Mildred Pierce

  Jesus saith to his disciples, Ye now therefore have sorrow.

  It was the same cold, far-away voice, and looking across the open grave, with the casket over it, Mildred saw it indeed came from Dr. Aldous, though he looked old and frail in his white robes. In a moment, however, he dropped his voice, adopted a softer more sympathetic tone, and as she caught the familiar words, "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want," Mildred knew that the moment had come for the special prayers made necessary by Mom's stipulations, and for intimate solace. They murmured on, and her lips began to twitch as she realized they were mainly for her benefit, to ease her pain. They only made her feel worse. Then, after an interminable time, she heard: "O God, whose mercies cannot be numbered; Accept our prayers on behalf of the soul of Moire, thy servant departed, and grant her an entrance into the land of light and joy, in the fellowship of the saints, through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen."

  And as the child sank down, on Mr. Murock's patent pulleys, Mildred realized, with bitter shame, that now for the first time, in death, it heard itself correctly addressed, that it had lived its brief life without even knowing its name.

  The worst came that evening, when she was left alone, with nobody to console, nobody to be brave in front of, nobody to face but herself. The Pierces left in the afternoon, taking Bert with them, and the Engels shortly after, taking her mother, so as to reach San Diego before dark. Then, after an early supper, she had Letty take Veda to a moving picture show. Then she found herself in a house from which all flowers, all chairs, all wire racks had been removed, which was exactly as it had been before. Desolation swept over her. She tramped around, then changed into her smock and began making pies. Around eleven she drove to the theatre, took Letty home, and held tight to Veda's hand on the way back to the house. Veda had a glass of milk, and talked gaily about the picture. It was called The Yellow Ticket, and Mildred winced at the circumstantial account of how Miss Elissa Landi had pulled out the gun and shot Mr. Lionel Barrymore in the stomach. When Veda went to bed, Mildred helped her undress, and couldn't bring herself to leave. Then: "Would you like to sleep with me tonight, darling?"

  "But Mother, of course!"

  Mildred was pretending to herself that she was doing Veda a kindness, but Veda wasn't one to let such a spot go to somebody else. She immediately began to give comfort, in large, clearly articulated, perfectly grammatical gobs. "Why you poor, dear Mother! You lamb. Think of all she's been through today, and the beautiful way she's looked after everybody, without giving one thought to herself! Why of course I'll sleep with you, Mother! You poor darling!"

  To Mildred it was fragrant, soothing oil in a gaping wound. They went to her bedroom, and she undressed, and got into bed, and took Veda into her arms. For a few minutes she breathed tremulous, teary sighs. But when Veda nestled her head down, and blew into her pajamas, the way she used to blow into Rays,'s the heat lightnings flickered once, then drove into her sorrow with a blinding flash. There came torrential shaking sobs, as at last she gave way to this thing she had been fighting off: a guilty, leaping joy that it had been the other child who was taken from her, and not Veda.

  CHAPTER IX

  ONLY AN ACT of high consecration could atone for this, and some time during the night Mildred knew what it would be, and so knowing, found peace. She may have found a little more than peace. There was something unnatural, a little unhealthy, about the way she inhaled Veda's smell as she dedicated the rest of her life to this child who had been spared, as she resolved that the restaurant must open today, as advertised, and that it must not fail. She was up at daybreak carrying out this resolution, setting out pie plates, flour, utensils, cans of supplies, all sorts of things, for removal to the model home. There was a great deal of stuff and she packed it carefully into the car, but it required several trips. On the last one, she found her staff waiting for her: a waitress named Arline and a Filipino, to do double service as dish washer and vegetable peeler, named Pancho. Both had been engaged the previous week, on the recommendation of Ida. Arline, a small, half pretty girl of twentyfive, hadn't looked very promising, but Ida had recommended her highly. Pancho, it seemed, was addicted to flashy clothes, and had thus incurred the enmity of Archie, but once he was in his kitchen regimentals he was absolutely all right.

