The Wapshot Chronicle - John Cheever [128]
“They’re worthless.”
A maid came to the door and rang the chimes for lunch, and Justina stood, her self-possession suddenly refreshed. “We will be five for lunch, Lena,” she told the maid. “Mr. Dewitt won’t be staying. And will you telephone the garage and tell Giacomo that Mr. Dewitt will walk to the train?” She took D’Alba’s arm and went down the hall.
“Mrs. Scaddon,” the curator called after her, “Mrs. Scaddon.”
“There isn’t much you can do,” Moses said.
“How far is it to the station?”
“A little over a mile.”
“You don’t have a car?”
“No.”
“And there aren’t any taxis?”
“Not on Sunday.”
The curator looked out the window at the rain. “Oh this is outrageous, this is the most outrageous thing I’ve ever experienced. I only came as a favor. I have an ulcer and I have to eat regularly and it will be four o’clock before I get back into the city. You couldn’t get me a glass of milk?”
“I’m afraid not,” Moses said.
“What a mess, what a mess, and how in heaven’s name could she have supposed that those paintings were authentic? How could she have fooled herself?” He gave up with a gesture and started down the hall to the rotunda, where he put on the little hat that made him look like Boob McNutt. “This may kill me,” he said. “I’m supposed to eat regularly and avoid excitement and physical exertion. . . .” Off he went in the rain.
When Moses joined the others at lunch there was no talk at all and the silence was so oppressive that his hearty appetite showed some signs of flagging. Suddenly D’Alba dropped his spoon and said tearfully, “My lady, oh my lady!”
“Document,” Justina snapped. Then she swung her head around to Badger and said fiercely, “Please try and eat with your mouth shut!”
“I’m sorry, Justina,” Badger said. Maids cleared off the soup plates and brought in some chicken but at the sight of the dish Justina waved it away. “I can’t eat a thing,” she said. “Take the food back to the kitchen and put it into the icebox.” Everyone bowed his head, sorry for Justina and bereft of a meal, for on Sunday afternoons the iceboxes were padlocked. She put her hands on the edge of the table, glaring heavily at Badger, and rose. “I suppose you want to get into town, Badger, and tell everyone about this.”
“No. Justina.”
“If I hear a word out of you about this, Badger,” she said, “I’ll tell everyone I know that you’ve been in prison.”
“Justina.”
She started for the door, not bent but straighter than ever, with D’Alba in tow, and when she reached the door she threw out her arms and cried, “My pictures, my pictures, my lovely, lovely pictures.” Then D’Alba could be heard opening and closing the elevator doors and there was the mournful singing of the cables in the shaft as she went up.
It was a gloomy afternoon and Moses spent it studying syndicalism in the little library. When it began to get dark he shut his books and wandered through the house. The kitchen was empty and clean but the iceboxes were still padlocked. He heard music from the hall and thought that D’Alba must be playing, for it was cocktail music; the languid music of specious sorrow and mock yearning, of barroom twilights and unfresh peanuts; of heartburn and gastritis and those paper napkins that cling like wet leaves to the foot of your cocktail glass—but when he stepped into the room he saw that it was Badger. Melissa sat beside him on the piano bench and Badger was singing dolefully:
I’ve got those guest-room blues,
I’m feeling blue all the time,
I’ve got those guest-room blues,
Surrounded by things that aren’t mine.
The bed is lumpy and has sprained my back,
And I hear the choo-choo whistling that will taka me back,
I’ve got those guest-room blues …
When Moses approached the piano they both looked up. Melissa sighed deeply and Moses felt as if he had violated the atmosphere of a tryst. Badger gave Moses a jaded look and closed the piano. He seemed to be in an emotional turbulence that Moses was at some pains not to misunderstand. He got up from the piano bench and walked out onto the terrace, a figure of grief and unease, and Melissa turned her head and followed him with her eyes and all her attention.