Suds In Your Eye

by Mary Lasswell

  Miss Logan thought that would be fine, since they were twenty minutes ahead of the time they had agreed upon to meet the other members of the class.

  ‘Only remember one thing, this is my treat!’ she said.

  They ploughed through the deep carpet up to the bar and climbed up on the squashy leather stools. Mrs. Feeley and Mrs. Rasmussen looked at each other and sighed blissfully.

  Miss Logan had a Martini and the others had beer.

  ‘Carta Blanca!’ said Mrs. Feeley knowingly. ‘One of the finest beers ever made!’

  Miss Tinkham asked the bartender if Mr. Tinney still worked there.

  ‘Oh, yes, señorita! Would you like to speak to him? He is at this moment donning the white coat to take over the evening shift!’

  At that moment the individual in question came through the door at the back of the bar.

  ‘Well, if it isn’t Miss Tinkham, my old music teacher! Darned if you don’t get younger every day!’ She bridled and smirked happily at being the center of attraction. After being introduced to all his ex-teacher’s friends the bartender proclaimed the drinks to be on the house. Mrs. Rasmussen and Mrs. Feeley were delighted to observe that several of the class members had come in and were at the other end of the bar. They were pop-eyed at the sight of free drinks on the house at the Foreign Club! That should give them a faint idea of how Miss Tinkham and her friends rated, Mrs. Feeley thought.

  ‘Now you can window-shop or go sight-seeing for fifteen minutes,’ Miss Logan said. ‘Only be in front of La Tapatia at a quarter to eight, because the chef will want us to be on time.’

  They all went separate ways, and the ladies took their bearings to be sure of the exact location of the little restaurant Miss Logan pointed out as they left the Foreign Club.

  As soon as Miss Logan went off with another group of her students and Old-Timer departed on some mysterious errand of his own, the three ladies made a beeline for a small native bar across the street. An odor of stale beer assailed their noses as they seated themselves happily at the dingy bar. This was lots better than the chrome and leather of the Foreign Club! That was all well enough to impress the class members with Miss Tinkham’s friend the bartender, but this was solid comfort…homelike.

  ‘Qué cosita? What little thing?’ The bartender demanded of Mrs. Feeley.

  ‘Tray serve aces!’ Mrs. Feeley declared with unnecessary loudness.

  The bartender must have been psychic, for he smiled and said:

  ‘Tres cervezas? Ah, the lady speaks Spanish!’ And he set down three enormous schooners of beer in front of them. Miss Logan would certainly be proud if she could see how Mrs. Feeley had mastered the Spanish language. The friends smiled at each other happily: those schooners held a full quart, easy! And only ten cents apiece!

  Mrs. Rasmussen said they mustn’t lose track of the time and be late for dinner. But there wasn’t much conviction in her voice. At the rear of the cantina, four men began to play a marimba.

  ‘Ain’t that beautiful?’ Mrs. Feeley demanded, propping her elbows on the bar and leaning her face in her hands. ‘That’s one o’ Mister Feeley’s favorite pieces: name “La Golden Dreena!”’

  Miss Tinkham began to hum the poignant melody softly; this was life! Great quivering chunks of it!

  Suddenly Mrs. Feeley froze, glass halfway to her lips. The three leaned into a huddle, instantly on the alert due to the tenseness of Mrs. Feeley’s attitude.

  ‘What’s up?’ Mrs. Rasmussen asked out of the corner of her mouth.

  ‘Don’t look now: but it’s nobody in the world but that son-of-a-bitchin’ lawyer sittin’ over there with that chippy, the Devil carry the bitch to hell! Let me get my hands on him!’ And she started to climb down off her stool.

  ‘Mrs. Feeley! We’re waiting for you! It’s almost time to start eating!’ Kate Logan called from the door, motioning for them to come on.

  ‘Not right now, it ain’t!’ Mrs. Feeley went over to the door and whispered to the teacher at some length. They joined the other two at the bar and took stock of the situation.

  ‘If it really is the lawyer, if you’re sure about it,’ Miss Logan said, ‘it’s no job for you, it’s a job for the police! He’ll only run off if he sees you!’

  ‘’Course I’m sure! I’d know his hide in a tan-yard! But what you say’s the Gawd’s truth! What’ll we do?’

