Kansas’ (Earl Browder) ‘is quiet because he needs his tongue for asslicking; and the Seventy Sages are waiting in a queue behind him.’
‘They know their theory better than you and me,’ said Stephen querulously; ‘at any rate better than me; and I don’t know what to answer them. I can only follow blindly; but I intend to follow. I went into Marxism for personal salvation. I know, a despicable reason; but I have to stick to it, or where am I? Just a failure; not even a playboy.’
‘I’m not going to follow anyone into a quagmire; and I don’t want to be saved.’
‘You’re an individualist; individualists become renegades.’
She sprang up from her chair. ‘Don’t you dare call me a renegade! I’ll scratch your nose. I won’t stand that.’
They quarrelled so bitterly, and such unforgivable things were said that she got a seat on a plane going east the next morning and telephoned the studio that she’d post the scripts from New York. ‘And I’ll be able to work there,’ she shouted to him, ‘not worried to death by a limpet throttling me. Maybe I’ll give up the whole crazy game, and get myself a hall-bedroom and really write.’
She went upstairs to pack; and on the way went into the nursery and looked at the family portrait photographs of all the children; and of them all, including Anna, ‘Dear Anna’, Stephen’s mother, who had had it all done by a fashionable New York photographer. Dear Anna wore a modest afternoon dress in silk from Bergdorf s, the boys had tailor-made suits and Olivia, their half-grown girl, an imported silk dress. Emily herself wore a simple dark suit imported from France and chosen by Anna. On the wall opposite were two photos of her cousin, Laura, both enlarged from snaps. Laura did not appear good-looking in these pictures; she looked downcast and thin; but she was debonair, cool at heart, had the cupid’s bow mouth which implies sex and intrigue, and ‘the smile of smiles’ when she cared to smile; she was loved but did not love; she spent all her time thinking of how she would appear to men, had many personal recipes, rituals, taboos; in company she was nonchalant, offhand, she was always moving out of sight and earshot with some man; and she would never be found surrounded by women; and women bored her so that she would never go out with them or go to their parties. ‘I want the musk of male,’ she said, ‘it’s what I live for.’ Behind her, in her many snaps, were always things fine to see, a long new car, pedigree dogs, a handsome man, a cherry tree in flower, the terrace of a private house, the Sound with a sail; or even an old jalopy with Laura, her hand to her mouth, laughing like a child at a man lying at her feet.
Laura had lived with Emily for years and Emily knew her recipes, her secrets; she wholeheartedly believed in her ways, and she loved men, too; but she could not apply Laura’s ways. It was by some inner power, she thought, that Laura was always successful with men, while she, Emily, was always a failure. ‘And I hate the waiting game!’
But Stephen said Laura was not attractive at all; ‘our friends, Axel and Jimmy and Mike don’t like her.’ This hurt Emily. ‘She’s like a best of breed and I’m like a big unclipped sheepdog.’
In the beginning of their marriage Emily feared Laura. The trio went to shows and concerts until Laura said, ‘I refuse to go with you and Stephen again. I don’t play walk ons.’
‘But he likes you!.’
‘But he married you!’
Stephen disliked all these photographs of Laura and when Emily raved, he said, ‘What was your cousin but a third-rate whore?’
At such remarks, Emily would for a moment become silent and then sadly, ‘Ouch! Oof! You know, you never appreciated her.’
‘You don’t know that she told other people she would gather me in. That finished her with me. She said I was worth a one-night stand, a scion stuffed with straw.’ Then Emily would smile, throw her arms
‘They know their theory better than you and me,’ said Stephen querulously; ‘at any rate better than me; and I don’t know what to answer them. I can only follow blindly; but I intend to follow. I went into Marxism for personal salvation. I know, a despicable reason; but I have to stick to it, or where am I? Just a failure; not even a playboy.’
‘I’m not going to follow anyone into a quagmire; and I don’t want to be saved.’
‘You’re an individualist; individualists become renegades.’
She sprang up from her chair. ‘Don’t you dare call me a renegade! I’ll scratch your nose. I won’t stand that.’
They quarrelled so bitterly, and such unforgivable things were said that she got a seat on a plane going east the next morning and telephoned the studio that she’d post the scripts from New York. ‘And I’ll be able to work there,’ she shouted to him, ‘not worried to death by a limpet throttling me. Maybe I’ll give up the whole crazy game, and get myself a hall-bedroom and really write.’
She went upstairs to pack; and on the way went into the nursery and looked at the family portrait photographs of all the children; and of them all, including Anna, ‘Dear Anna’, Stephen’s mother, who had had it all done by a fashionable New York photographer. Dear Anna wore a modest afternoon dress in silk from Bergdorf s, the boys had tailor-made suits and Olivia, their half-grown girl, an imported silk dress. Emily herself wore a simple dark suit imported from France and chosen by Anna. On the wall opposite were two photos of her cousin, Laura, both enlarged from snaps. Laura did not appear good-looking in these pictures; she looked downcast and thin; but she was debonair, cool at heart, had the cupid’s bow mouth which implies sex and intrigue, and ‘the smile of smiles’ when she cared to smile; she was loved but did not love; she spent all her time thinking of how she would appear to men, had many personal recipes, rituals, taboos; in company she was nonchalant, offhand, she was always moving out of sight and earshot with some man; and she would never be found surrounded by women; and women bored her so that she would never go out with them or go to their parties. ‘I want the musk of male,’ she said, ‘it’s what I live for.’ Behind her, in her many snaps, were always things fine to see, a long new car, pedigree dogs, a handsome man, a cherry tree in flower, the terrace of a private house, the Sound with a sail; or even an old jalopy with Laura, her hand to her mouth, laughing like a child at a man lying at her feet.
Laura had lived with Emily for years and Emily knew her recipes, her secrets; she wholeheartedly believed in her ways, and she loved men, too; but she could not apply Laura’s ways. It was by some inner power, she thought, that Laura was always successful with men, while she, Emily, was always a failure. ‘And I hate the waiting game!’
But Stephen said Laura was not attractive at all; ‘our friends, Axel and Jimmy and Mike don’t like her.’ This hurt Emily. ‘She’s like a best of breed and I’m like a big unclipped sheepdog.’
In the beginning of their marriage Emily feared Laura. The trio went to shows and concerts until Laura said, ‘I refuse to go with you and Stephen again. I don’t play walk ons.’
‘But he likes you!.’
‘But he married you!’
Stephen disliked all these photographs of Laura and when Emily raved, he said, ‘What was your cousin but a third-rate whore?’
At such remarks, Emily would for a moment become silent and then sadly, ‘Ouch! Oof! You know, you never appreciated her.’
‘You don’t know that she told other people she would gather me in. That finished her with me. She said I was worth a one-night stand, a scion stuffed with straw.’ Then Emily would smile, throw her arms
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