The Cheat (Holman)/Chapter 7
There are some marriages that flow along as smoothly as the surface of a broad and unruffled river. There are others that seem balanced upon a dynamite barrel waiting for the slightest friction to blow them into bits. The marriage of Carmelita, now a year old, oscillated between the two extremes. They had spent the year in their "bird-cage" in Greenwich Village.
As far as business and his uncle was concerned it had been a prosperous, happy year for Dudley. He had gone back to work after his marriage with but one idea in his mind—to make a fortune by as rapid strides as possible in order to give Carmelita the luxuries which he was sure such an exquisite creature as his wife deserved and which he was still compelled to refuse her. After six months or more without a backsliding on Dudley's part, Sanford Drake had been forced to conclude that his nephew was in earnest. Of late the old man had been entrusting his hard-working subordinate with more responsibilities and Dudley even had visions of a partnership within a year or so. His uncle was growing old and Dudley was the only Drake in sight to take up his burdens.
About Carmelita and their home life, Dudley had moments of uneasiness, though he was very anxious not to allow his general mood of optimism to be ruffled. But a gorgeous red rose does not flourish well in a bird-cage, that was sure.
There were times of unusual frankness with himself when Dudley admitted that Carmelita was perhaps not quite so alluring out of the silken environment in which he had first met her. She was the sort of woman who thrived upon gayety, crowds, color, excitement, sumptuous surroundings. She was gay and colorful and sumptuous herself—or nothing. To see her, in a cheap stamped gingham dress, bending over a menial household task, was incongruous and a little pathetic. Her beauty was not meant for such things. It had been because of this rather than the fact that their improving pecuniary status warranted it that Dudley had spent the extra income on Laura and installed her in the kitchen and the small box-like extra bedroom. Laura was a Negress and fat and a bit careless with grease and china. But her price was not prohibitively high and she took the heavier burdens from Carmelita's lovely shoulders and allowed her more comforts and leisure.
Carmelita did not need more leisure. The truth was that leisure, as Carmelita might have expressed it, had she been Laura, was something Mrs. Dudley Drake had almost nothing else but. Dudley was working too hard to leave much time to cultivate his friends and he had hesitated until the advent of Laura to invite them to his apartment, which was not built for entertaining anyway, because he feared to make work for Carmelita. As for Carmelita's friends, the Hodges, practically the only people she knew in New York, had been abroad most of the time.
On a few occasions Dudley had brought company—men friends with their wives for dinner and bridge, and once, Sanford Drake. But Carmelita was not an excellent hostess in cramped surroundings and most Americans of the business type struck her as singularly drab and uninteresting, likewise their American wives. For one thing the latter took their bridge altogether too seriously. Carmelita was a very indifferent player, wont to chat upon irrelevant and frivolous topics during the playing of the hands, which usually brought the suppressed scorn of the ladies upon her pretty head, though their husbands seemed to like it and encouraged her. The wives were inevitably the reason why they did not come again. For one thing Carmelita's high coloring, her large seductive black eyes, her colorful gowns always in the mode though they were simple and cost little, her Spanish birth, Paris, and the unusual circumstances surrounding her marriage—all this made the wives among the Drakes' guests a little wary.
Upon the one occasion on which Sanford Drake, following repeated urgings by Dudley, called, Dudley had nearly succumbed to nervous prostration. He had earnestly impressedupon Carmelita and Laura the seriousness of the event in advance. Carmelita, though she had never met the famous financier, had always contended that he had mistreated her husband, that Dudley should have been a partner long since. Nevertheless she promised to do her best to be agreeable to him. "And then Sanford Drake, pompous as usual, obviously sniffing a little though politely at the smallness and simplicity of their accommodations, had arrived in the throes of a well-developed grouch. Laura, unduly thrilled at the state occasion, had quite thoroughly spoiled the dinner and Carmelita, glimpsing the tragedy in the dishes as they were set before her to serve—over-done chicken, charred potatoes, sooted peas—had forthwith allowed her temper to be spoiled also. What had followed was a splendid example of the peculiarly exasperating manner in which Carmelita, as Dudley had previously discovered, could be disagreeable to the world when her feelings were piqued. A fine Spanish flash of the eyes, expressive shrugs, barbed shafts of sarcasm, and brilliant silences that exuded scorn. Dudley was quite sure that his uncle had been thoroughly disgusted with the exhibition.