  Miss Logan looked at the bloated, oily individual in the booth who was working very hard to impress a light lady. He was caressing her not very clean hand as it lay on the table.

  ‘Wait a minute! I only hope he hasn’t gone!’ cried Miss Logan.

  ‘Who?’ the ladies asked.

  ‘The chief of police was talking to me not two minutes ago right outside the door, inviting us to a special athletic exhibition they are giving for us after our dinner tonight. I’ll go see if he’s still there!’ And she flew out the door.

  ‘Don’t you think it would be wise to stay out of his sight?’ Miss Tinkham said. ‘He might recognize you and run away!’

  Luck was with them and Miss Logan returned with a handsome man in the uniform of a police officer. She was explaining something to him at great length in his own language. He was apparently enthralled by what she had to say. Then she presented him to the ladies.

  It was a great pity that such characters were allowed to roam the earth, but he would do everything in his power to assist the señoras.

  ‘This criminal has been a thorn in my flesh for many weeks now. He is involved in many shady practices; but always he remains just far enough within the law to avoid arrest! In the matter of the embezzlement, I regret that there is nothing I can do at the moment. The papers of extradition and warrants for arrest must be prepared and presented by the proper authorities.’

  The ladies looked a bit dashed.

  ‘But lose all care, ladies! To confine this “uncle” to the hoosegow will be my greatest pleasure! In Méjico, do not forget, gallantry still exists!’ This with a fine bow to the ladies.

  ‘If this low individual can be provoked into addressing one small unseemly word to any one of the so amiable señoras: zass! Like lightning I will incarcerate him! And very legally! Until the proper time when the papers can be sworn out and he can be removed to the United States, our great Sister Republic and Ally, for trial!’

  The ladies blinked. Here was a man!

  ‘Well, that sounds easy enough!’ said Miss Logan. ‘He looks like a surly brute, easy to provoke. We’ll have to map out a campaign. Obviously Mrs. Feeley is out! He would recognize her and be on the alert. Would I do?’ she inquired.

  ‘Please, señorita,’ replied the chief of police with his hand over his heart. ‘You make some jokes, no? Any man would abandon the company of Miss Ann Sheridan if approached by the so simpática señorita!’

  ‘You’re right. Chief!’ Mrs. Feeley agreed. ‘She won’t do!’

  Mrs. Rasmussen said she would gladly do the job of making the lawyer cuss her out, but she didn’t think she was the type, somehow.

  Miss Tinkham settled her beads and straightened her hat.

  ‘I think my experience in meeting the public while selling the corsages has fitted me for this delicate task,’ she said, and got down from her stool, mustering her forces to make the absconder insult her.

  ‘Sí, sí!’ cried the officer. ‘The señora is—how you say?—seductiva…she has a certain air of abandon! Go, señora! Remember: the responsibility rests with you! We follow immediately behind you to confront him with his victim!’

  ‘Wish me luck, ladies!’ said Miss Tinkham, fluffing out her white angora bolero and sauntering over to the lawyer’s table.

  He was apparently making some headway with his cheap conquest; she was leading him on with a practiced hand. They might have been alone on a desert island for all the attention they paid to the other patrons.

  ‘Listen, Bedroom Eyes…’ she was saying when Miss Tinkham sauntered up and gave the lawyer what she hoped was a leer.

&nb
sp; ‘Could I join you, dearie?’ she cooed.

  ‘Beat it!’ he said, not even looking at her.

  ‘Just treat me to a beer, honey!’ she pleaded.

  This time his girl friend snarled, ‘Gerrardahere!’

  Butter wouldn’t have melted in Miss Tinkham’s mouth. Leaning down, she began twisting the buttonhole in the lapel of the lawyer’s coat and murmuring: ‘Oo’s a bid, han’some man, oo is! Buy a itty dirl a itsy bitsy dwink?’

  The lawyer couldn’t stand it any longer. He reached out and kicked Miss Tinkham viciously in the shins, remarking with venom as he did so: ‘Ah, g’wan! You old bitch!’

  Immediately the police officer sprang into action.

  ‘You are under arrest! Assault and battery on a citizen of the United States! Obscene language to a lady of refinement! We will hold you until further charges can be brought against you by the proper authority!’

  The officer had him in an iron grip.

  ‘Turn me loose!’ the lawyer screamed. ‘I never saw her before in my life! She was soliciting me, I tell you!’

