Bingo (43 page)

Mr. Pierre opened his mouth, “Just a minute—”

Louise cut him off. “Pariah!” She pointed at me again.

“What’s a pariah?” little Decca BonBon asked.

“That’s something like a martyr with more suffering and less class.” I tried to salvage this family debacle with whatever humor I could dredge up.

“Shut up!” Louise wheeled on me. “If you hadn’t invaded our family, none of this would have happened.” She looked from me to Mother. “I’ve done Jesus one better. He had one Judas. I’ve got two!”

“Just a minute, just—” Mr. Pierre tried again.

This time Mother cut him off. “You listen and you listen good, Louise.” Goodyear started to howl. “Shut up, Goodyear!” Mother meant it. The poor dog put his tail between his legs and lay down. Lolly lay down next to him. “You blab, blab, blab about being a mother.” Louise moved back a step. “Your daughter Maizie threw used sanitary napkins at passers-by in the Square. They had to take her away. Don’t talk to me about being a mother. You did a piss-poor job of it!”

Louise’s eyes looked like poached eggs. She attacked Juts with a fury. As she swung her purse more money fell out of it. The sisters were on the ground rolling around, an older distaff version of David and Bucky. Eight decades of hate rolled around with them.

Diz surveyed the situation and then put another ball down to the muzzle. “Mutzi?”

Mutzi nodded his head. “Yo!”

Mr. Pierre touched off the wick, and boom! Falkenroth, Spangler & Finster was being reduced to rubble. Mother and Louise sprang apart, and that fast, Ed grabbed Mom and Diz pinned Louise. They dragged them apart in opposite directions, Orrie tagging along after Louise. I was left with everyone staring at me. I opened my mouth but Mr. Pierre stepped beside me.

He put his arm around me. “Ladies and gentlemen, we had hoped to announce this under different circumstances but the present seems the time. We’re going to get married.”

Not one person believed that Mr. Pierre was the father of my child but that was beside the point. Everyone cheered.

Diz called out that he would be taking Louise home and Ed said the same about Mother. It was a good thing because none of us could have withstood another bombardment.

When I walked into the bingo hall Michelle came with me, as
did Lolly and Goodyear. Arnie Dow, Jackson, and the men were already righting tables.

“Are you going to marry him?” Michelle asked.

“If you have a better answer, tell me.”

Regina walked up behind me. “I’m happy for you, and the hell with public opinion.”

The three of us searched for Pewter. My kitty loathes loud noises and I feared she was cowering somewhere or, worse, had been trampled in the melee. I did notice as I continued the search that not a scrap of food was on the floor, nor on any of the tables. As the dogs had run out with me, suspicion began to fall on Pewter, wherever she was.

“Found her,” Michelle called from the other end of the room.

There was Pewter, in the Ping-Pong ball machine. The cat had eaten so much she couldn’t move. Even though the air current was on to push the balls in the air, none of them were moving. Closer inspection revealed that each Ping-Pong ball had fang marks. Punctured, they couldn’t rise with the air.

That was it for blackout bingo, May eighth. Blowout, as it was instantly christened, if braved again, would have to be scheduled for another time. I had no intention of stopping at my mother’s. I wasn’t mad at her but I figured she was being ministered to by Ed. As for Aunt Louise, I could wring her neck. So Goodyear, Lolly, Pewter, and I drove home. Pewter burped the whole way, the little pig.

S
trong coffee with chicory brewed in my coffeemaker. Lolly and Goodyear shared a bowl of doggie crunchies drenched in warm meat broth. Pewter ate a light breakfast. Small wonder. The old railroad clock on the wall read seven forty-five a. m. I was on my second cup of coffee when I heard a car pull up behind the old Chrysler. I cursed because I needed the time to myself to sort out what happened last night. I was also praying that jackleg police chief Bucky Nordness would not press charges against Louise, even though she richly deserved it. And what if he vented his spleen on Lolly? I didn’t look out the window because I was sure it was Mother or, worse, Wheezie. A rap at the door dispelled that notion.

“Come in.”

