Chapter 44 Chapter 44 This Is Not a Fairyland: Gold Can't Buy Happiness

When Carrie came backstage again, she found that her dressing room had changed overnight. "You use this room, Miss Madonda," said a backroom boy. Instead of having to climb a few flights of stairs to share a small room with another actor, she was replaced by a more spacious dressing room, equipped with amenities not available to the nonentities upstairs. She was overjoyed. She took a deep breath. But her feelings were physical, not spiritual. In fact, she wasn't thinking at all. Her feelings and perceptions dominated her. Gradually, other people's respect and congratulations made her appreciate her situation spiritually. She no longer had to follow other people's instructions, but accepted other people's requests, and they were very polite requests. When she wore her full body When she appeared in a simple outfit from the beginning to the end of the play, the other actors in the crew looked at her with envy. All those who thought she was of the same status and higher than her now smiled at her in a friendly way, as if Said, "We've always been friendly." Only the comic star, whose character has been deeply damaged, walked haughtily alone. He couldn't, for example, call an enemy a friend.

Carrie played her simple role, and gradually understood why the audience applauded her, and felt the beauty of it. She felt a little guilty...maybe because she deserved it. When her companions were on stage When the two sides greeted her, she just smiled faintly. She is not the kind of person who is arrogant when she has a status. She never thought of pretending to be reserved or arrogant...to change her usual appearance. After the performance, she and Laura went back to her room in the carriage provided by the theater. During the week that followed, plate after plate of the first fruits of success came to her lips. Her generous salary had not yet arrived, but that did not matter. It seemed that as long as there was a promise, the world was satisfied. She began Letters and cards received. A Mr. Withers... who she did not know at all... managed to find out where she lived, came in, and bowed politely.

"Excuse my presumptuousness," he said, "have you thought about changing houses?" "I haven't thought of it," replied Carrie. "Well, I work at the Wellington Hotel, which is a new hotel on Broadway. You may have read about it in the papers." Carrie remembered the name of a hotel, one of the newest and grandest of them all. She had heard talk of a luxurious dining room in it. "Exactly," continued Mr. Withers, seeing her admit to know the hotel. "If you haven't decided where to spend your summers, we have some very elegant lodges which I would like to invite you to see." Look. Our suite has all the facilities...hot water, cold water, private bathroom, special service for each floor, elevator, etc., everything you need. You know the situation of our restaurant."

Carrie looked at him silently. She wondered if he thought her a millionaire. "How much is your rent?" she asked. "Well, that's what I've come to talk to you in private now. The rent we're asking for varies from three dollars to fifty dollars a day." "My God!" interrupted Carrie, "I can't afford to pay that much." "I know what you think," cried Mr. Withers, after a pause. "But let me explain. I said that was our fixed price. But, like all other hotels, we have Great price. Maybe you haven't thought about it, but your name is valuable to us."

"Ah!" exclaimed Carrie involuntarily, seeing his intention at a glance. "Of course, every hotel depends on the reputation of its patrons. A celebrity like yourself," he said, bowing respectfully, while Carrie blushed, "can call attention to a hotel, And...although you might not believe it...you can get customers." "Oh, yes," answered Carrie blankly, trying to settle this curious suggestion in her mind. "Now," continued Mr. Withers, waving his bowler-hat lightly, and tapping the floor with one well-polished shoe, "if possible, I should like to arrange for you to stay. At the Wellington Hotel. You don't have to worry about the cost. In fact, we don't have to talk about it. You can pay as much as you want, a summer stay, a little bit of fun, and pay as much as you think you can pay."

Carrie wanted to interject, but he did not give her the opportunity to speak. "You can come today or tomorrow, the sooner the better. We'll let you choose an elegant, bright, street-facing room...our first-class room." "Thanks for your kindness," said Carrie, touched by the agent's extreme enthusiasm. "I'd love to come. However, I think I'll pay by chapter. I don't want to--" "You needn't worry about that at all," interrupted Mr. Withers. "We can arrange it to your complete satisfaction, anytime. If you are satisfied with three dollars a day, so are we." You just need to pay the money to the accountant at the end of the week or at the end of the month, and he will give you a receipt for this kind of room at our prescribed price."

