The Fundamentals of Play Read Free

Brindle was engaged, George?”
    “No, I hadn’t,” I said.
    “Yes, but she broke it off.”
    “Oh, good,” I said, glad of this, for some reason, though I wasn’t sure I’d ever met the girl.
    “Yes, bit of a … random choice …”
    Kate proceeded to give several more names I had never heard and to account for their whereabouts. Marnie Pall was in town, and her cousin Dick had married Loribelle Betz up in Maine, and Granny had gotten drunk at the wedding—which was a rather
elaborate
affair—and Granny had said, “That girl is climbing as fast as she can, isn’t she?” and it was very embarrassing …
    I heard it said once, by whom I can’t recall, that true beauty always has one flaw. As Kate went on, blithely chattering, I fell into the habit I had of looking for that flaw—the thin lip or feature out of place—which might have meant her entry into that elite society. And yet those frank good looks of hers had always seemed to suggest that there was something distasteful about beauty, something a little tacky about a quality that by its very nature draws attention to itself, like coming overdressed to a party, or throwing a black-tie weddingin the country. But Kate—Kate was what you wanted, somehow, in this infinitely ironic age. She was the kind of girl about whom other girls used to say, “All right, so she’s
thin
but,” trying vainly to suss out the appeal. And even now, when her name comes up, and with it the sulky protest it invariably evokes—“She’s not
that
great”—I do not feel compelled to argue in her defense. That was the whole point: she didn’t have to be.
    “You’re not still with that one girl, are you?” she wanted to know.
    “Hmm. What else do you want to know?”
    Kate thought, frowning. “What you ate for breakfast.”
    “Poached eggs on toast,” I lied, finally getting up to speed.
    She liked it. “Where did you eat a poached egg? Where did you
get
a poached egg?”
    “In my kitchen.”
    “You poached the egg yourself, George? How did you learn to poach eggs?”
    “My mother taught me.”
    “She did? I wish my mother—”
    “Come over sometime; I’ll make you one.”
    “Breakfast date?” she said curiously. “Do you think Chat would approve? You know he and
I
are supposed to be engaged,” she added, as if it was an afterthought, and she grinned.
    “I lied,” I admitted suddenly. “I didn’t eat breakfast.”
    “You didn’t?”
    “No, I just had coffee. That’s all I ever have.”
    “That truly disappoints me.”
    “I meant to say—best wishes.”
    “Oh, it’s not … 
official
,” she said. For some reason this made both of us laugh. There was no promise in Kate’s laughter; in fact it was just the opposite note that seemed to resound, an expression of utmost faith in today, of total absorption in the moment as it passed. “You know, George, the main thing is to have fun,” she asserted.
    “I don’t know,” I said after a moment. I put my hands in my pockets and took them out again. “It’s just New York, I guess. I’m still getting used to it.”
    “I understand completely,” Kate said. “Isn’t it dirty and awful?”
    “Yes,” I said.
    “But it’s fun,” Kate continued. There was something in her voice that made platitudes like that sound fresh. “It’s so, so, so, so fun. You just go out and everyone’s around and—and you don’t have any homework. It’s so
nice
not having any homework.”
    “Oh, Kate.”
    “And you know, George, what else would we be doing? We have nothing better to do, do we? Or …? I should speak for myself, shouldn’t I?
I
have nothing better to do.” She said this cheerfully. “Do you?”
    “Well, sometimes I work about a hundred hours a week,” I said.
    “Right,” Kate replied. “Work—play—that’s what I mean.”
    Presently Chat returned with the drinks.
    “Cheers, then,” I said, making an effort to rally. This was cardinal with Kate; one always rallied. I think