Four and Twenty Beds

by Nancy Casteel Vogel

The meeting was held at the Auto Haven, the big, rather old motel about half a mile from us, farther toward town, where Moejy spent what part of his time he wasn't devoting to harassing us or David. Grant and I, having engaged Mrs. Clark to take care of the children and rent the one cabin that was not yet occupied, were the first ones there.

Mr. Bradley, our middle-aged host, motioned us to chairs. He was an ordinary-looking, likeable man; the only thing about him incomprehensible to me was his toleration--his apparent liking--for Moejy. Well, I philosophized, we all have our little eccentricities.

And then the motel owners began to arrive. Mr. Buxley of the Westward; Mr. Vernon of the Bon Ton; Mr. Featherbrain of the Palace; Mr. Renault of the Mountain Lodge; Mr. Dale of the Cherry; Mr. Anderson, of the Desert Breeze. All misters. It began to look as though I would be the only woman present. This bothered me a little, particularly after Grant's broad hints that this was to be a businessmen's meeting, and his slightly more veiled ones that women don't know much and should try not to get into situations where their ignorance will be conspicuous. It would have pleased me very much if the majority of the people at the meeting had been women, very intelligent ones who thought of and discussed and settled every problem before the few men present could get their inferior minds to functioning. However, such was not to be; after the last of the twenty-eight arrivals had come there was only one other woman, and that one was my plump, shabby friend Mrs. Barkin, of the Sylvan Motel, who had, obviously, no husband to come in her stead.

I couldn't help feeling rather superfluous. I sat there seething, as many feminist-minded women have done before me, at the age-old theory of masculine supremacy.

Assuming that I must feel out of place, the kind Mr. Bradley--who took charge of the first meeting, pending election of regular officers--remarked at one time during the evening, "Of course, we'll be glad to have the wives of the motel owners attend the meetings too."

This irritated me still further, and while the meeting progressed I considered drowning Grant, so that, like the owner of the Sylvan motel, I'd be treated as an individual rather than as the ineffectual shadow of another. (I decided, though, that there'd be too much work for me to do alone.)

"Or if ever one of the owners is unable to come, his wife can come alone to represent him," Mr. Bradley went on.

After that, I seethed much more violently. Why was it taken for granted always that the man was the owner, and that his wife was simply "the owner's wife?" But, while Mr. Bradley's remarks were accepted quite naturally, how unheard of an occurrence it would be for a remark like this to be made: "Husbands of the owners are invited to come to meetings too; or if necessary the man can come alone to represent his wife."

How unheard of, even, that it be assumed that property owned by a married couple is owned mutually, and that whichever partner attended a meeting, it needn't be in order to represent the other.

Equality of sexes, and equality of races, are two points about which I have carried on so many arguments and written so many articles--many of which have never seen print--that I have almost admitted defeat. Stupid prejudice is virtually invincible, and not worth battering one's head against. But it's very, very maddening all the same.