Chapter 13 Breakfast at Tiffany's-13

She was still hugging the cat. "Poor slob," she said, tickling his head, "poor slob without a name. Its a little inconvenient, his not having a name. But I havent any right to give him one: hell have to wait until he belongs to somebody. We just sort of took up by the river one day, we dont belong to each other: hes an independent, and so am I. I dont want to own anything until I know Ive found the place whereme and things belong together . Im not quite sure where that is just yet. But I know what its like." She smiled, and let the cat drop to the floor. "Its like Tiffanys," she said. "Not that I give a shoot about jewelry. Diamonds, yes. But its tacky to wear diamonds before you forty; and even thats risky. They only look right on therely old girls. Maria Ouspenskaya. Wrinkles and bones, white hair and diamonds: Icant wait. But thats not why Im mad about Tiffanys. . You know those days when you've got the mean reds?"

"Same as the blues?" "No," she said slowly. "No, the blues are because you're getting fat or maybe its been raining too long. Youre sad, thats all. But the mean reds are horrible. Youreafraid and you sweat like hell, but you dont know what You are afraid of. Except something bad is going to happen, only you dont know what it is. You had that feeling?" "Quite often. Some people call it angst." "All right. Angst. But what do you do about it?" "Well, a drink helps." "Ive tried that. Ive tried aspirin, too. Rusty thinks I should smoke marijuana, and I did for a while, but it only makes me giggle. What Ive found does the most good is just to get into a taxi and go to Tiffanys. It calms me down right away, the quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there, notwith those kind men in their nice suits, and that lovely smell of silver and alligatorwallets. If I could find a real-life place that made me feel like Tiffanys, then Id buysome furniture and give the cat a name. Ive thought maybe after the war, Fred and I -- " She pushed up her dark glasses, and her eyes, the differing colors of them, the grays and wisps of blue and green, had taken on a far-seeing sharpness. "I went to Mexico once. Its wonderful country for raising horses. I saw one place near the sea.

Freds good with horses." Rusty Trawler came carrying a martini; he handed it over without looking at me. "Im hungry," he announced, and his voice, retarded as the rest of him, produced anunnerving brat-whine that seemed to blame Holly. "Its seven-thirty, and Im hungry. You know what the doctor said." "Yes, Rusty. I know what the doctor said." "Well, then break it up. Let's go." "I want you to behave, Rusty." She spoke softly, but there was a governance threat of punishment in her tone that caused an odd flush of pleasure, of gratitude, to pinkhis face.

"You dont love me," he complained, as though they were alone."Nobody loves naughtiness." Obviously shed said what he wanted to hear; it appeared to both excite and relax him. Still he continued, as though it were a ritual: "Do you love me?" She patted him. "Tend to your chores, Rusty. And when Im ready, well go eat wherever you want." "Chinatown?" "But that doesn't mean sweet and sour spareribs. You know what the doctor said." As he returned to his duties with a satisfied waddle, I couldn't resist reminding her that she hadn't answered his question. "Do you love him?"

"I told you: you can make yourself love anybody. Besides, he had a stinking childhood." "If it was so stinking, why does he cling to it?" "Use your head. Cant you see its just that Rusty feels safer in diapers than hewould in a skirt? Which is really the choice, only hes awfully touchy about it. He tried to stab me with a butter knife because I told him to grow up and face the issue, settle down and play house with a nice fatherly truck driver. Meanwhile, Ive got himon my hands; which is okay, hes harmless, he thinks girls are dolls, literally." "Thank God."

"Well, if it were true of most men, I'd hardly be thanking God." "I meant thank God you are not going to marry Mr. Trawler." She lifted an eyebrow. "By the way, Im not pretending I dont know hes rich. Even land in Mexico costs something. Now," she said, motioning me forward, "lets get hold of OJ" I held back while my mind worked to win a postponement. Then I remembered: "Why Traveling?" "On my card?" she said, disconcerted. "You think its funny?" "Not funny. Just provocative." She shrugged. "After all, how do I know where I'll be living tomorrow? So I told them to put Traveling. Anyway, it was a waste of money, ordering those cards.

Except I felt I owed it to them to buy some little something. Theyre from Tiffanys." She reached for my martini, I hadnt touched it; she drained it in two swallows, and took my hand. "Quit stalling. Youre going to make friends with OJ" An occurrence at the door intervened. It was a young woman, and she entered like a wind-rush, a squall of scarves and jangling gold. "HH-Holly," she said, wagging a finger as she advanced, "you miserable hh- hoarder. Hogging all thesesimply rr-riveting mm-men!"