The front door swung open and Charles Falkenroth stepped into the front hall just as I was coming in from the kitchen.

“Nickel, I hope you will forgive this intrusion at an early hour but I know you’re always up at the crack of dawn and I must speak with you.”

His face, ashen, worried me.

“Let’s talk in the kitchen. I’ve made chicory coffee and I have the best bran muffins this side of the Mississippi.”

“You didn’t make them.” He smiled weakly and followed me into the kitchen.

“Mom did, Thursday, but I’ve kept them in the fridge.”

He observed the large muffins. “Thanks, no. I’m off my feed. Take coffee though.”

As I poured the coffee he soaked in the atmosphere of the place. Lolly trotted over for a pat. “Nickel, the memories I have of this house and Cora … I used to love to come up here as a boy. I think every kid in Runnymede did. She was a wonderful woman, your grandmother.”

“Did you know she couldn’t read or write?”

“No, I didn’t know that.”

I put the coffee before him and he thanked me. “She was born in 1888—no, it was 1878, I think. They didn’t have much money and Cora went to work early. Schooling wasn’t wasted on girls.”

He shook his head. “Maybe the good old days weren’t so good.”

“They never are.”

“Nickel, I’ve made a terrible mistake. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I’ve barely said two civil words to Ann. I should never have sold the
Clarion
. What was I thinking of? If I retire I’ll die. I called Diz but he won’t sell me back the paper—and I don’t blame him. I’ve come to ask for your forgiveness and for your help.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. You did what you thought was right and you sought the best deal for all of us. By the way, what are you going to do about Morningside? Ann had her heart set on it.”

“We’re hoping to winter there. Ann’s talked with Orrie and I think we’ll buy a house together. It’s too expensive now by ourselves.”

“Orrie likes her sunshine and I think she’s off Fort Lauderdale since the coconut robbery.”

“Let me tell you what I want to do. I want you to run the paper.”

“We don’t have the paper—”

He held up his hand to quiet me. “I’ve bought back the
building. Diz was good about that. Took an arm and a leg off me though.” He laughed. “He’s a businessman. He charged the bank valuation for the press—which is to say, nothing. So we have our old press. We have the building and we have the AP wire. This Falkenroth needs a Hunsenmeir.”

I could have jumped out of my skin with excitement. “You mean it?”

“I mean it, and I mean it fifty-fifty, which right now, kid, is fifty-fifty of nothing.”

I heard a wild screech. A slam, two slams. Louise and Orrie tromped through the back door.

“Where is she?” Wheezie demanded. “Oh, hello, Charles. What are you doing here at this hour? Say, are you the father of Nickel’s baby?”

“Wheezie.” Orrie was appalled but titillated.

“I beg your pardon.” Charles’s bow tie trembled.

“That brat—not my blood, I remind you—is having a baby and she’s not married. Well, I lit a candle for her and a candle for the baby. Imagine having her for a mother.”

I almost expected her to say a pregnant lesbian was a contradiction in terms.

“Nickel?” Charles was incredulous.

“It’s true. I am, however, to marry Mr. Pierre so my esteemed aunt’s objections will be handled properly. The baby won’t be illegitimate.”

“How you got pregnant wasn’t proper,” she snapped.

“Congratulations.” Charles leaned across the table and kissed me.

“You newspaper people are all alike. Liberals,” Louise sniffed. “Where is she? Where’s my baby sister? I’m going to kill her for last night.”

“She’s not here.”

“She’s not home either,” Orrie informed us.

“Did you try Mr. Pierre’s?”

“You think I’m a dunce? That’s the first place I looked, and the Curl ’n Twirl too.” You could almost see the smoke creeping out of Louise’s ears.

Another car pulled into the driveway. A door slammed. Yet another.

“Yoo-hoo!” Mom cheerfully opened the back door, Ed in tow. She beheld Louise. “Oh, it’s you.”

“I am not speaking to you—now or ever.”

“That’s a relief.” Mother brightened. “Hi, Charles. Hi, Orrie.” Mother didn’t seem surprised that Charles was here at such an early hour. However, after last night we were bombproof. Nothing would seem bizarre.

