Mothers and Daughters
- Автор: Хантер Эван
- Год: 1961
- Язык: английский
- Год: Simon and Schuster
- Жанр: Современная русская и зарубежная проза
Электронная книга - «Mothers and Daughters». Краткое содержание книги:
“You’re not alone,” he said suddenly
The woman turned. “I know.” She walked toward him. “I thought you were asleep. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
Her voice was the voice of an older woman. Forty? Forty-five?
“Had enough in there?” he asked. “Ooooops, I should know better. You may be the hostess, for all I know.”
“I’m not.” She paused. “May I sit with you?”
“Please.” He rose and offered her his chair with an elaborate bow. He pulled over another chair, took a cigarette from his pocket, and lighted it. Julia looked at his face in the flare of the match.
“Oh,” she said, “it’s you.”
“That’s who it is, all rights,” Matthew answered. He held the match close to her face. “And it’s you, too.”
“That’s right.” Julia smiled. Matthew shook out the match.
“Who?” Matthew said.
“Julia Regan.” She extended her hand.
He took it. “Matthew Bridges.”
“Yes, I know. We were introduced earlier tonight.”
“Impossible,” Matthew said. “I’d have remembered.”
“You weren’t paying much attention. You seemed extremely bored.”
“I’m never bored at Talmadge parties.”
“You seemed to be.”
“Never.”
There was a silence.
“I thought we could talk,” Julia said.
“Aren’t we?”
“Not if you’re going to be facetious.”
“Okay, I was bored. I’m also a little drunk, and I was trying to be cute. Okay? What are you, a district attorney?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Nothing;”
“Everybody’s something.”
“All right, I’m a widow.”
“And that’s all?”
“What would you like to know? I’m forty-eight years old, I have a son named David who’s almost your age, and I live in a big old house right here in Talmadge.”
“There’s more,” Matthew said.
“No, that’s all.”
“Uh-uh,” Matthew said. “There’s more.”
“You’re right,” she said quickly. “I don’t collect blood for the Red Cross, I don’t belong to the National Democratic Committee, and I despise Little Leaguers. I drive an Alfa Romeo, I shower twice daily, and I don’t keep pets. Thumbnail sketch of Julia Regan.”
“I’ll bet your son is nowhere near my age.”
“How old are you?”
“I was thirty-five in February.”
“David will be twenty-nine in October.”
“That’s... just a second, I was never very good at arithmetic... that’s a difference of six years.”
“Yes. See?”
“I see. You and I are generations apart.”
“At least one generation.”
“No, no, countless generations,” Matthew insisted.
Julia smiled. “We’re closer than you think, Mr. Bridges.”
The patio was silent for a moment. The sky was clear. Matthew took a deep breath of air.
“Which one is your wife?” Julia asked. “The blond girl?”
“Yes. Amanda.”
“Yes, we met. She’s lovely.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you have any children?”
“I have a daughter almost as old as you are,” Matthew said, smiling.
“Really? How old is she?”
“She was just ten.” His grin widened. “And I have a son named Bobby who—”
“You didn’t tell me your daughter’s name.”
“Kate.”
“That’s a nice name.”
“Yes,” Matthew said, and he nodded. “Bobby was three in July.”
“No dogs? Cats? Elephants?”
“A dog. A cocker spaniel. Present to Kate on her last birthday.”
“And what’s his name?”
“His name is Beverly.”
“Oh, excuse me.”
“Apologize to the dog, not me. Besides, she’s been spayed, so your descriptive pronoun is partially accurate.”
“And the elephant?”
“No elephants, tigers or rhinoceroses. Rhinoceri.” He nodded. “What gives you the most trouble when you’re drunk?”
“I don’t get drunk.”
“Everybody gets drunk.”
“I’m not everybody. I’m Julia Regan.”
“Well, Julia Regan, the thing that gives me trouble when I’m drunk is endings.”
“Not beginnings?”
“I mean the endings of words. The plurals. Like mooses and mouses and desks.”
“Why desks?”
“That’s a very hard word to say even sober. There’s a sort of echo on that word. Say it. Desks. Do you hear the echo?”
“Desks,” Julia said. “No, I don’t hear anything.”
“Desks,” Matthew said. “Try it again.”
“Desks.”
“Listen.”
“Desks. Why, yes,” Julia said. “A sort of sss-kkk echo. How did you ever notice a thing like that?”
“I’m a very observant fellow. Why is it that you don’t get drunk, Julia Regan?”
“I don’t have to.”
“I have to. At these parties, I have to.”
“Are you very drunk now?”
“No. Not very. Only somewhat. Why did you tell me you were fifty-eight years old?”
“Forty-eight, please!”
“That’s right, forty-eight. Same thing.”
“Because that’s my age.”
“Uh-uh,” Matthew said, shaking his head.
“Then why did I tell you that, Mr. Bridges?”
“To make things clear from the beginning, right?”
“What sort of things?”
“You know,” Matthew said. “You know.”
“Yes, I do. I’m sorry. Did I sound discouraging?”
“Well, when you drag out your crutches and your wheel chair and your eighty-year-old son, I can only assume...”
“I didn’t mean to be discouraging. If you want to make a pass, go ahead and make it.”
“Huh?”
“I think you heard me.”
“You said...”
“I said if you feel like kissing me or touching me, I wish you would and get it over with.”
“Well!” Matthew said.
“Well?”
“Well, that’s putting it on the line, all right.”
“Yes, it is.”
“I must be drunker than I thought.”
“Why?”
“I don’t feel like kissing you right now.”
“All right. If you ever do feel like it, then kiss me. Quickly, and once and for all.”
Matthew shook his head in amazement.
“What’s going on inside your head?” she asked.
“That’s a line from Room Service. ‘There’s just one thing I want to know, Gribble. What the hell goes on inside that head of yours?’ That was a very funny show.”
“Don’t change the subject, Mr. Bridges.”
“Was I changing it?”
“You were.”
“Okay. What do you want?”
“I asked you what you were thinking.”
“I was thinking I don’t understand you.”
“What’s so puzzling, Mr. Bridges?”
“Are you propositioning me?” Matthew asked.
There was such a tone of bewilderment in his voice that Julia burst out laughing.
“Well now, what’s so funny about that?”
“You’re very funny,” she said. “You’re like a little boy, Mr. Bridges.”