Free Too Much Too Soon by Jacqueline Briskin

soapy cup slithered dangerously in Honora’s grasp.
    “He’s invited all of us to dinner.”
    “To dinner? Why?”
    “Stop tying everything in the world to your date last night,” said Crystal with mock severity.
    “Oh, who can work with all of this going on?” Joscelyn demanded.
    Crystal ignored the remark. “Finally he’s acting like a real uncle. I’ll bet he’ll see to itthat we’re launched. Of course he couldn’t before now, because of Aunt Matilda, but now he’s coming out of deep mourning—”
    “I never noticed him dissolved in the depths,” Joscelyn interjected.
    “—and he’ll be able to give parties for us to meet the right people. Honora, it’s a bit late for you, but he could give me a debut. Imogene told me that Mrs. Burdetts hired somebody called Mrs. Ekberg when she had hers. They had three hundred people, including the Hearsts and the Knowlands. Governor Warren showed up with Honeybear, and she was asked back to ‘the most
divinely
wild parties where everyone got absolutely smashed on French bubbly.’” Crystal mimicked Imogene’s exaggerated intonations.
    During this effusion, Joscelyn’s face had become pinched and sullen. If Gideon were entertaining for Honora and Crystal, he’d do the same for her. Parties terrified Joscelyn—not that she had been invited to many, either here or in England. Her old crepe de chine party dress made her look even more spidery, and out of sickish anxiety she invariably spilled something down it. If she could have one of Crystal’s attributes she would not choose the obvious, beauty, but Crystal’s ability to glide through every function.
    “Didn’t I hear Gideon include Daddy in the invitation?” Joscelyn asked.
    “So you finally rinsed the wax out of your ears,” Crystal retorted.
    “Crystal, Joss,” Honora soothed.
    “Daddy won’t go,” Joscelyn said flatly.
    “Of course he will,” Crystal said. “Gideon especially asked for him.”
    “Either you’re more cretinous than I thought. Or blind. Haven’t you noticed that he always has an excuse for the Open House? I’ll bet anything he won’t go tonight.”
    Crystal tightened the knot in her sarong towel. To her it was crucial that the entire Sylvander clan ingratiate itself with Gideon: she wanted the best of everything for all of them. “He’ll be there,” she snapped. Her sharp slam of the difficult bathroom door succeeded in shutting it.
    “Oh, Joss,” Honora sighed. “Why must you go out of your way to upset her?”
    “You’ve been washing that same cup for hours.” Joscelyn’s eye twitched. It cut like broken glass whenever Honora sided with Crystal. “Are you pretending it’s Curt Ivory’s feet?”
    Reddening, Honora set the cup on the drainboard.
    *   *   *
    Joscelyn nearly won her bet.
    Langley indeed attempted to squirm out of this dinner. “I have an engagement with a very important chap,” he said. “Somebody interested in starting a publishing house. With a snap of his fingers he could appoint me editor in chief.” (Langley retained an endearing perennial hopefulness that every stranger who proclaimed himself rich in some way would pilot the good ship Sylvander into safe harbor.)
    Crystal retorted that he couldn’t let them down and shed a few becoming tears. But it was Honora, mindful of what Curt had told her the previous evening, who quietly pointed out that Gideon, after all his employer, might be offended if he didn’t show up. Langley, muttering something about delaying his arrangements with the possible patron, left the apartment at four, returning a few minutes after six with a sheepish little smile and a strong aroma of whiskey and peppermint breath mints.
    It turned out that Curt was the only other guest.
    Mrs. Wartobe stood at the heavy Gothic sideboard, ladling rich cream of vegetable soup. Then came a plump leg of lamb that Gideon carved, his broad red hands expertly wielding the long, flashing knife and two-pronged fork, jovially