Chapter 6
"Darling! Baby! Sweet!"
Jean's arrival, as usual, was like a sudden storm blowing across the room. Every eye in the Three G's turned in her direction. All conversation stopped for a moment. Everyone saw a chunky, not-too-attractive woman somewhere in her forties who had an obviously aggressive personality and who rode an equally obvious crest of vitality.
Then they all went back to their own problems and Jean dropped into a chair. "Milly! You look wonder-ful!"
Mildred laughed. "Jean! That's my line! I was here first."
"All right. I'm fine! Healthy as a horse."
"You'll drink Scotch of course."
"Without a doubt, honey."
Her eyes on Mildred, keen, searching, Jean's light manner faded quickly. There were a few more frothy exchanges and then Jean said, "What's the problem, baby?"
"What makes you think there's a problem?"
"Hold it, precious. You're talking to Jean, remember?"
"Was it a good book?"
Jean accepted Mildred's gesture toward slowing her down. "You asked me that over the phone and it's a silly question. None of them are good but all of them are commercial. I write for money."
Quick, warm thoughts flowed through Mildred's mind. Jean. Wonderful friend. How strange that her Lesbianism had never stood between them. They'd discussed that along with about everything else under the sun. But that had never been an issue with them.
Or had that?
At times, Mildred got the uncomfortable feeling that she had blocked out much of her past. Much of it had to be blocked out, or she could not have lived with herself. For instance, all the men she'd been with after Tom, in petulant anger, had gotten into the car that morning in New Orleans and driven too fast and too recklessly.
And they had told her she no longer had a husband.
But the blocking out business. It was very strange. Jean was a wonderful, close friend and Mildred needed her and wanted her. Jean-eager to help and to be a friend.
The drinks came and Jean's bright blue eyes again cut across Mildred's face.
"Baby, you are in trouble."
"Not really."
"I sensed it over the phone, so let's stop the nonsense and get down to facts. What is it? That brute of a hundred of yours?"
"Jean! He's not a brute!"
"I'll bet he's with his lover right now."
"Why how can you say such a thing!"
"Honey, I know men. He's a man. So he's no different from the rest."
Mildred could cut too, when she herself was sliced at. She said, "You know men? How could you. You've never been around any."
Jean revealed her hard shell by reacting with amusement. "Touche, darling. I apologize. Now let's get into your problem."
Mildred forgave Jean instantly, according to her nature, and said, "It's the old thing building up again. That sense of dread. It sounds ridiculous to say I feel insecure with such a fine husband and a good home and children."
"The answer to that is simple, Milly. You're dealing in illusions. You live with Vance, but he's not your husband, Tom was. Vance's wife was a woman named Grace who is now dead. Jimmie and Donna are Grace's children, not yours."
Mildred felt a chill. Was that true? Was her whole marriage to Vance nothing but an illusion?
"Jean, you're so cruel."
"Honesty is always cruel, but in a way, it's kind. It forces you to face reality and in the end everyone has to do that."
Jean buttered a roll. Mildred watched her. "I suppose you're right, Jean, but it's only from your point of view. Why should I assume that you have a copyright on truth? There is truth in what Vance and I have. Jimmie and Donna are truth."
"We're dealing in semantics now. Nothing but abstracts. The point is, how does that truth apply to you?"
"What would you suggest?"
"Go to Mack Penrose. Try to get your old job back."
"I can't do that."
"Why not?"
"We don't need the money. Vance earns a good living. It would certainly reflect on him-his wife working."
"You're dreaming. Many women get married and still carry on their careers."
"Yes, if you put it that way. But-"
"Baby. You're vegetating up in those hills. That's what's basically wrong. You're not the type. You need action. You need people."
Mildred looked Jean squarely in the eye. Obviously, what she was going to say came hard.
"Jean, there was only one period in my life when I was-promiscuous."
"Baby, you take things too serious."
"Stop saying that," Mildred retorted with annoyance. "I'm trying to find some sort of reassurance for myself."
"I'm sorry, sweetie. But what's the use of digging all that up. You were true to Tom, weren't you?"
"Yes."
"And you have been true to Vance."
"Yes."
"All right. Why lash yourself with what went on while you were a free agent?"
"I don't know. I-"
"You're afraid of yourself, isn't that it? You're afraid you will stop being true to Vance."
"I don't know. But for the sake of argument, let's assume that."
"All right," Jean said cheerfully. "Let's assume it. So that's what makes you afraid of New York and your old job. You'll come in contact with Mack Penrose again-"
Mildred cringed inwardly at the sound of the name.
"You'll be around people and be in contact with men. That frightens you because it looks like the logical path toward marital infidelity."
"Isn't it?"
