Elaine stood there. She was almost ready to say something.

"Anybody get wise with you ?" her mother asked suddenly.

"No," Elaine said.

"That's good. Hand me the towel, dolly."

Elaine handed her a towel.

"Go look and see in the papers what's at the Capitol. Maybe we'll go in the morning."

"I can't," Elaine said. "Teddy doesn't work in the mornings. He's going to learn me how to play bridge.''

"Oh, that's nice! You can play with me and your Uncle Mort and your grandmother when you know how. See once what's playing for me, though, like a dolly."

A month later-two weeks before her seventeenth birthday-Elaine was married to Teddy Schmidt. The marriage was performed at the Schmidts' home, and was attended by Teddy's large family and several of his friends. Mrs. Cooney, Mrs. Hoover, and Mr. Freedlander represented Elaine. It was a cold, rainy October day, with threat of intenser chills and more rain in the late afternoon. Elaine wore a cheap, thin "traveling" suit and a dreary gladioli corsage which Teddy's sister, Bertha Louise, had selected for her. But no Grade-B Hollywood film had ever seemed to make Elaine as happy as she looked on her wedding day. No last-reel film kiss would have stirred her heart so tenderly, if objectively she could have witnessed herself raising her own lips to meet the thin, effeminate mouth of her new husband.

Teddy was nervous throughout the ceremony, and at the wedding table following the ceremony he was irritable with his bride. Elaine was too happy to cut the wedding cake effectually, and he had to take the knife away from her. He was thoroughly disgusted with her incompetence.

Teddy's mother and Mrs. Cooney began to argue with guarded politeness concerning the virility of a certain popular male movie star, Mrs. Schmidt questioning it, Mrs. Cooney swearing by it. It took them very little time to drop their guards, to raise their voices; and when Mr. Freedlander had responded to Mrs. Cooney's request to "stay out of it," Mrs. Cooney thoughtfully, effectively, struck her daughter's mother-in-law full in the mouth with her open hand. Teddy's mother screamed and rushed forward, but met with the interference of Frank Vitrelli. Freedlander grabbed Mrs. Cooney. The groom stayed in the background, frightened, avoiding active participation by pretending to comfort his bride. Elaine wept like a small child, all the happiness wrenched away from her, like a broken film in a projector. Monny Monahan came up to Teddy. "Get her out of here," she told Teddy.

Teddy nodded nervously, and looked around, as though selection of a proper exit was questionable. But he stood there, panicky.

"Get her out, you dope"' Monny Monahan grated at him.

Teddy grabbed his wife's arm roughly. "C'mon," he said.

"No !" said Elaine. ''Mama !" She broke away from Teddy, and rushed over to her mother, who was being pacified somewhat inadequately by Mr. Freedlander and Mrs. Hoover.

"Mama," Elaine begged. "Me and Teddy are goin'."

"I'll kill her," threatened Mrs. Cooney, ferociously.

"Mama. Mama. Me and Teddy are goin'," Elaine said.

"Go ahead, kid," Freedlander advised. "Your mother don't feel so good. Have a good time. Don't do nothing I wouldn't do."

"Mama," begged Elaine.

Mrs. Cooney suddenly looked up at her daughter. And something strange happened. A great tenderness crossed Mrs. Cooney's face, and she took her daughter's beautiful face between her two hands and drew it down to her own. "Good-by, dolly," she said, and fervently kissed Elaine on the mouth several times.

"Good-by, Grandma," Elaine said to Mrs. Hoover.

Mrs. Hoover gathered her granddaughter in her arms, and sobbed over her. Teddy prodded his wife to make the embrace short. The newlyweds started to leave the house. But there was a change of plans.

"Elaine!" Mrs. Cooney suddenly called, shrilly.

Elaine turned, her big eyes wide. Her husband swung around, too, with his mouth open.

"You ain't goin' nowhere," said Mrs. Cooney. And the entire gathering of wedding guests snapped their attention her way; even the sobbing of the groom's mother was abruptly suspended.

"What, Mama?" said the bride.

"You come back, you beautiful," ordered Mrs. Cooney, crying. "You ain't goin' nowhere with that sissy boy."

"Listen," Teddy started to bluster, "we're leaving right-"

"Keep quiet, you," commanded Mrs. Cooney, and turned to Mrs. Hoover. "C'mon, Ma."

Mrs. Hoover stood up painfully, but readily, on her swollen legs. She followed her daughter across the room toward her granddaughter.

Teddy's lower jaw trembled violently. "Listen," he told his mother-in-law, nervously, as the latter put her arm around the bride's waist, "she's my wife, see. I mean she's my wife. If she don't come with me, I can get it annulled, the marriage."

"Good. C'mon, dolly," said Mrs. Cooney, and led the way out.

"G'by, Teddy," Elaine said in a friendly way, over her shoulder.

"Listen," began Teddy again, trying to imply imminent danger to the Cooney party.

Let 'em go! shrieked his mother. "Let the riffraff go!"

When they were outside in the street, Mrs. Cooney dismissed Freedlander with a minimum of tact. "You go ahead, Mort," she said. And Freedlander, looking hurt, went ahead.

Bride, mother, and grandmother moved up the street. They turned the corner in silence, moved half way up the next block, then Mrs. Cooney made a little announcement which seemed to please all three.

"We'll go to a movie. A nice movie," she said.

They walked on.

"Henry Fonda's playing at the Troc," commented Mrs. Hoover, who didn't like to walk too far.

"Let Elaine say where she wants to go," snapped Mrs. Cooney.

Elaine was looking down at her gladioli corsage. "Gee," she said. "They're all dying. They were so beautiful." She looked up. "Who's at the Troc, Grandma?"

"Henry Fonda."

