Thank You Anna

Dear Peter:

I found a wonderful new maid for your bachelor apartment. Her name is Anna. She is a very hard worker, and I know you can count on her to clean the place thoroughly.

She will come in Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons, while you're at work. You'll probably never see her, so be sure to leave $9 on the desk every Friday morning when you leave. Don't forget!

I told her you would leave any special instructions in the typewriter. Actually, I guess you could write the first one in the dust around this place. How any son of mine, brought up in such immaculate surroundings, could accumulate so much dirt in such a short time is beyond me, but no matter-- it's in capable hands now.

Ask her what she needs in the way of soap flakes, scouring powder, sponges, etc., and then you stock them under the sink. I know how you hate to be bothered with things like that, but it was your idea to have a place of your own.

Anna is Hungarian. She doesn't speak English too well, but she is an intelligent person from a fine family in Hungary. She is new to America, but she comes highly recommended. Remember that good, housekeepers are very hard to find.

Love, Mother.

Dear Anna

Welcome aboard. The place could use a little tidying up. Let me know what you need.

Best, Pete.

Mister Pete:

Hello. I need----

1.Scouring powder. 2.Soap flakes. 3.Ammonia. 4.Scrub brush. 5.Sponge. 6.Toilet brush. 7.Dish mop. 8.Duster. 9.Broom. 10.Dustpan. 11.Brush for sweeping dust into dustpan. 12.Floor wax.

Thank you, Anna.

Dear Anna:

What do you plan to do, sandblast the building? All the place needs is a little tidying up. This does not require all those pickaxes, shovels and pneumatic drills you listed.

Honestly, Anna, I don't have time to go shopping for all those things, and by the time I leave my office at night, the grocery stores are closed. Besides, where would you put all that stuff?

Here are two bars of soap. Go to town! If you need anything else, buy it-- I'll pay you back.

Best, Pete.

Mister Pete:

Wrong soap. Cannot clean stove with face soap. I will buy what you need, you pay me back. I will hide them, so you never find. Laundry piling up all over. Should I send out?

Thank you, Anna.

Dear Anna:

Go ahead on the buying spree, but lay off the ammonia. 'I can't stand the smell of ammonia.(continued on page 66)Thank You, Anna(continued from page 60)

Good idea about the laundry. See if they can get it back by tomorrow. But no starch. To me, starch is in the same league as ammonia.

We will get along fine, Anna. I like the way you take charge of things. Handling that laundry solves a great problem. Enclosed find $9.

Best, Pete.

Mister Pete:

Place clean now. Supplies cost $ll. Why you want laundry back so quick? Cost too much. Rest come back next week. You socks drying in w.c.

You like my work? Harder without ammonia.

Thank you, Anna

Dear Anna:

What cyclone went through this place? Where is everything? I came home last night, looking forward to settling down in my nice, sloppy apartment, and maybe invite some guys over for a poker game and what do I find? An 18th Century drawing room!

What happened to all the newspapers I've been saving to read when I had time and my collection of matchbook covers from all over the world?

I know you mean well, Anna, but it makes me uncomfortable to find the apartment standing rigidly at attention when I get home. I had enough of "passing inspection" in the Army.Every day from now on, I want to fail inspection.

Easy does it. Relax. Make the bed, dust around, rinse out a glass or two.Comes the spring, we can overhaul the place. Somewhere on this floor there must be an incinerator,and all you have to do is throw out the garbage and the cigarette butts and the beer cans, and I'll be happy.

Which reminds me. When you find a half-full can of beer standing around, throw it out — don't put it back in the icebox. There are four half-full cans of beer in the icebox now, getting staler by the minute. Some women say that stale beer makes a wonderful hair rinse, but I have no plans along those lines. I admire your thrift, but I won't be bulldozed into finishing every can of beer I start. I own the beer, the beer doesn't own me. Out with it!

Thanks for washing the socks, but where are they? Who is "w.c."? Fields? Churchill? Please explain further.