Jean leaned forward and patted Mildred's hand. "Sweetie, there are men everywhere. If you're going to be unfaithful to Vance, the seeds are already planted right up in those hills. The man is already there and waiting."
"That's ridiculous."
Jean shrugged. "Perhaps. But do me one favor. Go and see Mack Penrose. Drop in on him. That can't hurt anything."
Mildred pondered. Jean was right. There was no harm in calling on an old friend.
She laughed quite suddenly. The pressure and the worry had at least temporarily abated. This was Jean of course. You couldn't be around Jean very long without having your spirits lifted. Not that Jean was a Pollyanna. Far tram it. But there was a refreshing hit in her reality, in her realistic approach to life as it was, in her sensible compromises with it.
"Let's talk about something else," she said. "How about you? What are your plans? When are you going to write the big one?"
There was talk along those lines, but it didn't last long. Jean had never been inclined to talk about herself or her personal life. That was her own. She would dwell on the superficialities of it, make light conversation, but that was as far with Jean as anyone ever got. And anyone who assumed they'd gone deeper was in the realm of delusion.
So the luncheon broke up shortly afterward.
"I'll be in touch, sweetie. I'm staying in New York for quite a while. I'm back in my old digs in the Village. The phone will be connected shortly."
After she left Mildred, Jean walked down Fifth Avenue occupied with her own personal thoughts. Mildred was such a little fool. That terrible guilt complex, her inability to see what she was and live with it and make the most of it.
It had taken quite a while for Jean to actually believe that Mildred really blocked things out of her mind, severed, in certain instances, the line between consciousness and memory.
But now she knew Mildred did not remember the four days they'd spent together after Jean had found her again. Jean had gone to New Orleans and had been a wonderful friend. They had brought Tom back to Albany his native town, for burial, and Mildred had leaned on Jean the whole time.
Then Jean had been called away. She had signed a contract for a travel book that required a trip to Europe. When she returned some months later, Mildred had vanished.
Jean found her in terrible shape, plummeting down toward disintegration. She took her in hand, nursed her and brought her back.
Even Jean was not enough of a realist to admit to herself her own motivation. Or perhaps it was better called a hope, that certain tendencies she'd seen in Mildred, latent and deeply hidden, would rise out of the chaos and become a potent part of Mildred's regeneration.
Jean would have nursed her regardless, but the four days of Lesbian love with which she had been rewarded were tremendously gratifying.
But they had turned out to be only an incident. Mildred had what might have been called a relapse immediately afterward. And the intimacy was never repeated.
Jean had often asked herself why. The relationship had seemed so perfect, Mildred's logical answer. There had been no traumatic realization of what she'd done on Mildred's part. She'd bounced back quickly after her second minor regression and become quite herself again.
The circumstances for a continuation of their Lesbian relationship had never seemed quite right. From being a warm and ardent lover, Mildred had suddenly become quite the opposite, a friend, and Jean had never pressed.
She'd gotten the uncomfortable feeling later that Mildred had not actually been in her arms at all, that so far as Mildred was concerned, hers had been the arms of Tom or Mack Penrose or perhaps a montage of men who stood out in her memory.
At any rate, the affair ended but the friendship remained.
And now there was hope again. At least Jean saw it that way. And perhaps this time, with a little more firmness on her part, she could break up the silly marriage Mildred had stumbled into and bring her permanently over to where she belonged.
It was worth a try, anyhow.
The Penrose Company was on upper Madison Avenue in one of the huge glass buildings that spelled glamour at its best.
Mildred rode a luxurious self-service elevator up to the twentieth floor and asked the blonde receptionist for Macklin Penrose. The girl, a little out of sorts that day, was somewhere short with her, "Do you have an appointment?"
"Well, no, I haven't. But you might tell him Mrs. Hager is here. If he has a few minutes he might be-able to see me."
The girl's expression said she doubted it very much but she put word through the intercom and changed magically. Her smile became brilliant.
"Of course, Mrs. Hager. Through that door at the end of the corridor. Mr. Penrose is waiting."
Mack Penrose had not waited. He met Mildred halfway down the corridor with out stretched hands.
"Milly! This is wonderful. How have you been? How is Vance?"
He was a tall, handsome man with rich gray hair he used effectively in his grooming. The gray motif carried through from head to foot, made him a dashing figure.
But there was no insincerity in Mack Penrose. He was a good and understanding friend. His relationship with Mildred had been sophisticated at one point, but only accidently so, and he'd never taken advantage of that.
Nor did he think the less of Mildred because of the incident.
"Golly, it's like old times, Milly, seeing you again."
"You're such a flatterer, Mack. But this office. It awes me. You've really come into your own."
