2
NIGHT
Chapter Nine
The party seemed to be going well. Although Mrs. Raymond Stevanson hated cocktail parties, finding her own almost as bad as other people’s, she still felt she had to give them and she worked very hard to make them outstanding.
Several hundred well-dressed people wandered about her large apartment, looking at the furniture, each other, and the five different paintings of Mrs Stevanson. There were no traces of Mr Stevanson in the apartment. He had died early in her career, leaving her his money and four race horses. She had sold the horses and she had saved quite a bit of the money. Now, at fifty-five, she was a famous hostess and somewhat overweight.
“Good evening, Helena.” Mrs Stevanson turned around and saw the thin malicious face of Beatrice Jordan. They were contemporaries.
“Beatrice! How marvelous!” They touched cheeks with slight frowns, then came apart again with affectionate smiles.
Beatrice stood back a moment and looked at Mrs Stevanson. Beatrice was extremely nearsighted but much too vain to wear glasses. To see clearly she was forced to tuck her chin down and look upward, a habit which had given her an undeserved reputation as a coquette. She did this now.
“Helena, you’ve lost weight! How?”
Mrs Stevanson was pleased. “Does it really show?” She patted her cement-hard corseted buttock.
“Not so much around there,” said Beatrice, thinking for a moment. “More around here.” She touched her own meager breasts.