Sunshine brought the tray of cold cans of beer and the basket of deviled eggs.
“Deviled eggs, too?”
“You take ’em up, love. Your legs is younger’n mine. I’ll just have a drop o’ malt, long as I’m down here.”
Mrs. Rasmussen sat down and had a beer with her.
“He ain’t himself,” she said.
“True for you!” Mrs. Feeley said.
“What’s the use o’ knockin’ himself cold? Seein’ all the good goin’ down that gullet?”
“He’d oughta strike,” Mrs. Feeley said.
“He won’t. He loves the boat too much. He said anythin’ about Sunshine?”
Mrs. Feeley shook her head. “But he took notice o’ the polish job.”
“I never grudged nobody nothin’,” Mrs. Rasmussen said, “but it kills my soul to see her make him come to heel like that. Suppose he went bust? Didn’t get no trade at all?”
“Throw him away like a squeezed orange. You don’t suppose…”
Mrs. Feeley’s gaze dived down into the amber pools of Mrs. Rasmussen’s eyes.
“We could carry him,” Mrs. Rasmussen said.
Mrs. Feeley nodded slowly. “Two o’ them units still empty. You an’ Miss Tinkham got some of the wages left!” She reached for another cold can of beer. “The way I see it, there ain’t but one thing for it.”
“For his own sake we gotta do it,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “That’s what Miss Tinkham told us.”
“That’s the candid fact,” Mrs. Feeley said. “We built him up an’ we gotta tear him down.”
“It’ll just about kill me,” Mrs. Rasmussen sighed.
“But it’s all for the flag, dear. All for the flag.”
When Mrs. Feeley and her two friends arrived at Bus Town that night, they were struck by a singular sign on the first unit, Red One.
“Lookit, she’s went an’ rented it!” Mrs. Feeley pointed to the big white sign bearing a scarlet hand, four feet high, with the lines of fortune drawn in the palm with bold strokes.
“Madam Gazza. Life Readings. 9 P.M. to 12 P.M. By Appointment Only.” Mrs. Rasmussen stared in amazement. “Sure swell havin’ it rented when we’re likely to need the extra to tide Tooner over.”
“They don’t working long hours,” Sunshine said.
“That’s known as makin’ your head save your heels, girl.”
Miss Tinkham sat at the kitchen table surrounded by stacks of books.
“So you rented it! Good on you!” Mrs. Feeley slapped her on the back.
“Velma wondered if Sunshine could start tonight She dismissed the other dancer. Are you quite exhausted, dear?”
“I have not the lava lava,” Sunshine said.
“What’s it look like?” Mrs. Rasmussen said.
“A strip of cloth,” Miss Tinkham said, “about two and a half yards long, and say, forty to fifty inches wide.”
“H’mmmmmmmm.” Mrs. Rasmussen went into her bedroom and came back with a piece of red cloth folded over her arm. “Was aimin’ to make a tablecloth outa this.” She unfolded a supple cotton fabric printed in lines of huge white pandanus leaves.
Sunshine took the cloth and in a flash had it draped around her body in lines that would have caused most designers to gnash their teeth in impotent envy.
“Like to see it without them dungarees,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. Sunshine turned her back and stripped down. One. Two. Three. She stood before them in fluid, flaming folds of cloth. “You’re gonna pin it good,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. Sunshine shook her head.
“It is not cricket to using pins.” She put up her hands and with dazzling prestidigitation reversed the draping so skillfully that her body was never exposed for a second. “I can riding a bicycle in this and not show nothing.”
“It really should be incorporated into the act,” Miss Tinkham laughed, “a Samoan strip-tease. Then you’ll go on tonight?”
Sunshine nodded. “If you wish.”
“I’ll telephone Velma.” Miss Tinkham took a nickel from the top of the stove and went across the street.
“Let’s all go!” Mrs. Feeley said.
Jasper sat with Mrs. Feeley and Mrs. Rasmussen in the booth they had occupied the night before. Miss Tinkham was in the office with Velma and Red. Oscar sat with Darleen at a table up near the band.
“The kid’s got her claque,” Jasper said. “Not that she needs it. I didn’t know she could sing.”
“Poor friends that couldn’t give her a little send-off.” Mrs. Feeley finished off her beer.
“Dig what’s comin’ in the door,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. Jasper whistled softly.
