Free House Party by Patrick Dennis Page A

the new arrivals to appear, then Kathy's Mr. Stone, then Claire Devine, and then Kathy.
    Claire could change from the skin out faster than a fireman. Odd jobs as a fashion model had taught her the knack. On her arrival, Claire had spotted Felicia's little green voile as coming from the Custom Floor at two hundred and forty-five dollars; she knew that Violet's ruffled organdy was being shown in the Debutante Shop at a hundred and ninety-five. Claire hadn't quite been able to place Mrs. Ames's dress, but she knew it was damned good—probably from one of those upper Madison Avenue shops. where all the work goes inside of a dress. Three hundred, I'd say, Claire thought. Straightaway she went upstairs and slipped into her good white silk jersey. She put on a single strand of her best fake pearls and stopped right there. Claire knew when to play down. There was an audible ripple of appreciation when she appeared again on the terrace.
    Terribly thin arms, Mrs. Ames thought, but really elegant. Smart. She took another sip of her champagne and wondered what a boy like Paul had to offer a girl like Claire. Kathy appeared, a little too loudly, a little too highly made up. She turned her ankle crossing the flagstones. "Those heels!" Mrs. Ames said aloud. Noise welled up around her and she sipped again.
    "But of course," Mrs. Ames was saying to Claire, "I know the store very well. I sometimes see things there that I'd like to own and my sister buys almost every stitch there." The babbling surrounded her once more.
    ". . . quite fun working there, really " Claire was saying, "and I should go mad without something to do." Claire smiled at Mrs. Ames. She approved of Mrs. Ames. Mrs. Ames was a lady. Claire liked the house, too—not that she'd have wanted it, but it had a certain air of plenty. Little details such as the engraved letter paper, the silver-backed brushes, the linen she'd found in her room had not been lost on Claire.
    ". . . interesting, selling pretty dresses all day," Mrs. Ames was saying. "A lot of our friends—women my age—did it during the depression," She wondered if that hadn't sounded lofty. "I think I’d like it." Then she said quietly: "And I may end up doing it yet .”
    No, Mrs. Ames didn't see the connection with Paul. True, poor Paul needed a forceful woman behind him, but this Miss Devine seemed so . . . Mrs. Ames wondered if Paul could be having an affair with her and tried to picture Paul as an illicit lover. Against her will she giggled.
    But the giggle came at precisely the right time, for Claire had just said: "Well, if you ever do, you just apply to my department. I’ll put you to work." Claire laughed prettily and smiled at Paul. It was going so well.
    There was a general uproar when Uncle Ned appeared, tightly corseted, slightly rouged, and resplendent in a fawn silk dinner suit, which just matched the color of Fang's leash. "Zut!" he cried, "l’heure bleue. Is there anything more exquisite than the cocktail hour? Ah, Felicia, my most beautiful niece, I see that you've become fast friends with this attractive Mr. Stone."
    Mrs. Ames looked across the terrace at Kathy and winced as she saw her take a large gulp of what Mrs. Ames assumed to be straight rye. Poor, poor Kathy, Mrs. Ames thought, hunched up in that chair so she won't look like an Amazon and so self-conscious that she's got to drink herself into being sociable. It's that Felicia; that mean Felicia. Why does she always do this to my Kathy?
    "It's so good to see you again, Uncle Ned!" Kathy cried inanely.
    "Please, child. I am not totally deaf and not too many minutes have elapsed since our parting. As I said to dear Freddy McAvoy just before he . . ."
    Kathy writhed in agony. Now she'd been rude to Uncle Ned. She'd looked forward so much to this weekend with Manning, but first there'd been Claire, and now Felicia had snatched him away and was twisting him around her little finger. Why couldn't Felicia be fair? She'd already had one husband