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Authors: Patricia Highsmith
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sealed it. His mother was now not a hundred percent sure that his father would agree to pay all of Arthur’s Columbia fees, or not without a little more groveling, Arthur gathered, but he could also see that his mother was hopeful.
“There’s such a thing as paying a family back,” Arthur said to his mother. “I said that to Dad. I don’t like the idea of a part-time job while I’m at Columbia. I suppose Dad’ll think that sounds lazy.” College was a full-time job, Arthur thought, and he had said that before to his mother.
“Well—we’ll see,” said his mother.
One evening Arthur overheard his father saying to his mother in the kitchen, “But what does he do with his mornings? Sleep? He’s never even out of bed when I leave the house.”
“He’s at the library a couple of mornings a week. He reads science books there—the ones people can’t take out,” his mother replied.
Arthur was tempted to linger in the hall to hear more, but he went on into the living room, where he had intended to go. So his father wanted him to take a full-time job now, or maybe another part-time in the morning. And his father had stopped his allowance. Arthur did not think Tom Robertson had enough work for him on an eight-hour-day basis, because one of the repair shop boys helped out as salesman whenever there were a lot of customers.
Maggie came twice for dinner, and his mother liked her quite well and said so, though his father had been merely polite and made no comment later. Robbie had only stared at Maggie, hostile or curious, Arthur couldn’t tell.
“My grandmother’s coming the last week of June,” Arthur said to Maggie. “I want you to meet her. She plays golf. And she doesn’t let herself get pushed around by my father.” He told Maggie that his grandmother had been a dancer in several musicals in New York and that when his grandfather Waggoner had died ten years ago, she had opened a dance school in Kansas City, which she was still managing. “Tangos and stuff, what she calls ballroom dancing,” Arthur said. “But she has ballet classes for kids—and they go on from there or not.”
The atmosphere in the Alderman house improved as soon as his grandmother arrived. She had presents, a striped cotton bathrobe (dressing gown, she called it) made in England for Arthur, a pressure cooker for his mother, an electronic game for Robbie, something for his father who was not yet home. It was not quite 6 o’clock.
“You’ve grown—oh, two inches since I saw you, Arthur.”
Arthur smiled, knowing it wasn’t true, since Christmas.
His grandmother Joan had brown wavy hair which she kept free of grey with some kind of rinse, she had told Arthur, but the result was nice. She was shorter than his mother, sturdier in a fit and athletic way, though there was a resemblance between them in their blue eyes with their sharp-cornered lids. It was hard for Arthur to realize that his grandmother was sixty.
In the few minutes before his father’s arrival, Arthur told his grandmother about his 88 average on his finals and his afternoon job, and since his grandmother asked about “any girlfriend,” Arthur said he quite liked a girl called Maggie.
“I told Maggie you were staying a week. Hope it’s longer.”
“Oh, we’ll see,” said his grandmother cheerfully.
They were in the kitchen, Arthur making the salad, and Robbie had gone to his room with the new electronic game.
“And—I’m doing some yard work for a woman called Dewitt,” Arthur said. “Dirty old dump full of cats. You’d have to smell it to believe it. Bet she’s got twelve!”
“Didn’t I meet her once, Loey?” Joan asked. “Four feet square and a lot of white hair?” Joan laughed and turned her blue-mascaraed eyes toward Arthur. “Seems to me I met her at a church thing here. She was going on about cats then.”
“Speaking of church,” Arthur began, smiling.
“Now, Arthur,” said his mother. “Yes, Mama, I’ve got to tell you,
“There’s such a thing as paying a family back,” Arthur said to his mother. “I said that to Dad. I don’t like the idea of a part-time job while I’m at Columbia. I suppose Dad’ll think that sounds lazy.” College was a full-time job, Arthur thought, and he had said that before to his mother.
“Well—we’ll see,” said his mother.
One evening Arthur overheard his father saying to his mother in the kitchen, “But what does he do with his mornings? Sleep? He’s never even out of bed when I leave the house.”
“He’s at the library a couple of mornings a week. He reads science books there—the ones people can’t take out,” his mother replied.
Arthur was tempted to linger in the hall to hear more, but he went on into the living room, where he had intended to go. So his father wanted him to take a full-time job now, or maybe another part-time in the morning. And his father had stopped his allowance. Arthur did not think Tom Robertson had enough work for him on an eight-hour-day basis, because one of the repair shop boys helped out as salesman whenever there were a lot of customers.
Maggie came twice for dinner, and his mother liked her quite well and said so, though his father had been merely polite and made no comment later. Robbie had only stared at Maggie, hostile or curious, Arthur couldn’t tell.
“My grandmother’s coming the last week of June,” Arthur said to Maggie. “I want you to meet her. She plays golf. And she doesn’t let herself get pushed around by my father.” He told Maggie that his grandmother had been a dancer in several musicals in New York and that when his grandfather Waggoner had died ten years ago, she had opened a dance school in Kansas City, which she was still managing. “Tangos and stuff, what she calls ballroom dancing,” Arthur said. “But she has ballet classes for kids—and they go on from there or not.”
The atmosphere in the Alderman house improved as soon as his grandmother arrived. She had presents, a striped cotton bathrobe (dressing gown, she called it) made in England for Arthur, a pressure cooker for his mother, an electronic game for Robbie, something for his father who was not yet home. It was not quite 6 o’clock.
“You’ve grown—oh, two inches since I saw you, Arthur.”
Arthur smiled, knowing it wasn’t true, since Christmas.
His grandmother Joan had brown wavy hair which she kept free of grey with some kind of rinse, she had told Arthur, but the result was nice. She was shorter than his mother, sturdier in a fit and athletic way, though there was a resemblance between them in their blue eyes with their sharp-cornered lids. It was hard for Arthur to realize that his grandmother was sixty.
In the few minutes before his father’s arrival, Arthur told his grandmother about his 88 average on his finals and his afternoon job, and since his grandmother asked about “any girlfriend,” Arthur said he quite liked a girl called Maggie.
“I told Maggie you were staying a week. Hope it’s longer.”
“Oh, we’ll see,” said his grandmother cheerfully.
They were in the kitchen, Arthur making the salad, and Robbie had gone to his room with the new electronic game.
“And—I’m doing some yard work for a woman called Dewitt,” Arthur said. “Dirty old dump full of cats. You’d have to smell it to believe it. Bet she’s got twelve!”
“Didn’t I meet her once, Loey?” Joan asked. “Four feet square and a lot of white hair?” Joan laughed and turned her blue-mascaraed eyes toward Arthur. “Seems to me I met her at a church thing here. She was going on about cats then.”
“Speaking of church,” Arthur began, smiling.
“Now, Arthur,” said his mother. “Yes, Mama, I’ve got to tell you,
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