The Bell Jar Read Free Page B

polished and just about
indestructible, and a mouth set in a sort of perpetual sneer. I don’t mean a nasty
sneer, but an amused, mysterious sneer, as if all the people around her were
pretty silly and she could tell some good jokes on them if she wanted to.
                    Doreen singled me out right
away. She made me feel I was that much sharper than the others, and she really
was wonderfully funny. She used to sit next to me at the conference table, and
when the visiting celebrities were talking she’d whisper witty sarcastic
remarks to me under her breath.
                    Her college was so fashion
conscious, she said, that all the girls had pocketbook covers made out of the
same material as their dresses, so each time they changed their clothes they
had a matching pocketbook. This kind of detail impressed me. It suggested a
whole life of marvelous, elaborate decadence that attracted me like a magnet.
                    The only thing Doreen ever
bawled me out about was bothering to get my assignments in by a deadline.
                    “What are you sweating over that
for?” Doreen lounged on my bed in a peach silk dressing gown, filing her long,
nicotine-yellow nails with an emery board, while I typed up the draft of an
interview with a best-selling novelist.
                    That was another thing--the rest
of us had starched cotton summer nighties and quilted housecoats, or maybe
terry-cloth robes that doubled as beachcoats, but Doreen wore these full-length
nylon and lace jobs you could half see through, and dressing gowns the color:
of skin, that stuck to her by some kind of electricity.She had an interesting,
slightly sweaty smell that reminded me of those scallopy leaves of sweet fern
you break off and crush between your fingers for the musk of them.
                    “You know old Jay Cee won’t give
a damn if that story’s in tomorrow or Monday.” Doreen lit a cigarette and let
the smoke flare slowly from her nostrils so her eyes were veiled. “Jay Cee’s
ugly as sin,” Doreen went on coolly. “I bet that old husband of hers turns out
all the lights before he gets near her or he’d puke otherwise.”
                    Jay Cee was my boss, and I liked
her a lot, in spite of what Doreen said. She wasn’t one of the fashion magazine
gushers with fake eyelashes and giddy jewelry.Jay Cee had brains, so her
plug-ugly looks didn’t seem to matter. She read a couple of languages and knew
all the quality writers in the business.
                    I tried to imagine Jay Cee out
of her strict office suit and luncheon-duty hat and in bed with her fat
husband, but I just couldn’t do it. I always had a terribly hard time trying to
imagine people in bed together.
                    Jay Cee wanted to teach me
something, all the old ladies I ever knew wanted to teach me something, but I
suddenly didn’t think they had anything to teach me. I fitted the lid on my
typewriter and clicked it shut.
                    Doreen grinned. “Smart girl.”
                    Somebody tapped at the door.
                    “Who is it?” I didn’t bother to
get up.
                    “It’s me, Betsy. Are you coming
to the party?”
                    “I guess so.” I still didn’t go
to the door.
                    They imported Betsy straight
from Kansas with her bouncing blonde ponytail and Sweetheart-of-Sigma-Chi
smile. I remember once the two of us were called over to the office of some
blue-chinned TV producer in a pin-stripe suit to see if we had any angles he
could build up fur a program, and Betsy started to tell about the male and
female corn in Kansas. She got so excited about that damn corn even the
producer had tears in his eyes, only he couldn’t use