Ed came over and slapped Charles on the back. He was the most expansive I’ve ever seen him. “You missed a good show last night, buddy.”

“I’m beginning to get that feeling.”

“Look, everybody. I’ll make up more coffee and we’ll have an impromptu party—even though some of us are not speaking.”

“That includes you, you—well, I can’t say it.” Louise flounced into a chair.

“Charles and I are starting another paper. So let’s drink to it after I get the coffee made.”

As I was measuring out coffee and Mom was rummaging under the cabinets for Cora’s old samovar, I called out to Charles: “Why don’t you ring up Arnie Dow and see if he’ll come back to work?”

“What am I going to pay him with? I mean, Nickie, I’ll whip through what Rife gave me if I pay at the old rate, which wasn’t much to brag about anyway.”

“Advertising will take care of that and we could profit-share, you know. Call him.”

Charles did. “Said he’ll do it. Said he’ll come up the hill to celebrate. Asked if you’re okay. Told him he could see for himself, although you looked fine to me.”

Within minutes Arnie was through the door. Hellos were exchanged.

He threw his arms around me. “Are we crazy or what?”

“We’re crazy.”

“Would you have it any other way?” Mother found the samovar. “Orrie, will you tell my sister to mix up some biscuits.”

“Louise, will you mix up some biscuits?”

“Why?”

“She wants to know why?” Orrie repeated.

“Because Nickel can’t cook and because my beastly sister makes the best biscuits in town, second only to Verna.”

“I resent that! Mine are better than Verna’s! And don’t get the mistaken impression I was talking to you because I was not. I was speaking to these lovely people here and Ed.” Louise reached for the spatterdash mixing bowls and went to work.

“Let’s call Verna and tell her about the paper.” That fast, Orrie was on the phone.

Pretty shortly thereafter, Verna, Georgette, and Decca chugged up the hill, and Verna, bless her heart, brought more food.

“Charles, what do you think about Michelle? I think she’s turning into a real reporter.”

“Off to a slow start. I didn’t know if that one would make it but she is turning into something special. Why don’t I hire her—is that what you’re saying?”

“You got it.” I passed out mugs and cups to everyone.

Charles dialed Michelle. When he returned to the kitchen he was smiling. “She’s ecstatic. Says she’ll be here in a minute. Hope you don’t mind.”

“The more the merrier,” Wheezie sang out as she beat the batter. “Except for some people, of course.”

Mother chose a prudent silence for a change.

Michelle breezed up the hill and knocked on the front door. Arnie got the door. They kissed and hugged, which was a surprise
considering Michelle’s reserve, and then she kissed and hugged me. More surprises. Verna, counting out eggs for omelets, put Michelle to work before the woman even had time to sit down.

Mr. Pierre flew through the front door. “Where is everybody? I’ve been all over town looking for you girls!” He bowed to the ladies and nodded curtly to the men. Mr. Pierre had a standing truce with men. At the sight of me he jubilantly said, “Mom
cherie.
”

“I’m Mom
cherie,
” Mother said.

“Now you are
grand
Mom
cherie
and Nickel can be
petite
Mom
cherie.
”

“Speak English,” Louise said. “I’m tired of this French shit.”

As my aunt had never uttered the word
shit
before, conversation came to a halt and then slowly, like a train on a hill, moved forward again.

“I was saying”—Mr. Pierre dropped his voice to a lower register—“that Julia is Big Momma and Nickel is Little Momma.”

“
Cherie
isn’t Momma,” Orrie said.

“Don’t be a stickler, Orrie. It works on my nerves,” Verna requested.

“All right, all right, but we’ve got a houseful of newspaper people here and they like to get their facts just so,” Orrie defended herself.

“What are we going to call the paper?” Charles untied his bow tie and made himself comfortable by the table.

“How about the
Courier
?” Ed spoke up. “We got a
Courier
at home.”

“The
Tribune.
” Decca joined the conversation. “In olden times the tribune was the voice of the people. That’s what Uncle Sonny tells me ’cause he knows everything.”