“That’s terrible. Where are you burned?”
“All over, dear, all over.”
“That’s terrible.”
“I’ll live.”
“Tell me, did you talk to this psychiatrist?”
“Well, sort of,” said the girl.
“What’d he say? Where was Seymour when you talked to him?”
“In the Ocean Room, playing the piano. He’s played the piano both nights we’ve been here.”
“Well, what’d he say?”
“Oh, nothing much. He spoke to me first. I was sitting next to him at Bingo last night, and he asked me if that wasn’t my husband playing the piano in the other room. I said yes, it was, and he asked me if Seymour’s been sick or something. So I said—”
“Why’d he ask that?”
“I don’t know, Mother. I guess because he’s so pale and all,” said the girl. “Anyway, after Bingo he and his wife asked me if I wouldn’t like to join them for a drink. So I did. His wife was horrible. You remember that awful dinner dress we saw in Bonwit’s window? The one you said you’d have to have a tiny, tiny—”
“The green?”
“She had it on. And all hips. She kept asking me if Seymour’s related to that Suzanne Glass that has that place on Madison Avenue—the millinery.”
“What’d he say, though? The doctor.”
“Oh. Well, nothing much, really. I mean we were in the bar and all. It was terribly noisy.”
“Yes, but did—did you tell him what he tried to do with Granny’s chair?”
“No, Mother. I didn’t go into details very much,” said the girl. “I’ll probably get a chance to talk to him again. He’s in the bar all day long.”
“Did he say he thought there was a chance he might get—you know—funny or anything? Do something to you!”
“Not exactly,” said the girl. “He had to have more facts, Mother. They have to know about your childhood—all that stuff. I told you, we could hardly talk, it was so noisy in there.”
“Well. How’s your blue coat?”
“All right. I had some of the padding taken out.”
“How are the clothes this year?”
“Terrible. But out of this world. You see sequins—everything,” said the girl.
“How’s your room?”
“All right. Just all right, though. We couldn’t get the room we had before the war,” said the girl. “The people are awful this year. You should see what sits next to us in the dining room. At the next table. They look as if they drove down in a truck.”
“Well, it’s that way all over. How’s your ballerina?”
“It’s too long. I told you it was too long.”
“Muriel, I’m only going to ask you once more—are you really all right?”
“Yes, Mother,” said the girl. “For the ninetieth time.”