Free Mildred Pierce by James M. Cain Page B

do, so against our better judgment we’re going to give you a trial.’
    Mildred remembered the reconstructed club sandwich and the little nod she had received from Archie, realised that it was indeed important to be in good with the Chef. But by now her dislike of Ida was intense, and she made no effort to keep theacid out of her voice as she said: ‘Well, please thank Archie for me and tell him I hope I won’t disappoint him.’ She spoke loud enough for Archie to hear, and was rewarded with a loud ursine cackle.
    Ida went on: ‘Your hours are from eleven in the morning, ten-thirty if you want breakfast, to three in the afternoon, and if you want lunch then, you can have it. We don’t do a big dinner business here, so we only keep three girls on at night, but they take turns. You’re on call twice a week from five to nine, same wages as in the daytime. Sundays we’re closed. You’ll need white shoes. Ask for nurses’ regulation at any of the stores, two ninety-five. Well, what’s the matter, Mildred, don’t you want the job?’
    ‘I’m a little tired, that’s all.’
    ‘I don’t wonder, the way you trot.’
    When she got home, the children had just arrived from school. She gave them milk and cookies and shooed them out to play. Then she changed her dress and put slippers on her aching feet. She was about to lie down, when she heard a yoo-hoo, and Mrs Gessler joined her, in a somewhat dark humour. Ike, it appeared, hadn’t come home last night. He had phoned around nine, telling her of a hurry call that would prevent his arrival until next morning. It was all in his line of work, he had appeared at ten as he said he would, and yet . . . The extent to which Mrs Gessler trusted Ike, or anybody, was evidently very slight.
    Mildred presently asked: ‘Lucy, can you lend me three dollars?’
    ‘More if you want it.’
    ‘No thanks. I’ve taken a job, and need some things.’
    ‘Right away?’
    ‘In the morning.’
    Mrs Gessler went out, and Mildred went back to the kitchen to make her some tea. When she came back she sat down gratefully to the smoking cup, and flipped Mildred a bill. ‘I didn’t have three, but here’s five.’
    ‘Thanks. I’ll pay it back.’
    ‘What kind of a job?’
    ‘Oh – just a job.’
    ‘I’m sorry . . . But if it’s that kind of a job, I hope you pickeda five-dollar house. You’re too young for the two-dollar trade, and personally I wouldn’t like sailors.’
    ‘I’m a waitress. In a hash-house.’
    ‘It rhymes up the same way.’
    ‘Just about.’
    ‘That’s funny, though. It was none of my business, but all the time you were answering those ads, and trying to get hired on as a saleswoman, or whatever it was – I kept wondering to myself why you didn’t try something like this.’
    ‘Why, Lucy?’
    ‘Suppose you did get a job as a saleswoman? What would you get for it? No matter how they figure it up, when you’re selling goods you get paid on commission, because it stands to reason if you weren’t making commission they wouldn’t pay you. But who’s buying any goods? You’d have just stood around some store, all day long, waiting for the chance to make a living, and not making it. People eat, though, even now. You’ll have something coming in. And then, I don’t know. It may sound funny, but at selling, I’d say you just weren’t the type. At
this
, though—’
    All that Mrs Boole had said, all that Miss Turner had said, all that her bowels had told her, after that trip to Beverly Hills, came sweeping over Mildred, and suddenly she dived for the bathroom. The milk, the sandwich, the tea, all came up, while moaning sobs racked her. Then Mrs Gessler was beside her, holding her head, wiping her mouth, giving her water, leading her gently to bed. Here she collapsed in a paroxysm of hysteria, sobbing, shaking, writhing. Mrs Gessler took her clothes off, massaged her back, patted her, told her to let it come, not to try to hold back. She relaxed, and