Suds In Your Eye (7 page)

‘Oh, you must come! You really must!’ Miss Tinkham added her weight to the argument. ‘You’ll love Miss Logan! Such a lovely girl!’

Danny could well imagine. A lovely girl like the young thing of sixty that had taught him his shorthand. She had worn a bilious green frock with a crocheted collar that was never quite clean. He remembered the black velvet tam-o’-shanter she wore, the effect of which was more than a little spoiled by the fact that she wore her hair screwed into a high knot on the top of her head.

It looked like he couldn’t in decency escape this time. But he would shove off as soon as he could.

C
HIEF YEOMAN DANIEL CALLAHAN MALONE
did not leave the Spanish class at the seven-thirty recess. That was the farthest thing from his mind.

Class was already under way when the four of them arrived. Luckily there were four empty seats close together. Danny felt like a bull in a china shop, but after he got his bearings he began looking around the room for the teacher. It couldn’t be the cupcake writing stuff on the blackboard. Not a chance! She was a cute doll. Must be some stenographer taking up Spanish.

Mrs. Feeley reached over and kicked Danny on the ankle. When he looked up she jerked her thumb indicating the cupcake: her lips formed the word ‘teacher.’ Danny rolled his head about on his neck in the manner of one who has just received a knockout blow. His aunt nodded and winked broadly as one who says, ‘So I don’t know from nothin’, huh?’

Kate Logan was not exactly unaware of the visitor in uniform. She was glad she had just had her hair done, and that she was wearing her lime-green suit with the coral angora sweater. It did something for her; made her eyes look navy blue. Maybe it was an omen! Not bad, she said to herself. Not bad at all! Probably married; a wife in every port. Those cute ones never last till the water gets hot. But he was a bright spot in the drab landscape of the classroom, anyway. That was the bell! She’d make some excuse and go over to speak to Mrs. Feeley.

But she need not have given the matter a thought, for Mrs. Feeley was already halfway across the room with Danny in tow before the bell had stopped buzzing.

‘This is my nephew I was tellin’ you about. Miss Logan, Danny Malone! An’ this is Miss Logan, Danny; smartest teacher in the New Nited States!’

Miss Logan said she was glad to know him and hadn’t they better step out into the patio? He was probably dying for a cigarette.

‘You two go on,’ said Mrs. Feeley, shoving them out the door. ‘I want to copy them words down off the blackboard. We was a little late, an’ I don’t want to miss nothin’,’ she lied glibly. True it was that she didn’t want to miss anything, but she wasn’t referring to the vocabulary list on the blackboard.

The ten-minute intermission was all too short for Danny. Miss Logan was certainly all that his ‘aunts’ had said, and more. But he better not go jumping the gun and getting ideas. He would be due for a bad jolt if she should only turn out to be showing him the cordiality she showed all visitors.

Mrs. Feeley suffered from no such feeling of diffidence. When the class session drew to a close, she and her cohorts lingered near the door trying to hear what was going on while Danny was telling Miss Logan how nice it had been to meet her. His aunt hoped to heaven he wasn’t being backward. Things seemed to be going quite well and they came out the door together.

‘You ain’t never come over to see us like you promised, Miss Logan!’ Mrs. Feeley scolded gently. ‘We got some awful nice cold beer home, an’ some mighty fine artichokes! Seems like you’d be all wore out after all that teachin’ so hard! What say you come along home with us? ‘Tain’t often Danny gets the chance to enjoy the company of a nice young lady like you! Him out fightin’ for his country an’ all!’ Mrs. Feeley turned on the tremolo.

‘You’re very kind, Mrs. Feeley! I’ve been planning to come over, but these classes five nights a week rather cramp my style.’

‘Well, you ain’t got no excuse tonight!’ Mrs. Feeley urged. Mrs. Rasmussen and Miss Tinkham were watching Danny to see how he was taking it. Miss Tinkham decided to try out her powers of persuasion.

‘Tomorrow is Saturday and you could sleep late! We have the loveliest times at Mrs. Feeley’s!’

Kate Logan hadn’t the slightest intention of not going with them, for she was genuinely fond of the gay trio. But she was waiting for Danny to speak up.

