Rich Man, Poor Man

Rudolph said nothing.

“What’re you doing in New York, Rudy?” she said, to cover up for Willie.

“I got a ride down,” Rudolph said. Plainly, he had something to say to her and he didn’t feel like saying it in front of Willie. “It’s a half-holiday at school.”

“How’s it going at school?” After she had said it she was afraid it sounded condescending, the sort of thing you say to other people’s children because you don’t know what else to talk about.

“Okay.” Rudolph dismissed school.

“Rudy,” Willie said, “what would you think of me as a brother-in-law?”

Rudolph looked at him soberly. Considering green eyes. “I don’t know you,” he said.

“That’s it, Rudy, don’t give anything away. That’s my big trouble. I’m too open. I wear my heart on my tongue.” Willie poured himself some more beer. He couldn’t stay in one place. By contrast, Rudy seemed settled, sure of himself, judging. “I told Rudy I’d take him to see your show tonight,” Willie said. “The toast of New York.”

“It’s a silly show,” Gretchen said. She didn’t like the idea of her brother watching her practically nude in front of a thousand people. “Wait till I play Saint Joan.”

“I’m busy anyway,” Rudolph said.

“I invited him to supper after the show, too,” Willie said. “He pleads a prior engagement. See what you can do with him. I like him. I am tied to him by profound bonds.”

“Some other night, thank you,” Rudolph said. “Gretchen, there’s something for you in that bag.” He indicated the little overnight bag. “I was asked to deliver it to you.”

“What is it?” Gretchen asked. “Who’s it from?”

“Somebody called Boylan,” Rudolph said.

“Oh.” Gretchen touched Willie’s arm. “I think I’d like a beer, too, Willie.” She got up and went over to the bag. “A present. Isn’t that nice?” She picked the bag up and put it on a table and opened it. When she saw what was in the bag, she knew that she had known all along. She held the dress up against her. “I didn’t remember that it was so red,” she said calmly.

“Holy man,” Willie said.

Rudolph was watching them closely, first one, then the other.

“A memento of my depraved youth,” Gretchen said. She patted Rudolph’s arm. “That’s all right, Rudy,” she said. “Willie knows about Mr. Boylan. Everything.”

“I will shoot him down like a dog,” Willie said. “On sight. I’m sorry I turned in my B-17.”

“Should I keep it, Willie?” Gretchen asked doubtfully.

“Of course. Unless it fits Boylan better than it fits you.”

Gretchen put the dress down. “How come he got you to deliver it?” she asked Rudolph.

“I happened to meet him,” Rudolph said. “I see him from time to time. I didn’t give him your address, so he asked me …”

“Tell him I’m most grateful,” Gretchen said. “Tell him I’ll think of him when I wear it.”

“You can tell him yourself, if you want,” Rudolph said. “He drove me down. He’s in a bar on Eighth Street, waiting for me now.”

“Why don’t we all go and have a drink with the bugger?” Willie said.

“I don’t want to have a drink with him,” Gretchen said.

“Should I tell him that?” Rudolph asked.

“Yes.”

Rudolph stood up. “I’d better go,” he said. “I told him I’d be right back.”

Gretchen stood, too. “Don’t forget the bag,” she said.

“He said for you to keep it.”

“I don’t want it.” Gretchen handed the smart little leather bag to her brother. He seemed reluctant to take it. “Rudy,” she said curiously, “do you see much of Boylan?”

“A couple of times a week.”

“You like him?”

“I’m not sure,” Rudy said. “He’s teaching me a lot.”

“Be careful,” she said.

“Don’t worry.” Rudolph put out his hand to Willie. “Goodbye,” he said. “Thanks for the beer.”

Willie shook his hand warmly. “Now you know where we are,” he said, “come and see us. I mean it.”

“I will,” Rudolph said.

Gretchen kissed him. “I hate to see you run off like this.”

“I’ll come down to New York soon,” Rudolph said. “I promise.”

Gretchen opened the door for him. He seemed to want to say something more, but finally he just waved, a small troubled movement of his hand, and went down the stairs, carrying the bag. Gretchen closed the door slowly.

“He’s nice, your brother,” Willie said. “I wish I looked like that.”

“You look good enough,” Gretchen said. She kissed him. “I haven’t kissed you for ages.”

“Six long hours,” Willie said. They kissed again.

“Six long hours,” she said, smiling. “Please be home every time I come home.”

“I’ll make a point of it,” Willie said. He picked up the red dress and examined it critically. “Your brother’s awfully grownup for a kid that age.”

“Too, maybe.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know.” She took a sip of beer. “He figures things out too carefully.” She thought of her father’s unlikely generosity toward Rudolph, of her mother’s standing at night over an ironing board doing Rudolph’s shirts. “He collects on his intelligence.”

“Good for him,” Willie said. “I wish I could collect on mine.”

“What did you two talk about before I came?” she asked.

“We praised you.”

“Okay, okay, aside from that?”

“He asked me about my work. I guess he wondered what his sister’s feller was doing home in the middle of the afternoon while his sister was out earning her daily bread. I hope I put his fears to rest.”

Willie had a job on a new magazine that a friend of his had just started. It was a magazine devoted to radio and a lot of Willie’s work consisted of listening to daytime programs and he preferred listening to them at home rather than in the little cramped office of the magazine. He was making ninety dollars a week and with her sixty they got along well enough, although they usually found themselves broke by the end of the week, because Willie liked to eat out in restaurants and stay up late in bars.

“Did you tell him you were a playwright, too?” Gretchen said.

“No. I’ll leave him to find that out for himself. Some day.”

Willie hadn’t shown her his play yet. He only had an act and a half done and he was going to rewrite that completely.

Willie draped the dress against his front and walked like a model, with an exaggerated swing of the hips. “Sometimes I wonder what sort of a girl I would have made. What do you think?”

“No,” she said.

“Try it on. Let’s see what it looks like.” He gave her the dress. She took it and went into the bedroom because there was a full-length mirror there on the back of a closet door. She had made the bed neatly before leaving the house, but the bedcover was mussed. Willie had taken a nap after lunch. They had been living together only a little over two months but she had amassed a private treasury of Willie’s habits. His clothes were strewn all over the room. His corset was lying on the floor near the window. Gretchen smiled as she took off her sweater and skirt. She found Willie’s childish disorder endearing. She liked picking up after him.

She zipped up the dress with difficulty. She had only put it on twice before, once in the shop and once in Boylan’s bedroom, to model it for Boylan. She had never really worn it. She looked at herself critically in the mirror. She had the feeling that the lacy top exposed too much of her bosom. Her reflection in the red dress was that of an older woman, New Yorkish, certain of her attractions, a woman ready to enter any room, disdainful of all competition. She let her hair down so that it flowed darkly over her shoulders. It had been piled up in a practical knot on top of her head for the day’s work.

After a last look at herself she went back into the living room. Willie was opening another bottle of beer. He whistled when he saw her. “You scare me,” he said.

She pirouetted, making the skirt flare out. “Do you think I dare wear it?” she said. “Isn’t it a little naked?”

“Dee-vine,” Willie drawled. “It is the perfectly designed dress. It is designed to make every man want to take you out of it immediately.” He came over to her. “Suiting action to the thought,” he said, “the gentleman unzips the lady.” He pulled at the zipper and lifted the dress over her head. His hands were cold from the beer bottle and she shivered momentarily. “What are we doing in this room?” he said.