Anyhow, go easy on the ambition.

Best, Pete.

Mister Pete:

I very unhappy. Try my best to do good work, you no like. Work extra hard to please you, because my father told me I must do extra good for Americans to like, and because I try so much, you no like. Do not understand.

Socks in water closet, behind shower curtain. Why is shower curtain folded up on hamper? Would have rolled up socks and put away in drawer where belong, but afraid you think I not go easy on the ambition.

All unhappy. Do not understand.

Thank you, Anna.

Dear Anna:

I apologize. Forget my last note, it was misleading and un-American. Ambition is a fine thing and it's the only way you get ahead. Make the place sparkle and plump up the pillows all you want.

So that's where the socks were! I would never have found them behind the shower curtain, because Mother gave me that shower curtain, and I would rather let the water slop all over the "latrine" than use a pink shower curtain.

By the way, Americans will understand you better if you call water closets "latrines" or "bathrooms" or "heads" or "johns" or "little boy's rooms."

Don't be unhappy. You're doing fine.

Best, Pete.

Mister Pete:

Thank you for note. Very happy now. Thank you too for English lesson. Now when I want to find water closet, I ask for little boy's room.

Also thank you for beer. Hair beautiful.

Thank you, Anna

Dear Anna:

As they say on Madison Avenue, we have a challenge ahead of us.

I am giving a party tomorrow night. Not really a party, just a little gettogether that will be a sort of housewarming. Would you take the glasses out of wherever you've hidden them and set them on the bar? And do you know what a "Lazy Susan" is? I know somebody gave me one and said it was absolutely necessary at parties. Please find it for me.

There may be some extra tidying-up the next time you come, but I don't expect it will be much.

Best, Pete.

P.S. The definition of water closet is bathroom. It is the only acceptable definition. Forget all others.

Mister Pete:

Lazy Susan here. Little things of food to put in all wrapped up in icebox. Also Hungarian schnecken in icebox, for lots people, my special idea for party. Heat up hot 10 minutes in bottom part stove.

No worry about clean up after. I handle quick.

Thank you, Anna.

My Dear, Dear Anna:

Look around. What a horrible mess! But what a wonderful party.

Would you believe this single room would hold 40 people? Dancing, laughing, singing, wildly carrying on? Oh, my head.

The Hungarian schnecken was a sensation.Parties all over town next week will feature heaping Lazy-Susansful of hot Hungarian schnecken. I have over a dozen anxious requests for the recipe.

It was a great victory, Anna, but the wounded must be removed from the battlefield. Oh,is this joint a shambles. If I were you, I would quit now, but please don't. To itemize:

1.Some of the unbroken glasses can be salvaged.

2.The bottom part of the stove will never be the same.

3.From the looks of the ash trays, I have a feepng that some of my guests were cremated.

4.Nobody will ever be able to explain how that large, kidney-shaped stain got on the wall, but maybe we can hang a picture over it.

5.The pillows are mashed down from now 'til Doomsday, and no amount of plumping will ever bring them to life. Save them, maybe I can use them on the beach next summer.

6.Get a repairman up to do something about the pretzels in the phonograph.

Stick with me, Anna, in my hour of need. Never again, that's a solemn oath.

Best, Pete.

Mister Anne:

All clean like new. Had to use ammonia. Glad was fun. You tell friends secret to schnecken is pickled water chestnuts. Have more parties, I no mind. Make lots friends, get married.

Thank you, Anna.

Dear Anna

Like Phoenix, risen from the ashes! I shall never again wrinkle up my nose at the sweet, purifying scent of ammonia.

Though we have never met face to face, Anna, I feel as though I know you well, because we have been through hell together. It's like two radar operators, miles apart, tracking down the same bomber. You were kind to volunteer for another mission, but as for me, there shall be no more cakes and ale and wild parties. Once done, it is out of my system forever. From now on, the only entertaining I do at home will be little gatherings of two people, myself being one.

