A Letter to Three Wives

To begin with,

all the incidents and characters in this story

might be fictitious

and any resemblance to you or me

might be purely coincidental.

The name of the town isn't important.

It's the one that's just

28 minutes from the big city...

Twenty-three if you catch

the Morning Express.

Its on a river, and it's got houses

and stores and churches

and a Main Street.

Nothing fancy like Broadway or Market.

Just plain Main.

Drugs, dry goods, shoes,

those horrible little chain stores

that breed like rabbits.

Also a street for the upper,

the exclusive of the town,

where the country-club set live

when they're not at the country club.

This is the first Saturday in May

and tonight the first dinner dance

of the country-club season.

Well, anyway, this house belongs to

Brad and Deborah Bishop,

two of my dearest friends.

Brad bought this house

before he went to war.

It was Brad who gave me

my first black eye and...

And my first kiss.

Well, when he came home from the war,

he came home with a wife, Deborah.

Thomasino said to tell you

he found room for your briefcase in the bag.

Good for Thomasino.

Why'd you have him pack a bag?

Because I know these

Saturday conferences.

A bit like Saturday poker games,

don't plan on doing anything Sunday.

Its strange, your not letting me know

when you plan to be away overnight.

This is just in case, darling.

There's no telling how late it'll be.

And I like my own pajamas between me

and the sheets in a Turkish bath.

You'll phone this afternoon,

though, either way, won't you?

And leave word, even if Im not here?

Just where might you be

when I call if not here?

First Saturday in May, remember?

The Settlement House Picnic.

That's right. The Women's Club thing.

Like it?

Anything to do with kids.

You know that.

What are you wearing tonight?

Ive got the one

you liked so much in Vogue.

- But if you're staying in town...

- What color?

Black, like you said.

Brad, I don't want to go without you.

Darling, it's the first

dinner dance of the season.

- If I only knew you were gonna be there.

- I will be if I can,

and if I can't, why should

that throw you into a panic?

What are you afraid of,

anyway, Deborah?

- Good morning, Thomasino.

- Morning, Mr. Bishop.

Im not in a panic.

Well, then?

Its just that suddenly the thought of going

to that dance tonight without you...

- Brad?

- Hmm?

Addie Ross, she used to be

sort of your ideal, wasn't she?

Now how did Addie

get into this conversation?

I never knew you read Vogue.

I never thought men bothered

much about it.

What's Vogue got to do with it?

I told you I picked it up on the train

coming home one night.

- Some woman had left it behind.

- Some woman.

Yes, some woman.

I thumbed through it and saw a dress

I thought would look smart on you.

What's wrong with that?

Nothing, I guess. Nothing at all.

- I should hope not.

- Well, Ive gotta pick up Rita.

- You'll phone about tonight, won't you?

- I told you I would.

It just so happens that the dress I bought,

that you picked out of Vogue that some

woman happened to leave on the train,

is exactly the dress that Addie Ross

wore to the concert two weeks ago!

Hot toast, Mr. Bishop.

She won't stay

mad at him long. She's too much in love.

Pretty soon,

she'll be full of self-reproach.

Women are so silly.

Now, this is that street where people

on the way up and on the way down

live alongside each other for awhile.

Rita and George Phipps

are on their way up,

that is, if Rita has her way.

And that's the only way

she'll have any part of, thank you.

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