Read Online Shakespeare's Kitchen by Lore Segal - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lore Segal
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words you said to her?”
“I said, ‘There’s a nice enough family hotel on Main—medium priced.’ I wrote the address on a piece of paper and hugged her good-bye.”
“You hugged Una!” cried Eliza.
“Yes,” said Leslie.
“She’s Paul Thayer’s niece, no?” asked Winterneet.
“Niece by marriage,” Leslie said. The doorbell rang again. Eliza took Leslie’s eggs and covered them with foil.
When Leslie came back he had his jacket on and the car-keys in his fist. “Her driver has driven off. I’ll take her to the hotel.”
“She’s driven her driver off!” said Eliza. “Our little Una likes Leslie to drive her. Una is always having to be driven. Una always needs picking up.”
Ilka said, “You must have once liked her?”
“Una is a chilly English schoolgirl who came to America and caught the Sixties.”
“Why isn’t that a good thing for a chilly English girl to catch?”
“Because she had to work so hard at it. Have you ever seen a hedonist with gritted teeth?”
“Poor Una,” said Ilka.
“Poor, poor Una,” said Eliza. “Like the baby kangaroo in Pooh Corner who keeps jumping out of its mother’s pouch, saying ‘Look at me jumping!’ Una jumped into everybody’s bed saying, ‘Look at me screwing!’ ”
“But you have to imagine having been born chilly. What was Una supposed to do?” Ilka looked to Winterneet for acquiescence. Winterneet was eating Leslie’s coddled eggs. Ilka said, “Don’t you think there’s something gallant about warming yourself up by your own bootstraps? What do you want her to do ?”
“Go back to London,” said Eliza.
When Leslie returned from driving Una to the Concordance Hotel, he drove Ilka home to the Rasmussens’.
Eliza was not present at the institute reception which poor Una gate-crashed.
Ensconced together in the embrasure of the window, Leslie and Una looked like the classic couple one pretends not to notice on a couch, or a park bench—she in tears, he consoling, implicated and sorry, but one knows the trouble is all her own. You imagine one story and another story and all the stories you imagine
will hit the nail beside the head. Leslie offered Una his handkerchief and watched her blow her nose. Seeing Ilka looking in their direction, he beckoned. He introduced them.
Una stared at the new entity before her with humorless eyes. She was a lovely, clever-looking young woman. Her no-bra, bedroom-hair style seemed grafted onto a Reynolds beauty. Una’s little, elegant face was exaggeratedly shapely and pointed, her mouth tiny, moist. Instead of an amplitude of crackling satin, Una wore an anorexic pair of jeans. She sobbed. She said, “Isn’t the criminal supposed to be told her crime? What did I do that was so wrong? Why has Eliza dropped me? I rang her on the telephone, and she picked up and said that she was out.”
Ilka and Leslie did not smile. Una had begun to cry again. Leslie offered to drive her back to the hotel. “You want a ride?” he asked Ilka, who understood that she was wanted as a buffer.
Ilka, in the backseat, was no help in stemming Una’s grief at her expulsion from Eliza’s kitchen. “All I want is to sit down face-to-face and talk this thing out!”
“Talking out face-to-face is an overrated activity,” said Leslie sadly. At the hotel he got out and walked the weeping young woman to the door, hugged her good-bye, and patted his pocket, but Una had pocketed his handkerchief.
Leslie got back into the car and said, “Come to the house?”
“Love to.”
Here was Winterneet, sitting at the kitchen table. Eliza was on a tear. “I can’t pick up the telephone without finding Una crying on the other end. Leslie, remember the day Una wove a circle around you thrice?”
“Around us both, you and me,” said Leslie.
“Doesn’t a Jewish bride walk circles around her groom?” Eliza asked Ilka.
“Does she? I’m not a very efficient Jew.”
“She’s a spider spinning you
“I said, ‘There’s a nice enough family hotel on Main—medium priced.’ I wrote the address on a piece of paper and hugged her good-bye.”
“You hugged Una!” cried Eliza.
“Yes,” said Leslie.
“She’s Paul Thayer’s niece, no?” asked Winterneet.
“Niece by marriage,” Leslie said. The doorbell rang again. Eliza took Leslie’s eggs and covered them with foil.
When Leslie came back he had his jacket on and the car-keys in his fist. “Her driver has driven off. I’ll take her to the hotel.”
“She’s driven her driver off!” said Eliza. “Our little Una likes Leslie to drive her. Una is always having to be driven. Una always needs picking up.”
Ilka said, “You must have once liked her?”
“Una is a chilly English schoolgirl who came to America and caught the Sixties.”
“Why isn’t that a good thing for a chilly English girl to catch?”
“Because she had to work so hard at it. Have you ever seen a hedonist with gritted teeth?”
“Poor Una,” said Ilka.
“Poor, poor Una,” said Eliza. “Like the baby kangaroo in Pooh Corner who keeps jumping out of its mother’s pouch, saying ‘Look at me jumping!’ Una jumped into everybody’s bed saying, ‘Look at me screwing!’ ”
“But you have to imagine having been born chilly. What was Una supposed to do?” Ilka looked to Winterneet for acquiescence. Winterneet was eating Leslie’s coddled eggs. Ilka said, “Don’t you think there’s something gallant about warming yourself up by your own bootstraps? What do you want her to do ?”
“Go back to London,” said Eliza.
When Leslie returned from driving Una to the Concordance Hotel, he drove Ilka home to the Rasmussens’.
Eliza was not present at the institute reception which poor Una gate-crashed.
Ensconced together in the embrasure of the window, Leslie and Una looked like the classic couple one pretends not to notice on a couch, or a park bench—she in tears, he consoling, implicated and sorry, but one knows the trouble is all her own. You imagine one story and another story and all the stories you imagine
will hit the nail beside the head. Leslie offered Una his handkerchief and watched her blow her nose. Seeing Ilka looking in their direction, he beckoned. He introduced them.
Una stared at the new entity before her with humorless eyes. She was a lovely, clever-looking young woman. Her no-bra, bedroom-hair style seemed grafted onto a Reynolds beauty. Una’s little, elegant face was exaggeratedly shapely and pointed, her mouth tiny, moist. Instead of an amplitude of crackling satin, Una wore an anorexic pair of jeans. She sobbed. She said, “Isn’t the criminal supposed to be told her crime? What did I do that was so wrong? Why has Eliza dropped me? I rang her on the telephone, and she picked up and said that she was out.”
Ilka and Leslie did not smile. Una had begun to cry again. Leslie offered to drive her back to the hotel. “You want a ride?” he asked Ilka, who understood that she was wanted as a buffer.
Ilka, in the backseat, was no help in stemming Una’s grief at her expulsion from Eliza’s kitchen. “All I want is to sit down face-to-face and talk this thing out!”
“Talking out face-to-face is an overrated activity,” said Leslie sadly. At the hotel he got out and walked the weeping young woman to the door, hugged her good-bye, and patted his pocket, but Una had pocketed his handkerchief.
Leslie got back into the car and said, “Come to the house?”
“Love to.”
Here was Winterneet, sitting at the kitchen table. Eliza was on a tear. “I can’t pick up the telephone without finding Una crying on the other end. Leslie, remember the day Una wove a circle around you thrice?”
“Around us both, you and me,” said Leslie.
“Doesn’t a Jewish bride walk circles around her groom?” Eliza asked Ilka.
“Does she? I’m not a very efficient Jew.”
“She’s a spider spinning you
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