Suds In Your Eye (13 page)

‘Oh, we did!’ Mrs. Feeley assured her. ‘But Mrs. Rasmussen got kinda nervous about us all maybe not gettin’ to go to Mexico, so she put us all to work and got it over with all at oncet! It was awful hard work, but we’re sure glad we done it!’

Mrs. Rasmussen was frying the big pieces of chicken. She explained to Miss Tinkham that it was silly and wasteful to fry the small pieces…not enough meat on them. She would make chicken and noodles out of them tomorrow. While the chicken was cooking she hollowed out a cavity in each loaf of French bread and swabbed it liberally with butter. Then she stuck them in the oven to heat. Miss Tinkham arranged radishes, onions, and slices of pickle on each plate. She added generous heaps of potato chips; then Mrs. Rasmussen took the golden sizzling pieces of chicken from the skillet and placed three or four pieces in each toasted loaf. Old-Timer opened the icy-cold beer and the feast was ready.

‘Looks like old times, don’t it?’ Mrs. Feeley asked. ‘They can ration sugar as much as they want for all we care long as they don’t bother the beer an’ good solid food like cheese an’ French bread an’ meat. We don’t go much for fancy vittles, but we sure like ’em tasty.’

Miss Tinkham said that nobody could cook like Mrs. Rasmussen…whether for a feast or for a famine. The cook accepted the compliment graciously.

‘Thank goodness we don’t have to use knives and forks!’ Kate Logan said happily.

‘Well, set to!’ Mrs. Rasmussen urged. ‘There’s lots o’ guttin’s for anybody that wants to gut.’

T
HE
enrollment in Miss Logan’s Spanish class seemed to have grown miraculously, judging by the crowd assembled on the steps of the high school. Miss Logan was all over the place at once, waving lists of names, seeing that everyone got into the right cars. She had done a heroic job, and at last it looked as if they were ready to start the drive south of the border.

‘Your party will ride with me, Mrs. Feeley,’ she said.

Mrs. Feeley swelled with pride. She guessed it was on account of them being almost part of her family now. That would be one in the eye for McSparry and the Major’s Lincoln Zephyr! This year she rode with that young fellow who drove the laundry truck.

Miss Tinkham rode in the front seat with Kate Logan and Mrs. Feeley. Old-Timer and Mrs. Rasmussen rode in the back. They talked a blue streak all the way to the border, mainly about the effort to raise the tax money. Miss Logan was sympathetic, but said they should have come to her in the first place. She said Danny would have wanted her to help them out of the difficulty; she could have borrowed the money for them even if she didn’t have it herself.

‘Oh, no, dear!’ cried Mrs. Feeley, nudging Miss Tinkham in the ribs. ‘We don’t want nothin’ from Danny! Danny ain’t got nobody makin’ no claims on his money! An’ he’s going to own all that property when I die. The tax man told me it had went up a lot in value…an’ it’s all for Danny. Don’t think he’s one o’ these here that ain’t got a penny to bless himself with! He’s a smart boy an’ saves his money. Wasn’t nobody more surprised than that tax collector when we walked in with the money two weeks ahead o’ time! We was lookin’ forward to this outin’ ’cause we done the job among the four of us an’ didn’t have to ask nobody else for a penny.’

Miss Logan said they rated a real celebration. ‘I think it was marvelous the way you pooled your resources and raised that much in so short a time, but I bet you won’t trust anybody to pay your bills for you any more.’

Mrs. Feeley reassured her on that score and also reaffirmed her ambition to learn to read good. She was happy when Miss Logan told her there was such a class starting in September called Educational Review. It was for the benefit of people working for their citizenship papers and for the native-born who had not had a chance to get a proper education.

‘I hope the proprietor of La Tapatia prepares as good a dinner for us this year as he did last year! He really did himself proud.’ Mrs. Feeley and her friends hoped so too.

They had divided the twelve dollars overtime money from the cannery equally among themselves. They said it was nicer for each of them to have three dollars; then they could treat each other, or buy souvenirs…feel more independent.

‘Since we are parked right here in front of the Foreign Club, wouldn’t you care to join me in a cocktail or something?’ Miss Tinkham inquired. Her money was burning a hole in her pocket, and besides, if her friend Charlie Tinney was still there she wanted to show off her lovely friends to him; let him see how life had broadened her outlook!

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.

‘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!’