Read Online House Party by Patrick Dennis - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Patrick Dennis
Tags: Fiction & Literature
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born, followed up by the standard rejection letter: ". . . we have read your manuscript with interest, but find that . . ." Then, zowie, one day you happen to walk into the right door and you see someone like Elly—someone's who's really different. A week later you've got a publisher and an advance against royalties and aneditor and a girl and you're in love. New York sure is a hell of a place.
The train stopped with clank and a jolt at Smithtown. Joe's Val-Pak swayed dangerously on the luggage rack above. "Whoa," he said, and reached a hand up to steady it. He had packed a bottle of bourbon as his contribution to the weekend's festivities. It wouldn't do to let it get broken.
Now he wondered if he really should have brought liquor instead of candy or something. Elly's mother was a widow and a lot of older women were distressed by having booze in the house. Well, he decided, I'll look her over first and if the old girl seems kind of straitlaced, like some of the women back home, I won't say anything about the bottle. But if she's one of those big, jolly dames who doesn't mind taking a nip in the kitchen with the young folks, I'll bring it right out and say "Here you are, Mom. Happy Fourth of July."
A few browbeaten passengers staggered off and the train started up once more. Joe lifted Elly's hand to his lips again and wondered what the going rate was in solitaire diamonds and how long it would take him to buy one for Elly.
John Burgess rapped out his pipe and put it away. Here was Setauket. Next stop Pruitt's Landing. Burgess traveled a lot on business and he could read a time table in nothing flat. There were an awful lot of no-account little places on Long Island, and Indian names were surely the curse of America. He looked out of the open window. But it was getting a little prettier now. They were going through timber country.
Nevertheless, Burgess was suddenly sick of looking out of train windows, tired of eating in restaurants and living in hotels. Ever since he'd left Aunt Katie's big old house in Natchez twenty-some years ago, life had been strictly stag. There had been the Reverend Moultrie Pepperwood's Academy for the Male Descendants of Confederate Officers, where gravel-voiced southern boys re-fought the War Between the States every day. Then there were four years of being straight-backed at The Citadel in Charleston, with an all-male cast. Then the University of Virginia Law School. Then the Army for five years. Then a law firm with four male partners and a secretary so tailored that she hardly counted. John was sick of the whole business.
Never having had a family, he wanted one terribly. His idea of the biggest treat in the world was to be asked out to some young lawyer's house in the suburbs where damp children screamed and ran and fell down and threw things and finally got tossed into the tub by their harassed mother and put to bed. He liked Felicia's children, even if they did seem a little repressed by that old German nurse. He'd like to take them out of that too perfect house on Gracie Square and turn them loose in a big place in, say, Connecticut, where they could roughhouse with other kids. He'd like . . .
"Puh-rew-witt's Lan-dinggg," the conductor shouted.
John Burgess looked out of the window to admire the quaint charm of the Pruitt's Landing station.
"John," Felicia called, "John! Here I am! No, over here. Hurry, darling, you'll be late for cocktails."
7: Cocktails
Joe waited until the old Negro had put down his bag, switched on the light and closed the door behind him. Then he sat down on the bed and heaved a sigh of agony. He had known that Elly Ames was different, all right, but not this different. When Elly had asked him to come out to her family's place on Long Island for the Fourth he'd expected—well, he didn't know quite what he had expected—maybe a plain, four-square house on a couple of acres of land; maybe a sagging old summer cottage on the waterfront with creaking
The train stopped with clank and a jolt at Smithtown. Joe's Val-Pak swayed dangerously on the luggage rack above. "Whoa," he said, and reached a hand up to steady it. He had packed a bottle of bourbon as his contribution to the weekend's festivities. It wouldn't do to let it get broken.
Now he wondered if he really should have brought liquor instead of candy or something. Elly's mother was a widow and a lot of older women were distressed by having booze in the house. Well, he decided, I'll look her over first and if the old girl seems kind of straitlaced, like some of the women back home, I won't say anything about the bottle. But if she's one of those big, jolly dames who doesn't mind taking a nip in the kitchen with the young folks, I'll bring it right out and say "Here you are, Mom. Happy Fourth of July."
A few browbeaten passengers staggered off and the train started up once more. Joe lifted Elly's hand to his lips again and wondered what the going rate was in solitaire diamonds and how long it would take him to buy one for Elly.
John Burgess rapped out his pipe and put it away. Here was Setauket. Next stop Pruitt's Landing. Burgess traveled a lot on business and he could read a time table in nothing flat. There were an awful lot of no-account little places on Long Island, and Indian names were surely the curse of America. He looked out of the open window. But it was getting a little prettier now. They were going through timber country.
Nevertheless, Burgess was suddenly sick of looking out of train windows, tired of eating in restaurants and living in hotels. Ever since he'd left Aunt Katie's big old house in Natchez twenty-some years ago, life had been strictly stag. There had been the Reverend Moultrie Pepperwood's Academy for the Male Descendants of Confederate Officers, where gravel-voiced southern boys re-fought the War Between the States every day. Then there were four years of being straight-backed at The Citadel in Charleston, with an all-male cast. Then the University of Virginia Law School. Then the Army for five years. Then a law firm with four male partners and a secretary so tailored that she hardly counted. John was sick of the whole business.
Never having had a family, he wanted one terribly. His idea of the biggest treat in the world was to be asked out to some young lawyer's house in the suburbs where damp children screamed and ran and fell down and threw things and finally got tossed into the tub by their harassed mother and put to bed. He liked Felicia's children, even if they did seem a little repressed by that old German nurse. He'd like to take them out of that too perfect house on Gracie Square and turn them loose in a big place in, say, Connecticut, where they could roughhouse with other kids. He'd like . . .
"Puh-rew-witt's Lan-dinggg," the conductor shouted.
John Burgess looked out of the window to admire the quaint charm of the Pruitt's Landing station.
"John," Felicia called, "John! Here I am! No, over here. Hurry, darling, you'll be late for cocktails."
7: Cocktails
Joe waited until the old Negro had put down his bag, switched on the light and closed the door behind him. Then he sat down on the bed and heaved a sigh of agony. He had known that Elly Ames was different, all right, but not this different. When Elly had asked him to come out to her family's place on Long Island for the Fourth he'd expected—well, he didn't know quite what he had expected—maybe a plain, four-square house on a couple of acres of land; maybe a sagging old summer cottage on the waterfront with creaking
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