“Looks from here like he’s alone,” Mrs. Feeley said.
“Musta chloroformed her,” Mrs. Rasmussen said.
Velma and Miss Tinkham and Red rejoined their friends in time to see Ethelbert Tights take a table with a close-up of the bandstand.
“Who’s the man?” Red said.
“That, my friend, is Captain Dowdy’s relief!” Miss Tinkham raised her beer glass to Velma.
“Who’s this Madam Gazza?” Jasper said. “Quite a sign she hung out at the place.”
“You won’t be seeing much of her,” Miss Tinkham said.
“Long as she don’t bring the cops down on us an’ pays her rent reg’lar,” Mrs. Feeley said, “it don’t make no difference who she is.”
“I’ve always had a yen to have my fortune told,” Jasper said. “Maybe I’ll drop in on the Madam some evening.”
“Can’t you read?” Red laughed. “She don’t hold with droppin’ in.”
“You don’t want to go dabblin’ in the awe-cult,” Mrs. Feeley said.
“Get you a nice, quiet little widow somewhere,” Red said.
“Maybe I can snitch Old-Timer’s address book,” Jasper smiled.
“It’s all in his head,” Mrs. Feeley said.
“Sweater Boy certainly can’t keep his eyes off Sunshine.” Velma slid past Miss Tinkham and out of the booth. “Excuse me while I go to work.” The friends peeped through the open work top of the booth and watched silently as Velma cruised up smoothly behind Ethelbert, who was intent on Sunshine as she sat waiting for her turn. Velma leaned over the back of his chair, brushing his shoulder ever so slightly as she whispered something to him. He got up at once and pulled a chair out for her. Velma soon had him deep in confidential talk. He was apparently pumping her for all he was worth.
“Ain’t he a dog?” Mrs. Feeley said. “Lookit him mashin’ Velma’s hand.”
“I’m surprised at Velma,” Jasper said.
“Trust Velma,” Miss Tinkham said.
“I could take that to be sarcastic,” Jasper said.
“Take it any way you like.” Miss Tinkham smiled blandly.
“Oh, oh!” Mrs. Feeley giggled. The revolving door spun behind Chartreuse, resplendent in purple nylon tulle with gobbets of pearls and rhinestones plastered across her chest. “Don’t miss this!”
Velma gestured suavely with her little black cigar to the waiter to pull out a chair for her. Ethelbert went right on holding Velma’s hand and gazing spellbound at Sunshine.
“My respect for Velma deepens every hour on the half hour,” Miss Tinkham said. “She is the successful executive, the great American businesswoman, throwing her financial weight around.”
“Velma grosses half a million in this spot,” Jasper said.
“Don’t you think that tramp knows it?” Red said.
“Ethelbert, I believe,” Miss Tinkham said softly, “is looking for greener pastures.”
Jasper eyed her obliquely:
“With a pretty cup-cake for dessert.”
“Could be,” Miss Tinkham said. “I’d like some beer, if you please.”
“Better’n the vordervil, ain’t it?” Mrs. Rasmussen said.
“Nice dagger-type pitcher,” Mrs. Feeley laughed. “Chartreuse glarin’ at her an’ lickin’ away at that filthy ice-cream sump.”
Ethelbert was being plied with zombies.
He turned his admiring glance on Velma.
“You can almost hear him reproaching Chartreuse,” Miss Tinkham said. “‘Why aren’t you in a glamorous business, on the grand scale, like Velma?’ The lovebirds will fight tonight!”
Chartreuse’s mottled face was getting to look more like raw hamburger every minute. She turned as Velma beckoned to someone behind her and jumped up from her chair as Sunshine approached the table.
“Velma’s boilin’ her in oil!” Mrs. Feeley giggled.
“He’s bustin’ his buttons, all right,” Red said. Sunshine spoke to them for a few seconds and then went to sit at the table with Darleen and Oscar. Ethelbert got up to follow her, over the protests of his associate, whose face was as purple as her dress. Velma put her hand gently on Ethelbert’s sleeve.
“That innocent face!” Miss Tinkham chortled. “Butter wouldn’t melt in Velma’s mouth.”
Completely ignoring Chartreuse Velma stretched up close against Ethelbert’s ear and whispered something that pleased him mightily. He leaned back in his chair and put an arm around Velma, smiling the thirty-two-tooth smile he had learned since Chartreuse treated him to porcelain jackets.