What was his surprise to have the latter remark following a conference in his private office upon a business matter the following morning, "Your wife is a very pretty and clever woman, Dudley. Lots of spirit, won't be walked over, wants her own way—that's what I admire in a woman, and a man too. You're lucky, my boy. Guess she's been one of the reasons you've been tending to business lately, eh?" Accompanied by a good-natured pat on Dudley's broad back that cheered him up quite a little.
"I thought at first it might be a mistake for you to marry a girl used to money," Sanford Drake went on. "But it's not a bad thing for a wife to have extravagant tastes, within reason. It keeps a man on the job satisfying them. If a woman is the sort who's contented with anything her husband gives her, the kind who can do wonders with his twenty-five-dollar-a-week income, he's liable to go right on making twenty-five dollars a week. All the big accomplishments in this world have been brought about through the stimulus of discontent. The meek may inherit the earth eventually, as the Bible says, but they'll be an awful while coming into their inheritance. Meantime let's have more women of spirit, like Carmelita, if you don't mind my calling her by her first name. Somehow it fits her a lot better than Mrs. Drake, because she'll always be more Spanish than American."
After this extraordinarily long and unbusinesslike bit of philosophy Sanford Drake became crustier than ever for the remainder of the day.
When Lucy and Jack Hodge returned from Europe, they came around one memorable evening to take the Drakes out to dinner and the show. Dudley had never particularly eared for the worldly, selfish Lucy and he regarded Jack as a typical spoiled millionaire's son. But he was forced to admit that it seemed nice to don evening clothes and be rolled in the Hodges' limousine to the Ritz and then to the Follies and finally to an exclusive midnight-to-morning dancing rendezvous. Carmelita, fresh and charming as if she had never known the unaccustomed drudgeries of a poor man's wife, was pleased as a child at her first Christmas.
Between the acts at the Follies when the men went out to smoke and fumble around for some common ground upon which to meet in conversation, Lucy asked Carmelita significantly, "Well, my dear, how goes it? Tired of living in a two-by-four? Or still fooling yourself?" Lucy's motto was frankness.
Carmelita, taken off her guard, decided to play safe by bantering. "I'm happy as a lark, Lucy. You've no idea how much more simplified things are when you're poor. No worry about what gown you shall wear, no servant problem." Lucy was unconvinced.
"You don't care for parties like this any more then? Content to bring Dudley's slippers and fall asleep over the evening paper? You—the girl all Paris was crazy about? I can't imagine it, Carmelita."
"Of course I enjoy going out. I'm not an old woman. Dudley and I have fun."
Lucy looked at her keenly. "I don't believe you have very much. You look a little drawn, Carmelita. I don't believe you and I are meant for the housewife and mother sort of thing, my dear."
Carmelita was thoughtful. Lucy ventured further.
"I've never made any bones about my belief that your marriage has been a mistake. Dudley is all right, but he's poor and he'll get rich very slowly, if at all. At any rate by the time he does it will be too late. Your beauty and youth will be gone. I know. However, that's your business." Carmelita was folding her program over and over again nervously. She wished Dudley would return. She was always so sure of herself and their two lives together when he was near. "We've taken a cute country place on Long Island for the season," Lucy was changing the subject abruptly. "I want to have you and Dudley down soon. I'll let you know later about it."
When the Hodges dropped them at their door as dawn was just breaking over the gaunt elevated railway structure at the corner and later Dudley and Carmelita were preparing to snatch what sleep there remained, Dudley's summing up remark was, "Well, a big night, dearest. It was darned decent of them. Once in a while this is fine, but it's no life for a poor, up-and-coming business man and his wife, eh?"
