Suds In Your Eye (6 page)

A
FEW
days later, Mrs. Feeley began to have a more sympathetic understanding of the problems confronting the Old Woman in the Shoe. Miss Tinkham had no bed to ‘bring with’ her, like Mrs. Rasmussen. Mrs. Feeley did not object to sharing her bed with her, but she felt that a body needed a bed of her own.

Wandering through the junk yard for inspiration, the solution came to her suddenly. She had this one figured out too! Mrs. Feeley was nothing if not resourceful.

When she returned to the house the air was full of the scent of boiling dye.

‘What’s cookin’?’ she queried.

‘Dye! For the blackout curtains!’ Mrs. Rasmussen answered proudly.

She and Miss Tinkham had spent a good part of the morning ripping the upholstery material off the seats of some of the old cars in the yard. Mrs. Rasmussen was even now busily stitching the pieces together on her machine.

‘There!’ she exclaimed, holding up a piece of cloth. ‘That’s the piece I been lookin’ for all day!’

‘Which one was that?’ Miss Tinkham asked.

‘The last one!’ snickered Mrs. Rasmussen, thrilled to have got someone to bite on her ancient gag. ‘These curtains is nice an’ thick. Won’t no light shine through them when we get ’em dyed an’ hung in front o’ them two big windows. Good thing we only got two windows to black out!’

She turned over the job of stirring the curtains in the dye to Miss Tinkham while she gave Mrs. Feeley a hand in manufacturing a bed for the latest addition to the family.

‘See,’ Mrs. Feeley explained, ‘by runnin’ a wire from the end o’ your partition to the front window an’ hangin’ the rest o’ them pink drapes on it, she’ll have a private room. Now, I figger to knock out these three bottom shelves against the outside wall here, an’ use the boards to build her a bunk against the wall.’

Mrs. Rasmussen thought that would be fine, only wouldn’t it be kind of hard sleeping?

‘I got that all figgered out, too,’ Mrs. Feeley replied sagely.

She ripped out boards, and sawed, and pounded, while Mrs. Rasmussen held boards in place and handed her nails. When the platform of the bunk was finished, Mrs. Feeley went out to the junk yard and returned bearing the back-seat cushion of a car. Old-Timer followed with another. Mrs. Rasmussen caught on at once and hurried out to do her share. When the four cushions were laid in a row in the boxlike frame of the bunk, a large square divan was the result. Mrs. Feeley sat down on the edge of the bunk and bounced up and down.

‘Swell!’ she cried. ‘Little mite uneven, but mighty comfortable! Guess a couple o’ quilts spread over it would level it off.’

‘Wait,’ Mrs. Rasmussen said, and dived through the pink curtains into her room. She scrabbled around in her trunk and came back with a small feather bed which she spread over the ex-auto cushions.

‘I don’t need it,’ she said. ‘My bed’s got a in the spring mattress.’

They called Miss Tinkham to come and behold her room.

‘Now when the blackout curtains is up, all you have to do is pull ’em closed an’ nobody can see into your room from the street! Ain’t that somethin’?’

Miss Tinkham thought it was all that and more besides. A corner all her own!

Mrs. Feeley looked around at her home to size up the looks of the place since her remodeling job. The piano had been moved to the opposite wall to allow the curtains of the cubicles to pull easily. Miss Tinkham’s small white radio occupied a prominent position near the brass bed. Mrs. Rasmussen’s table with the fancy shiny legs gave the place a lift too.

‘Sure looks elegant, don’t it?’ Mrs. Feeley gloated. ‘How’s about a beer?’

The ladies were rocking and sipping cosily, admiring their handiwork so intently that they did not hear the young man come up the steps.

‘Guzzling as usual!’ he yelled, and smothered Mrs. Feeley in a large embrace.

‘Danny!’ Mrs. Feeley shrieked when she could get her face free. ‘Where you been, you rascal?’

