The following afternoon I collided with Holly on the stairs. "You" she said, hurryingpast with a package from the druggist. "There she is, on the verge of pneumonia. Ahang-over out to here. And the mean reds on top of it." I gathered from this thatMag Wildwood was still in the apartment, but she gave me no chance to explore hersurprising sympathy. Over the weekend, mystery deepened. First, there was theLatin who came to my door: mistakenly, for he was inquiring after Miss Wildwood. Ittook a while to correct his error, our accents seemed mutually incoherent, but by thetime we had I was charmed. Hed been put together with care, his brown head andbullfighters figure had an exactness, a perfection, like an apple, an orange,something nature has made just right. Added to this, as decoration, were an Englishsuit and a brisk cologne and, what is still more unlatin, a bashfulmanner. Thesecond event of the day involved him again. It was toward evening, and I saw himon my way out to dinner. He was arriving in a taxi; the driver helped him totter intothe house with a load of suitcases. That gave me something to chew on: by Sundaymy jaws were quite tired.
Rusty Trawler tittered. He squeezed her arm, as though to admire her muscle,and asked her if she could use a drink.
Someone coughed, several swallowed. A Naval officer, who had been holding MagWildwoods drink, put it down.
It seemed a dance, Berman performing some fancy footwork to prevent his rivalscutting in. He lost her to aquadrille of partners who gobbled up her stammeredjokes like popcorn tossed to pigeons. It was a comprehensible success. She was atriumph over ugliness, so often more beguiling than real beauty, if only because itcontains paradox. In this case, as opposed to the scrupulous method of plain goodtaste and scientific grooming, the trick had been worked by exaggerating defects;shed made them ornamental by admitting them boldly. Heels that emphasized herheight, so steep her ankles trembled; a flat tight bodice that indicated she could goto a beach in bathing trunks; hair that was pulled straight back, accentuating thespareness, the starvation of her fashion-model face. Even the stutter, certainlygenuine but still a bit laid on, had been turned to advantage. It was the masterstroke, that stutter; for it contrived to make her banalities sound somehow original,and secondly, despite her tallness, her assurance, it served to inspire in malelisteners a protective feeling. To illustrate: Berman had to be pounded on the backbecause she said, "Who cantell me w-w-where is the j-j-john?"; then, completingthe cycle, he offered an arm to guide her himself.
"You are an angel, Fred."
"That," said Holly, "wont be necessary. Shes been here before. She knows whereit is." She was emptying ashtrays, and after Mag Wildwood had left the room, sheemptied another, then said, sighed rather: "Its really very sad." She paused longenough to calculate the number of inquiring expressions; it was sufficient. "And somysterious. Youd think it would show more. But heaven knows, she looks healthy.
Mag Wildwood couldnt understand it, the abrupt absence of warmth on herreturn; the conversations she began behaved like green logs, they fumed but wouldnot fire. More unforgivably, people were leaving without taking her telephonenumber. The Air Force colonel decamped while her back was turned, and this wasthe straw too much: hed asked her to dinner. Suddenly she was blind. And since ginto artifice bears the same relation as tears to mascara, her attractions at oncedissembled. She took it out on everyone. She called her hostess a Hollywooddegenerate. She invited a man in his fifties to fight. She told Berman, Hitler wasright. She exhilarated Rusty Trawler by stiff-arming him into a corner. "You knowwhats going to happen to you?" she said, with no hint of a stutter. "Im going tomarch you over to the zoo and feed you to the yak." He looked altogether willing,but she disappointed him by sliding to the floor, where she sat humming.
So, well, clean. Thats the extraordinary part. Wouldnt you," she asked withconcern, but of no one in particular, "wouldnt you say she looked clean?"
Catch lucky balloon," and fell full-length like an axed oak. My first thought was to runfor a doctor. But examination proved her pulse fine and her breathing regular. Shewas simply asleep. After finding a pillow for her head, I left her to enjoy it.
They were gone. The prospect of steering an Amazon into a taxi obliteratedwhatever resentment I felt. But she solved the problem herself. Rising on her ownsteam, she stared down at me with a lurching loftiness. She said, "Lets go Stork.
"But then," said Holly, "I hear so many of these Southern girls have the sametrouble." She shuddered delicately, and went to the kitchen for more ice.
"Youre a bore. Get up from there," Holly said, stretching on a pair of gloves. Theremnants of the party were waiting at the door, and when the bore didnt budgeHolly cast me an apologetic glance. "Be an angel, would you, Fred? Put her in a taxi.
She stooped toward O.J. Berman, who, like many short men in the presence of tallwomen, had an aspiring mist in his eye. "Im Mag W-w-wildwood, from Wild-w-wwood,Arkansas. Thats hill country."
Then the picture became both darker and clearer.
"Why, n-n-nothing, sugar. Ive been upstairs working with Yunioshi. Christmasstuff for the Ba-ba-zaar. But you sound vexed, sugar?" She scattered a roundaboutsmile. "You b-b-boys not vexed at me for butting in on your p-p-party?"
she said, slightly shoving her, "dont you bother about me. I can introduce myself."
She was well over six feet, taller than most men there. They straightened theirspines, sucked in their stomachs; there was a general contest to match her swayingheight.
"Dont. Live Barbizon. Regent 4-5700. Ask for Mag Wildwood."
Holly said, "What are you doing here?" and her lips were taut as drawn string.
Holly told her, "There isnt any." Whereupon the Air Force colonel suggested herun out for a bottle.
She lives at the Winslow."
"I surely could," she said. "Make mine bourbon."
"Oh, I declare, dont lets have a f-f-fuss. Im happy with ammonia. Holly, honey,"
