Read Online Around the World With Auntie Mame by Patrick Dennis - Free Book Online Page A

at mealtimes.”
    â€œOh, you know Auntie Mame and her phases, Vera,” I said. “She’ll get over it in time. She just wants to be presented at Court. After that she’ll be sick of all this and move on to something else.”
    â€œWell, for Christ’s sake,” Vera said, “if she only wants to stick three feathers in her scalp and do a full curtsy, she could manage it easier than this. After all, Mame’s a damned attractive woman, and a prominent one;
and
a
rich
one. The American ambassador’s wife could have her presented in a
minute
.” Vera fixed me with a cold green gaze. “I suppose you think that Lady Hormone doesn’t
know
that Mame’s the ninth-richest widow in New York. Why, she’s taking poor Mame for such a ride that . . .”
    â€œOh, Auntie Mame’s enjoying herself,” I said. “She’d be going in for yoga or the Oxford Movement or the modern dance if she weren’t so hipped on getting into Court circles.”
    â€œCourt circles, my ass!” Vera said eloquently. “I’ve been playing royalty on the stage for the last fifteen years and if those old frumps are anything but down-and-out deadbeats, I’m Queen Mother Mary. Anyway, it isn’t the principle of the thing, Patrick, it’s the money. That bitch is going to bleed poor Mame for every penny she can get and then some. Why, Mame could rent Windsor Castle for what she’s paying for this mausoleum, not to mention all those servants and all the free groceries she’s passing out to Gravell-Pitt’s poor relations.”
    â€œShe’s very generous,” I said. “Extravagant, too.”
    â€œAnd yet,” Vera said, “a couple of days ago when I, Vera Charles, her oldest and dearest friend, asked her if she wouldn’t like to invest a few thousand pounds in this new play I’m considering for Cochran—and a beautiful, beautiful play, Patrick, you should
see
the clothes—Mame said she didn’t think she could
a ford
it. Fancy that, if you will. Never lost a nickel on one of my shows in her life and now she . . .”
    â€œShe must have been joking.”
    â€œShe was not. Hermione’s got the screws into her good and proper. Here
I
can work my ass off doing eight performances a week while that slob Hermione—a total stranger, if you please—wallows around in Mame’s Rolls, orders the servants around, invites her dreary chums here, shuts
me
up in this maid’s room. I tell you, Patrick, that woman is sinister.”
    I was so accustomed to Vera’s outbursts against other women that, at first, I put her dislike of Lady Gravell-Pitt down to jealousy and didn’t think much about it. But only a day or so later I began to see at firsthand that when it came to a quick deal, Hermione was next to none.
    It all arose over the state of my clothes, which I had always considered neat if not flashy. “Of cawss, Mame dear,” Hermione said, gazing at me as though I were a ragpicker, “I don’t see how you expect Patrick to attend the bigger dinner parties and balls inadequately clad as he is.”
    I looked down to see if anything was undone, but my clothing was intact.
    â€œWhatever do you mean, Hermie?” Auntie Mame asked absently.
    â€œEktualleh, Mame, a dinner coat is one thing, but for the really
gala
functions a tail coat, white tie, silk hat, opera cloak are
de rigueur
.”
    â€œAn opera cloak?” Auntie Mame laughed. “That’s too silly, my dear; Patrick’s only seventeen.”
    â€œAnd, of cawss, for the Royal Garden Party, gray striped trousers, a cutaway, a gray topper . . .”
    â€œMmmmm. That
is
true,” Auntie Mame said.
    â€œWell, I suppose that if I really get invited to any of these things,” I said, “ I can just rent the outfits from Moss Brothers. What would I ever need with a gray . . .” The words died on my lips.