  Mildred noted Pancho's cream-colored suit, but wasted no time on it. She handed out uniforms and put them both to work. They were to give the place a thorough cleaning, and as soon as the front room was done, they were to hang the percale drapes that lay in a pile on the floor. She showed how the fixtures worked, and on Pancho's assurance that he was a virtuoso with the screwdriver, she drove back to the house, picked up her pies, and made the rounds of delivery.

  When she got back she caught her breath at what she saw. Pancho had indeed made a fine job of the drapes: the fixtures were all up and he was hanging the last of them. Arline had put the tables around, so that what had been a dreary pile of wood, metal, and cloth in one corner was now a restaurant, warm, clean, and inviting. Mildred still had many things to do, but when the laundry service delivered her napkins and doilies, she couldn't resist setting a table to see how it looked. To her, it was beautiful. The redand-white check of the linen combined pleasantly with the maple, and with Arline's brick-red uniform, just as she had hoped it would. For a few minutes she lingered, drinking in the picture with her eyes. Then, after pointing out what was to be done in the kitchen, she got in the car again, to resume her errands.

  At the bank, she drew $30, filling out the stub quickly, and trying not to think of the 7 she had to write, under "Balance Forward." She asked for $10 in change, against the requirements of the evening, dropped the rolls of coin into her handbag, and went on. At the ranch where her chickens were on order, she found twenty-six waiting for her, instead of the stipulated twenty. Mr. Gurney, the rancher, was quite voluble about it, saying them birds was in such prime condition he hated to see anybody else get them. Just the same, she was annoyed. He did raise fine chickens, honestly corn-fed, not milk-fed, and fine chickens she had to have. And yet she couldn't have him overselling her like this. After fingering them for a time, she rejected two because they weren't properly picked and took the rest, paying $8, the price being three for a dollar. Loading them into the car, she went to the U-Bet market, for vegetables, eggs, bacon, butter, and groceries. She spent $11, almost having to dig into her reserve of coin.

  Back at the restaurant, she inspected the kitchen, found it fairly satisfactory. Arline had mopped the floor, and Pancho had washed the new dishes without breaking any. Letty arrived, and Mildred had her make lunch for Arline and Pancho, then settled down to what she really liked, which was cooking. She got out the chickens, went over them carefully for pinfeathers, found Mr. Gurney's picking a great deal better than most market picking. Then she took a small cleaver and sectioned them up. She was going to serve half a fried chicken, with vegetables or waffle, for 85c, but she hated the half chicken that was served in most places. It came on the table in one loathsome piece, and she wondered how people could possibly eat it. She was going to do it differently. First, she cut off the necks, then cut the chicken in half. Then she took off the wings and the legs. The legs she separated into second joints and drumsticks, and then she trimmed the breasts so there was only a sliver of breastbone backing them, without any wishbone or rib. Then, remembering Archie's system for such things, she packed breasts, drumsticks, second joints, and wings into four different dishes, and placed them in the icebox so she could pick up a portion with one motion. The necks and bones she pitched into a pot, for soup. The giblets she cut up and put in a pan, for gravy. She started her other soup, the cream of tomato, and put Pancho to preparing vegetables.

  Around four, Wally came in, to inspect the alterations, and report. His main activity, since she had seen him, had been to send out the announcements, and for this he had drafted his secretary. She had utilized all the old Pierce Home lists, so that every person who had bought a home, or had even thought
of buying a home,, had been covered. Mildred listened, pleased that all this had been so well attended to, but he kept hanging around, and she wished he would go, so she could work. Then she noticed him looking at the showcase. This was the most expensive piece of furniture she had, and the only one that had been made to order. The base and back were of maple, but the sides, top, and shelves were of glass. It was to display the pies she hoped to sell to the "take-out" trade, and presently, looking rather self-conscious, Wally asked: "Well, how did you like that little surprise I fixed up for you?"

  "—? What surprise?"

  "Didn't you see it?"

  "I haven't seen anything."

  "Hey—you go back to the kitchen, then, and wait, and believe me pretty soon you're going to see something."

