Mildred Pierce by Cain James M

Author:Cain, James M. [Cain, James M.]
Format: epub, pdf
Published: 2014-07-24T16:00:00+00:00

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So Monty was vindicated, but when Mildred snuggled up to him one night in the den, and wanted to talk about it, the result left a great deal to be desired. He lit a cigarette and rehearsed his reasons for thinking Veda ‘had it’; they were excellent reasons, all in praise of Veda, but somehow they didn’t hit the spot. When she tried to break through his habit of treating everything with offhand impersonality, saying wasn’t it wonderful, and how did he ever think up something like that, he seemed uncomfortable at her kittenishness, and rather curtly brushed her off. To hell with it, he said. He had done nothing that anybody couldn’t have done that knew the child, so why give him any credit? Then, as though bored with the whole subject, he began stripping off her stockings.

But there was a great hunger in Mildred’s heart: she had to share this miracle with somebody, and when she had stood it as long as she could she sent for Bert. He came the next afternoon, to the restaurant, when the place was deserted and she had him to herself. She had Arline serve lunch and told him about it. He had already heard a little, from Mom, who had got a brief version from Veda, but now he got it all, in complete detail. Mildred told about the studio, the Rachmaninoff prelude, the sight-reading, the accompaniment to the violin selection. He listened gravely, except for the laugh he let out over the ‘Sir’ episode. When Mildred had finished he thought a long time. Then, solemnly, he announced: ‘She’s some kid. She’s some kid.’

Mildred sighed happily. This was the kind of talk she wanted, at last. He went on, then, flatteringly reminding her that she had always said Veda was ‘artistic’, gallantly conceding that he himself had had his doubts. Not that he didn’t appreciate Veda, he added hastily, hell no. It was only that he didn’t know of any music on Mildred’s side or his, and he always understood this kind of thing ran in families. Well, it just went to show how any of us can be wrong, and goddam it, he was glad it had turned out this way. Goddam it he was. Then, having polished off the past, he looked at the future. The fingers, he assured Mildred, were nothing to worry about. Because, suppose she didn’t become a great pianist? From all he had heard, that market was shot anyhow. But if it was like this guy said, and she had talent in her head, and began to write music, that was where the real dough was, and it didn’t make a bit of difference whether you could play the piano or not. Because, he said dramatically, look at Irving Berlin. He had it straight that the guy couldn’t play a note, but with a million bucks in the bank and more coming in every day, he should worry whether he could tickle the keys or not.

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