(continued on page 81)Thank You, Anna(continued from page 66)

By the way, what did you mean, "make lots friends, get married"? I already have a lot of friends. And I can't get married — two people couldn't live in this one room and I have a two-year lease with no sublet clause. Therefore, marriage is out of the question for some time. And why does everybody want to see me married? I'm happy this way. I have an interesting job, a happy home, and Anna. You must have been talking with Mother again.

At any rate, I appreciate the Restoration.

Best, Pete.

Mister Pete:

Found hairpins under pillow of easy chair. Also bottle nail polish in bathroom.

? ? ? ?

Thank you, Anna.

Dear Anna:

Easily explained. I am a safecracker by profession, and use hairpins in the picking of difficult locks. The nail polish, however, is not mine. It was left here by a friend, who is somewhat absentminded about those things, and I am going to have a little chat with my friend about that.

Not to change the subject, but — if you stand on a chair and run your finger along the curtain rod, you will find a mess of dust. This was especially disappointing to me, Anna, as it is my custom to run my finger idly along the top of the curtain rod when I am thinking.Let's spend more time on the top of the curtain rod and less time on Hairpin Hunts.

Sincerely, Pete.

Mister Pete:

Why you mad?

Thank you, Anna.

Dear Anna:

Who's mad? The curtain rod is beautiful — I never realized it was brass until now. It was just that I thought you were accusing me of something in your last message, but it was probably my own guilty conscience.

Now that I think about it, it might be a good idea to track down hairpins. It has been pointed out to me that not all girls use the same kind of hairpin, and the discovery of the wrong hairpin at the wrong time could be rather embarrassing.

Is the stove in operating condition? Could you check that little eternal light down in the middle of it for me? Tonight I am going to try something different. Met a girl the other day, from a very wealthy family, but who claims she can cook. I laughed and challenged her to come and cook me a meal, never imagining she would say yes. But she did, with a kind of grim look, and asked me a string of questions that I will turn over to you.

1.Do I have plenty of condiments? I told her I did. What are condiments?

2.Silverware. Is there another fork?

3.Which of the things in the middle drawer under the sink is a knife sharpener? I know it's there, but I am not certain which it is.

4.She knows I have no tablecloth, but she said that was OK, she would use my "doilies." I don't have any doilies. do I? I hope not. Pick up some doilies, will you? Masculine-looking ones, if possible.

Well, I can't say I'm looking forward to this ordeal, but these are the things that teach me to keep my mouth shut. On your next visit, expect to find greasy dishes, blackened pots and pans, and a lingering odor of smoke. You better bring along a vat of ammonia and a gas mask.

Best, Pete.

Mister Pete:

You all set. Say is good food no matter what. Make knives sharp on each other.Don't worry.I ready for anything.

Thank you, Anna.

Dear Anna:

Just look around this time. Everything shipshape. Every dish, every glass, every doily back where it belongs. Would you believe that in this immaculate room, a delicious repast took place? Candlelight, wine, steak, hot rolls, an honest-to-goodness meal out of my kitchen!

And afterward, she insisted on doing the dishes. I told her about you, and how you would be offended if she did your dishes, but this is a girl with definite ideas. Somehow, I believe that she forces herself to be independent and certain because she is a product of all kinds of finishing schools, but as soon as she comes across a real man, all her independence will melt like butter on a hot stove. (By the way, if you look, you will spot some melted butter behind the stove. She told me to put it back in the icebox, but I was just looking at her and not listening, and I guess I got a little confused and put it on the stove. Damn candlelight, couldn't see a thing.)

I was very proud of the way the place looked, Anna, because she said she liked a man who liked neat surroundings. She thought the floor and furniture could use a waxing, but I think she just said that to show she was interested.

How nice it was to meet a real old-fashioned girl!

Best, Pete.

Mister Pete:

Floor and furniture all waxed. This girl going lead you around with ring in nose. Girls not like that in Hungary. Cooking not everything.

Thank you, Anna.

Dear Anna:

First of all, I almost broke my neck getting in here. This floor is like one huge banana peel.