Carmelita smiled wanly into her dressing table mirror. Business, business. When would they have time to play a little? Lucy Hodge was such a disturbing creature, with her gowns and her limousine and chauffeur and speaking acquaintance with the suave head-waiter at the Ritz. And yet her father, Don Caesar de Cordoba, she reflected with pride, could buy and sell the Hodges without hardly being forced to draw a check. She looked around the stuffy, low-ceilinged bedroom just before Dudley snapped off the light. What was she, Don Caesar de Cordoba's daughter, doing here beside this poor American in this matchbox of a room that could have been stuffed into one corner of her suite at the old rambling house near Buenos Aires? Then Dudley was kissing her good-night, her doubts were swept away, and in a sudden emotion of love and contrition she locked her arms around him and clung to him passionately, secretly asking forgiveness. He was too sleepy to notice that her eyes were wet and to inquire the reason.
On a blistering afternoon in July Carmelita sat, one small foot under her, on the divan near the open window trying to catch the little breath of air that was stirring there. From the asphalt below the heat was rising in shimmering waves. It was the climax of a week of record hot weather. Even in the flimsy negligée she was wearing, Carmelita was uncomfortable and unhappy. For several days now she and Dudley had been discussing going out of town for the rest of the season and he had tabooed the project for anything but his customary two weeks' vacation.
"Then we'll blow in a lot of money and I'll buy you a hotel on Cape Cod or Atlantic City or anywhere you say," he promised, with some vague assurances about next summer. This had not pleased Carmelita. There had been a flash of her spoiled temper and Dudley had retreated behind his newspaper. He was such a stubborn man at times, she thought.
Upon the little table near Carmelita a small electric fan was assisting the window by cuffing up a little air and some dust. Carmelita looked up to find the obese and perspiring Laura standing in the kitchen doorway surveying the electric fan with an envious eye. Carmelita and Laura had had words lately and were not upon the best of terms.
"You know the thermometer to-day, Mrs. Drake?" Laura inquired, by way of an opening in a voice that fairly itched for trouble.
"I dare say it's simply spouting out of the top of the tube," Carmelita answered indifferently, dealing a final burnish to her thumb.
Laura mopped a glistening brow and delivered her thunder-stroke as casually as possible. "I've worked in lots of hot places 'round this town, Mis' Drake, but I ain't never worked in one as hot as this. Truth is I'm goin' to quit."
Carmelita dropped her manicuring tools abruptly and faced the deserter, ready at once to offer concessions. Laura was careless and insolent at times but she was competent and, at her incredulously low price, a life-saver. "It can't be as bad as all that, Laura. Look—I'll give you the fan in the kitchen."
Carmelita bent to unscrew the connection.
"Won't make no difference, Mis' Drake. I made up my mind to quit anyhow. My bedroom's too small for a big lady like me and it's like an oven. My sister's gettin' me a job in a hotel down to Atlantic City. She wrote me to-day to come down right away if I wanted it."
Carmelita was angry. Laura had been negotiating for other employment behind her back. More than once Dudley in the rôle of peacemaker had settled tifts between Laura and her. Had he been there then he might yet have saved the day.
"I really think, Laura, that you might have said something ta me about your sister's offer, so that I could have been looking around for another servant." This was largely bluff on Carmelita's part. She had been at Dudley for a long time to permit her to discard the slovenly Laura for more attractive, expensive help and his reply had been that they couldn't afford it—yet.
Laura resented her mistress' icy tones. "Well, I only been stayin' here 'cause I thought you needed me, and Mr. Drake's so nice."
Carmelita, heat-tormented, was reckless. "Very well. Don't let me detain you any longer then."
"You mean you want me to clear out right away—to-day?"
"If you like."
"Suits me, Mis' Drake, suits me." Laura shuffled toward her room, starting to remove her soiled apron as she went, while Carmelita, who had hardly expected her ill-tempered words to be taken literally, sprang up and followed her, offering a whole bouquet of olive branches. But it was no use. Laura was piling her belongings into a battered suitcase. Carmelita preserved her dignity until she had paid the offended Negress what she owed her out of a not too heavily stuffed purse. But when she had watched Laura from the window ambling as fast as her chronically sore feet would allow her in the direction of the elevated station and had stood for a moment in the kitchen doorway surveying the mess of dirty dishes in the sink and the wet mop Laura had abandoned on the floor, with a little discouraged cry she flung herself upon the divan and gave way to tears of self-pity.