‘Military secret!’ Danny replied, turning from his aunt to greet Mrs. Rasmussen, whom he knew of old. Mrs. Feeley looked around to introduce him to Miss Tinkham, but she had suddenly plunged behind the curtains of her room. She emerged in a few minutes with a touch of rouge on her cheeks, wearing an extra string of beads.

‘So this is Danny!’ she cried, pumping the somewhat startled Danny’s hand. ‘Your dear aunt has been so worried about you! Why, you are even handsomer than your photograph!’

He was indeed a very personable young man, deeply tanned and very clean-cut as to features and build. Apparently he was fond of his aunt.

‘What have
you
got to say for yourself, Dazzle Pants?’ he asked her as she brought him some beer.

‘What have you got to say is more like it!’ his aunt snorted. ‘Not so much as a card from you all these months!’

‘Aw, you wouldn’t like the little old cards we send out these days! “I am well. I am not well. Check the one you mean.” They wouldn’t interest you! I know the kind of postcards you like, but they would never get by the censor these days!’

His aunt chuckled reminiscently as she thought of some of the more fruity cards Danny had sent her from the Coconut Grove a couple of times.

‘We’re only in for a couple of days,’ Danny said. ‘Just pick up some supplies, and then shove off again.’ He picked up a brown-paper parcel he had dropped by the door when he sneaked up on the beer-drinkers.

‘What’s that?’ cried Mrs. Feeley eagerly.

‘Dirty clothes!’ Danny said, holding the bundle high up out of his aunt’s reach. ‘Come on!’ he teased. ‘Break out the washing machine! I’ve got to have these washed and ironed to take back to the ship with me in the morning!’

When he had tantalized her long enough, Danny opened the bundle and proceeded to divide the loot. Lucky he had so many souvenirs, he thought, with all these extra ‘aunts’ looking on with longing eyes. He was sorry now he hadn’t bought that grass hula skirt; it would have been perfect for Miss Tinkham. But he guessed the carved ivory fan with the purple feathers would have to do.

Miss Tinkham was overcome. There was no doubt about the young man’s kinship to Mrs. Feeley: he had inherited her generous heart.

Sizing up Mrs. Rasmussen’s figure, he handed her a gaudy Hawaiian printed sport shirt. She thanked him delightedly and without further ado donned the shirt, smock-fashion over her house dress.

The supreme moment was approaching.

First Danny gave his aunt a small, slithery bundle wrapped in tissue paper. With a long-drawn shriek of delight she unrolled a scarlet-brocaded silk komono.

‘Look on the back,’ Danny advised.

When she turned the garment over, she disclosed an enormous fire-breathing dragon worked in gold thread.

‘Gawd!’ whispered Mrs. Feeley. ‘I’ll never be able to take my nap with that varmint breathin’ down the back o’ my neck!’

Next he handed her a small cardboard box. When opened it revealed a bottle of ‘My Sin.’

‘This is the McCoy!’ Danny said, indicating the perfume. ‘Go easy with it, because there’s not any more where that came from.’

The ladies sniffed reverently at the sealed bottle, much impressed by its name. Danny chuckled to himself as he thought of their sins.

Now Danny played his ace: he unwrapped a round object from its cotton batting and handed Mrs. Feeley a pink-and-blue enameled powder box. It was a lovely thing, and Mrs. Feeley set it down on the table where they could all see it.

‘Take the lid off,’ Danny said.

She obeyed, and the powder box began to tinkle out the tune ‘Anchors Aweigh,’ to the astonishment of the ladies.

‘It’s playin’ “Stand Navy,” damned if it ain’t!’ cried Mrs. Feeley, who had her own version of song titles.

The music box was the
piéce de résistance
of the occasion: it really bowled them over. One by one the ladies came over and kissed Danny. He showed them how to stop the music by putting the lid on, and pointed out the screw on the bottom to wind it up.

‘Just like a clock,’ Mrs. Rasmussen said. The mention of a clock reminded her of her duties. ‘Five o’clock! And not a bite nor sup to eat ready in this house!’ She darted to the back of the room and began banging pots and pans at a great rate.

