Wives and Lovers Read Online Free PDF Page A

than an apology . . . And sloppy, God, is she sloppy. Half the coffee’s in the saucer and the other half’s on the floor, and she still manages to have enough left over to splash on the cus­tomer. She’s just not cut out for this kind of work.”
    â€œI guess not.”
    â€œBut here she is, see?—and she’s not doing her job but she keeps trying so hard and the harder she tries the worse she gets. I ought to fire her before she wrecks the joint, but I can’t. She needs looking after. If I fired her, she’d be on my conscience.”
    â€œYou’ve got a nice roomy conscience, George, there ought to be a place for one more.”
    Hazel climbed off the bar stool and smoothed her uni­form down over her hips. Her arms and legs felt a little heavy, partly from the beer and partly from the depres­sion that had come over her while George was talking. Though she was no longer married to George, or in love with him, she had a deep sense of responsibility for him as she had for all her friends and relatives, and it was a little disturbing to hear George talking about looking after somebody when he was the one who always had to be looked after. George was an impulsive man, and like most impulsive people he had friends who would have been willing to cut off a right arm for him, or at least a finger, and enemies who would have liked to shoot him on sight. It had been Hazel’s duty to protect him from both. Even now, when the marriage was ended and Hazel had been relieved of her duties, she still clung to some of them, like a retired general playing with tin soldiers and toy tanks long after the war was won or lost.
    She said, “Well, I’d better be getting on my horse.”
    â€œHazel, if you were me, what would you do?”
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œYou know—Ruby.”
    â€œPension her off. Put her in a good orphanage. Feed her to the sharks. How the heck should I know what to do? It’s your life.”
    â€œThat’s the point, I don’t feel it is my life any more. I feel like I’m in a box and somebody’s sitting on the lid. Or—” George stroked his chin and scowled out the window. “Or like those lobsters way out there caught in the traps. At first they don’t realize they’re in a trap, they keep going through the same motions they always did, until zip , somebody pulls them up and there they are, lobsters Thermidor.”
    â€œGeorge Anderson Thermidor,” Hazel said.
    Blinking, George drew his eyes away from the sea, and the invisible lobster traps. “I don’t know why I’m talking like this. It will give you the wrong idea of Ruby. Actually she’s a very shy, sweet kid.”
    â€œNo traps?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThen what are you worrying about? No traps, no George Anderson Thermidor.” Hazel reached over the bar and patted him kindly on the shoulder. “You’ve got another one of your crushes, is all. Cheer up. You’ll get over it, same as always.”
    George stared at her gloomily. “You’re a pretty swell woman, Hazel.”
    â€œBaloney.”
    â€œNo, I mean it. You know what we should do, Hazel? We should go out right now and tie one on, for old time’s sake.”
    â€œWe should, eh?”
    â€œWe’ll go the rounds, how about it? I’ll forget all about this joint, and Ruby.”
    â€œWe’ll go the rounds, eh?”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œYou figure out why not.”
    She began walking toward the door, very slowly, as if she expected to be called back.
    George watched her, looking a little bewildered. “Where are you going?”
    â€œHome.”
    â€œBut I thought you and I—”
    â€œMy idea of how not to have a good time is to go the rounds with you and watch you get stinking drunk so you can forget another woman.”
    â€œWell, for Christ’s sake.”
    â€œYou give me a pain, George.