The speaker paused. "Come and see the room," he added. "I'm glad to go," said Carrie, "but I have a rehearsal this morning." "I don't mean you to go at once," he answered, "any time. Is there any inconvenience this afternoon?" "Not at all," said Carrie. Suddenly, she thought of Laura who was not at home at this time. "I have one who lives with me," she added, "and where I go, she goes. I've forgotten that just now." "Oh, yes," said Mr. Withers pleasantly. "You can live with whomever you choose. As I have said, everything can be arranged as you like."

He bowed and retreated towards the door. "Well, at four o'clock, shall we wait for you?" "All right," said Carrie. "I'll wait there and show you the room," said Mr. Withers, and withdrew. After the rehearsal, Carrie told Laura about it. "Is that what they really mean?" cried the latter, thinking that the Wellington Hotel is owned by the big bosses. "Isn't that wonderful? Oh, wonderful! That's wonderful. That was that night." Where we dined with the Cushing brothers. Do you know that?" "I remember," said Carrie.

"Oh, that's wonderful." "We'd better go and see there," said Carrie later in the afternoon. The room which Mr. Withers showed Carrie and Laura was a suite on the same floor as the drawing-room, consisting of three rooms with a bathroom. They were all painted chocolate and crimson, with matching rugs and curtains. There are three windows overlooking busy Broadway on the east side, and three windows overlooking a side street that crosses Broadway. There are two handsome bedrooms with brass beds painted in white enamel and ribbon-bound White chairs and matching chests of drawers. The third room, or parlor, contained a piano, a heavy piano lamp with an ornate lampshade, a desk, large comfortable rocking chairs, A few low bookshelves ran along the walls, and an antique shelf full of curiosities. There were pictures on the walls, soft Turkish pillows on the divan, and brown plush footsteps on the floor. Stools. The usual price for a room with these facilities is 100 yuan a week.

"Oh, how lovely!" cried Laura, walking about. "It's a nice place," said Carrie, who was raising a mesh curtain and looking down at crowded Broadway. The bathroom is beautifully decorated with white tiles and has a large blue-edged terrazzo bathtub with nickel-plated faucets etc. The bathroom is light and spacious with a beveled mirror on one wall and three There are incandescent lights in one place. "Are you satisfied with this?" asked Mr. Withers. "Oh, very satisfied," replied Carrie. "Well, then, you can move in whenever you find it convenient. The house is ready for you. The waiter will give you the key at the door."