Secondly, what's got you up in arms? I leave the place nice and clean, meet a nice marriageable-type girl like everybody wants me to, and what happens — you turn my floor into a booby trap.

What cooks with you, Anna?

As ever, Pete.

Mister Pete:

Next time you have girl over who don't like my waxing, you tell me. Bought plenty wax.

I no mad. You life you own.

Thank you, Anna.

Anna, my Good Friend:

This is ridiculous. I have gone out with a girl exactly three times and you have me married. What's worse, you must have told Mother about this, because she called me yesterday with the name of a good jeweler.

Enough of this foolishness about my getting serious. Even if I did have something long-range in the back of my mind, she would certainly never have me.

To change the subject, please give the place a Hairpin Hunt as never before. I want also to be especially certain there is not a remote chance of finding a loose reminder of another girl anywhere. Nothing escapes this girl's eagle eye.

We're having two other couples up for cocktails before our date tonight. Do I need anything?

Best, Pete.

Mister Pete:

Found cheap earring under couch, threw it away. Fake pearl. Chopped chicken liver in icebox. Smear on crackers. Feed to Eagle Eye and friends.

Thank you, Anna.

To the Maid:

Mr.Johnson is a bachelor, and doesn't know much about the way a home should be kept, but it is absolutely essential that you pay strict attention to items like these:

1.The glasses that you set out must be arranged in two straight lines along the bar, and must have a napkin spread over them when you leave, to avoid dust.

2.Whenever Mr.Johnson plans to have guests for cocktails, call a good Caterer (I recommend the Sutton Place Catering Service) and ask for a platter of hors d'oeuvres, which arrive wrapped in cellophane.

3.I mentioned before to Mr.Johnson that the place direly needed a good waxing. I'm quite serious about this.

Mister Johnson:

I quiet. You owe me $7. Back tomorrow for last time.

Anna.

Dear Anna:

What the hell's the matter? Who's "Mister Johnson"?

What have I done to deserve this? I have a few friends over for cocktails, and we eat up all your chopped chicken liver (everybody said it was delicious), and the next thing I know — you quit.

You can't quit. Just forget about the whole idea. I need you.

What I can't understand is why, out of the clear blue sky, you should decide to desert me like I was a sinking ship. Have I said anything to offend you? Are you mad because you never see me in person?

Believe me, I would stay home and talk this over with you today, but we have an all-day meeting down at the office that I can't miss.

Your resignation is hereby refused. Kindly explain.

Pete.

Mister Pete:

Here is note from Eagle Eye was left for me after cocktail party. I quit. Back tomorrow for $7.

Thank you, Anna.

Dear Anna:

I understand now. First of all, I want you to know that I had nothing at all to do with that snotty note that Eagle Eye left you.

Second, there is nothing I can say to stop you from quitting. You have been deeply offended and I cannot blame you for wanting to go find a job where you are better appreciated.

Here is the $7 I owe you. Let me know where you hid the brooms and things. I will never forget your thoroughness or your schnecken.

Farewell, Pete.

P.S. Attached is a note for Mother. Read it if you like.

Dear Mother:

What a close call I've had!

You may not realize this, but I came within a hair's breadth of marrying a shrew, the taming of which would have been impossible. Everybody, including you, has been nagging me, "Get married, get married," so when the first marriageable-type girl came along, I panicked.

What really happened was that I fell in love with the idea of getting married. Eagle Eye (which was the name of the girl I have been seeing) had her looks out for some poor sap of an eligible bachelor whom she could lead around by the nose — me. When I saw her note to Anna, I began to see the light.

I took the note to Eagle Eye and we had a little chat. Suddenly that sweet exterior peeled away like varnish off a cheap painting, and I realized the beartrap I had almost put my foot in. There are some cold-blooded, calculating schemers that I do business with on Madison Avenue who would look like innocent babes in the hands of a woman like this. And to think how close I came to marrying her! That is what they mean by a Fate Worse Than Death.

