U.S.A_ - John Dos Passos [422]
Al the way out Margo was tel ing about her early life on a Cuban sugarplantation and her father's great town-house in the Vedado and Cuban music and dances, and how her father had been ruined by the sugartrust and she'd supported the family as a child actress in Christmas pantomimes in England and about her early unfortunate marriage with a Spanish nobleman, and how al that life was over now and al she cared about was her work. "Wel , that story would make great publicity," was what Jerry Herman said about it.
When they drew up at a lighted farmhouse under a lot of tal trees, they sat in the car a moment, shivering a little in the chil y mist that came from a brook somewhere. He turned to her in the dark and seemed to be trying to look
-261-in her face. "You know about the three monkeys, dear?"
"Sure," said Margo. "See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil." "Correct," he said. Then she let him kiss her. Inside it was the prettiest farmhouse with a roaring fire and two men in checked lumberman's shirts and a couple of funnylooking women in Paris clothes with Park Avenue voices who turned out to be in the decorating business. The two men were scenic artists. Jerry cooked up ham and eggs in the kitchen for everybody and they drank hard cider and had quite a time, though Margo didn't quite know how to behave. To have something to do she got hold of a guitar that was hanging on the wal and picked out Siboney and some other Cuban songs Tony had taught her. When one of the women said something about how she
ought to do a Cuban specialty her heart almost stopped beating. Blue daylight was coming through the mist out-side of the windows before they got to bed. They al had a fine country breakfast giggling and kidding in their dressinggowns and Sunday afternoon Jerry drove her in to town and let her out on the Drive near Seventyninth Street. Frank and Agnes were in a great stew when she got
home. Tad had been cal ing up al day. He'd been to the theater and found out that there weren't any rehearsals cal ed. Margo said spiteful y that she had been rehearsing a little specialty and that if any young col egeboy thought he could interfere with her career he had another think coming. The next weekend when he cal ed up she wouldn't see him. But a week later when she came out of her room about two o'clock on Sunday afternoon just in time for Agnes's big Sunday dinner, Tad was sitting there hanging his head, with his hick hands dangling between his knees. On the chair beside him was a green florist's box that she knew when she looked at it was American Beauty roses. He jumped up.
"Oh, Margo . . . don't be sore . . . I just
-262-can't seem to have a good time going around without you."
"I'm not sore, Tad," she said. "I just want everybody to understand that I won't let my life interfere with my work."
"Sure, I get you," said Tad.
Agnes came forward al smiles and put the roses in
water. "Gosh, I forgot," said Tad and pul ed a redleather case out of his pocket. He was stuttering. "You see D-d-dad g-g-gave me some s-s-stocks to play around with an' I made a little kil ing last week and I bought these, only we can't wear them except when we both go out to-gether, can we?" It was a string of pearls, smal and not very wel matched, but pearls al right.
"Who else would take me anyplace where I could wear them, you mut?" said Margo. Margo'felt herself blush-ing. "And they're not Teclas?" Tad shook his head. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
"Gosh, you honestly like them," said Tad, talking fast.
"Wel , there's one other thing . . . Dad's letting me have the Antoinette, that's his boat, you know, for a two weeks'
cruise this summer with my own crowd. I want you and Mrs. Mandevil e to come. I'd ask Mr. Mandevil e too but . . ."
Mr. Mandevil e too but . . ."
"Nonsense," said Agnes. "I'm sure the party wil be properly chaperoned without me. . . . I'd just get sea-sick. . . . It used to be terrible when poor Fred used to take me out fishing."
"That was my father," said Margo. "He loved being out on the water . . . yachting . . . that kind of thing.