Read Online Marjorie Morningstar by Herman Wouk - Free Book Online

Taub?”
    “Why I daresay, I daresay,” said George. “You, Marjorie?”
    “I—I’d better not, thanks.” Marjorie’s teeth felt curiously tight, and she seemed
     to be hearing her own voice with an echo to it, as though she were shouting down a
     well.
    “Now then,” said George, when the waiter had brought coffee and set brandy before
     him in a shimmering bubble of glass, “are you ready?”
    “Sure,” said Marjorie. “For what?”
    “The surprise.”
    With a qualm, Marjorie now thought of the hints, the winks, the fondling of her knee.
     “Why, I guess so. But I’m feeling awfully good as it is, George—I don’t need anything
     more, George—”
    Inexorably George’s hand went plunging into his jacket pocket. Marjorie knew what
     was coming, before she saw the little blue leather box in his hand, before he opened
     it, before the two rings lay winking and glittering at her in a bed of purple velvet.
    “Oh, George… George!”
    “Pretty, aren’t they?” His eyeglasses gleamed at her.
    “Beautiful, they’re beautiful. But—George—really, I’m dumfounded—”
    “It doesn’t have to be next week or next month,” George said eagerly. “Or even next
     year. We just ought to know where we stand, and let everybody else know—”
    Marjorie put her champagne to her mouth and sipped it deliberately, looking at George
     over the rim of the glass with young scared eyes.
    At fifteen, at sixteen, she had daydreamed away a thousand blissful hours picturing
     this event, panting for the time when it would come. Now here it was. But she had
     not been panting for it recently. If anything, she had been shutting it from her mind,
     telling herself that she was too young to be thinking of engagements, ignoring the
     fact that during the preceding year and a half she had considered herself more than
     old enough. Defiant of her mother’s nagging, she had kissed George, and necked with
     him, and sworn she could never love anyone else, during all that time; and now here
     were two rings staring her in the face.
    Even now, backed to the wall, Marjorie could not admit to herself that her mother
     was right, that George was a decent but dull fellow, that she had made a donkey of
     herself over a girlish infatuation, that she was destined to do much better. She was
     touched by the offer of the rings, and grateful to George. She was merely irritated
     with him for his clumsy pressing of the issue. She was only now beginning to grow
     up a bit, to discover life and her own self. Why was he in such a hurry? Why must
     he ask her to take herself out of the world at seventeen? It wasn’t fair.
    She put down the glass. “Wow, this is wicked stuff. I’m floating four feet off the
     floor.”
    George said eagerly, waving a finger at the headwaiter, “Let’s crack another bottle,
     really celebrate—”
    “Good Lord, no.” She looked at her watch. “Darling, do you know it’s after ten? We
     won’t get home till morning in all that traffic. Mama will have kittens. Let’s go.”
    “But we’ve got so much to talk about, pooch. This is an important night in our lives—”
    “Dear, we’ll have enough time on the road to talk out everything, hours and hours
     and hours—”
    So George asked for the check. The headwaiter brought him the change on a metal platter,
     and said with a beautiful bow, “Was your dinner satisfactory, Mr. Taub?”
    “Perfect, perfect, thank you.” George fumbled a five-dollar bill from the plate and
     gave it to him, and left two dollars on the table for the waiter.
    “Thank you, sair. Bon soir, madame. Bon soir, Mr. Taub.” He bowed again, George bowed
     back. They went out into the cool night, and the door closed behind them.
    George shook his head and said with a stunned look, “Have I gone crazy? Why did I
     give that bastard five dollars?”
    He tipped the man in the parking lot a dime. The man cursed loudly in German as they
     drove off.
    Penelope’s noises seemed