To Mike he seemed a natural mate for Nancy.
Mrs. Coles died that same October. She had lived only a few hours after an emergency operation. Phyllis was nineteen years old and quite alone in the world. Her aunt persuaded her to sell her mother’s furniture and come to live at their house until she decided what she wanted to do with her life.
Mike sold a story to a small magazine that year, and he had enough money to travel home for Christmas. On his first afternoon in the town, he borrowed his father’s old car and drove it through the massive gates of the Miller place. A Negro butler opened the door and led him to the library, where Phyllis greeted him.
The room was staid, and Phyllis’s black dress and pale hair, worn in a knot, seemed part of the dignified atmosphere.
Phyllis gave Mike her cold hand. They talked for a while about his work and his ambitions, and then he asked about her plans.
“I’m taking a secretarial course.”
“What! You said in your letter that you wanted to come to New York and study dramatic art. I’ve looked up some schools for you.”
She dismissed the notion with a weary gesture. “Uncle Ulie’s had enough of my mother’s family.”
“He’s got plenty of money.”
“I can’t take any more.” Her hands were like carved ivory hands clasping the oaken apples carved into the arm of the chair.
The telephone rang. Phyllis answered it, and when she had learned who was calling, her voice betrayed her. What she said, however, was quite casuaclass="underline" “She’s not here... I think she went to have some fittings, lingerie and things... I don’t know when she’ll be back... Oh, do!... Yes, Yes!”
She hung up the receiver and, without a word of excuse, hurried out of the room.
When she returned, Mike saw that that she had rouged her lips and combed her hair. The smell of burning coal and the flat odor of steam were drowned by her perfume. She kneeled on the cushioned window seat that overlooked the drive. Wheels sounded on the gravel. A car door slammed; the bell rang; the butler walked slowly down the hall. Phyllis’s cheeks had become rosy and her eyes were dancing.
Johnnie Elder came in. “Hello—” He tossed the greeting at Phyllis smoothly. His big fist crushed Mike’s hand. The enthusiasm of his greeting was all out of proportion to his regard for Mike. While they talked of colleges and football teams, Johnnie’s eyes were fixed on Phyllis. Mike felt like a man who has wandered by mistake into a peep show. He muttered something about having to leave. Just as Johnnie was crushing his hand for a second time, the door opened, and there was Nancy.
“Sorry to be late, dear. I didn’t know you were coming over.” She offered Johnnie her cheek.
“It’s good to see you again, Mike.” Nancy’s face was flushed and wet with snow, and snowflakes glistened in her dark hair. She had grown slimmer, but she was still a big girl. “You can’t leave now, Mike. Stay and have a drink with us.”
The butler wheeled in a cart filled with glasses and bottles. Johnnie made Martinis, and Mike proposed a toast to the engaged couple. Phyllis merely touched her lips to the glass.
“Will you do me a favor, Mike?” Nancy asked.
“Anything I can.”
“You’ve always had a lot of influence with Phyllis. Make her come to my New Year’s Eve party.”
“But I don’t think I’d Want to,” Phyllis said. “After all, it’s not two months since my mother...”
“Don’t be so old-fashioned. Mourning’s an obsolete custom.”
“I knew your mother well, Phyllis.” This was Mike’s contribution to the argument, and later, when he saw the results, he was sorry he hadn’t kept his opinion to himself. “There was nothing she liked better than your having a good time. She wouldn’t want you to sit and mope on New Year’s Eve.”
“Do you really think so?” Phyllis brightened.
Because Mike felt sorry for her he embroidered on the idea.
Presently Phyllis said, “If you really think Mother would want me to, Mike...”
“Attaboy, Mike!” Nancy clapped him on the shoulder. To Phyllis she said, “I’ll call Fred tonight.”
Phyllis frowned. “So that’s why you were so anxious?”
“Who’s Fred?” Mike asked.
“Nancy’s cousin on the other side. Fred Miller. Maybe you don’t remember him, Mike; he was out of school before we got in. He went with an older crowd.”
“They’re in insurance,” Johnnie said.
“I wouldn’t have used my influence quite so freely if I’d known I was fixing it up for another fellow,” Mike said.
“Don’t worry, Mike. You’re invited to my party, too, and we’ll all dance with you,” Nancy promised.
Johnnie, Nancy, and Mike drank another round of cocktails. Phyllis sat on the window seat, self-contained and aloof from their banter and their plans. Johnnie and Nancy chattered about the wedding, the ushers, the honeymoon, the bicycling in Bermuda, and tackle for deep-sea fishing. They seemed less like lovers than a pair of kids planning a holiday. Later Mike’s father told him that the elder Elder had lost almost everything during the depression, and that a union with the Ulysses Miller interests would probably save him from bankruptcy...
Nancy’s party was, as usual, lavish. She wore a dress of some stiff gold material which made her look rather like a statue of Civic Virtue. Phyllis had left off her mourning, but showed, by fastening those same pearl buttons in her ears, that her mother had not been forgotten.
Whenever he looked at her, Fred Miller panted. He was the most unprepossessing man Mike had ever seen in tails and white tie. Sandy hair parted in the center tended to elongate his narrow head. He had a heavy cold, and every five minutes, or so it seemed to Mike Jordan, he drew out a miraculously clean handkerchief (he must have had dozens of them in his pockets) and blew a trumpeting note. “Sorry,” he’d say each time.
Johnnie Elder tried to make Phyllis drink champagne.
“You know I never drink.”
“You will tonight.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Don’t be a fool.” Nancy’s voice was rough. Their persiflage, commonplace as it was, annoyed her. “After all, this is New Year’s Eve and you’ve been feeling sort of low lately. Champagne’s just what you need. Tell her, Mike; you’ve got a lot of influence.”
“If she doesn’t want to drink, you can’t make her.” This was Johnnie Elder, suddenly belligerent.
Nancy sniffed. “Who was just trying to make her drink, Mr. Elder?”
“I can manage my women without your help,” Johnnie snapped.
Evidently he had been celebrating with a few early cocktails, otherwise he could not have been so careless. The lids dropped over Nancy’s dark eyes and her mouth was a narrow line.
Phyllis asked for a taste of the champagne. “If my refusing to drink makes people quarrel, I’d better have one.”
Johnnie watched her from under his long lashes.
She sipped it, cried, “Why, it’s not bad at all,” and drained her glass.
“Phyllis can take it,” Johnnie boasted.
“She’s remarkable,” Nancy said coldly.
Mike took her arm. “Come on, Nancy, let’s dance.”
Nancy and Mike were better partners than they had been at the other party, for Nancy had learned to follow a man. But there was no life in her dancing. She tried not to stare too obviously through the arched doorway that led to the bar, but whenever they approached that end of the ballroom, her eyes were drawn to the table where Fred Miller and Johnnie were competing for Phyllis’s attention.