The tinkling of the telephone bell checked her. She aroused herself from the couch, brushed her eyes a little and reached listlessly for the 'phone. It was Lucy Hodge, cool and drawling as usual. A few polite banalities and then, "We're settled in our Long Island place for the summer, you know—Hedgewood—only an hour out and really delightful. By the way, what are you and Dudley doing over this next week-end? Can't you come down and spend it with us?"
Carmelita could have wept again, but this time for joy. Nevertheless her pride told her to be cautious. "Why, my dear, that's awfully good of you. No, I don't think we have any other plans. Let me see—no, that's next week-end—yes, I'm sure you can count on us."
"I suppose you have your own car and everything by this time. Dudley must have made a fortune in Wall Street."
"Well, we're thinking of a car but we haven't it yet."
"Jack is taking one of ours into town Friday. Suppose he drops around and picks you and Dudley up about four in the afternoon."
"That would be great." Carmelita's lips were unconsciously forming in a firm line. She was going to have some trouble making Dudley see the advantage of this. But she would do it.
When she had said good-by and hung up the receiver she walked into her bedroom and pulled open the closet door. Jerking out her wardrobe in a confused heap on the bed, she submitted each garment to a rigid inspection. Her lips were still grim. Her clothes simply wouldn't do. She knew the kind of a crowd Lucy would have around her establishment—male tea-dancers from the Ritz, a couple of foreign celebrities, flapper protegées, idle society women of the Southampton set with their still more idle husbands and marriageable daughters—all correctly clad and cynically critical of other people's clothes. They would inspect her with X-ray eyes. She had formerly had a reputation for dressing charmingly.
There are times in every woman's life when her whole attitude toward the world depends upon whether or not she gets a new gown. Clothes to a sensitive woman are more than so much silk and satin; they are symbols. They advertise to others whether things are going well or ill with their wearer. A clever woman can read her companions' clothes like a barometer. Carmelita was quite aware of this. She felt that her good time at Lucy's depended entirely upon her being well dressed. And she was right. They would be expecting her to appear shabby. If she wore these clothes she would not disappoint them. They would laugh at her behind her back and she would be miserable. Well, she would fool them and Dudley would have to help her. She was entitled to her holiday.
Carmelita stepped out of the negligée she had been wearing in the effort to keep as cool as possible and turned on the cold tap in the bathroom shower. The water was not as icy as she could have wished it, but cascading down over her bare shoulders and her warm, boyish body it was gratefully refreshing. She rubbed herself pink with the bath-towel and felt better. Then she dressed becomingly in a plain afternoon costume, made herself up carefully, and, picking up her purse from the divan on her way out, walked to Fifth Avenue and boarded a 'bus going uptown to the fashionable shopping district.
Dudley was unusually late coming home from the office that night and he did not find Carmelita waiting for him in the semi-darkness of the living room, but beyond, their bedroom flooded with light. He stood in the doorway watching her, a wearied smile of admiration and perplexity on his lips. There were two long boxes lined with fluffy tissue on the bed behind her. New gowns. And before the mirror Carmelita, attired in a snappy white flannel sport suit, was observing the effect with critical pleasure. He did not blame her for her self-admiration. She looked stunning. At first, in her absorption in the gown, she did not notice his presence. But looking up and observing him and flushing a little guiltily in spite of herself she approached and kissed him with unusual warmth.
"New to-day?" he asked, rather abruptly, she thought, and pointed to the boxes. He had promised her some extra money for a new suit within a week but he hadn't counted upon an elaborate outlay like this, and in advance.
"Yes, don't you think it is becoming, dear? Giddings' had a private sale and I dashed up there this afternoon."
Giddings, one of the ultra-fashionable Fifth Avenue shops, sounded ominous to Dudley. He approached the bed. "Did these boxes come from Giddings' too?"