‘Gosh, Auntie! You don’t suppose Miss Logan can be dated up at the last minute like this, do you? She probably has another engagement.’ His voice sounded as though he were hoping against hope.

‘As a matter of fact, I haven’t anything to do this evening. I think a little festivity would be just the thing for a “woiking goil”! I’ll be glad to go!’

The ladies beamed, and Mrs. Feeley’s heart rose out of the pit of her stomach where it had dropped when Danny mentioned the possibility of a previous engagement. He wanted to know where he could telephone for a taxi.

‘We can all ride in my car,’ Miss Logan said, and they walked over to the sedan parked at the curb.

‘Nice boiler you’ve got,’ Danny remarked as he opened the back door for the ladies. Miss Tinkham had been about to climb in the front seat with Kate Logan, but Mrs. Feeley grabbed her by one arm and Mrs. Rasmussen took hold of the other and rushed her into the back seat between them. Mrs. Feeley leaned over and whispered to Mrs. Rasmussen how nice they looked in the front seat…him a whole head taller than her!

Before they knew it they had reached Noah’s Ark. Miss Logan was exclaiming about the wall, the garden, and the house.

‘What an original house! It’s like something out of a fairy tale! I love it!’ she said.

She had to be shown all the improvements and admired the inventiveness and resourcefulness of the ladies.

‘Now you an’ Danny set an’ visit while we fixes a bite to eat! How about a little soft music, Miss Tinkham?’ Mrs. Feeley knew a thing or two about setting a romantic scene.

Miss Tinkham obliged with some Strauss waltzes. She couldn’t hear what the young people were saying, so she guessed they were too polite to talk while she was playing. She turned round and said:

‘You go right ahead and talk! I’m not giving a concert or anything! I’m just playing a sort of incidental music’

Kate watched the scene with twinkling eyes.

‘Aren’t they gorgeous?’ she asked Danny.

‘They are, you know!’ he said. ‘I’ve tried for years to do something for my aunt…a single man in the navy has more money than he knows what to do with. But she won’t hear of it. She’s the only relative I have in the world, but she won’t take a thing from me; a few cases of beer is all she’ll let me buy her!’

Kate said she could understand how he felt, but at the same time she could understand the magnificent freedom and independence that Mrs. Feeley enjoyed.

‘She’s the giving kind, not the taking kind. All three of them are a bright spot in my life. Up at school, the teachers accuse me of hand-picking my classes; they say I take all the nice ones. Most of the classes show a high percentage of zombies in this City of the Unburied Dead!’

Danny threw back his head and howled in glee. Mrs. Feeley and Mrs. Rasmussen exchanged knowing looks that said: It won’t be long now!

Mrs. Rasmussen loaded the table with food and Mrs. Feeley carried the tray of cold beer. When everyone had been served, Mrs. Feeley began a toast that started off, ‘Here’s to the night I met you!’ Suddenly deterred by the glare Danny gave her, she stopped right there, and all was well. Gee, this was going off fine! Danny must have it bad to get riled over a little old toast like that!

Miss Logan said the artichokes were the best she had ever tasted and Mrs. Rasmussen promised to show her how to do them. Mrs. Feeley was glad to see that Kate Logan was a Christian when it came to drinking beer. It would have been almost too much of a disappointment if she had turned out to be the kind that liked sweet stuff.

In order to make it up to Danny for the off-color toast she had begun, Mrs. Feeley went over to her dresser and took a bundle out of the drawer. She went quietly to the back of the room and called Danny. He rose and came to see what she wanted.

‘You give these to her!’ Mrs. Feeley ordered, pointing to the bottle of perfume and the musical powder box.

‘But Auntie! I bought them for you!’ he protested.

‘I know you did, Danny, an’ I appreciate you thinkin’ o’ me. But they belong by rights to somebody young an’ pretty like her. They ain’t no use to a old hag like me! Looks like you’ll have somebody to bring pretties to now, don’t it, Danny?’ Danny hugged her and said he hoped she was right.

They rejoined the others and Mrs. Feeley gave vent to a cavernous yawn. She apologized:

‘Us old folks gives out early!’

Mrs. Rasmussen and Miss Tinkham regarded her with narrowed eyes. She took a pair of shears from her dresser and went to the front window. She cut three magnificent gardenias and fashioned them deftly into a corsage, complete with a tinsel bow and long pin.