“Gawd I wisht I could hear what she’s sayin’!” Mrs. Feeley said. “Couldn’t we go up for a minute?”
“An’ tear it?” Mrs. Rasmussen said.
Chartreuse got up, dragging Ethelbert to his feet. She pulled her lips into a sickly, rubbery spasm at Velma and went out, towing her friend by the unwilling hand. He looked back, smirking, at Velma.
“No, my friend,” Miss Tinkham murmured and shook her head, “you WON’T be back later!”
Velma came back to the booth at a brisk clip. She held up her thumb and forefinger in a circle.
“How about a drink?” She beckoned to the waiter.
“Well, maybe one,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “We gotta work tomorrow.”
“This is our night for runnin’ into people. Look what just blown in,” Mrs. Feeley said.
“Should we hail him?” Mrs. Rasmussen’s voice was eager as she admired Captain Dowdy’s blue coat and white flannel trousers. “He bought that new yachtin’ cap this evenin’.”
“Hell, no! He’s sittin’ down where Sunshine is!” Mrs. Feeley’s eyes popped.
“This is a rough night for Chartreuse,” Jasper laughed.
Mrs. Rasmussen looked bitterly into her beer.
“Too bad he missed her song,” Miss Tinkham said. “Sunshine said she was singing very softly, just sort of to herself, and the captain was listening in absolutely rapturous silence!”
“He was, too!” Mrs. Feeley said. “She sung that nice Irish Hawaiian one I like so well, ‘Farewell, Molly Heeney,’ an’ he says to me, ‘I’m the biggest music critic in this town, an’ that’s some voice she’s got on her. I could listen to singin’ like that forever.’”
“Well, what say we go?” Jasper said. “This is a week night.”
“Bleedin’ shame, but it’s true,” Mrs. Feeley said.
Velma nodded and went toward the revolving door near the table where Darleen and Oscar sat.
“Well!” the captain boomed as he got to his feet. “Where you been hidin’? You’re not goin’?”
“Gotta get some sacktime,” Mrs. Feeley said. “Too late if we stay for Sunshine’s number.”
“She’s not goin’ home alone?” Captain Dowdy challenged.
“Oh, I’ll take her.” Oscar waved a magnanimous hand.
“Oscar!” Miss Tinkham cried. “You can’t. I simply haven’t had a chance to talk to you until this minute about your music lessons!” She dragged Oscar to his feet.
“If you’re so worried, Tooner,” Mrs. Feeley poked him in the ribs, “why’nt you squire her home yourself?”
“The trouble with me,” the captain said, “is I keep forgettin’ that I ent single.”
“I’ll drive her home myself,” Velma said.
“We’d take it kindly,” Mrs. Feeley said. “A grand evenin’ all the way round.”
“I’ll get my car,” Oscar said.
“I’m happy! I’m happy!” Mrs. Feeley sang in the manner of the old-time religion.
“Yessir! Scuttle Chartreuse!” Mrs. Rasmussen said.
Chapter 14
FOR MORE THAN A WEEK, Mother Nature herself deigned to co-operate with Mrs. Feeley and Mrs. Rasmussen. The fog hung thick and clammy for days, making cruising impossible.
“Too dangerous when you’re haulin’ for hire,” Captain Dowdy said. When the fog lifted, many of the passengers had scattered or changed their minds. “Don’t take much to get ’em out o’ the notion,” the captain said gloomily.
On Monday of the second week, the clouds lifted and a smart breeze of wind blew up. The sky was blue and low; the fleecy white clouds tumbled about like lambs at play. Ten passengers stood on the dock ready to get underway for a day of brisk sailing. Captain Dowdy and Herman were bending on a new suit of sails.
“Nothin” prettier’n clean white canvas,” the captain said. “Hope we can keep it that way. Lately the damn gulls bespatter everythin’ faster’n we can shine it. Never had ’em around before. Always give me a wide berth till now. Can’t understand it. Look at that rail!”
Mrs. Feeley glanced innocently aloft and contemplated the rigging. Mrs. Rasmussen crossed the deck to the opposite rail and quickly kicked some slices of stale bread overboard. She untied a bit of twine that held a large piece of ham fat to the end of a boom, and stuck the fat and string in her pocket.