  Mystified, she went to the kitchen, and still more mystified, saw Wally appear there in a moment or two, find her pies, and carry two into the restaurant, then two more, then two more. Then she could see him arranging the pies in the showcase. Then she could see him fumbling with something against the wall. Then suddenly the showcase lighted up, and she gave a little cry, and went running out. Wally beamed. "Well, how do you like it?"

  "Why Wally, it's beautiful!"

  "Something I did for you while—well, the last few days. I slipped in here at night and worked on it." He proudly pointed out the tiny reflectors that screwed into the maple, almost invisibly, to shoot the light downward, on the pies; the bulbs, no bigger than her finger; the wiring, cunningly tacked to the back in such manner as to leave the panels free to slide. "You know how much that little job cost?"

  "I haven't any idea."

  "Well, let's see now, the reflectors, they were seven cents apiece, six of them, that's forty-two cents. The lights, a nickel apiece—say, they're Christmas tree bulbs, can you beat that? Thirty cents for them, that's seventy-two cents. The wire, ten cents. The sockets, screws, and plug, maybe a dollar. Say altogether, a couple of bucks. How's that?"

  "I just can't believe it."

  "Took me maybe an hour. But it ought to sell pies."

  "And get a free dinner."

  "Oh, never mind that."

  "A free dinner, and second helpings."

  But the clock was ticking inexorably on, and she hurried back to work as soon as he left, though in a pleasant glow now, feeling that everybody was trying to help her. The vegetables, started before Wally came, were now ready, and they took them up. She put them in their pots and turned the hot water into the steam table. She made waffle batter, laid beside it the dipper that held exactly one waffle. She made pie crust, for biscuits. Her ice cream arrived: chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla. She had Pancho set all three freezers on a bench, where they could be easily reached, and showed Arline how to dip it up, reminding her she would be responsible for desserts as well as starters. She made salad, started the coffee.

  At five thirty she went to the ladies' room to change for the evening. She had given considerable thought to what she would wear. She had decided on white, but not the sleazy white of the nurse uniforms then becoming so common. She went to Bullocks, and bought sharkskin 'dresses, of a shade just off white, white with a tint of cream in it, and had little Dutch caps made to go with them. Always vain of her legs, she had the dresses shortened a little. Now, she hurriedly got into one, put on her Tip-Top shoes, stuck on the little cap. As she hurried out carrying the apron she would wear in the kitchen, and slip off when she came out to greet the customers, she looked like the cook in a musical comedy.

  However, she didn't go into a number. She assembled Pancho, Letty, and Arline for final instructions, paying most attention to Arline. "I'm not expecting many people, because it's my first night and I haven't had a chance yet to build up my trade. But if you should be rushed, remember: Get their orders. I've got to know whether they're having vegetables or waffle before I can start, so don't keep me waiting."

  "Call them both?"

  "Call the waffle only."

  "Call biscuits?"

  "I'll keep biscuits out all the time, and you pick them up yourself. Pick up your own bread and your own biscuits, but put them in separate baskets and don't forget that biscuits call for a napkin, to keep them hot. Three biscuits to a person, more if they want them, but don't be stingy with them and don't take time to count. Pick them up quick, and pick up enough."

  Arline surveyed the place with a practiced eye, counting tables. There were eight tables for two, around the wall, and two tables for four, in the middle. Mildred saw the look, and went on: "You'll be able to take care of them, if you get their orders. There's plenty of room here, you're using a tray, and that'll help. Any time you need her, I'll send Letty out to bus up your tables for you, and—"

  "Can't she do that right from the start? So we get used to working together, and don't commence bumping and stepping all over each other's feet?"

  "Then all right."

  Letty nodded, with a self-conscious grin. She was already in the brick-red uniform, which was quite becoming to her, and obviously wanted to be part of the show. Mildred went back to the kitchen, lit the oven, and started the waffle irons to heat. She was using a gas waffle, instead of the usual electric waffle, "because that's the old-fashioned kind of round waffle that people really like." She went to the switch box, put on the lights. The last switch worked the outside sign, and when it was on, she went out to look. There it was, as beautiful as ever, casting a bluish light over the trees. She drew a deep breath and came inside. At last she was open, at last she had her own business.