Carrie noticed the fine carpets, the tastefully furnished corridors, the marble hall, and the splendid reception rooms, which were places she had dreamed of. "I reckon we'd better move in now, what do you think?" she said to Laura, thinking of the modest apartment on Seventeenth Street. "Oh, of course," said the latter. The next day her box was moved to the new house. On Wednesday, after a matinee, she was dressing when she heard a knock on the door of her dressing room. Carrie was greatly surprised when she saw the calling card which the waiter handed her. "Please tell her I'll be right out," she said softly. Then, looking at her card, she added, "Mrs. Vance." "Well, you little rascal," exclaimed Mrs. Vance, as she saw Carrie coming towards her across the now-empty stage. "What the hell is going on here?" Carrie laughed happily. There was nothing awkward about her friend's manner. You would have thought that the separation so long had been a mere accident. "I don't know that," returned Carrie, with enthusiasm for the pretty, kind young lady, though at first with some uneasiness. "Oh, you know, I saw your picture in the Sunday edition, but your name confused me. I thought it must be you, or someone who looked exactly like you, so I Said: 'Okay, now I'll go over there and see. I've never been so surprised in my life. Never mind that, how are you?' "Oh, very well," answered Carrie; "how are you?" "Very well. You have succeeded. All the papers are talking about you. I was afraid you would get carried away. I almost dared not come here this afternoon." "Oh, don't talk nonsense," said Carrie, blushing. "I shall be very glad to see you, you know." "Well, anyway, I found you. Now can you come and have dinner with me? Where do you live?" "At the Wellington Hotel," said Carrie. She allowed herself some smugness in saying it. "Oh, is it true?" cried the other. On her the name had its due effect. Mrs. Vance tactfully avoided talking about Hurstwood, though she could not help thinking of him. There was no doubt that Carrie had deserted him. She could at least guess that. "Well, I don't think this evening will work," said Carrie. "I can't make it. I must be back here at seven-thirty. Will you come and dine with me?" "I'd love to. But I can't to-night," said Mrs. Vance, scrutinizing Carrie's pretty features. Carrie's good fortune seemed to her even more noble and lovely than ever." I promised to be home by six o'clock." She added, looking at the little gold watch which fastened to her bosom. "I must go too. Tell me when you will come, if you can." "Oh, whenever you like," said Carrie. "Very well, tomorrow, then. I am staying at the Chelsea Hotel." "Moved again?" said Carrie, laughing loudly. "Yes. You know I don't live in one place six months. I just have to move. Now remember, five-thirty." "I won't forget," said Carrie, looking at her again as she went away. Carrie then remembered that she was no worse than this woman now...perhaps better. Mrs. Vance Her concern and enthusiasm made her feel that she was the submissive party. Now, as in previous days, letters were handed to her every day by the porter at the Casino. This was a feature which had developed rapidly since Monday. She knew the contents of these letters very well. Old stuff written in the tenderest form. She remembers getting her first love letters back in Columbia City. Since then, when she was a chorus dancer, she's gotten a few more...  Letters were from gentlemen who wanted to ask for a date. They became a common joke between her and Laura, who had also received some of these letters. They both often made fun of them. Now, however, letters come in so fast. Besides mentioning their amiable virtues, rich gentlemen don't hesitate to mention their own horses and carriages. Hence this letter: I have a million dollars in my personal name. I can let you enjoy all the glory and wealth. You can have what you want. I say this not because I want to boast that I have money, but because I love you and want to satisfy you All the desires of my heart. It is love that makes me write this letter. Can you give me half an hour and listen to my heart? Letters of this kind which Carrie received when she was living on Seventeenth Street were more interesting to read than those which had come to her after she had moved into her luxurious rooms at the Wellington Hotel, though they were never of much interest. She was happy. Even at the Wellington, her vanity...or self-appreciation, in its more extreme form is called vanity...has not been adequately Satisfied, so that she will be bored with these letters. Any form of flattery, as long as she finds it new, she will like it. It's just that she has learned a lot and knows that she is not what she used to be. In the past, she had no fame and no money .Today, she has both. In the past, she had no flattery and no one to court. Today, both came. Why? To think that those men will suddenly find her so much more attractive than before She found it funny. It at least aroused her indifference. "Come and see," she said to Laura, "and see what this man says, 'If you'll give me half an hour,'" she repeated, with a pitiful, feeble tone. "It's strange. Aren't men really stupid?" "From the way he sounds, he must be rich," said Laura. "That's what they all say," said Carrie innocently. "Why don't you see him," suggested Laura, "and hear what he has