Read Online House Party by Patrick Dennis - Free Book Online
Authors: Patrick Dennis
Tags: Fiction & Literature
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Lord, she thought, what has come over me? That was all my fault. I really ought to go back and apologize, say something nice to him. Elly was always picking up people. She couldn't ride a mile on a train without hearing all about some total stranger's life, wife and family. She was always being shown snapshots of loved ones standing just beyond the photographer's shadow and squinting blankly into the sun. She was continually making fast friends of waiters and cabdrivers and charwomen. Dogs and children rallied around her. "Eleanor Ames for fun and games"—that's what it had said under her picture in the boarding school yearbook, and it was all true. People just naturally took to Elly. Girls were always choosing her as editor of this or chairman of that, knowing perfectly well that Elly would be totally incompetent in the job.
She had never danced once around the floor with the same partner. Since her seventeenth birthday, she had been as established an institution in New Haven as Yale itself. Gangs of adoring college boys were constantly telephoning. She was the kind of girl who fell off horses, crawled over transoms, or got thrown, fully dressed, into swimming pools—and she loved it. Less popular girls wondered what her secret was. Elly's secret was that she didn't have a secret.
Now she stood squarely in the center of traffic, sick with apprehension and just a trifle miffed. Wouldn't you think he could at least be on time? Elly fumed. She had never waited for anybody in her life. Then a moment of rationalization overtook her. Of course it's still ten minutes before he said he'd meet me, but if that Joe Sullivan thinks I'm going to . . .
"Boo!" A rosy young man with a ginger crew cut spun Elly around and kissed her. "Elly! What luck! Now I won't have to sit alone on the old pee-pot special. Come on, we've just got time to grab a quick beer in the Savarin and then we can get seats in the . . "
"Oh, Pinky," Elly wailed. "It's you!”
"Is that so disappointing? Listen, a whole bunch of us are . . .”
"Pinky, would you think I was just terrible if I . . ."
"Come on, Elly, I'll sock you to a beer and . . ."
"Pinky, listen, and don't ask me to explain, but would you mind if we didn't sit together on the train? You see this man I . . ."
"Why, El-e-a-nor Ames! You don't mean to say that after twenty-two years of camp-following you've finally met . . ."
"Oh, nothing like that!" Elly was furious! "It's just that he's one of our newest and most promising writers and he's coming out for the weekend—to work, of course—and I have to sort of go over his book with him . . .”
"You! That's rich!"
"It's true! I work for a very good publisher and Joe Sullivan—is my discovery."
"What's this old geezer like?"
"He's no old geezer, Pinky Lawrence, he's twenty-five, just the same as you are. And I'd like to know how many books you've written. Pinky, here he comes now. Beat it, will you, like a good kid? I'll see you tomorrow. We're all down over the Fourth. Beat it Pink, that's a love."
Joseph Sullivan had scrambled out of the subway tunnel, dragging his Val-Pak behind him. His face was shining with perspiration, his shock of light hair had shot up and forward, his seersucker suit was clinging to his back. It had been some chore ducking out of the office fifteen minutes early, grabbing a subway and getting here by train time.
"Here I am, Joe!" Elly called. "Joe!" Eight men turned around. "No, not you. Not any of you. Joe Sullivan! It's me. Elly. Here I am.”
Joe saw Elly standing on her tiptoes and waving. He beamed.
"Don't bother about tickets, Joe. I bought them. Hurry. It's already five." Together they dashed down the stairs and leaped onto the train just as it started to move. "Well," Elly giggled, squeezing Joe's hand, "I never have got on a train when it was standing still."
The 5:01 was considered one of the Long Island line's crack trains. Leaving Penn Station at one minute past five, it was scheduled to
She had never danced once around the floor with the same partner. Since her seventeenth birthday, she had been as established an institution in New Haven as Yale itself. Gangs of adoring college boys were constantly telephoning. She was the kind of girl who fell off horses, crawled over transoms, or got thrown, fully dressed, into swimming pools—and she loved it. Less popular girls wondered what her secret was. Elly's secret was that she didn't have a secret.
Now she stood squarely in the center of traffic, sick with apprehension and just a trifle miffed. Wouldn't you think he could at least be on time? Elly fumed. She had never waited for anybody in her life. Then a moment of rationalization overtook her. Of course it's still ten minutes before he said he'd meet me, but if that Joe Sullivan thinks I'm going to . . .
"Boo!" A rosy young man with a ginger crew cut spun Elly around and kissed her. "Elly! What luck! Now I won't have to sit alone on the old pee-pot special. Come on, we've just got time to grab a quick beer in the Savarin and then we can get seats in the . . "
"Oh, Pinky," Elly wailed. "It's you!”
"Is that so disappointing? Listen, a whole bunch of us are . . .”
"Pinky, would you think I was just terrible if I . . ."
"Come on, Elly, I'll sock you to a beer and . . ."
"Pinky, listen, and don't ask me to explain, but would you mind if we didn't sit together on the train? You see this man I . . ."
"Why, El-e-a-nor Ames! You don't mean to say that after twenty-two years of camp-following you've finally met . . ."
"Oh, nothing like that!" Elly was furious! "It's just that he's one of our newest and most promising writers and he's coming out for the weekend—to work, of course—and I have to sort of go over his book with him . . .”
"You! That's rich!"
"It's true! I work for a very good publisher and Joe Sullivan—is my discovery."
"What's this old geezer like?"
"He's no old geezer, Pinky Lawrence, he's twenty-five, just the same as you are. And I'd like to know how many books you've written. Pinky, here he comes now. Beat it, will you, like a good kid? I'll see you tomorrow. We're all down over the Fourth. Beat it Pink, that's a love."
Joseph Sullivan had scrambled out of the subway tunnel, dragging his Val-Pak behind him. His face was shining with perspiration, his shock of light hair had shot up and forward, his seersucker suit was clinging to his back. It had been some chore ducking out of the office fifteen minutes early, grabbing a subway and getting here by train time.
"Here I am, Joe!" Elly called. "Joe!" Eight men turned around. "No, not you. Not any of you. Joe Sullivan! It's me. Elly. Here I am.”
Joe saw Elly standing on her tiptoes and waving. He beamed.
"Don't bother about tickets, Joe. I bought them. Hurry. It's already five." Together they dashed down the stairs and leaped onto the train just as it started to move. "Well," Elly giggled, squeezing Joe's hand, "I never have got on a train when it was standing still."
The 5:01 was considered one of the Long Island line's crack trains. Leaving Penn Station at one minute past five, it was scheduled to
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