“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. I 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.”
Chapter Seven
If 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.
When I got home Grant still hadn’t come, so I sat down and waited and when he came in, around six-thirty, he was cold and formal and different from what he had ever been before. He went in the bedroom and after a few minutes I went in there and asked him if he didn’t think we had better go out to dinner, and he said he supposed so, and then for a few minutes he stood tying and retying his necktie and nothing was said. Then he turned on me quite savagely. “You said something, I believe, about some man who had invited you to come and live with him.”
“Oh, yes. So I did.”
“Who is he?”
“Oh, you met him, I believe. A... labor leader.”
“Yes, I met him. You and he seem to have been pretty intimate — even after you married me.”
“I don’t know of any intimacies.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you went to a union meeting with him?”
“That was in the papers.”
“Not all of it. You better go up to the Newsreel Theatre and have a look at yourself.”
“Oh, you saw that?”
“I saw it three times — especially the end of it, where he had his arm around you and was patting your hand. And you — you didn’t have any objection, did you? Oh, no — you looked up at him every time he did it and — where did you go with him then?”