can say.
Ashamed of her wantonness, she wrapped her robe around herself and studied the room. I really ought to change the slipcovers and spreads and curtains," she announced. It was just possible that Manning might find reason to see this room. "But on the other hand . . ." Kathy was least fond of this decorating experiment with orange. The color was hot. It crowded in on her. She really liked her room best when it was a soft pink or blue or yellow. Paul said it looked like a Lautrec bordello. But orange was smart. All of her most fashionable friends saidorange was smart. And Manning liked things to be smart.
Methodically, Kathy set about putting the room in order, plumping pillows, adjusting the folds of curtains, moving this object forward, this one back. In a moment the place looked—as Elly had said it looked—like a model room.
Really, this is too silly, she thought. Why do I act like such an ass? Manning loves me. I know he does. If he didn't, why would he take me out to the summer house last night and tell me frankly—so wonderfully honestly—that he had almost nothing? Why would he even bother? You only get frank with a person when you're serious, don't you? He could find a lot of girls who are really rich—like Felicia —if he wanted to. He wouldn't waste time telling me about the play he was writing or ask me how I felt about the future if he didn't have something definite in mind, would he?
"No," Kathy said aloud. "This is going to be all right." She opened the closet door again and snatched out her new bathing suit. It was a creation—that was the only word for it—which she had bought at a totally strange and fabulously expensive shop near her office. The bathing suit was made of saffron chiffon strewn with tiny rhinestones. With it came a matching skirt, a stole, and an immense coolie hat. Kathy had never seen anything like it in her whole life! Even Felicia would sit up and take notice.
And the shoes! No more flat heels with a man as tall as Manning! These were thick blocks of ebony, held to the foot by a single jet-black strap.
"I'll wear it!" Kathy said aloud. "I'll put it on right now." She dropped her robe and began wriggling into the suit. There was silence from the adjoining bathroom. That was odd. Elly was given to singing operatic arias in the tub, inserting the names of Italian dishes for whatever lyrics she didn't know. "Elly!" Kathy shouted. "Elly Ames, are you in there?"
A bellow came from the bathroom:
Che gellida manina
Antipasto, zabaglione,
Shrimp marinara,
Lasagna, spaghettini.
"You've been in there long enough! Get out of that tub right now. I'm coming in." Kathy wound the stole around her shoulders and clumped into the bathroom in her new shoes.
"My God " Elly screamed. "It's Theda Bara!”
The bathroom door slammed indignantly after Elly and she pattered across the rug of her bedroom leaving a trail of wet footprints behind her. She gave her hair a final brisk toweling and tossed the damp towel into her unmade bed. She scratched her stomach luxuriously and burrowed into her wicker hamper for some clean underwear. She emerged with a pair of blue rayon Suspants with a hole in the seat and a white brassiere, which she anchored on precariously by its one remaining hook.
"Men!" She said aloud and crammed her feet into a pair of dirty tennis shoes.
Elly was glad she'd never taken the trouble to try to understand men before because it was certainly a hopeless and thankless job. Just take that insufferable Joe Sullivan, for example. There was a strange one— really odd. When I think, Elly fumed, that I was even going to look around for some minty little apartment uptown and start having my hair done every week, I could kick myself. If I've ever seen a real, genuine louse, Joe Sullivan is it.
Yes, he'd been perfectly impossible. He'd drunk much too much wine at dinner last night and said nastily what a presumptuous little Alsatian upstart the vintage was, when everybody
Ashamed of her wantonness, she wrapped her robe around herself and studied the room. I really ought to change the slipcovers and spreads and curtains," she announced. It was just possible that Manning might find reason to see this room. "But on the other hand . . ." Kathy was least fond of this decorating experiment with orange. The color was hot. It crowded in on her. She really liked her room best when it was a soft pink or blue or yellow. Paul said it looked like a Lautrec bordello. But orange was smart. All of her most fashionable friends saidorange was smart. And Manning liked things to be smart.
Methodically, Kathy set about putting the room in order, plumping pillows, adjusting the folds of curtains, moving this object forward, this one back. In a moment the place looked—as Elly had said it looked—like a model room.
Really, this is too silly, she thought. Why do I act like such an ass? Manning loves me. I know he does. If he didn't, why would he take me out to the summer house last night and tell me frankly—so wonderfully honestly—that he had almost nothing? Why would he even bother? You only get frank with a person when you're serious, don't you? He could find a lot of girls who are really rich—like Felicia —if he wanted to. He wouldn't waste time telling me about the play he was writing or ask me how I felt about the future if he didn't have something definite in mind, would he?
"No," Kathy said aloud. "This is going to be all right." She opened the closet door again and snatched out her new bathing suit. It was a creation—that was the only word for it—which she had bought at a totally strange and fabulously expensive shop near her office. The bathing suit was made of saffron chiffon strewn with tiny rhinestones. With it came a matching skirt, a stole, and an immense coolie hat. Kathy had never seen anything like it in her whole life! Even Felicia would sit up and take notice.
And the shoes! No more flat heels with a man as tall as Manning! These were thick blocks of ebony, held to the foot by a single jet-black strap.
"I'll wear it!" Kathy said aloud. "I'll put it on right now." She dropped her robe and began wriggling into the suit. There was silence from the adjoining bathroom. That was odd. Elly was given to singing operatic arias in the tub, inserting the names of Italian dishes for whatever lyrics she didn't know. "Elly!" Kathy shouted. "Elly Ames, are you in there?"
A bellow came from the bathroom:
Che gellida manina
Antipasto, zabaglione,
Shrimp marinara,
Lasagna, spaghettini.
"You've been in there long enough! Get out of that tub right now. I'm coming in." Kathy wound the stole around her shoulders and clumped into the bathroom in her new shoes.
"My God " Elly screamed. "It's Theda Bara!”
The bathroom door slammed indignantly after Elly and she pattered across the rug of her bedroom leaving a trail of wet footprints behind her. She gave her hair a final brisk toweling and tossed the damp towel into her unmade bed. She scratched her stomach luxuriously and burrowed into her wicker hamper for some clean underwear. She emerged with a pair of blue rayon Suspants with a hole in the seat and a white brassiere, which she anchored on precariously by its one remaining hook.
"Men!" She said aloud and crammed her feet into a pair of dirty tennis shoes.
Elly was glad she'd never taken the trouble to try to understand men before because it was certainly a hopeless and thankless job. Just take that insufferable Joe Sullivan, for example. There was a strange one— really odd. When I think, Elly fumed, that I was even going to look around for some minty little apartment uptown and start having my hair done every week, I could kick myself. If I've ever seen a real, genuine louse, Joe Sullivan is it.
Yes, he'd been perfectly impossible. He'd drunk much too much wine at dinner last night and said nastily what a presumptuous little Alsatian upstart the vintage was, when everybody
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