The Standard of Living

The Standard of Living The Standard of Living Dorothy Parker Annabel and Midge had been best friends almost from the day that Midge had found a job as stenographer with the firm that employed Annabel. By now, Annabel, two years longer in the stenographic department, had worked up to the wages of eighteen dollars and fifty cents a week; Midge was still at sixteen dollars. Each girl lived at home with her family and paid half her salary to its support. The girls sat side by side at their desks, they lunched together every noon, together they set out for home at the end of the day's work. Many of their evenings and most of their Sundays were passed in each other's company. Often they were joined by two young men, but there was no steadiness to any such quartet; the two young men would give place, unlamented, to two other young men, and lament would have been inappropriate, really since the newcomers were scarcely distinguishable form their predecessors. Invariably the girls spent the fine idle hours of their hot-weather Saturday afternoons together. Constant use had not worn ragged the fabric of their friendship. They looked alike, though the resemblance did not lie in their features. It was in their movements, their style, and their adornments. Always the girls went to walk on Fifth Avenue on their free afternoons, for it was the ideal ground for their favorite game. The game could be played anywhere, and indeed, was, but the great shop windows stimulated the two players to their best form. Annabel had invented the game; or rather she had evolved it from an old one. Basically, it was no more than the ancient sport of what-would-you-do-if-you-had-a-million-dollars? But Annabel had drawn a new set of rules for it, had narrowed it, pointed it, made it stricter. Like all games, it was the more absorbing for being more difficult. Annabel's version went like this: You must suppose that somebody dies and leaves you a million dollars, cool. But there is a condition to the bequest. It is stated in the will that you must spend every nickel of the money on yourself. There lay the hazard of the game. If, when playing it, you forgot and listed among your expenditures the rental of a new apartment for your family, for example, you lost your turn to the other player. It was astonishing how many--and some of them among the experts, too--would forfeit all their winnings by such slips. It was essential, of course, that it be played in passionate seriousness. Each purchase must be carefully considered and, if necessary, supported by argument. There was no zest to playing it wildly. Midge played the game like a master from the moment she learned it. It was she who added the touches that made the whole thing cozier. According to Midge's innovations, the eccentric who died and left you the money was not anybody you loved, or, for the matter of that, anybody you even knew. It was somebody who had seen you somewhere and had thought, "That girl ought to have lots of nice things. I'm going to leave her a million dollars when i die." And the death was to be neither untimely nor painful. Your benefactor, full of years and comfortably ready to depart, was to slip softly away during sleep and go right to heaven. These embroideries permitted Annabel and Midge to play their game in the luxury of peaceful consciences. Midge played with a seriousness that wasp not only proper but extreme. The single strain on the girls' friendship had followed an announcement once made by Annabel that the first thing she would buy with her million dollars would be a silver-fox coat. It was as if she had struck Midge across the mouth. When Midge recovered her breath, she cried that she couldn't imagine how Annabel could do such a thing--silver-fox coats were so common! Annabel defended her taste with the retort that they were not common, either. Midge then said that they were so. She added that everybody had a silver-fox coat. She went on, with perhaps a slight toss of head, to declare that she herself wouldn't be caught dead in silver fox. For the next few days, though the girls saw each other as constantly, their conversation was careful and infrequent, and they did not once play their game. Then one morning, as soon as Annabel entered the office, she came to Midge and said she had changed her mind. She would not buy a silver-fox coat with any part of her million dollars. Immediately on receiving the legacy, she would select a coat of mink. Midge smiled and her eyes shone. "I think," she said, "you're doing absolutely the right thing." Now, as they walked along Fifth Avenue, they played the game anew. It was one of those days with which September is repeatedly cursed; hot and glaring, with slivers of dust in the wind. People drooped and shambled, but the girls carried themselves tall and walked a straight line, as befitted young heiresses on their afternoon promenade. There was no longer need for them to start the game at its formal opening. Annabel went directly to the heart of it. "All right," she said. "So you've got this million dollars. So what would be the first thing you'd do?" "Well, the first thing I'd do," Midge said, "I'd get a mink coat." But she said it mechanically, as if she were giving the memorized answer to an expected question. "Yes," Annabel said, "I think you ought to. The terribly dark kind of mink." But she, too, spoke as if by rote. It was too hot; fur, no matter how dark and sleek and supple, was horrid to the thoughts. They stepped along in silence for a while. Then Midge's eye was caught by a shop window. Cool, lovely gleamings were there set off by chaste and elegant darkness. "No," Midge said. "I take it back. I wouldn't get a mink coat the first thing. Know what I'd do? I'd get a string of pearls. Real pearls." Annabel's eyes turned to follow Midge's "Yes," she said, slowly. "I think that's a kind of a good idea. And it would make sense, too. Because you can wear pearls with anything." Together they went over to the shop window and stood pressed against it. It contained but one object--a double row of great, even pearls clasped by a deep emerald around a little pink velvet throat. "What do you suppose they cost?" Annabel said. "Gee, I don't know," Midge said. "Plenty, I guess." "Like a thousand dollars?" Annabel said. "Oh, I guess like more," Midge said. "On account of the emerald." "Well, like ten thousand dollars?" Annabel said. "Gee, I wouldn't even know," Midge said. The devil nudged Annabel in the ribs. "Dare you to go in and price them," she said. "Like fun!" Midge said. "Dare you," Annabel said. "Why, a store like this wouldn't even be open this afternoon," Midge said. "Yes, it is so, too," Annabel said. "People just came out. And there's a doorman on. Dare you." "Well," Midge said. "But you've got to come, too." They tendered thanks, icily, to the doorman for ushering them into the shop. It was cool and quiet, a broad, gracious room with paneled walls and soft carpet. But the girls wore expressions of bitter disdain, as if they stood in a sty. A slim, immaculate clerk came to them and bowed. His neat face showed no astonishment at their appearance. "Good afternoon," he said. He implied that he would never forget it if they would grant him the favor of accepting his soft-spoken greeting. "Good afternoon," Annabel and Midge said together, and in like freezing accents. "Is there something--?" the clerk said. "Oh, we're just looking," Annabel said. It was as if she flung the words down from a dais. The clerk bowed. "My friend and myself merely happened to be passing," Midge said, and stopped, seeming to listen to the phrase. "My friend here and myself," she went on, "merely happened to be wondering how much are those pearls you've got in your window." "Ah, yes," the clerk said. "The double rope. That is two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, Madam." "I see," Midge said. The clerk bowed. "An exceptionally beautiful necklace," he said. "Would you care to look at it?" "No, thank you," Annabel said. "My friend and myself merely happened to be passing," Midge said. "That's a quarter of a million dollars right there!" "He's got his nerve!" Annabel said. They walked on. Slowly the disdain went, slowly and completely as if drained from them, and with it went the regal carriage and tread. Their shoulders dropped and they dragged their feet; they bumped against each other, without notice or apology, and caromed away again. They were silent and their eyes were cloudy. Suddenly Midge straightened her back, flung her head high, and spoke, clear and strong. "Listen, Annabel," she said."Look. Suppose there was this terribly rich person, see? You don't know this person, but this person has seen you somewhere and wants to do something for you. Well, it's a terribly old person, see? And so this person dies, just like going to sleep, and leaves you ten million dollars. Now, what would be the first thing you'd do?"