  There ensued a long wait. She sat nervously at one of the tables for two, while Arline, Letty, and Pancho stood in a corner whispering. Then they started to giggle, and a horrible pain shot through Mildred. It was the first time it had occurred to her that she could open a restaurant, and then have nobody show up. She lurched suddenly to her feet and went to the kitchen. She kept touching the waffle irons, to see if they were hot. Outside a car door slammed. She looked up. A car was there, and four people were entering the restaurant.

  She had a moment of complacency as she reached for the chicken: now she would reap her reward for all her observing, thinking, and planning. She had had the free parking located in the rear, so she could see exactly how many customers she had, even before they came in; she had simplified her menu, so she could start the chicken without waiting for the waitress to report; she had placed her icebox, range, materials, and utensils so she could work with the minimum of effort. Feeling as though she were starting a well-tuned machine, she took out four each of breasts, second joints, drumsticks, and wings, rolled them in the flour box beside the range, gave them a squirt from the olive oil bottle that stood beside the flour. She shoved them in the oven, for the brief baking that preceded frying in butter. Not yet closing the oven door, she shoved a pan of biscuits in, beside them. Arline appeared. "Four at No. 9, soup right and left, two and two, one waf."

  She reminded Arline she was not to call soup, but dip it up herself, then went out to greet her first guests. They were strangers to her, a man, woman, and two children, but she made them a pretty little speech, saying they were her first guests, and she hoped they liked her place and would keep on being her guests. Arline came in with the starters, the soup, crackers, butter, napkins, water, and salad. Salad, for some reason, is served first in California. Mildred's eye checked the tray, finding it in order. Two more people came in. She vaguely remembered them as Pierce Homes buyers of six or seven years ago, but her waitress training came at once to her aid. Their names were on her tongue before she fairly saw their faces: "Why how do you do, Mrs. Sawyer, and Mr. Sawyer! I'm so glad you were able to come!"

  They seemed pleased, and she seated them at a table in the corner. As soon as Arline came over to get their orders, she went back to the kitchen, to start more chicken.

  The first order went out smoothly, with Letty bussing the dirty dishes to Pancho, who went to work at once. But then Arline appeared, looking worried. "Two at No. 3, but
one of them's a kid that won't have soup. Says she wants tomato juice with a piece of lemon and some celery salt—I told her we don't serve it, but she says she's got to have it and what do I do now?"

  It was no trouble to guess who that was.

  She found Bert and Veda, at one of the tables for two. Bert was in a light suit, conscientiously groomed and brushed, but with a black band on one arm. Veda was in a school dress that hadn't been worn yet, and Mildred's floppy hat. Both of them looked up with a smile, Veda exclaiming how pretty Mildred's dress was, Bert nodded approvingly at the restaurant. "By God, this looks like something. You got yourself a piece of property this time, Mildred. This place is real."

  He stamped his foot. "And it's built. I saw to that. I bet there was no trouble with the Department of Health when they inspected this floor."

  "They passed it without even looking."

  "How about those toilets?"

  "They passed them too. Of course, we had to cut a door through, so both of them opened into the old secretary's office. We made that into a kind of lounge. It's against the law for a toilet to open into the kitchen, you know. But that, and the painting, and the gravel and the swing doors, were about all we had to do. It cost money, though. Whew!"

  "I bet it did."

  "Would you like to look around?"

  "I'd love it."

  She took them both through, and felt proud when Bert admired everything profusely, not quite so proud when Veda said: "Well, Mother I think you've done very well, considering everything." Then she heard a car door slam, and turned to greet her new customer. It was, Wally, and he was quite excited. "Say, you're going to have a mob. You heard me, a mob. That's the thing to remember with direct-mail advertising. It's not what you send. It's where you send it. I got that stuff of yours right to the people that know you, and they're coming. I bumped into six different people that told me they'd be here—and that's just six I happened to bump into. I said a mob."