Read Online The Dud Avocado by Elaine Dundy - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Elaine Dundy
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thing to do was get some sleep and start fresh in the morning.
“O.K., O.K.,” I said. “What has all this got to do with me?”
He raised his eyebrows. “But everything! I have a plan, you see. I will tell you—” Only he didn’t. He sucked in his breath as if holding it in readiness for the next big surprise sentence, and in spite of myself I leaned forward genuinely agog, and then he simply exhaled and smiled instead. It was a very animated smile, teeth flashing all over the place; the old charmer again.
“No,” he said slowly, shaking his head and making his eyes heavy-lidded and mysterious—I even think he might have taken a long drag from his cigarette; anyway, the effect was very corny. “I cannot tell you here. You must come back to my apartment. Please. Only for a little moment. I promise I will not touch you. You have my word.”
He had, at any rate, my curiosity, which is far more fatal. The sleeping beast was finally roused and I knew I would haveto wait, standing by helplessly, while it rampaged around the town. That’s my answer to the question what is your strongest emotion, if you ever want to ask me: Curiosity, old bean. Curiosity every time.
And so, wearing an aggrieved and, I hoped, slightly
blackmailed
expression on my face, and altogether putting up what must have been for him a most distressing display of reluctance, I eventually allowed myself to be persuaded back to his apartment.
We made ready to go, and he signaled the waiter again with the enchanting little series of finger snaps he’d used earlier on, and although he was none of these things I suddenly saw him as fat, aging and silly. The phrase “Old World” flashed through my mind. He was no match for my American callowness.
I caught him watching me as we rose and saw with surprise that there was real pain in his eyes and the tight set of his mouth. The moment was duly noted and marked down as savagely thrilling to my twisted soul. I think that was the first time I really felt like a woman. Hey, hey, I wanted to shout at the mad gay assemblage drinking their heads off around me, I must
have
something after all. What do you know about that?
But don’t think I had it all my own way. Suddenly walking through that gilded cage of a Ritz bar, through all those exotic perfectly mated birds of paradise chirping away so harmoniously, I experienced a terrible pang of conscience. It seemed to me that all the women loved all their escorts, and all the escorts loved all their women, and if they were in groups of more than two they all loved one another or at the very least were extremely
well
pleased with one another. That’s what made me feel sad and guilty all of a sudden. The men were smooth and worldly and successful and happy and they all looked so much like Teddy. These were the people he should be having witty, elliptical, sexy conversations with, instead of wasting his time with a sulking, skulking, bad-tempered and very recent schoolgirl. I mean when
their
love affairs were over they would have the sense and savoir-faire to let each other down so gently they’d never even feel the bump while I—Oh Christ. What an impossible situation.
And then I became impatient. It was all too ludicrous, for God’s sake, I should have been the abandoned one. I mean I was the one seduced, I was the virgin wasn’t I? It shouldn’t have been me trying to wiggle off the hook. Surely it was up to Teddy to do the discarding after he’d taken my “all.” I’d read enough books and listened to enough college girls moaning in the spring to know that. Hourly I should have expected the ax.
There is a terrific movie which gets shown a lot around Art cinemas, even though it’s a very old one, and I always try to see it if I can. It’s called
The Scoundrel
, and it has Noel Coward in it as this great Wolf. At one point when his latest victim comes around and begs him on her knees to take her back, he removes the boutonniere from the lapel of
“O.K., O.K.,” I said. “What has all this got to do with me?”
He raised his eyebrows. “But everything! I have a plan, you see. I will tell you—” Only he didn’t. He sucked in his breath as if holding it in readiness for the next big surprise sentence, and in spite of myself I leaned forward genuinely agog, and then he simply exhaled and smiled instead. It was a very animated smile, teeth flashing all over the place; the old charmer again.
“No,” he said slowly, shaking his head and making his eyes heavy-lidded and mysterious—I even think he might have taken a long drag from his cigarette; anyway, the effect was very corny. “I cannot tell you here. You must come back to my apartment. Please. Only for a little moment. I promise I will not touch you. You have my word.”
He had, at any rate, my curiosity, which is far more fatal. The sleeping beast was finally roused and I knew I would haveto wait, standing by helplessly, while it rampaged around the town. That’s my answer to the question what is your strongest emotion, if you ever want to ask me: Curiosity, old bean. Curiosity every time.
And so, wearing an aggrieved and, I hoped, slightly
blackmailed
expression on my face, and altogether putting up what must have been for him a most distressing display of reluctance, I eventually allowed myself to be persuaded back to his apartment.
We made ready to go, and he signaled the waiter again with the enchanting little series of finger snaps he’d used earlier on, and although he was none of these things I suddenly saw him as fat, aging and silly. The phrase “Old World” flashed through my mind. He was no match for my American callowness.
I caught him watching me as we rose and saw with surprise that there was real pain in his eyes and the tight set of his mouth. The moment was duly noted and marked down as savagely thrilling to my twisted soul. I think that was the first time I really felt like a woman. Hey, hey, I wanted to shout at the mad gay assemblage drinking their heads off around me, I must
have
something after all. What do you know about that?
But don’t think I had it all my own way. Suddenly walking through that gilded cage of a Ritz bar, through all those exotic perfectly mated birds of paradise chirping away so harmoniously, I experienced a terrible pang of conscience. It seemed to me that all the women loved all their escorts, and all the escorts loved all their women, and if they were in groups of more than two they all loved one another or at the very least were extremely
well
pleased with one another. That’s what made me feel sad and guilty all of a sudden. The men were smooth and worldly and successful and happy and they all looked so much like Teddy. These were the people he should be having witty, elliptical, sexy conversations with, instead of wasting his time with a sulking, skulking, bad-tempered and very recent schoolgirl. I mean when
their
love affairs were over they would have the sense and savoir-faire to let each other down so gently they’d never even feel the bump while I—Oh Christ. What an impossible situation.
And then I became impatient. It was all too ludicrous, for God’s sake, I should have been the abandoned one. I mean I was the one seduced, I was the virgin wasn’t I? It shouldn’t have been me trying to wiggle off the hook. Surely it was up to Teddy to do the discarding after he’d taken my “all.” I’d read enough books and listened to enough college girls moaning in the spring to know that. Hourly I should have expected the ax.
There is a terrific movie which gets shown a lot around Art cinemas, even though it’s a very old one, and I always try to see it if I can. It’s called
The Scoundrel
, and it has Noel Coward in it as this great Wolf. At one point when his latest victim comes around and begs him on her knees to take her back, he removes the boutonniere from the lapel of
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