“They’re rarin’ to go today.” The captain rubbed his hands at the prospect. “You realize we was alongside all last week? Never took in a dime! An’ that insurance comin’ due! A boat’s nothin’ but a headache. I’ll tell you it’s one per cent pleasure and ninety-nine per cent ha’dship!” Mrs. Feeley beamed at Mrs. Rasmussen. “Who left that swab hangin’ over the side?” Captain Dowdy roared.
“I just plain forgot.” Mrs. Feeley took the swab in and when the captain went forward to give Herman orders, she hung it over the side again. “Nothin’ grayer than a dirty old mop.” She beamed.
“Grimmy,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “An’ he said they was from some boat club back East, real tony the ones comin’ today.”
“We got a nice day for it.” Mrs. Feeley smiled. “Here they come.”
“Who are you, Grandma?” one of the passengers said.
“Lemme see the color o’ your money, an’ maybe you’ll find out.” Mrs. Feeley stared him down. “What kinda hooligan club you come from?”
“I’m from Long Guyland, got some of the finest motor sailers you ever saw.”
“Koochers!” Mrs. Feeley snorted. “Phoenician blinds an’ floor lamps.” She hurried below to help Mrs. Rasmussen, who seemed to be having trouble starting the fire in the Shipmate. The down draught in the stack blew charcoal smoke into the main cabin. “Tooner!” Mrs. Feeley stood at the top of the ladder and bawled.
“Belay that Tooner,” he growled. “You know it’s Cap’n when the patty’s aboard. Can’t you see the wind’s blowin’ from all p’ints of the compass?”
“I’m sorry, Cap’n,” Mrs. Feeley said meekly. “The stove won’t draw.” He pattered down the ladder. “’Y God,” he groaned, “helps some to open the draughts ’fore you try to light it!” He opened the door to the firebox and the small door to the ash trap. “Y’ent even opened the Charlie Noble!” He turned the draught handle that opened the flue in the stack. “What’s the matter with you people? Bend one on last night?”
Mrs. Rasmussen beamed fondly at Mrs. Feeley. “Let’s have a beer.”
A stout man in a flowered shirt stuck his head into the hatch opening.
“How about mixing us a drink down there?” He handed down a bottle of National Distillers.
“How many, sir?” Mrs. Feeley asked too politely.
“Ten, please. Don’t spare the horses. Nothing settles your stomach quicker in a spanking breeze than a nice big bourbon!” He smiled hopefully at Mrs. Feeley.
&
nbsp; “Yessir!” she agreed. “What was it you wanted in ’em?”
“Soda, please. Don’t want to drain the captain’s carboy.”
“Whaddaya mean, the captain’s cowboy?” Mrs. Feeley said.
“You’re a hot ticket.” The man laughed and pointed to the glass water bottle that swung in its wooden rack.
“Where you from?” Mrs. Feeley said. “I can’t English your kinda talk.”
“Boston.”
“So that’s it!” Mrs. Feeley turned to get the drinks ready. She handed the tray up through the hatch and scuttled back to help Mrs. Rasmussen with the lunch. The schooner lurched and pitched as the wind shifted. Captain Dowdy stormed down the hatch, his face purple.
“Cheese an’ crackers!” he thundered. “What kinda mud, blood an’ corruption did you put in them drinks? They’re sailin’ folk. Ent rough enough to make ’em heave like that!”
Mrs. Rasmussen cowered in a corner under his fury. Even Mrs. Feeley quailed a little. The captain’s expert glance rested on the small bottles rolling on the galley deck.
“Great God in the Morning!” he shouted. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you was out to ruin me; bottled clam juice!”
Chapter 15
“WE DONE OUR WORST.” Mrs. Feeley smiled happily as she helped Miss Tinkham set the table for supper Monday night. “How’d you and Velma do?”
“The stage is set,” Miss Tinkham said. “The trap is baited. Her greed and his will do the rest.”
“Nothing to bring home tonight,” Mrs. Feeley laughed. “She give ’em cream of tomato, curdled. Them pork chops was swimmin’ in cold grease. They thrown ’em over the side…second-hand, o’course.”
“It ain’t hard once you make your mind up to it.” Mrs. Rasmussen came in carrying a few bundles. “I thought my heart would break when he tasted that soup but, like you say…” She looked at Mrs. Feeley sadly.
Tooner Schooner Page 9