He shrugged. "I fooled them good, didn't I?" His grin was warm and confidential and it made Mildred laugh.
"No, Mack. You fooled yourself if you think you fooled them. They know a good man when they see one."
"It's Vance down there at the agency who's making me look good, Milly. Hard punching advertising copy. Sales skyrocketing."
"They say that's the mark of a genius-finding good men."
"Then I'm a genius because I found one...."
A little later he got a little more personal. "Are you all right, Milly? You don't look well."
"I'm fit as a fiddle. I was never in better health."
He regarded her thoughtfully from behind his sleek, modern desk upon which he'd casually placed one foot. "Oh, I can see that. You've never been so lovely. It's something else. Something in your eyes." He paused to regard her for a few moments. "I know it's been a long time, Milly, but we had a pretty good rapport. We don't have to waste time. What's on your mind?"
Mildred laughed but there were uneasy undertones. She'd wondered whether or not she would be embarrassed in Mack's presence. Not that there was any need to be. But of course both their minds had to go back to that night when the ultimate in rapport had been established.
"Honestly, Mack, there's nothing. I just dropped in to see an old friend. This is old friend day for me. I just had lunch with Jean."
"Jean Bellamy?"
"Is there any other?"
"No I guess there isn't. How is she?"
"Fine. You know Jean. She's the rock all the waves hit and break up on."
"She's a remarkable woman."
The statement was potent for what it left unsaid Mack Penrose disliked Jean Bellamy the way a thoroughly normal man can dislike a Lesbian. But such was his poise and self-presence that neither Jean nor Mildred had the least idea of this.
"She thinks I ought to ask you for my old job back," Mildred said.
"Oh? And are you going to?"
"Mack! You know better than that. I'm a happily married woman. There isn't a better man on earth than Vance-nor a more wonderful husband. I'm the happiest woman on earth, if you'll pardon the cliche."
"I imagine you're tremendously thrilled at the good news."
"What good news?"
"Vance's elevation to the top level. His vice-presidency."
Mildred said nothing, but she was unable to hide her amazement. Mack Penrose frowned in spite of himself.
"Gosh! I didn't realize they hadn't told him yet I mean, I assumed they had. I've put my foot in it."
"No, Mack. Not at all. But he doesn't know or of coarse he'd have told me."
"Then you'd better let him do it. He'd never forgive either of us. It would look too much like a conspiracy."
Mildred eyed him levelly. "You had something to do with it, Mack."
"Only as a part of Penrose Soap. He's done a terrific job for us. We didn't hand him anything. It's to our interests also."
"I'm very grateful, nonetheless."
"There was so much in Vance's favor. A beautifully balanced picture." Mack Penrose paused for the barest moment here, put the faintest of inflections on his next words: "A solidly established family man. Highly respected in his community." Then, to take any possible sting out, he smiled warmly. "A beautiful wife who will make him terribly envied at organizational affairs and get-togethers."
"I really didn't rate Vance," Mildred said.
Mack got briskly to his feet. "Now let's not have any of that. You know darned well he didn't rate you. Have you got time to run down for a quick cocktail? I'd like to show you off in the lounge."
"Thanks, Mack. You're so wonderful for a woman's ego. But I've got to run. I'm a suburbanite remember."
He walked her to the door and down the corridor and she looked at him in genuine admiration. "Mack, how long are you going to keep on being cruel to women? Isn't it about time you did your bit for the cause-selected one and made her supremely happy?"
"You and your cliches," he laughed. "If you ever did come back to work, you'd have to take a refresher course in copy writing."
After he'd returned to his office, he found no taste for his work, for what he'd been doing when Mildred was announced. Instead of going back to it, he put both feet on his desk and surrendered to recollection.
"Why didn't I marry her myself?" he murmured.
But he knew very well why he hadn't. Too many danger signals.
His first contact with Mildred had been through Jean Bellamy. Not that they had been in any sense friends, but Jean knew people in the agency and she'd put out feelers on Mildred's behalf. The applicant appeared to qualify in the area of Mack's jurisdiction at that time-copy-and so Mildred had been sent his way.
He'd been drawn to her from the first moment; she'd been interesting enough to make him look twice and see that something was wrong. Emotional trouble.
But she seemed to be able to handle it all right. She had been hired and had done good work. Macklin Penrose watched her and the next thing he noticed was that fact she put too much into it, went at it so intensely that she was obviously using it as a defense against the other thing, her husband's tragic death, no doubt.
He had a strict policy, so far as he himself was concerned, of no office entanglements. He made his attachments, social and otherwise, outside the office.
So his only contact with Mildred had been during office hours. They'd had a few talks and found a ground of common liking.
