I could have gleefully strangled Theresa for asking me to meet her at Cleo Clancy’s apartment. I took my fury out on the doorbell. Nothing annoys me more than to have to meet Theresa in strange places. The buzzer responded bravely to my second violent pull. Hurrying footsteps sounded, and the door opened an inch. I could see nothing, but heard a high voice resembling the wailing of a child with colic. It asked, “Is it Theresa’s friend?”

 

I assured the voice behind the door that I was that person. The door opened a few inches more. I slipped in with difficulty. As I did so the voice fled with the owner. With amazement I watched the retreating figure which was ludicrously concealed from head to foot in Turkish towelling. I heard the muffled words, “Oh, I don’t want you to see me. I have no make-up on. Do go into the living room and wait. I’ll only be a second.” A bedroom door was slammed. Being a submissive person, I obeyed the instructions, even though I knew that it takes any woman who is afraid to be surprised without her make-up at least thirty minutes to paint on her coat of armor.

 

I am not particularly sensitive to rooms. They all look alike to me. I doubt if I could describe with any degree of accuracy my own room. But this one insisted on being noticed.

 

Green attacked me from all sides. Nature herself would have have stared at seeing so many variations of the color squeezed into one small space. The walls were of that sickly green so often noticed two years after the paint has been applied. The rug resembled a virgin forest. The divan was just plain green, while the love-seat, Louis XIV, was of a disappointed green that had just missed being blue. The two chairs weer of a heretic green having orange and brown flowers. The drapes were chartreuse.

 

Green is said to be soothing to the nerves. I felt weary. Before the room crushed me altogether, I decided to sit down. Since I am long and lanky, I should never have chosen the love-seat. My knees almost knocked my chin-bone out of place when I settled on that piece of furniture. Evidently this piece had been bought merely for show. The divan looked appealing, but the pillow directly under the seductively placed lamp was quite worn; no doubt my hostess was fond of basking there. Furthermore I noticed across the room from this favored spot a long mirror. I finally settled for one of the less appealing chairs.

 

Feeling a little like Goldilocks snuggled in the little bear’s chair, I sighed in relief, relaxed, and let my eyes travel about the room. On each of the four walls hung a picture. Each was a different and theatarical pose of a very lovely lady. I knew that I was gazing at my hostess. They were the only works of art in the room. Becoming tired of feasting on Cleo’s beauty, I looked about for a book. Not one was to be found.

 

In the foyer I spied a lone magazine. My haste to pick it up was repaid by the title ‘Your Fortune by the Stars.’ Not being partial to the heavens at the moment, I strolled around the room. I opened a cabinet and found some half-empty bottles of gin. My head ached when I imagined the horror of sitting in a room like this with a hangover. Not having very good manners, I half-opened a drawer in the cabinet. It was crammed with pictures, pictures of men — tall men, short men, fat men, thin men. I closed the drawer hurriedly and sat down.

 

I was startled to see a vision of loveliness coming through the door. It was Cleo, dressed in a flowing aquamarine chiffon hostess gown. Her red hair confirmed my suspicion that the room had been planned, just like a Hollywood setting. Her eyes matched the chiffon of her gown. Her voice was low and affected.

 

“My dear, I do hope that you will forgive me. I simply hurried as fast as I could. Theresa has told me so much about you. She tells me that you are studying something or other. Darling, don’t you find it such a waste of time? Such a bore!” She fluttered her eyelashes a few times, sauntered toward the divan, and switched on the lamp. She fixed the shade so that the light would flow directly down, and then she slipped gracefully under it onto the worn pillow. She looked over to the mirror, gazed awhile, draped her gown, attached a Mona Lisa smile to her face, and then threw back her head so that I might not overlook her Grecian profile.

 

She finally modified her pose to allow her to say: “Do I look as you expected me to?” I assured her that I was actually surprised. I even went as far as to say that her pictures did not do her justice. She purred.

 

There was an embarrasing pause. Wriggling her arm, she exposed numerous diamond bracelets, which had been hidden under the chiffon. I did not even bat an eye, though it cost me quite an effort. She raised the arm with the spartling horse-collar and asked: “How do you like it? My fiance gave it to me. He’s terribly rich. I’m so crazy about him. Would you like to see his picture?” She went to the drawer.

 

After several wrong attempts, she found his picture. He was fat, fifty, and funny-looking. She excused him by saying: “He’s not very cute, but he’s terribly generous. We are going to California on our honeymoon. We were going to Europe, but this dreadful war just had to come along and upset my plans. Naturally I’ve been to Europe before, so I don’t feel too awfully about it. I worked at the Casino de Paris over there. That is where I met the Count. He was mad about me. It almost broke his heart when I came back to the states. You must have read about it in Winchell’s column. I rather liked him, but he had no money, poor boy. Would you like to see his picture?”

 

I asked her hastily to please not bother, but I found myself looking into the eyes of a dusky Latin. After she had wasted a few tender looks on the photograph, she walked over to the mirror, peered intently for a moment or two, and turning to me said, “I must stop smiling. Yesterday I found a wrinkle under my left eye.” She waited expectedly for my comment but I disappointed her.

 

She threw her arms up dramatically and cried, “Isn’t this such a restful room? I love green, you know. It’s my best color. It does show off my hair and my eyes so well. Harold did so adore me in green. My first husband, you know. You simply must see his picture.”

 

I became panicky when I remembered all the pictures in the drawer. I jumped to my feet, looked at my watch, and stopped her from opening the drawer by saying: “Cleo, dear, I am so sorry but I can’t wait for Theresa a minute longer. I just remembered that there is something I must attend to at home.”

 

One hour later I sighed in relief as I surveyed the drab tones of my apartment. I grabbed up a green vase on the piano and stuck it in the closet.

 

October 16, 1939

Some Ladies are Made, Not Born