  ‘Another charge! Resisting arrest!’

  ‘You can’t do this to me!

  ‘Oh, can’t he just?’ inquired Mrs. Feeley, stepping out from behind the booth. At the sight of her the lawyer went white.

  ‘Thought you’d fixed me up so good I wouldn’t be able to squawk, didn’t you?’ she jeered. ‘What you’re gonna get outa this is gonna be plenty! When the F.B.I. gets through with you, then the district attorney’s gonna work you over! As for me, personally, if I wasn’t a lady I’d tear a leg off you right here an’ beat you to death with the bloody end of it! But instead o’ that I’m gonna spend that reward while you rot in the clink, where you belong!’

  They thanked the police officer for his aid and he said that he was in their debt for helping to apprehend a dangerous character, an enemy of the Republic. He dragged the miserable lawyer off in handcuffs, and Mrs. Feeley remarked:

  ‘Well, that’s a extra added attraction we never expected to have at this clambake!’

  Miss Tinkham was rubbing her shins.

  ‘You sure done fine, dear!’ Mrs. Feeley said.

  ‘She was wonderful,’ Miss Logan agreed.

  Mrs. Rasmussen took Miss Tinkham’s arm in case she needed help to navigate.

  ‘They can’t scold us for being late to dinner when we tell them what happened,’ Miss Logan said as they hurried across the plaza to the restaurant.

  Juanito, the owner, had been passing around plates of toasted crispy bits of tortilla, salty little Mexican olives, and slivers of dried beef to keep the students quiet: he absolutely refused to serve the dinner until La Maestra arrived. He was evidently Miss Logan’s devoted slave.

  Most of the class had bottles of beer in front of their places; there must have been a good many empties under the table, for mirth and jollity reigned.

  Miss Logan outlined the capture of the criminal briefly, and apologized for the delay.

  Four waiters brought in the first course on enormous trays.

  ‘Don’t eat all your soup,’ Mrs. McSparry cautioned out of her superior wisdom from last year’s party. ‘You won’t be able to hold the rest of the meal!’

  ‘Yeah?’ shouted Mrs. Feeley, flushed with triumph and beer. ‘You take care you don’t get a Mexican heartburn yourself!’

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Mrs. McSparry.

  ‘That’s when you have to take the electric fan to the toilet with you tomorrow!’

  Mrs. Feeley’s gang tossed their heads contemptuously at anyone so naïve, while the rest of the class roared. That would hold McSparry, they guessed.

  Mrs. Rasmussen was too busy to talk. Juanito was a chef after her own heart. After the soup they had roasted quail, French fried onions, and avocado salad. Then came chile con carne and delicious chocolate-brown fried beans with a thick sprinkling of grated cheese; after that, an enchilada was served, a tasty corn cake rolled and filled with grated cheese, chopped raw onion, and covered with a rich red chili sauce.

  The inhabitants of Noah’s Ark all traded their bottle of wine in on more beer.

  Mrs. Rasmussen paid Juanito the final tribute as she ate her dessert: a pat of guava jelly and a piece of goat’s-milk cheese:

  ‘I don’t see how he does it for the money!’

  Miss Logan gathered up the check money from the students and collected a generous tip for Juanito. He was not to be outdone, and presented each member of the class with a small round wooden box about the size of a dollar containing a rich, soft caramel cream called ‘burnt milk’ in Mexico. It was a kind of caramel fudge so soft it had to be eaten out of the box with a spoon, Miss Logan explained to the class, who were delightedly soaking up culture at every pore.

  ‘It’s a nice souvenir to take home, as that sweet is rare even in Mexico these days! Say “Buenas noches y mil gracias” to Juanito, because we must be going if we expect to see the gymkhana the police force is putting on at the Auditorium.’

  They thanked the proprietor, and she rounded up her charges: all but four. If she kept quiet and hustled the rest of the class off, the Noah’s Arkies might not be missed. Kate Logan was pretty sure where she would find them when it was time to go home. She hoped she wouldn’t have to pour them into the car, as she knew how long these Latin-American programs lasted!

  She thought of Danny and a wave of tenderness for everyone belonging to him swept over her:

  ‘After all,’ she chuckled, ‘this is their night to howl!’

