The Golden Calves by Louis Auchincloss Read Free Book Online Page B

boldly into her eyes. “You’re quite wonderful, Anita. You really are. The rest of us just exist. You live.”
    â€œOh, Mark, you’re so ridiculous.” She turned away from him with a shudder. And then suddenly she was almost angry. How dare he play with her so? She faced him now with a kind of defiance. “What about Miss Norton? Doesn’t
she
live?”
    He drew back, startled. Was he going to be Hippolytus, after all? But then he seemed suddenly to decide to take her question seriously. “Do you know, that’s just what she doesn’t do? It’s law, law, law, all day and all night. I don’t like to sound like a chauvinist pig, but there’s something about litigation that seems to coarsen a woman. I don’t know how much longer I can take Chessie’s long hours and preoccupation with becoming a partner. And even if she does, will it make that much difference? The partners in her sweatshop work just as hard.’’
    "Sweatshops, dear me! I hope you’re not talking about the museum. The temperature would hardly be the thing for my paintings.”
    They both turned to the door, where their smiling hostess was standing, waiting to lead them down to dinner.
    Â 
    The opera was
Siegfried,
and they were only four in Miss Speddon’s box. Mrs. Kay, a widow, tiny, old and exquisite, with neatly waved snowy hair and an air of tranquil, friendly composure which nothing could ruffle, had been waiting for them when they arrived, belonging, as she explained to Mark, to the “Asbestos Club” of those who always arrived before that canopy was lifted. Unlike most of Miss Speddon’s friends, she was the mother of three middle-aged sons, all notably successful in different professions, and she was considered a font of practical wisdom by those who came to 36th Street.
    Anita paid scant attention to the activities of the hero and dwarf in the first act; her mind was too full of a possible breakup between Mark and his girl friend. Her fantasy seemed to be growing out of control; like a malignant chest tumor it threatened to break the rib cage. She even wondered if Miss Speddon’s old waitress had not put something in her cocktail. Could she be sure that she had heard Mark correctly? Wasn’t it the Chessie Norton of her fantasy, and not the real one, whom she had heard him describe? Closing her eyes in agitation, she tried to let the music distract her.
    When the lights went up for the intermission, Miss Speddon rose and gave her arm to Mark. She usually took a stroll with Anita between the first and second acts, but when the latter rose to follow, Mrs. Kay touched her arm.
    â€œStay with me, my dear. There’s something I have to tell you.”
    Alone in the box with Mrs. Kay, Anita, surprised and faintly apprehensive, waited for the old lady to speak, gazing down over the packed aisles of risen people below. The last members of the orchestra were disappearing under the stage.
    Still Mrs. Kay did not speak, and the tiny smile on her thin lips had shrunk suddenly to a crisp line.
    "It’s something rather serious, I’m afraid,” she said at last. “Our friend is gravely ill.”
    Anita’s first reaction was how odd it was she should not be more surprised. Her lips formed the almost voiceless answer: “How ill?”
    â€œAs ill as can be. It’s her heart, and nothing can be done about it. She may leave us any time. The only thing Dr. Craven is sure of is that it can’t be long.”
    Anita clutched for the railing of the box. “Why are you telling me this? And why now?” She opened her mouth as if to cry out, but she didn’t.
    Mrs. Kay scrutinized her. “Do you want to go home, dear, and weep? Or do you want to show the character of which both Daisy and I are sure you are capable? Oh, I know it's hard for the young to face death. You don’t see it in your mirror every morning.”
    "But why here,