September Morning

He shook his head, laughing. “Never mind, darling, it wasn't important. Feeling better now?”

“I wasn't drunk,” she said accusingly.

“Just a little tipsy, though,” he grinned. “Three glasses of punch, wasn't it? And mother emptied the liquor cabinet into it with our hostess's smiling approval.”

“I didn't realize how strong it was,” Kathryn admitted.

“It has a cumulative effect. Want to go back in?”

“Must we?” she asked. “Couldn't we slip out the side door and go see that new sci-fi movie downtown?”

“Run out on your own party? Shame on you!”

“I'm ashamed,” she agreed. “Can we?”

“Can we what?”

“Go see the movie. Oh, come on, Phil,” she pleaded, “save me from him. I'll lie for you. I'll tell Maude I kidnapped you at gunpoint…”

“Will you, now?” Maude laughed, coming up behind them. “Why do you want to kidnap Phillip?”

“There's a new science fiction movie in town, and…” Kathryn began.

“…and it would keep you out of Blake's way until morning, is that how this song goes?” Phillip's mother guessed keenly.

Kathryn sighed, clasping her hands in front of her. “That's the chorus,” she admitted.

“Never mind, he's gone.”

She looked up quickly. “Blake?”

“Blake.” Maude laughed softly. “Cursing the band, the punch, the politicians, jet lag, labor unions, smog and women with a noticeable lack of tact until Eve almost wept with relief when he announced that he was going home to bed.”

“I hope the slats fall out under him,” Kathryn said pleasantly.

“They're box springs,” Maude commented absently. “I bought it for him last year for his birthday, remember, when he complained that he couldn't get any rest…”

“I hope the box springs collapse, then,” Kathryn corrected.

“Malicious little thing, aren't you?” Phillip asked teasingly.

Maude slumped wearily. “Not again. Really, Kathryn Mary, this never-ending war between you and my eldest is going to give me ulcers! What's he done this time?”

“He told her she couldn't be promiscuous,” Phillip obliged, “and got mad at her when she pointed out that he believed in the double standard.”

“Kathryn! You didn't say that to Blake!”

Kathryn looked vaguely embarrassed. “I was just teasing.”

“Oh, my darling, you're so lucky you weren't near any bodies of water that he could have pitched you into,” Maude said. “He's been absolutely black-tempered ever since that Della toy of his started getting possessive and he sent her packing. You remember, Phil, it was about the time Kathryn wrote that she was going to Crete on that cruise with Missy Donavan and her brother Lawrence.”

“Speaking of Lawrence,” Phillip said, drawling out the name dramatically, “what happened?”

“He's coming to see me when he flies down for that writers’ convention on the coast,” she said with a smile. “He just sold another mystery novel and he's wild with enthusiasm.”

“Is he planning to spend a few days?” Maude asked. “Blake has been suspicious of writers, you know, ever since that reporter did a story about his affair with the beauty contest girl…who was she again, Phil?”

“Larry isn't a reporter,” Kathryn argued, “he only writes fiction…”

“That's exactly what that story about Blake and the beauty was,” Phillip grinned. “Fiction.”

“Will you listen?” Maude grumbled. “You simply can't invite Lawrence into the house while Blake's home. I've got the distinct impression he's already prejudiced against the man.”

“Larry isn't a pushover,” Kathryn replied, remembering her friend's hot temper and red hair.

Maude frowned, thinking. “Phillip, maybe you could call that Della person and give her Blake's unlisted number just before Kathryn Mary's friend comes, and I'll remind him of how lovely St. Martin is in the summer…”

“It will only be for two or three days,” Kathryn protested. Her soft young features tightened. “I thought Greyoaks was my home, too…”

Maude's thin face cleared instantly and she drew Kathryn into her arms. “Oh, darling, of course it is, you know it is! It's just that it's Blake's home as well, and that's the problem.”

“Just because Larry's a writer…”

“That isn't the only reason,” Maude sighed, patting her back. “Blake's very possessive of you, Kathryn. He doesn't like you dating older men, especially men like Jack Harris.”

“He has to let go someday,” Kathryn said stubbornly, drawing away from Maude. “I'm a woman now, not the adolescent he used to buy bubble gum for. I have a right to my own friends.”

“You're asking for trouble if you start a rebellion with Blake in his present mood,” Maude cautioned.

Kathryn lifted a hand to touch her dark hair as the breeze blew a tiny wisp of it into the corner of her mouth. “Just don't tell him Larry's coming,” she said, raising her face defiantly.

Phillip stared at Maude. “Is her insurance paid up?” he asked conversationally.

“Blake controls the checkbook for all of us,” Maude reminded her. “You could find yourself without an allowance at all; even without your car.”

“No revolution succeeds without sacrifice,” Kathryn said proudly.

“Oh, good grief,” Phillip said, turning away.

“Come back here,” Kathryn called after him. “I'm not through!”

Maude burst out laughing. “I think he's going to light a candle for you. If you're planning to take Blake on, you may need a prayer or two.”

“Or Blake may,” Kathryn shot back.

Maude only laughed.

***