straight for the nearest columnist like a hornet to a pear.’ Then, recovering a bit, he added, ‘But it’s all right. Months ago I had a gimmick installed in the studio which cuts off every phone in the house.’
‘Then for pity’s sake, use the gimmick,’ Pam said.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘yes.’ And he hurried away in the opposite direction from the house down to the little studio he’d built the year before when he discovered he wasn’t only a great motion-picture director but also the most distinguished American abstract painter since Jackson Pollock. Since Pam knew the studio was much nearer the pool house than the house itself and it was almost certain he’d beat Norma to it, she felt she could relax a bit. But she was still in a cold sweat because, although she of course was convinced that Mother had behaved through the whole affair like a radiant angel of mercy, she realized that, once Norma had twisted the story around, Mother could come out looking like a cross between Messalina and a Robber Baron.
Meanwhile, Mother, who had risen above even this, had sailed back to the chafing dish and was bent enchantingly over it, scooping out portions for all of them as if they were merely having a cozy little bit of gracious living. For about ten minutes they just sat eating the fondue in total silence. Ronnie didn’t come back, neither did Norma, arid Pam was getting more and more jittery until at long last Mother put down her plate, delicately savored the last portion and murmured, ‘Good, very good. But perhaps next time just a soupçon more Kirschwasser.’
That’s all she said. Then the celebrated pensive frown started rippling her brow. That went on for a while, then she got up.
‘Darlings,’ she announced, ‘I am worried about poor Norma. She was horrible to me; she has a vulgar, evil tongue, but the poor thing isn’t happy. Heaven knows what she’s doing up in the house. Crying her eyes out, probably. I’ve got to go to her.’
‘Anny!’ cried Pam. ‘Please, for pity’s sake…’
But Mother didn’t pay any attention to her and sailed off towards the house. Uncle Hans and Gino and Pam just waited until, after about ten more minutes, a terrible thought struck Pam. Ronnie’s gimmick cut off all the telephones in the house, and Norma was far too drunk to be able to drive herself to Miss Leroy's. But what about the telephone in the gatehouse where the chauffeur lived with his wife? My God, she thought, if Norma had been smart enough to go down there, she’d have been bending Miss Leroy’s ear for a good twenty minutes. So she got up and ran like a hare with Tray at her heels back to the house and down the front drive to the gatehouse.
When she got there, she saw it was in total darkness. To make sure, she banged on the door and tried the handle, but the door was locked and the chauffeur and his wife were obviously off cavorting.
So that’s all right, she thought, and started up the drive again. Most of the lights were on in the main house. She had almost come up to it when, from inside, she heard Mother’s voice, calling,
‘Pam … Pam …’
She was only a few feet from the front door. She rushed to it. It wasn’t locked. She threw it open and plunged into the hall. And there was Mother standing at the foot of the stairs, yelling, ‘Pam, Pam …’ And there, in a heap at her feet, sprawled over an enormous vicuna rug, was Norma.
‘And, my dear,’ concluded Pam, ‘this is the most ghastly part of all. Tray got rattled and started doing back somersaults all round and around and around the hall.’
6
I had been sitting on the voodoo drum in my funeral suit listening with what is called ‘mounting tension’. Every now and then I’d broken in, but mostly I’d just let Pam talk. It had seemed less unnerving to have her tell it her way without too much interpretation from me, because most of my interpretations hardly bore thinking about. At one point Tray had come back with a
‘Then for pity’s sake, use the gimmick,’ Pam said.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘yes.’ And he hurried away in the opposite direction from the house down to the little studio he’d built the year before when he discovered he wasn’t only a great motion-picture director but also the most distinguished American abstract painter since Jackson Pollock. Since Pam knew the studio was much nearer the pool house than the house itself and it was almost certain he’d beat Norma to it, she felt she could relax a bit. But she was still in a cold sweat because, although she of course was convinced that Mother had behaved through the whole affair like a radiant angel of mercy, she realized that, once Norma had twisted the story around, Mother could come out looking like a cross between Messalina and a Robber Baron.
Meanwhile, Mother, who had risen above even this, had sailed back to the chafing dish and was bent enchantingly over it, scooping out portions for all of them as if they were merely having a cozy little bit of gracious living. For about ten minutes they just sat eating the fondue in total silence. Ronnie didn’t come back, neither did Norma, arid Pam was getting more and more jittery until at long last Mother put down her plate, delicately savored the last portion and murmured, ‘Good, very good. But perhaps next time just a soupçon more Kirschwasser.’
That’s all she said. Then the celebrated pensive frown started rippling her brow. That went on for a while, then she got up.
‘Darlings,’ she announced, ‘I am worried about poor Norma. She was horrible to me; she has a vulgar, evil tongue, but the poor thing isn’t happy. Heaven knows what she’s doing up in the house. Crying her eyes out, probably. I’ve got to go to her.’
‘Anny!’ cried Pam. ‘Please, for pity’s sake…’
But Mother didn’t pay any attention to her and sailed off towards the house. Uncle Hans and Gino and Pam just waited until, after about ten more minutes, a terrible thought struck Pam. Ronnie’s gimmick cut off all the telephones in the house, and Norma was far too drunk to be able to drive herself to Miss Leroy's. But what about the telephone in the gatehouse where the chauffeur lived with his wife? My God, she thought, if Norma had been smart enough to go down there, she’d have been bending Miss Leroy’s ear for a good twenty minutes. So she got up and ran like a hare with Tray at her heels back to the house and down the front drive to the gatehouse.
When she got there, she saw it was in total darkness. To make sure, she banged on the door and tried the handle, but the door was locked and the chauffeur and his wife were obviously off cavorting.
So that’s all right, she thought, and started up the drive again. Most of the lights were on in the main house. She had almost come up to it when, from inside, she heard Mother’s voice, calling,
‘Pam … Pam …’
She was only a few feet from the front door. She rushed to it. It wasn’t locked. She threw it open and plunged into the hall. And there was Mother standing at the foot of the stairs, yelling, ‘Pam, Pam …’ And there, in a heap at her feet, sprawled over an enormous vicuna rug, was Norma.
‘And, my dear,’ concluded Pam, ‘this is the most ghastly part of all. Tray got rattled and started doing back somersaults all round and around and around the hall.’
6
I had been sitting on the voodoo drum in my funeral suit listening with what is called ‘mounting tension’. Every now and then I’d broken in, but mostly I’d just let Pam talk. It had seemed less unnerving to have her tell it her way without too much interpretation from me, because most of my interpretations hardly bore thinking about. At one point Tray had come back with a
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