The Dud Avocado (New York Review Books Classics)

by Elaine Dundy

“No kidding. I mean I’m in love for the first time in my life. I’ve been meaning to tell you about it but the opportunity just never seemed to come up.”

The fact that this was probably true did not prevent me from noticing that Europeans can never resist a dig at America when at a sexual disadvantage with one of its “countrywomen.”

I reflected wearily that it was not easy to be a Woman in these stirring times. I said it then and I say it now: it just isn’t our century.

I began to feel that I actually was a librarian. The wood growing into my soul and stuff. I suppose I am rather an intellectual.

The impromptu jazz bands that found themselves there together at night ranged from professional to inadequate, and went on as long as there was a leg to stand on.

“Engage me in violent conversation.”

I stiffened my spine and tried to dance disapprovingly.

I mean, the question actors most often get asked is how they can bear saying the same things over and over again night after night, but God knows the answer to that is, don’t we all anyway; might as well get paid for it.

“An American passport is a privilege, not a ‘right’,” he said.

Larry passes the time writing corny poetry or painting even cornier pictures. Missy sulks in her room and eats fruit all day.

I do not travel very well. For someone who likes to get around as much as I do, I really travel quite badly.

Hated France when I first got over here.

I hate plans. Hate even listening to people telling me about theirs. Plans spoil suspense, I say. Don’t believe in looking where I’m going.

I suppose I was kind of disagreeable on the trip down. I complained steadily. At first I tried to stop myself and then I didn’t try to stop myself. And then I couldn’t.

Frequently, walking down the streets in Paris alone, I’ve suddenly come upon myself in a store window grinning foolishly away at the thought that no one in the world knew where I was at just that moment.

Bax loves everything in Europe, he says, because it’s so old.

Christ, it’s boring. I don’t know what I thought it would be like, but I thought it would at least be more convivial.

I got my allowance for June last week, so there’s nothing to stop me.

It was impossible to resist such a night. No one tried.

I put on my bathing suit and went down to the untidy kitchen and made myself some coffee. Then I went out on the terrace and looked at the sky.

I thought: is summer only a state of mind?

What was the use of remembering? If it was unpleasant, it was unpleasant. If it was pleasant, it was over.

again. It can’t be real. Judy lying in the hospital, probably dying. Larry pimping and thieving and beating up girls. Me in jail. How did it happen? We’re all nice people.

Everything in Paris moved if you looked at it long enough.

I visited Judy. The operation had been successful, or as successful as it could be. She was weak but she was out of danger. I told her I was going to Hollywood to sign a big contract. I promised to write.

“Why shouldn’t you be a bullfighter if you want to be? I’m sick to death of standing here day after day sending people back to places they hate, places they’ve run away from. I just can’t bear it any longer. I mean who are we to know what’s what anyway? Look, here’s a dollar. Go over to the soda fountain and have something to eat. I’ll check the timetables of the trains going West from Union Station and we’ll figure out your next move when you get back.”

“Good luck to you. You’re running for my life.”

So I went back to New York to become a librarian. To actually seek out this thing I’ve been fleeing all my life.

“Oh I promise, I promise,” I assured him, stretching lazily, feeling utterly euphoric. “The world is wide, wide, wide, and I am young, young, young, and we’re all going to live forever!”

“Now let’s kiss somewhere else,” said Max.

We danced and kissed through the jazz. It was cool and hot and blue. Midnight blue. Blue smoke. Blues.

“I’m tired of living in sin with you,” he said after a while. “Let’s get married. Then I can take you to Japan with me.”

So now all I have to do is decide what sort of clothes to buy for Japan.

I mean Japan for a honeymoon. It’s so cool. It’s so chic. It’s so suave and so sleek and exotic. It’s the end, it’s the end . . .! It’s the last word. It’s zymotic.