Rodin's Debutante Read Online Free PDF Page A

find a suitable woman, a woman who liked her privacy as much as he liked his. When he asked Susanna what she thought about marriage she misunderstood—she was so startled by the question that she was unable to speak for a full minute—and thought he was proposing to her. Susanna's eyes grew wide and tear-filled and when she threw her arms around him he was obliged to say, No, not you, marriage in general. Marriage as an institution. Her feelings were hurt but Tommy did not grasp that; hurt feelings, his own or anyone else's, were not in his arsenal of sentiments. Susanna, furious, her mouth drawn in a thin line, said that in fact she believed in marriage despite appearances. She had a fiancé and in due course she intended to marry the fiancé and settle up near the Wisconsin Dells where the fiancé had business prospects. They aimed to have three children. Tommy had ceased to listen. He half suspected that marriage was a chore in the way that his father had decided that business was a chore and had visited the psychic Madame Hauska who gave sound advice, and his father never worked again. His father swore by her, maintaining that she was a wizard with a balance sheet along with being a prophet. Surely she would be no less deft with matrimony.
    Meanwhile, Tommy had iron-hearted Chicago, its fearless clamor, its no-nonsense way of going about things, its license, meaning contempt for civic virtue. He felt Chicago was a city with a curled lip and chips on both shoulders, a remark an infuriated schoolteacher once made about him. Tommy Ogden felt he knew Chicago in his bones; they were the same bones. At any event, for the remainder of his days he made the detested journey from his estate near Jesper to the South Side brownstone where he was most favored customer Chez Siracusa. He had furnished the top-floor room to his own taste—it had the leather quality of a shooting lodge—and caused a fireplace to be installed. In the heavy armoire below the mirror he kept shirts and a change of linen, pens and sketchpads and a revolver in the event of mischief. Everyone respected Tom Ogden. Never made trouble, never complained, paid handsomely, a perfect gentleman. All the girls liked him even as they tended to tune out his lectures, the monologues about shooting that went on for so many, many minutes. But he did not notice that, either, because he was not looking at them as he talked. He was deep inside himself, an inaccessible, perhaps barren, region to which only he possessed a map. It was always pleasant for Tommy to talk to someone who did not talk back.

    THE CANDLES GUTTERED . The Billingtons were on their feet, saying good night to Marie, such a lovely evening, we must do it again very soon. Sorry things got so out of hand, Susan Billington whispered to Marie, who only smiled and winked as if to say that the show was far from over. The worst was yet to come. Bert Marks yawned and touched Tommy's shoulder by way of farewell but Tommy did not respond except to nod in the direction of Bert's chair. Sit down a minute, Bert. I want you to hear this. Give me the benefit of your experience, let me know what you think about my plans. He did not look at the lawyer as he spoke, staring instead at the blank ceiling high above.
    It's so damn late, Tommy—
    Won't take long. Sit.
    Bert returned wearily to his seat, knowing that he had one more hour at table. That was the minimum once Tommy got up a head of steam. Tommy's mind resembled a ponderous locomotive, the train of thought that went on for miles and miles, switchback following switchback with no end in sight. The Billingtons and the van Hornes—joined now by daughter Trish, yawning, a cigarette in her fingers until her mother told her to put it away, tobacco disallowed at Ogden Hall—took their seats once again. Why was dinner at the Ogdens' such a trial? It took so long to get there from the city and the way back was even longer.
    Tommy poured a glass of whiskey and looked at each