Free The Oriental Wife by Evelyn Toynton

down. Then she asked him if he knew Dr. Joseftal’s address.
    Not offhand, he said. But he could get it for her.
    “I want to send his wife and daughter something. But I didn’t think of it until after he left.”
    What did she have in mind, he asked her.
    “I bought some really lovely ribbon this morning, I thought I could send them that.” And then, when he was silent, “Not just ordinary ribbon. It’s very thick, it’s got blue-and-green peacocks embroidered on it. And I bought a green bead necklace at Best’s, sort of like jade, though of course it isn’t.”
    He had thought she was going to say a warm cardigan, or a woolen hat; having seen Dr. Joseftal, with his broken teeth, she couldn’t seriously believe that the situation called for embroidered ribbon. Then she said, “I thought I could write her a little note, you know, just telling her how kind the doctor had been to me when I was a child, and wishing them luck.” And suddenly he saw that Mrs. Joseftal might, after all, be glad to receive such a note. For all he knew, a ribbon with peacocks on it would likewise make her glad, and the green beads would be just the thing to cheer her daughter.
    Dr. Joseftal was coming to see him the next evening, he said. He would get the address from him then.
    “Or I could just deliver the things to you tomorrow, and you could give them to him.”
    It seemed a waste of her time in New York, but he gave her the address of his office. The following morning, shortly after ten, the receptionist told him, in a voice of muffled excitement, that a young lady wanted to see him.
    Arnie, the boss’s son, had walked into his office a few minutes earlier. Arnie had a habit of dropping in on Rolf after he had been to see his father, whom he visited at odd intervals when he needed money: he directed avant-garde plays, some of them written by himself, at small theaters in the Village; he and his friends launched magazines withbold green or orange covers that tended to run for only a few issues. He seemed to regard Rolf as his private joke. “How’s our golden boy?” he would ask, and tell Rolf how highly the old man spoke of him, as though such praise from his father was itself slightly comic. When the receptionist showed Louisa in, he pantomimed amazement, raising his eyebrows in his theatrical way, and then gave Rolf a knowing look.
    She was looking quite theatrical herself, in red lipstick and a gray hat with a feather, though her face was drawn. Rolf introduced them.
    “Do you work here too?” she asked Arnie, and he laughed.
    “God, no. My father owns the place. I just come by occasionally to make sure he’s not exploiting the workers too much.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Anyway, I don’t need to work. Rolf works hard enough for two.”
    Louisa looked uncertainly at Rolf, as though for a signal. “Louisa is visiting from England,” he said stiffly.
    “You’re visiting Rolf?” Arnie asked in a tone of frank disbelief, looking her up and down.
    “She’s here with her fiancé,” Rolf said, before she could answer.
    “Ah,” the man said. “Your fiancé. So what brings you to Union Square this morning?”
    She looked at Rolf once more, as though seeking protection; it occurred to him that whatever the cause of her distress the night before, it had not gone away. Again, Rolf jumped in. “She’s just come to drop something off,” he said, feeling the heat rise to his face. Arnie, meanwhile, was clearly enjoying himself.
    “Here it is,” Louisa said, taking a little package, wrapped in pink tissue paper, from her bag. She placed it on the desk. “I put the note inside, that we talked about. You won’t forget to give it to him, will you?”
    He shook his head. “I won’t forget.”
    “All right, then.” There was a pause. “I’ll say good-bye now. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”
    “You’re not disturbing anything,” Arnie told her. “We were just engaging in our usual idle chatter.