There was silence for a few moments, then I asked him point-blank just why he was so eager to have me meet his new gal. I know damned well, I added, that you don’t want my approval.
No, Hen, and he looked down at the table top, to be serious about it, I wanted you to come for dinner some night when the kids are eating with us and…
And what?
And give me some pointers about these damned fairy tales. Kids take these things seriously, you know. I have a feeling I’m doing it ass-backwards. Maybe I’m telling them things they oughtn’t to hear till they’re five years older…
So that’s it? I blurted out. Well, I’ll be damned! And what makes you think I know anything about this business?
Well, you had a kid of your own, didn’t you? Besides, you’re a writer. You’re up on this crap, I’m not. I start a story and I don’t know how to finish it. I’m all at sea, I tell you.
Haven’t you any imagination?
Are you kidding? Listen, you know me. All I know is law, and maybe not too much of that. I’ve got a single-track mind. Anyway, it’s not just for that I want you to come … I want you to meet Trix. I think you’ll like her. Boy, she’s some cook! Tess, by the way—well, I don’t have to tell you—but Tess can’t even fry an egg. This one’ll make you think you’re dining at the Ritz. She does it with class. She has a bit of a cellar, too—maybe that will get you. Listen, what are you hemming and hawing about? I’d like you to have a good time, that’s all. You’ve got to have a change once in a while. O’Mara can take over for’ a few hours, can’t he? That is, if you trust him! Personally, I wouldn’t trust him out of my sight…
Just then Tony Maurer popped in, carrying a thick book under his arm. As usual, he was extremely cordial. Took a seat at the table alongside of us and asked if we wouldn’t join him in a drink. He held the book up in order for me to read the title: Decline of the West.
Never heard of it, I said.
You will before long, he answered. A great work. Prophetic…
MacGregor burst in under his breath: Forget it! You have no time to read anyway.
May I borrow it when you’re through? I asked.
Of course, said Tony Maurer. I’ll make you a present of it.
MacGregor, to excuse himself, inquired if it were a mystical work. He wasn’t a damned bit interested, of course, but he saw that Tony Maurer was not an idiot.
Told that it was a philosophy of history, he mumbled: It’s all yours!
We had a couple of drinks with Tony Maurer, and by this time I was feeling rather high. It was just dawning on me that we might have a very good evening, or dinner at least, chez Trix. Trix Miranda was the full name. I liked the sound of it.
Which bed-time story do they like best? I asked.
Something about the three bears.
You mean Goldilocks and the Three Bears? Why, Jesus, I know that thing backwards. You know, I’m just thinking … how would the night after next do?
Now you’re talking, Henry. I knew you wouldn’t let me down. By the way, you don’t have to, of course, but if you could bring a bottle of wine along, Trix would appreciate it. A French wine, if you can.
Easiest thing in the world! I’ll bring two or three.
He got up to go, and as he shook hands with me he said: Do me a favor, will you? Don’t get tight before we put the kids to bed.
It’s a bargain. And now I’ll ask you a favor. Let me tell them the story about the three bears, eh?
O.K., Henry—but no dirty work!
Two nights later I’m having dinner with MacGregor and Trix—in a remote corner of the Bronx. The kids are in fine fettle. The boy is five and the girl about three and a half. Charming youngsters but rather precocious. I’m doing my best not to get tight before the kids are put to bed. But we’ve had three Martinis while waiting for dinner and now we’re sampling the Chambertin which I brought along.
Trix is a good scout, as MacGregor would say. Not a beauty, but easy to look at. Has a jovial disposition. The only drawback I detect so far is that she’s hysterical.
Everything has been proceeding smoothly. I feel at home with the kids. They keep on reminding me that I’ve promised to tell them the story of the three bears.
You’re in for it, Henry, says MacGregor.
Truth to tell, I haven’t the least desire now to reel off that bed-time story. I stretch the meal out as long as I can. I’m a bit groggy. I can’t remember how the damned story begins.
Suddenly Trix says: You must tell it now, Henry. It’s long past their bed time.
All right! I groan. Get me another black coffee and I’ll begin.
I’ll start it for you, says the boy.
You don’t do anything of the sort! says Trix. Henry is going to tell this story—from beginning to end. I want you to listen carefully. Now shut up!
I swallowed some black coffee, choked on it, sputtered and stuttered.
Once there was a big black bear…
That’s not how it begins, piped the little girl.
Well, how does it begin then?
Once upon a time…
Sure, sure … how could I forget? All right, are you listening? Here goes … Once upon a time there were three bears—a polar bear, a grizzly bear, and a Teddy bear…
(Laughter and derision from the two kids.)
The polar bear had a pelt of long white fur—to keep him warm, of course. The grizzly bear was…
That’s not the way it goes, Mommy! screamed the little girl.
He’s making it up, said the boy.
Be quiet, you two! cried Trix.
Listen, Henry, said MacGregor, don’t let them rattle you. Take your time. Remember, easy does it. Here, have another drop of cognac, it’ll oil your palate.
I lit a fat cigar, took another sip of cognac, and tried to work myself back into the groove. Suddenly it struck me that there was only one way to tell it and that was fast as lightning. If I stopped to think I’d be sunk.
Listen, folks, I said, I’m going to start all over again. No more interruptions, eh? I winked at the little girl and threw the boy a bone which still had some meat on it.
For a man with your imagination you’re certainly having a hard time, said MacGregor. This ought to be a hundred dollar story, with all the preliminaries you’re going through. You’re sure yon don’t want an aspirin?
This is going to be a thousand dollar story, I replied, now in full possession of all my faculties. But don’t interrupt me!
Come on, come on, stop diddling! Once upon a time—that’s the way it begins, bawled MacGregor.
O.K…. Once upon a time … Yeah, that’s it. Once upon a time there were three bears: a polar bear, a grizzly bear, and a Teddy bear…
You told us that before, said the boy.
Be quiet, you! cried Trix.
The polar bear was absolutely bare, with long white fur which reached to the ground. The grizzly bear was just as tough as a sirloin steak, and he had lots of fat between his toes. The Teddy bear was just right, neither too fat nor too lean, neither tough nor tender, neither hot nor cold…
Titters from the kids.
The polar bear ate nothing but ice, ice cold ice, fresh from the ice house. The grizzly bear thrived on artichokes, because artichokes are full of burrs and nettles…
What’s burrs, mommy? piped the little girl.
Hush! said Trix.
As for the Teddy bear, why he drank only skimmed milk. He was a grower, you see, and didn’t need vitamins. One day the grizzly bear was out gathering wood for the fire. He had nothing on but his bearskin and the flies were driving him mad. So he began to run and run and run. Soon he was deep in the forest. After a while he sat down by a stream and fell asleep…
I don’t like the way he tells it, said the boy, he’s all mixed up.
If you don’t keep quiet, I’ll put you to bed!
Suddenly little Goldilocks entered the forest. She had a lunch basket with her and it was filled with all sorts of good things, including a bottle of Blue Label Ketchup. She was looking for the little house with the green shutters. Suddenly she heard someone snoring, and between snores a big booming voice was shouting: ‘Acorn pie for me! Acorn pie for me! Goldilocks looked first to the right and then to the left. She saw no one. So she got out her compass and, facing due west, she followed her nose. In about an hour, or perhaps it was an hour and a quarter, she came to a clearing in
