“Ben,” Clara said, “why do you simply sit there staring at my legs? Why don’t you open one of the bottles and give us all a drink?”
“I prefer to look at your legs,” Ben said. “Let Henry open it.”
“It’s sparkling burgundy,” Annie said to Henry. “I prefer champagne myself, but Clara and Ben insisted on sparkling burgundy. It’s a peculiarity of theirs. Do you like sparkling burgundy?”
“I like it all right, but I hardly ever drink it.”
“Why don’t you drink it if you like it?”
“Because it’s too expensive.”
“Don’t forget he’s a poor genius,” Ben said.
“I don’t object to his being a genius,” Annie said, “but his being poor is a great bore. Henry, why must you be so depressingly poor? If you had a lot of money we could go to Florida or someplace for the winter and have fun.”
“Why don’t you pay the expenses?” Ben said. “Have people quit wearing shoes all of a sudden?”
“I’d gladly pay the expenses if Henry would go,” Annie said. “Henry, will you go to Florida with me if I pay the expenses?”
“No,” Henry said.
“You see?” Annie said. “He won’t go.”
“He’s crazy,” Ben said, “that’s what he is.”
“No,” Clara said, “he’s merely proud. Henry, I don’t blame you for not going. If Annie wants to sleep with you she can do it right here.”
“I’ll think about it,” Annie said. “In the meantime, Henry, please open a bottle. There are four of them, as you will see. It was our intention to have a bottle for each of us.”
This was the first oblique reference to Ivy, who still stood in the corner, and everyone turned his head to look at her in unified abandonment of the conspiracy of neglect. Ivy came out of the corner reluctantly and returned their looks with an expression of somewhat surly defiance. She had been prepared to be compatible if possible, for the sake of Henry, but it was now apparent from her expression that she considered compatibility, if not impossible, extremely unlikely.
“This is Ivy Galvin,” Henry said. “Annie Nile. Clara Carver. Ben Johnson.”
Each of the three, watching Ivy, nodded in turn. Clara looked curious and rather friendly, Ben looked faintly salacious, as though he were mentally dispossessing Ivy of her clothes, and Annie looked carefully and blandly remote.
“Ivy Galvin?” Annie said in a careful voice that matched her careful expression. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard Henry mention you. Are you old friends? Are you old friends, Henry?”
“No,” Henry said.
“On the contrary,” Ivy said, “he picked me up on the street only two weeks ago.”
“How interesting,” Annie said.
“It hasn’t been so interesting, as a matter of fact,” Ivy said, “but it has been convenient.”
“I should think so,” Annie said.
“It isn’t what you think,” Henry said. “She had no money and no place to go.”
“Disregarding your assumption that you know what I think, Henry, darling,” Annie said, “it’s absolutely unnecessary for you to explain anything. It makes you sound as if you were feeling rather nasty about something.”
“Balls,” Henry said.
“I think she’s pretty,” Clara said. “Don’t you think she’s pretty, Ben?”
“In a famished kind of way,” Ben said, “she’s lovely.”
“Well, you needn’t be an extremist about it.”
“Damn it, I am not being an extremist. I only said that she’s lovely in a famished kind of way. I distinctly qualified my judgment.”
“The trouble with you, Ben, darling, is that you are constantly in heat, as I know better than anybody. It’s disgusting.”
“Heat? Do males get in heat? I thought it was only females who get in heat.”
“In your case, an exception has been made. Henry, will you please pour the sparkling burgundy? Ivy, you must sit down here beside me on the sofa where Ben can get a good view of your legs. It will keep him entertained. Henry went into the other room for glasses. Ivy sat down beside Clara and smoothed her skirt down over her knees. After a minute or two had passed, Henry came back with the glasses. He had been forced to rinse out the one that held the toothbrushes in the bathroom in order to get enough to go around.
“I only have water tumblers,” he said.
“I don’t believe I care to drink sparkling burgundy from a water tumbler,” Clara said.
“Who you trying to kid?” Ben said. “You’ll drink anything from anything.”
“Are you implying that I’m addicted to alcohol or something?” she said.
“Well,” he said, “it’s better than dope.”
Henry opened a bottle and poured sparkling burgundy into five glasses. He distributed the glasses and sat down on the arm of the sofa beside Annie.
“What have you been doing lately?” he said.
“Painting,” she said.
“She’s painting a picture of me,” Clara said. “It’s a nude. I’m absolutely naked.”
“It’s ghastly,” Ben said. “She looks like a skinned mink.”
“Are you saying, actually, that I looked like a skinned mink naked?” Clara said.
“Just in the painting,” Ben said.
“Ben has no artistic judgment whatever,” Annie said. “It’s an interpretation. You have to feel her.”
“I prefer to feel her as she really is,” Ben said.
“Besides,” Annie said, “how many skinned minks have you ever seen?”
“Well,” Clara said, “I think that was a sweet thing to say, just the same. The part about preferring to feel me as I really am, I mean. Ben, that was really a sweet thing to say.”
“I only said it because it’s true,” Ben said. “As you come naturally, you’re very feelable.”
“Oh,” said Clara, looking around, “isn’t he the sweetest thing?”
“I think I’d better pour some more sparkling burgundy,” Henry said.
He got up and gathered the glasses and filled them and distributed them again. He got them mixed up in the process, but no one seemed to care.
“This party is rather dull,” Annie said. “What we need is some music to dance to. Henry, why don’t you have a phonograph? If you are so damn poor you can’t afford a phonograph, I’ll give you one as a present for Christmas.”
“I have a phonograph,” Henry said.
“In that case, let’s put on some records and dance.”
“I don’t have any you can dance to. They’re all symphonies and concertos and things like that.”
“Long-hair stuff,” Clara said.
“What would you expect?” Ben said. “It’s characteristic of geniuses to listen to nothing but long-hair stuff.”
“Get off the genius kick,” Henry said.
“Why do you object to being called a genius?”
“Because I’m not one, and you don’t think I’m one. Just because you’re getting fat selling your stuff to the slicks, you don’t have to be so goddamn patronizing.”
“And you don’t have to be so goddamn sensitive either, when you come to that. If you’re going to get red-assed over a little joke, you can go to hell.”
“Merry Christmas,” Clara said. “A merry, merry Christmas.”
“Do you have a radio, Henry?” Annie said. “We could find a D.J. on the radio.”
“There’s a table set in the bedroom.”
“A table set will do. If you would be so kind as to quit quarreling with Ben long enough to get it, maybe we could get this dull party on its feet.”
Henry got up and went into the bedroom, and Ben followed. Clara watched them go with an expression of concern on her pretty and rather stupid face.