“No. You know that.”
“I did? I’m sorry.” Patty did know, but from time to time she asked, hoping Betty would answer truthfully. Patty was convinced her denials were false.
“How could you forget? That’s the story of my career. Everyone thought I was promoted to senior editor so fast because I had slept with Jeffries.”
“Oh,” Patty said, as if that were also news. Of course, it wasn’t.
Betty sighed and lifted her glass. She held it wearily. “I can’t win. I only get credit because of the men around me. My uncle got me the job, Jeffries’ praise has made me important within the house, and my Tony, my beautiful Tony, he gives me the authors with his contacts.” Betty drained the glass.
Patty leaned forward earnestly. “Your life is wonderful! You’re the ideal!”
“No, no. The ideal is me with a baby.”
“You want a baby?”
“I mean, according to the women’s magazines. We don’t want to totally repress femininity for the sake of career drives.”
“I don’t know.” Patty stared off. “I’d like to squash my femininity right now. Squash it like a roach and flush it down.”
Betty, though she smiled, blinked her eyes. She was astonished and somewhat appalled by Patty’s vehemence. “I think you’d better call Howard Feingold this afternoon. You need a job.”
“Am I promiscuous?” Patty said, staring earnestly into Betty’s eyes.
Betty stared back for a moment, and then laughter burst from her, as if she had been shocked into it. “What? Where did that come from?”
“I HS’ed with David Bergman last night.”
“HS’ed!” Betty said in a loud, irritated tone, pursing her lips. She didn’t know what Patty meant, and Betty always reacted impatiently to anything she couldn’t understand.
“Had Sex.”
“Oh.” Betty laughed again. “You did? Great! So you did like him.”
“I don’t know. That’s why I asked if I was promiscuous.”
“Because you went to bed with one man?”
“Well …” Patty was also thinking of Fred’s kiss. She wasn’t comfortable mentioning it, but she wished she could solicit Betty’s opinion—she tried desperately to think of some way to explain her situation without going into details. But there was no way. “Did you sleep with Tony right away?” she asked, which, of course, gave entirely the wrong impression.
“We met while we both apprenticed in the Berkshires during the summer. We worked together and even did a scene together before we really, you know, dated. Not dated, but spent time alone. I knew him a few weeks before we slept together. But there’s nothing wrong with going to bed with David Bergman the first time you meet him. God, I sound like a decadent Dear Abby.”
Patty listened admiringly. “And he proposed then?”
“No!” Betty laughed. “God, no. I had a terrible time with him for more than a year. I know he was involved with at least one other woman.”
“The louse.”
Betty ran a hand through her red hair—the gesture seemed defensive. “No, he wasn’t a louse. He didn’t want to be married that young.”
“How did you convince him?”
“I didn’t. I had given up. Even decided that we had only a few more months to go before breaking up.” Betty paused and stared off with a glazed look in her eyes.
Patty waited. She felt it was important to know why Tony married Betty: maybe the answer to what could make a relationship work was something simple and definite, something Patty could put into action and in one sweep change her life. Marry David Bergman with all that loft space, get a job from Howard Feingold, and have a mature lifelong friendship over expensive lunches with Betty. “What!” Patty finally asked with furious impatience.
“Oh!” Betty said, startled. She laughed. “I’m sorry, I was thinking of how he proposed. He showed up dressed like an English professor and sang ‘I’ve Grown Accustomed to Your Face’ and then handed me slippers.”
“Oh,” Patty said with
“I did? I’m sorry.” Patty did know, but from time to time she asked, hoping Betty would answer truthfully. Patty was convinced her denials were false.
“How could you forget? That’s the story of my career. Everyone thought I was promoted to senior editor so fast because I had slept with Jeffries.”
“Oh,” Patty said, as if that were also news. Of course, it wasn’t.
Betty sighed and lifted her glass. She held it wearily. “I can’t win. I only get credit because of the men around me. My uncle got me the job, Jeffries’ praise has made me important within the house, and my Tony, my beautiful Tony, he gives me the authors with his contacts.” Betty drained the glass.
Patty leaned forward earnestly. “Your life is wonderful! You’re the ideal!”
“No, no. The ideal is me with a baby.”
“You want a baby?”
“I mean, according to the women’s magazines. We don’t want to totally repress femininity for the sake of career drives.”
“I don’t know.” Patty stared off. “I’d like to squash my femininity right now. Squash it like a roach and flush it down.”
Betty, though she smiled, blinked her eyes. She was astonished and somewhat appalled by Patty’s vehemence. “I think you’d better call Howard Feingold this afternoon. You need a job.”
“Am I promiscuous?” Patty said, staring earnestly into Betty’s eyes.
Betty stared back for a moment, and then laughter burst from her, as if she had been shocked into it. “What? Where did that come from?”
“I HS’ed with David Bergman last night.”
“HS’ed!” Betty said in a loud, irritated tone, pursing her lips. She didn’t know what Patty meant, and Betty always reacted impatiently to anything she couldn’t understand.
“Had Sex.”
“Oh.” Betty laughed again. “You did? Great! So you did like him.”
“I don’t know. That’s why I asked if I was promiscuous.”
“Because you went to bed with one man?”
“Well …” Patty was also thinking of Fred’s kiss. She wasn’t comfortable mentioning it, but she wished she could solicit Betty’s opinion—she tried desperately to think of some way to explain her situation without going into details. But there was no way. “Did you sleep with Tony right away?” she asked, which, of course, gave entirely the wrong impression.
“We met while we both apprenticed in the Berkshires during the summer. We worked together and even did a scene together before we really, you know, dated. Not dated, but spent time alone. I knew him a few weeks before we slept together. But there’s nothing wrong with going to bed with David Bergman the first time you meet him. God, I sound like a decadent Dear Abby.”
Patty listened admiringly. “And he proposed then?”
“No!” Betty laughed. “God, no. I had a terrible time with him for more than a year. I know he was involved with at least one other woman.”
“The louse.”
Betty ran a hand through her red hair—the gesture seemed defensive. “No, he wasn’t a louse. He didn’t want to be married that young.”
“How did you convince him?”
“I didn’t. I had given up. Even decided that we had only a few more months to go before breaking up.” Betty paused and stared off with a glazed look in her eyes.
Patty waited. She felt it was important to know why Tony married Betty: maybe the answer to what could make a relationship work was something simple and definite, something Patty could put into action and in one sweep change her life. Marry David Bergman with all that loft space, get a job from Howard Feingold, and have a mature lifelong friendship over expensive lunches with Betty. “What!” Patty finally asked with furious impatience.
“Oh!” Betty said, startled. She laughed. “I’m sorry, I was thinking of how he proposed. He showed up dressed like an English professor and sang ‘I’ve Grown Accustomed to Your Face’ and then handed me slippers.”
“Oh,” Patty said with
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