to say?" "I really don't want to," said Carrie, "I know what he's going to say. I don't want to see anybody in this way." Laura looked at her with large, cheerful eyes. "He won't hurt you," she answered, "you might have fun with him." Carrie shook her head. "You are too queer," said the little blue-eyed soldier. So much luck followed. For a whole week, though her huge paycheck hadn't come in, it seemed people knew her and trusted her. She had no money. Or at least not the necessary sum. , but she enjoyed all the luxuries that money could buy. The doors of the best places seemed to be left open to her without her asking. How wonderfully these palatial rooms came into her hands. Vance The lady's elegant rooms are in the Chelsea Hotel, and these rooms belong to her. Men send flowers, write love letters, and offer her their property. But she is still dreaming beautiful dreams. This is 150 dollars! This is 150 dollars What a gateway to Aladdin's cave. Every day, she was almost dazzled by the development of events, and she wondered what she would do with so much money. The fantasies of the future are also increasing day by day, becoming more and more abundant. She imagines joys that are not in the world...sees the light of joy that has never appeared on the ground or in the sea. Then, at last, the infinite expectation came to her The first salary of 150 yuan. This salary was paid to her in green bills...three twenty-dollar bills, six ten-dollar bills, and six five-dollar bills. Putting it all together it made a handy roll. Hand out The pay teller greeted her with a smile as he paid. "Oh, yes," said the cashier, when she came to collect her salary, "Miss Madonda, one hundred and fifty dollars. The play seems to have been a success." "Yes, very successfully," answered Carrie. A troupe of insignificant actors came up immediately after. Then, she heard the tone of address for this one change. "How much?" snapped the same cashier. An unknown actor like her not so long ago was waiting for her meager salary. Like a servant, receiving... or asking for... four and a half dollars a week from an insolent foreman. It was a prince offering favors to a crowd of servile supplicants. She knew that even today, as far away as Chicago, the same factory building was filled with poor, poor girls in long rows of by the rattling machines. At noon they had only half an hour to eat something. On Saturdays, as they did when she was one of them, they gathered for their meager wages. , and they were doing 100 times harder work than she was doing now. Oh, how easy it is now! What a beautiful and glorious world. She was so excited that she had to go back to the hotel and think about what she should do . If one's needs were emotional ones, money soon showed itself to be impotent. Carrie could not think of anything in particular she wanted to do with the $150 in her hand. The money itself had a form, She could see it, feel it, and it was a delight for the first few days. But it quickly lost its usefulness. Her hotel bills were not covered by the money. Her clothes were in That's enough for her for a while. In a day or two, she'll have another hundred and fifty dollars. She's beginning to feel that the money isn't so urgently needed to maintain her current situation. If she wants to do it To be better or climb higher, she must have more money...much more. Here comes a theater critic who wants to write one of those flashy interviews that shine through with clever insights, show the critic's wit, and expose the stupidity of famous people, and thus win readers Popularity. He liked Carrie, and said so openly, but added that she was just pretty. Kind and lucky. It cut like a knife. The Herald held a reception for the Free Ice Fund, Invite her to attend with famous people, but don't ask her to donate money to show her respect. A young writer came to visit her because he had a script and thought she could put it on. Unfortunately, she couldn't make the decision. Thinking of this, she Sad. Then she felt that she had to keep her money in the bank for safety, and it went on until, finally, she realized that the door to a perfect life wasn't open yet. Gradually, she began to think that the reason was that it was summer. There was hardly any entertainment other than the plays she starred in. The millionaires on Fifth Avenue were out for the summer, and their vacant mansions were locked up. Doors and windows, boarded up. Madison Avenue isn't much better. Broadway is full of loitering actors looking for next season's gig. The city is quiet, and her show takes up her evenings. , resulting in a sense of boredom. "I don't understand," she said to Laura one day, sitting by a window overlooking Broadway, "I feel a little lonely, don't you?" "No," said Laura, "not often. You don't want to go anywhere. That's why you're lonely." "Where can I go?" "Well, there's plenty of room," replied Laura, thinking of her lighthearted company with the jovial boys. "You don't want to go out with anybody." "I don't want to go out with these people who write to me. I know what kind of people they are." "You shouldn't be lonely," said Laura, thinking of Carrie's success. "There are plenty of people who would do anything to get your place." Carrie looked out of the window again at the passing crowd. "I don't understand," she said. Before she knew it, her idle hands began to tire her.