"Yes, aren't they just too lovely for anything?" Carmelita ran enthusiastic fingers under an evening gown, negligée, silk stockings, a silk sweater, and a spangly cloak and lifted them for his approval. For the moment she forgot everything in her sincere admiration of the luxurious fabrics. There were two hat boxes on the floor unopened as yet.
"Of course they're lovely and you'll probably look wonderful in them, dear." He took her gently by the shoulders. "But all these things must have cost a lot of money. We'll have to go easy for a while longer, you know. How are we going to pay for them?"
"Well, I think I was very clever, darling. It was a sale, you know, and the prices were ridiculously low." She took the bill from her dresser table and handed it to him.
Dudley did not agree with her that the total was ridiculously low. He was on his feet, firmly now, and he was determined not to borrow money. Yet he hated himself for disappointing her.
"This is more than we can afford at present, dear, I'm afraid. Suppose you keep the gown you have on and wait a little while longer for the others." Carmelita looked at him in amazement, eyes narrowed.
"But I've bought all three of these gowns. Can't we charge the others and pay for them soon?"
"I don't believe in charge accounts. We've threshed that all out before."
"I can't take them back."
"Yes, you can. Simply tell them that you've found you don't like them—any excuse at all." He tried to be as gentle as possible but he wasn't succeeding too well, he realized. Carmelita hated to be humiliated. Tears were starting in her eyes. She sat down on the bed and refused to speak to him for several minutes, while he sank down beside her and, putting an arm around her shoulder, sought to mollify her.
"I should like to give you everything in the world, Carmelita," he said earnestly. "You know that. You realized I didn't have a nickel when we were married and had to borrow some money from my uncle to get started here. I've paid it all back now and have a little to spare. I'm getting along mighty well right now and I've a deal on with my uncle that, if it goes through, will put us on Easy Strect for the rest of our lives. Then you can go ahead and buy out Giddings' if you like. But just at present we'll have to go very carefully."
Carmelita, vanity battling with what she had to admit was the good sense of Dudley's explanation, pouted uncertainly. "I wouldn't have gone out and bought these things without consulting you," she conceded, "if Lucy hadn't called up this afternoon and invited us out to Long Island for the week-end. We haven't been anywhere all summer and we're bound to have a wonderful time there. There's no hostess quite like Lucy. And all my clothes are such a fright. I simply had to have new ones."
Dudley braced himself for another tempest. "That was very decent of Lucy, I'm sure. And you go right ahead and enjoy yourself. But I'm afraid your Uncle Dudley won't be able to toddle along with you. I have to stay at the office until Saturday night and Sunday I have to run out to my uncle's at Greenwich. I rather thought you'd be going along with me—he invited you—but of course you'll have more fun at Lucy's party. We were just going to discuss business and I dare say it would be boring enough. He's a bachelor—no excitement at all."
"Of course your uncle will make it some other time when you tell him we have an engagement already for the week-end."
"You don't know the old boy. As a matter of fact, this isn't an ordinary engagement I have with him. It means a lot for you and me. I told you we have a deal on."
"What kind of a deal?"
"Well, I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to tell even you, Carmelita. It will be good news when I do tell you, you can bank on that. Meantime I've got to humor him or it's all off." She was hurt. "But I'm not selfish enough to keep you from going to Lucy's jamboree. I know it has been rough for you here in this stuffy apartment and you'll have a peach of a time with your friends. I want you to go."
"Do you really mean it?" Carmelita, whose feelings were always very near the surface, was touched by his unselfishness. Dudley was an old dear after all. She permitted him to fold her in his arms. The sport suit would be a help. And she could get the best of her old things out to that good tailor around the corner and bribe him to do wonders. She would open Lucy's eyes yet.
"You're sure you won't miss me?" she asked.
"Of course I shall, you silly dear, but I'd be a fine selfish old bear to keep you home in this furnace. You run along and forget me for forty-eight hours or so. It will do you good." He persuaded himself that he wasn't being magnanimous but felt a little pang of regret that she had accepted his offer and was going to Lucy's. He was quite sure he couldn't have given her up, had the tables been turned.