"Ooh, I like him," said Elaine, skipping ecstatically.

Go See Eddie.

By J.D. Salinger.

Helen's bedroom was always straightened while she bathed so that when she came out of the bathroom her dressing table was free of last night's cream jars and soiled tissues, and there were glimpses in her mirror of flat bedspreads and patted chair cushions. When it was sunny, as it was now, there were bright warm blotches to bring out the pastels chosen from the decorator's little book.

She was brushing her thick red hair when Elsie, the maid, came in.

"Mr. Bobby's here, ma'am," said Elsie.

"Bobby?" asked Helen, "I though he was in Chicago. Hand me my robe, Elsie. Then show him in."

Arranging her royal-blue robe to cover her long bare legs, Helen went on brushing her hair. then abruptly a tall sandy-haired man in a polo coat brushed behind and past her, snapping his index finger against the back of her neck. He walked directly to the chaise-lounge on the other side of the room and stretched himself out, coat and all. Helen could see him in the mirror.

"Hello, you," she said. "Hey. that thing was straightened. I thought you were in Chicago."

"Got back last night," Bobby said, yawning. "God, I'm tired."

"Successful?" asked Helen. "Didn't you go to hear some girl sing or something?"

"Uh," Bobby affirmed.

"Was she any good, the girl?"

"Lot of breast-work. No voice."

Helen sat down her brush, got up, and seated herself in the peach-colored straight chair at Bobby's feet. From her robe pocket she took an Emory board and proceeded to apply it to her long, flesh-pink nails. "What else do you know?" she inquired.

"Not much ," Said Bobby. He sat up with a grunt, took a package of cigarettes from his overcoat. pocket, stuck them back, then stood up and removed the overcoat. He tossed the heavy thing on Helen's bed, scattering a colony of sunbeams. Helen continued filing her nails. Bobby sat on the edge of the chaise-lounge, lighted a cigarette, and leaned forward. The sun was on them both, lashing her milky skin, and doing nothing for Bobby but showing up his dandruff and the pockets under his eyes.

"How would you like a job?" Bobby asked.

"A job?" Helen said, filing. "What kind of job?"

"Eddie Jackson's going into rehearsals with a new show. I saw him last night. Y'oughtta see how gray that guy's getting. I said to him, have you got a spot for my sister? He said maybe, and I told him that you might be around."

"It's a good thing you said might," Helen said, looking up at him. "What kind of a spot? Third from the left or something?"

"I didn't ask him what kind of spot. But it's better than nothing, isn't it?"

Helen didn't answer him, went on attending to her nails.

"Why don't you want the job?"

"I didn't say I didn't want one."

"Well then what's the matter with seeing Jackson?"

"I don't want any more chorus work. Besides, I hate Eddie Jackson's guts."

"Yeah," said Bobby. He got up and went to the door. "Elsie!" he called. "Bring me a cup of coffee!" Then he sat down again.

"I want you to see Eddie," he told her "I don't want to see Eddie."

"I want you to see him. Put that god damn file a minute."

She went on filing.

"I want you to go up there this afternoon, hear?"

"I'm not going up there this afternoon," Helen told him, crossing her legs. "Who do you think you're ordering around?"

Bobby's hand was half fist when he knocked the Emory board from her fingers. She neither looked at him nor picked up the Emory board from the carpet. She just got up and went back to her dressing table to resume brushing her hair, her thick red hair. Bobby followed to stand behind her, to look for her eyes in the mirror.

"I want you to see Eddie this afternoon. Hear me, Helen?"

Helen brushed her hair. "And what'll you do if I don't go up there, tough guy?"

He picked that up. "Would you like me to tell you? Would you like me to tell you what I'll do if you don't go up there?"

"Yes, I'd like you to tell me what you'll do if I don't go up there," Helen mimicked.

"Don't do that. I'll push that glamour kisser of yours. So help me, " Bobby warned. " I want you to go up there. I want you to see Eddie and I want you to take that god damn job."

"No, I want you to tell me what you'll do if I don't go up there," Helen said in her natural voice.

"I'll tell you what I'll do," Bobby said, watching her eyes in the mirror. "I'll ring up your greasy boy friend's wife and tell her what's what."

Helen horse-laughed. "Go ahead!" she told him. "Go right ahead, wise guy! She knows all about it."

Bobby said, "She knows, eh?"

"Yes, she knows! And don't cal Phil greasy! you wish you were half as good looking as he is!"

"He's a greaser. A greasy lousy cheat," Bobby pronounced. "Two for a lousy dime. That's your boy friend."

"Coming from you that's good."

"Have you ever seen his wife?" Bobby asked.

"Yes-I've-seen-his-wife. What about her?"

"Have you ever seen her face?"

"Nothing's so marvelous about it. She hasn't go a glamour kisser like yours. It's just a nice face. Why the hell don't you leave her dumb husband alone?"

"None of your business why!" Snapped Helen.

The fingers of his right hand suddenly dug into the hollow of her shoulder. She yelled out in pain, turned, and from an awkward position but with all her might, slammed his hand with the flat of her hairbrush. He sucked in his breath, pivoted swiftly so that his back was both to Helen and to Elsie, the maid, who had come in with his coffee. Elsie set the tray on the window seat next to the chair where Helen had filed her nails, then slipped out of the room.

Bobby sat down, and with the use of his other hand, sipped his coffee black. Helen, at the dressing table, had begun to place her hair. She wore it in a heavy old-fashioned bun.

He had long finished his coffee when the last hairpin was in its place. Then she went over to where he sat smoking and looked out the window. Drawing the lapels of her robe closer to her breast, she sat down with a little oop sound of unbalance on the floor at his feet. She placed a hand on his ankle, stroked it, and addressed him in a different voice.