunch with Betty-Jo, that I really let myself go on the subject. We had a couple of cocktails before lunch and a brandy afterward, and I suppose it broke both of us down a little. I know I did tell her I'd given up on live alone and like it. If I could have Walter I wouldn't care for another thing in the world. And it's true—it's true. I still feel that way. Only—

             
[Eloise Grady drank and looked at the other two.] I remember her looking at me hard and then saying very quietly, as though she hadn't had anything to drink at all: "Do you really want him enough to go through what I have?"