  Chapter 15

  ‘FOR Gawd’s sakes, commere quick!’ Mrs. Feeley whispered excitedly to her housemates. Mrs. Rasmussen and Miss Tinkham sped to her side from the back of the house, where they were painting the kitchen shelves. The three peered out the side of the right front window, past the leaves of the gardenias. A large sedan was parked at the front gate and three gentlemen with a decidedly Oriental cast of features were coming up the walk.

  The ladies had just time to get away from the window when one of the delegation knocked at the door.

  Mrs. Feeley answered.

  ‘Excuse me, madame; is this the residence of Mrs. Feeley?’ the caller inquired.

  ‘Yes, it is; and you’re talkin’ to her! What can I do for you?’

  ‘I am Mr. Quong Sing, President of the Chinese-American League, and these gentlemen are members of a committee appointed to present you with a slight reward for your service to the League in apprehending a certain Mr. Strunk, lately of Tia Juana, Mexico.’

  ‘Well, come right in, gentlemen. These ladies lives with me an’ helped me capture that skunk. I’ll make you acquainted with Miss Tinkham and Mrs. Rasmussen. Rest your things an’ set a spell.’

  After much bowing and scraping the Chinese gentlemen finally got seated.

  ‘Sure didn’t take the sheriff and the district attorney long to back up the wagon an’ haul him off to jail, did it?’

  The committee smiled happily and remarked that the swiftness and efficiency of American justice was much admired throughout the civilized world.

  ‘You know. Miss Logan, our teacher, deserves a lot o’ credit in this here capture!’ Mrs. Feeley always gave credit where credit was due. ‘If it hadn’t a been for her, we’d a messed it all up; she explained it all to the chief o’ police in Spanish!’

  ‘Most estimable young lady, Miss Logan,’ a fat member of the committee remarked. ‘Very friendly to Chinese-American citizens. Many of our sons and daughters have had the privilege of attending her classes.’

  ‘And now, Mrs. Feeley,’ said Mr. Sing, taking a check from his billfold, ‘on behalf of the Chinese-American League of this county, I have the great honor to present you with this small and totally inadequate check as a trifling acknowledgment of the inestimable service you have rendered the League in apprehending a character so dangerous to Chinese-American security and prestige. Please accept it with our gratitude, and feel free at any time to command the League if it can be of service to you.’


  ‘Well, now, that’s real nice of you,’ replied Mrs. Feeley, taking the check. She wasn’t so hot on reading print but figures were not difficult for her; she could hardly believe her eyes when she glanced at the check. There must be a decimal point missing. The check looked like it said five hundred dollars. Guess her eyes were going back on her after all these years. She passed the check to Mrs. Rasmussen and Miss Tinkham. She heard them draw their breath in sharply: so she must have seen right, after all!

  ‘That’s what I call real handsome of the League!’ she continued. ‘To tell you the truth, I never expected nothin’ like that. I don’t know just what to say, but I’m very grateful. We all are,’ she said, indicating her friends. ‘Seems like a shame to take a reward for doin’ somethin’ that was such a pleasure!’

  The committee assured her that she had been of service not only to them and to herself, but to countless other victims as yet unheard of. The gentlemen recovered their hats and prepared to leave. Mrs. Feeley sensed that this was an occasion; she wanted to offer them some refreshment. She knew tea was what she was supposed to give them. But they wouldn’t like our tea, she thought.

  ‘Well, here goes,’ she said to herself. ‘All they can do is say No.’ She turned to Mr. Sing and said:

  ‘Since it’s such a warm mornin’ an’ all, wouldn’t you gentlemen have a glass of cold beer with us?’

  Before they could refuse, Mrs. Rasmussen appeared with a tray of frosty glasses of beer and Miss Tinkham followed with a basket of pretzels.

  Mrs. Feeley proposed a toast. The committee waited politely, glasses in hand.

  ‘A toast to the Japanese navy,’ said Mrs. Feeley. The Chinese gentlemen looked very blank.

  ‘Bottoms up!’ cried Mrs. Feeley, enjoying the relief that flooded the faces of her guests. ‘Yeup! That feller that talks so fast on the radio made that up! I sure like that toast!’

  The committee toasted Mrs. Feeley and her companions, and after much ceremony took their leave.

  The ladies watched them drive off.

  ‘Them’s sure nice fellers,’ Mrs. Feeley said, and they began to examine the check.