Eagle Eye cost me the loss of Anna, but I still have my books, my hi-fi and my blessed singleness.

With love and relief, Pete.

Mr.Pete:

Here you $7 back. I no quit. Such good laugh. Wish could see Eagle Eye face.

Thank you, Anna.

Dear Anna:

Welcome back aboard.

There is some work I have to do at home on Wednesday, so you and I will have a chance to meet face to face.

Looking forward to seeing you, Pete.

Mister Pete:

I little bit afraid to meet you tomorrow. Do not want you to be unhappy with way I look. Will wear Sunday dress.

Thank you, Anna.

Dear Mother:

Why must you always hold out on important information? Up to today, from what you wrote in your first note about Anna, I had a perfect mental picture of her: fat, friendly and fiftyish, with a big grin and maybe a tooth missing in front.

Why didn't you ever let me know that Anna is a beautiful young girl? Didn't you trust me? Didn't you realize that someday I would come home and find out?

I walked in the place this afternoon and saw this lovely young thing with those big, wiseful eyes looking at me, twisting that silly duster in her hands. I figured Anna got sick and sent her daughter, but then she said that she was Anna and wondered why I was looking at her that way, was I disappointed with her.

Disappointed! She must have thought I was a little idiotic the way I kept trying to start to say something, but that speechlessness was entirely your fault, Mother. You know how I have always felt about the Pier Angeli-Marisa Pavantype of girl. Here she was — the big eyes, the slim figure, the shy way about her — the whole package!

So I just stood there looking stupid, thanks to you. I would have been able to handle the whole situation charmingly if I had not been expecting to say hello to a Hungarian Aunt Jemima.

At any rate, as soon as I was able to shift a few gears in my head, we sat down on a couple of the plumped-up cushions and had a long talk. She's very well educated, speaks four languages fluently, but hardly any English. She was a student in Hungary and active in the revolution; when the Russians moved in, she beat it to Vienna and made it to the States on the President's special quota. A sad story, but she's quite cheerful and wants to learn all about America.

She has the softest, loveliest brown hair which, for some reason or other, reminds me of the color of fine, imported dark Danish beer.

You could have given me a hint, at least.

Love, Pete.

Dear Anna:

I have a remarkably good idea. You want to learn to speak better English. I want to try some authentic Hungarian goulash. We have a saying here in America: "One hand washes the other."

How about your staying and waiting for me on Friday, and I'll sample your goulash. After that, I'll teach you my English. That way, I'll be well fed and you'll be well educated. How about it?

Cordially, Pete.

Mister Pete:

I worried about washing hands with you. Not proper for girl in man's flat at night. You very, very good to say you help me with English, and I can make you wonderful szekely goulash, but I worry. Do not know.

Thank you, Anna.

Dear Anna:

The English in your last note was absolutely awful. We don't say "flat" — we say "apartment." You use the present tense on future-tense verbs, and your infinitives are split from here to hell and gone. You've mastered four languages already, and you should catch this one quickly, but you need help.

And I need a good meal. Do you know what it's like to eat in restaurants all the time? My Diners' Club booklet is thumbed to a frazzle, and so is my appetite.

In two short paragraphs, I have stung your pride and appealed to your pity.One of these approaches has to work.Please be here tonight.

Fondly, Pete.

Dear Pete:

Such a lovely evening. I use the interrogative construction — wasn't it a lovely evening? Putting the question is the most difficult in English, but I learn with you help.

Bring again the wine — tomorrow night — you must learn to like with meal. Red wine, for paprika schnitzel. The French say "a meal without wine is like a springtime without sunshine."

In English lesson, you tell me American history?

Thank you, Anna.

Dear Anna:

Fear not, I'll bring the wine. I can't imagine a springtime without sunshine, or my apartment without Anna.

By the way, your goulash is superb, and the paprika schnitzel sounds mouthwatering.

The subject of tonight's lesson will be: "Great Romances of American History." I'll help you with the homework.

Thank you, Anna.

Love, Pete.