She handed them to Kate and said kindly:

‘Put these on, dear! They’ll look pretty with your suit! Danny, you take Miss Logan down to the Top Hat an’ dance while us old fizzles gets our beauty sleep! An’ don’t forget that package you left on the kitchen table!’

It looked like Mrs. Feeley was rushing them out, but Danny got the idea. Why hadn’t he thought of it himself? Guess he wouldn’t have had the nerve. It was a good thing his aunt had no inhibitions.

The young people thanked them for the party and went away.

‘Well!’ cried Mrs. Feeley happily, ‘now we can get down to cases! Guess we’ve seen the last o’ him for a while!’ she gloated. ‘How’s about some beer for old Dan Cupid?’

M
ISS
TINKHAM
was drooping. Her spirits were not bubbling over as usual. She didn’t sulk in the least, but kept to herself and spent a great deal of time mending her gloves and darning her silk hose. Even her appetite was falling off.

Mrs. Feeley watched and understood. A woman needs a few coppers to rub one against another in her purse. Evidently Miss Tinkham didn’t feel like she was pulling her share in the boat.

About five o’clock, while Mrs. Rasmussen and Miss Tinkham were preparing supper, Mrs. Feeley cut the gardenias and made up twenty corsages, complete with tinsel bows and pins. These she placed in a yellow cardboard shirt box on layers of wet, crumpled newspaper. Then she slipped the box into the cooler-closet under the sink.

Mrs. Rasmussen called them to the table, where an enormous platter of stuffed cabbage balls on a bed of succulent sauerkraut occupied the interest of everyone. Each tender green ball was bursting with a stuffing of rice, highly spiced chopped meat, raisins, and pine nuts.

‘What would you ladies say to a night on the town?’ Mrs. Feeley asked after every plate had received its steaming, fragrant load.

‘Seems like we ain’t been out on a bender in a coon’s age, don’t it, Mrs. Rasmussen?’

Mrs. Rasmussen said the last real good wing-ding they had been on was New Year’s.

‘‘Member when they backed the wagon up to the door o’ the Rainbow Gardens an’ you an’ me sneaked out the back door just in time?’

‘Gawd! Don’t I just?’ said Mrs. Feeley. ‘That was the night that feller in the band got conked with a flyin’ coke bottle!’

‘My! Weren’t you frightened?’ Miss Tinkham ventured.

‘Hell, no!’ replied Mrs. Feeley. ‘They couldn’t a done nothin’ to us if we had been took in! We was sittin’ there drinkin’ our beer peaceful as anythin’ when the boys from the fleet started heavin’ empty bottles at the band. We hadn’t done nothin’. But it’s always a good idea to get out from under when things starts flyin’!’

‘Sure be nice to go out for a little bit,’ Mrs. Rasmussen said.

Mrs. Feeley was watching Miss Tinkham closely and saw her begin to look mournful.

‘I think perhaps you and Mrs. Rasmussen had better go without me,’ she said. ‘I am financially embarrassed at the moment, and I would rather stay at home than to impose on you ladies for my drinks.’

‘Tit!’ shouted Mrs. Feeley. ‘I got that all figgered out too! We ain’t got no money to toss around reckless like! You come along with us an’ maybe you’ll find out that there’s more ways o’ killin’ a cat than chokin’ it to death with butter!’

Sunshine filled the air again. Miss Tinkham quaffed her beer with more abandon, and Mrs. Rasmussen brought out a plate of rye hardtack and some cheese she had prepared with port wine, whole cloves, and other spices. When that was finished they made short work of the dishes and disappeared into their rooms to deck themselves out for the fray.

Mrs. Feeley and Mrs. Rasmussen looked very neat in washable print frocks. Mrs. Rasmussen thought a hat was in order and put on a large white linen one. Mrs. Feeley went bareheaded. Miss Tinkham appeared clad in a champagne-colored silk jersey frock, vintage of nineteen-twenty-eight, judging by the long waist and irregular hem-line. She had on her lovely horsehair hat and plenty of beads. Mrs. Feeley took the shirtbox out of the cooler and they set off.

‘We’ll just make the rounds once over lightly,’ she said as they peeked in through the swinging doors of several bars. ‘See where they’s the most sailors,’ she explained.