Mrs. Feeley and Danny were having fresh beer and Miss Tinkham was setting the table and making herself useful generally. Danny was getting caught up on the news, and hearing the details of the new set-up. He had always liked Mrs. Rasmussen, and the other old dame seemed like a good spud too. It made it nice for his aunt to have company.

‘You ought to be doing a land-office business with the yard these days,’ he remarked.

‘Well, some days ‘tain’t so bad. But I aim to take it kinda easy. Didn’t tell you I was goin’ to school, did I?’

Danny whooped.

‘It’s the Gawd’s honest truth,’ his aunt assured him. If he had not been a trusting soul where his aunt was concerned, he would have been suspicious of the gleam that suddenly lighted his aunt’s eyes.

An idea was being born. Inspiration flashed in her mind like a neon sign. Mrs. Feeley rocked faster and faster. That was the answer! What business did a beautiful boy like her nephew have wasting his few precious hours ashore with a bunch of old hens?

‘Ain’t you never got you a girl yet?’ she probed.

‘Naw! I don’t care for the kind of bar-flies I meet! We’re never ashore long enough to meet decent girls!’

His aunt heaved a sigh of relief.

Mrs. Rasmussen called them to supper and after Danny had greeted Old-Timer they all sat down. Danny remarked on how nice the table looked and Miss Tinkham was glad she had fixed that bouquet of roses and sweet peas for the centerpiece; next time he came she’d have candles—pink candles.

‘I haven’t tasted chow like this since we were in Marseilles!’ Danny said after he had sampled what Mrs. Rasmussen called ‘fish stew on account o’ it’s Friday.’ He wondered where a Norsewoman could have picked up the recipe for bouillabaisse…saffron, garlic, and all! Funny how she served it the real way, too: the fish and shellfish on a platter, and the chunks of bread floating in a separate tureen of the soup. The fish was such a success that the diners had scarcely enough room left to do justice to the second course of artichokes stuffed with bread crumbs and cheese. They only ate two each.

‘Guess they didn’t come good!’ the chef lamented. When the company reassured her that it was only their capacities that stopped them she felt better. She had bought the artichokes for a cent apiece because they were turning brown outside. That was nothing, for she always discarded the tough outside leaves, anyway. She had cooked the whole two dozen at once to save gas, and also because they kept better after they were cooked.

‘Go good with the beer when they’re cold,’ she added. They had lemon cheesecake for dessert, and strong black coffee. They always finished off with coffee on school nights. Mrs. Feeley said it didn’t show respect to go in reeking like a brewery. Miss Tinkham had apparently forgotten about school in the excitement of Danny’s arrival, because she had overlooked the coffee-cups when she set the table.

‘You ain’t forgot school, have you?’ Mrs. Feeley’s tone was shocked.

‘The excitement, my dear! It simply slipped my mind!’ Miss Tinkham was really flustered. How on earth could she have forgotten the cups? That was what came of having a young, handsome man in the house!

Danny said he would shove off to town when they went to school and come back later.

‘You’ll do nothin’ o’ the kind!’ his aunt shrieked. ‘You’re comin’ with us!’

Danny laughed and said that would indeed be the day! Any time you caught him at night school! He had seen the bunch of chromos that were up there when he went up to learn shorthand! Never again!

‘Well, you can at least do your old aunt a favor, can’t you? It’ll not kill you, just this once,’ she wheedled and cajoled. ‘Tell you what! The class starts at half-past six, an’ there’s recess at half-past seven. If you don’t like it, you can leave then an’ go on down-town! That’s fair enough, ain’t it? An’ you’ll be doin’ a good deed, too; the poor thing’s attendance is fallin’ off somethin’ terrible with most o’ the ships gone to sea! If the class falls below seventeen scholars, they’ll close it up on her! We’ve even took Old-Timer when things was real bad, ain’t we?’