Garbo Laughs Read Online Free PDF Page B

loves Gene Kelly more than I do, butFred was in a league of his own,” and Dinah came back, “Gene was sexy, something you could never say about Fred,” and their mother said, “But Fred was inventive. He was far more inventive than Gene Kelly could ever be, for all he tried,” and Dinah said, “But Gene had a body and Fred was a dry old stick,” and their mother said, “Cyd Charisse said it was like dancing with glass dancing with Fred,” but raucous, irreverent Dinah wasn’t buying it. “What does that
mean?”
    “The point is,” their mother said, “Gene was always trying to be artistic, that was his big mistake.”
    At this Dinah turned to Kenny. “Tell your mother that Fred Astaire doesn’t compare to Gene Kelly or Frank Sinatra for excitement. Tell her the difference between Fred Astaire and Frankie.”
    Kenny answered thoughtfully. “Fred Astaire is a little bit distant. Frank comes on and blabs and blabs and blabs and you get close to him. Fred Astaire is distant. I like him though.” Looking at his mom.
    Her eyes twinkled back. It was obvious that his mother liked Dinah as much as he did, and he felt beside himself with pleasure.
    Immeasurable, the relief a child feels to see his parents make friends. Here they were in a huge world, after all. Night was coming on. The porch, outfitted for outdoor living, was Huckleberry’s raft on the Mississippi. “I took the bucket and gourd; took a dipper and a tin cup, and my old saw and two blankets, and the skillet and the coffee-pot.” They were floating high above the mosquitoes in the grass and far away from the mosquitoes in the cedar hedge, but even so, as night fell, a few found them out. Lew tugged open the little glass door of the Mexican lantern in the middle of the table, lit the candle inside, then wentinto the kitchen and from the fridge got his box of Cuban cigars. Soon clouds of smoke filled the air, and that, for the time being, was the end of the enemy.
    “Browning,” mused Dinah. They were talking about names now, having their conversation about Garbo and eyelashes.
    Jane hadn’t spoken, but not because she wasn’t listening. “Who’s Greta Garbo?” she asked.
    “You know Frank Sinatra but you don’t know Greta Garbo? I’m going to have to educate you,” said Dinah, and Harriet smiled. “She was the most beautiful woman in the world,” said Dinah.
    They continued to sit on outside. Lew opened another beer, Jane played with Dinah’s cigarette butts and felt herself turn into Dinah (a feeling that persisted when she went to bed and remained when she woke up, so that she came downstairs for breakfast feeling silvery-haired and husky-voiced and desperate for coffee), and Dinah played cards with Kenny. She asked him what his favourite Frank Sinatra movie was.
    He moved the cards around in his hand, sucked in his lower lip, chewed it, raised his eyes and looked at her. “The one he acted in best was that one about Chinese spies.”
    “The Manchurian Candidate.”
    “And the army movie where he dies?”
    “From Here to Eternity.”
    “Yeah. He acted best in those two. But I have to say I liked him a lot in
On the Town.”
    “More than
High Society?”
    “High Society’s
next.”
    Dinah said, “I have a copy of that one. You can watch it with me any time.”
    “Okay.”
    “What about Friday night? I’d be glad to have your company. Jane, will you come too?”
    “I’d love to,” Jane said eagerly.
    “Then it’s a date. Shall we invite your folks? We can start a movie club.”
    Harriet said, “Lew talks through movies. People who talk through movies should be taken out and shot.”
    “Rule number one: No talking, except by us.”
    Which is how the Friday-night movie club began.
    Lew didn’t mind. It was a small price to pay, sharing his Friday nights with movie stars, if it brought in Dinah’s good sense and marvellous laugh. Usually, after the movie started, he headed upstairs and played his mandolin. He was