welcomed the chance to go out. And of course, she would do anything for poor England! Then she asked me to call Anthony and see if he would escort her to the benefit and sing their duet with her. Somewhat, but not entirely, to my surprise, he agreed. (Anthony could not have cared less about politics—he made even me look like Fiorello La Guardia by comparison—but he adored Edna. If I haven’t mentioned before that Anthony adored Edna, please do forgive me. It would become tedious if I had to keep up a thorough list of everyone who adored Edna Parker Watson. Just assume they all did.)
“Sure, baby, I’ll haul Edna over there,” he said. “We’ll have a gas.”
“Thank you awfully, darling,” Edna said to me, when I confirmed that Anthony would be her date for the evening. “Together we will defeat Hitler at last, and we’ll be back at home in time for bed, no less.”
That should have been the end of it.
This should have been a simple interaction—an innocent decision by two popular entertainers to attend an ultimately meaningless political event, hosted by a group of well-heeled, well-intentioned Manhattan women who could do absolutely nothing about winning the war in Europe.
But that wasn’t the end of it. Because as I was helping Edna to get dressed for the evening, her husband, Arthur, walked in. Arthur saw Edna putting herself together so smashingly, and asked where she was going. She told him she was dropping by the Waldorf to perform a song at a small political benefit that some ladies were putting together for England. Arthur got sulky. He reminded her that he’d wanted them to go see a movie that night. (“We only get one night off a week, blast it!”) She apologized (“But it’s for England, darling!”), and that seemed to be all there was to this little marital tiff.
But when Anthony showed up an hour later to pick up Edna, and Arthur saw the young man standing there in his tuxedo (rather overdressed, if I may say so), Arthur became angry again.
“What’s this one doing here?” he asked, eyeballing Anthony with naked suspicion.
“He’s escorting me to the event, darling,” said Edna.
“Why is he escorting you to the event?”
“Because he was invited, darling.”
“You didn’t say you were going on a date.”
“It’s not a date, darling. It’s an appearance. The ladies want me and Anthony to perform our duet for them.”
“Why don’t I get to go to the event, then, and perform a duet with you?”
“Darling, because we don’t have a duet.”
Anthony made the mistake of laughing at this, and Arthur spun around to face him again. “You think it’s funny to take a man’s wife to the Waldorf?”
Always the diplomat, Anthony cracked his gum and responded, “I think it’s kinda funny.”
Arthur looked like he might lunge at him, but Edna spryly leapt between the two men and placed a petite, well-manicured hand on her husband’s broad chest. “Arthur, darling, keep your wits. This is a professional engagement, and nothing more.”
“Professional, is it? Are you being paid?”
“Darling, it’s a benefit. Nobody is being paid.”
“It doesn’t benefit me!” Arthur cried, and Anthony—once more, with his native tact—laughed.
I asked, “Edna, would you like Anthony and me to wait outside?”
“Nah, I’m pretty comfortable right here, baby,” Anthony said.
“No, you may stay,” Edna said to both of us. “This is nothing of concern.” She turned again to her husband. The patient, loving face she’d been showing him thus far was now replaced by an icier expression. “Arthur, I’m attending this event and Anthony is escorting me. We shall sing our duet for some harmless, pewter-haired old ladies, raise a spot of money for England, and I’ll see you when I get home.”
“I’ve about reached my limit with this!” he cried. “It’s not enough that every newspaper in New York forgets I’m your husband, but now you forget it, too? You’re not going, I say. I refuse!”
“Get a load of this guy,” said Anthony helpfully.
“Get a load of you,” retorted Arthur. “You look like a waiter in that tuxedo!”
Anthony shrugged. “I am a waiter, sometimes. At least I don’t need my woman to buy my clothes for me.”
“You get out of here right now!” Arthur shouted at Anthony.
“No dice, pal. The lady invited me. She decides.”
“My wife goes nowhere without me!” said Arthur—somewhat ridiculously, because as I had witnessed over the past several months, she went to many places without him.