But he was still surprised when she arrived, without even an advance phone call, at his apartment one night. She explained not calling.
"I've got to talk to someone, Mack, and if I'd called I wouldn't have been able to come."
He invited her in of course. "What's the big problem, Mildred?"
"I'm going to quit."
"In heaven's name why? You're doing fine. We like you. I thought you liked us?"
"I do like you. You've all been wonderful to me."
At that precise moment, he used bad judgment. He'd thought about it afterward and could not honestly say that he was sorry. The experience had been so unique; the only contact he'd ever had with a passion and a need so driving that that overshadowed all else in woman. That had been like the sudden smashing of a dam.
He stepped close to her, put his hands on her shoulders, and said, "Tell me about it, Mildred."
Then she was in his arms, suddenly, overwhelming.
"Oh, Mack! Love me! Hold me! Take me!"
He thought later, somewhat wryly and perhaps by way of self-justification, that it would have been impossible not to comply. Mildred was the frantic aggressor. He had a dressing gown on over his pajamas and the dressing gown was torn away, then the pajamas, even before he could reorientate himself.
She was in his arms and there was no time for a bed but the floor was there and the carpet was thick and soft enough.
His own passion fired quickly to match Mildred's and he revealed the hunger and eagerness she gave him. He took advantage of that and the experience was new and novel. He had never before loved a woman who sobbed with hunger for him even as he began, who hungered for him so avidly that he climbed to magnificent heights in order to serve her.
The next hour was a paradox. He could not remember that but he would never forget that. His own response began automatically, rose to a crest, and was fulfilled. But hers was not and her hunger had ways of holding out for more, enticing him, luring him, rebuilding the passion again and again.
Until she was done, until her final cry of delight faded into sobs and she lay in his arms.
He held her quietly, his mind again in the grip of reason and logic. There was a long silence before he spoke.
"Mildred."
"Yes?"
"What will you do now?"
"I'll go away. You won't see me again."
"I thought that was in your mind, but you mustn't do that."
"I couldn't face you again. I'd die of shame."
"You can. And you will. This happened. This was an incident. This is over and we're both intelligent adults. So we face things intelligently."
"I couldn't possibly-"
"You can and you will. This will never be repeated. I'm no wolf who's found himself an opportunity. I'll never remind you of this again and you'll never speak of this."
"I won't be at the office tomorrow."
"You'll come to work as usual. It's vitally important to your own welfare that you do. I'm your friend. I'll remain your friend. Tonight will be wiped off the books."
He hadn't really expected her, but she came. They avoided contact with each other for two days. Then, gradually, warily, communication was reestablished.
He watched Mildred closely and saw her emotional ups and downs. He knew the times when her demon gnawed at her vitals and he hoped she would come to him even knowing he would have to refuse. Then, when the fires had again been squelched, he wondered about the man and wanted to offer protection from any aftermath.
But that was impossible also and he was glad when Vance Hager came into the picture.
It occurred to him later that he had given no thought to Vance's welfare. He would have had to warn a close friend. But he was interested in Mildred's salvation. Marriage could save her. So he merely congratulated Vance when the wedding was announced and wondered if he would have to go out and get drunk on the wedding night.
He did not find it necessary and after that test, he knew. Mildred was a friend and it would never be any different.
But now, the life of Mildred Hager had reached another crisis and he pondered it deeply. She was in trouble again. Evidently, Vance Hager had not proved himself to be the man Tom Bendixon had been. Either that, or Tom had died before the crisis in that marriage could develop.
How would it be with Mildred now? Would there be a scandal? Would she turn to him again as she had before? He doubted it. Time had changed things.
Also, he debated the development in relation to Vance's promotion. His thinking was a little different in this direction. Business was involved and there was no room for sentiment.
Penrose Soap could make or break Vance. So far, it had made him, but perhaps further confidence had better be withheld, at least temporarily. Macklin Penrose told himself this regretfully. He was sorry things had worked out this way. But he wag a realist.
Being a realist, he turned from Mildred Hager and her problems to things of his own concern. The one that occupied him at the moment involved calling Hall Parnell & Wayne, the advertising agency that had been slated to change its name shortly to Hall Parnell, Wayne & Vance; a change that would now be delayed.
There were direct wires from Penrose Soap's offices to those of its advertising agency, but Macklin Penrose used an outside wire:
"Nela?"
Nela Varese's voice came back warm and reassuring.
"Mack-darling."
"Are you free tonight?"
"I'm always free for you. What did you have in mind?"
"Oh, dinner. Then a show perhaps. Then I thought I might have another try at persuading you to marry me."
Nela laughed. "Please do, darling. You always put me on clouds when you propose."