Sweet Thursday (16 page)

At four-thirty in the afternoon Fauna ordered Suzy to the office bedroom with full field equipment. Suzy dumped her clothes on Fauna's bed.

“That's a hell of a way to keep wrinkles out,” Fauna observed. She picked up the gray woolen skirt and jacket, laid them out, inspected them for spots, smelled them for cleaning fluid. “Nice piece of goods,” she said.

“Community chest,” said Suzy. “I was in the charity ward.”

“Well, somebody wasn't.” Her eyes noted the brown shoes. She went to the door and yelled, “Joe! Joe Elegant!”

He looked in. “I'm not supposed to be on duty,” he said.

“I'm a thorn in the side of the worker,” said Fauna. “You run up the street to Wildock's and get new heel taps on these here. Tell them to fix this scuffed place and give them a nice shine. Wait and bring them back.”

Joe complained as he went, but he went.

Fauna said to Suzy, “You got any gloves?”

“No.”

“I'll lend you some. Here—these white ones. And here's a handkerchief. I don't want no lipstick marks on it. Now you listen to me, Suzy girl—take care of your shoes, wear clean gloves, carry a white handkerchief, and keep your stocking seams straight. If you do that you can get away with murder. This here's a nice suit—the kind of cloth that the older it gets the better it looks—if your heels ain't run over. Call Becky in!”

When Becky entered Fauna said, “Ain't you got a white piqué dickey and cuffs?”

“I just done them up.”

“I want you to lend them to Suzy. Get some thread and sew the cuffs in this here jacket.”

“She'll have to wash them.”

“She will.”

While Becky basted in the cuffs Fauna said, “Turn out your purse, Suzy.” She inspected the pile on the bed. “You don't need that aspirin. Here, take my comb—throw that one away. Ain't nothing tackier than a comb missing teeth. Put these here Kleenex in. Here, use my compact and touch up that shine on your nose once in a while. Let's see your nails! Hmmm, pretty good. You washed your hair?”

“Get her a wig,” said Becky, and she bit the thread.

“Don't get smart. Come on now—get off your behind and do something with her hair, and not fancy neither.” To Suzy she said, “Becky got a light hand with hair. You can't take that coat. Community chest slipped up there.” She tapped her teeth with a pencil and then went to her closet and brought out two baum martens that were biting each other's heads off. “Just hand these here bo' martens over your shoulder,” Fauna said. “And if you lose them or hurt them I'll cut your tripes out. Now, where are we? No perfume. Douse some of this Florida water on—kind of old-fashioned and young-smelling.”

Becky stood behind Suzy's chair, brushing and combing and molding. “She got big ears,” Becky said. “Maybe I can kind of hide them a little.”

“You got a nice hand with hair,” Fauna said.

The final briefing took place at six o'clock, with the bedroom door closed.

“Turn around,” said Fauna. “Keep your ankles close together. Now, walk! That's good. You got a real nice walk. Like I said, you're a good-looking kid if you work at it a little.”

Suzy looked at herself in the mirror and she smiled, for it seemed to her that she really was pretty, and the idea startled her and pleased her too, and when she looked pleased she was even prettier. Then her mouth turned down and blind panic came over her.

“What's the matter?” Fauna demanded.

“What can I talk about? Fauna, I don't want to go! I don't belong with a guy like Doc. Jesus, Fauna, tell him I'm sick. I ain't going.”

Fauna let her talk herself out and then she said quietly, “Maybe you'd like to cry now and get your eyes red after all my trouble? Go on, cry!”

“I'm sorry,” said Suzy. “You been nice. I ain't no good, Fauna. You're just wasting your time. I know what I'll do—minute he says something I don't understand I'll get mad. I'm scared.”

“'Course you're scared,” said Fauna. “But if you didn't care nothing about Doc you wouldn't be scared. You didn't invent it. There ain't never been no dame went out first time with a guy she liked that wasn't scared. Maybe Doc's scared too.”

“Oh nuts!” said Suzy.

Fauna said, “If I was your age with your face and shape and what I know, there wouldn't be no man in the world could get away! I got the know-how—but that's all I got. Oh well! I'm going to tell you a few thousand things, Suzy, that if you would listen you'd get anything you want. But hell, you won't listen! Nobody listens, and when they learn the hard way it's too late. Maybe it's a good thing—I don't know.”

“I'll listen.”

“Sure, but you won't learn. You know, Suzy, they ain't no way in the world to get in trouble by keeping your mouth shut. You look back at every mess you ever got in and you'll find your tongue started it.”

“That's true,” said Suzy. “But I can't seem to stop.”

“You got to learn it like you learn anything else—just practice. Next thing is opinions. You and me is always busting out with opinions. Hell, Suzy, we ain't got no opinions! We just say stuff we heard or seen in the movies. We're scared we'll miss something, like running for a bus. That's the second rule: lay off opinions because you ain't really got any.”

“You got them numbered, huh?” said Suzy.

“I should write a book,” said Fauna. “
If She Could, I Could.
Now take number three. There don't hardly nobody listen, and it's so easy! You don't have to do nothing when you listen. If you do listen it's pretty interesting. If a guy says something that pricks up your interest, why, don't hide it from him. Kind of try to wonder what he's thinking instead of how you're going to answer him back.”

“You're sure putting the finger on me,” Suzy said softly.

“I only got a little more, but it's the hardest of all, and the easiest.”

“What number?”

“I lost track. Don't pretend to be something you ain't, and don't make like you know something you don't, or sooner or later you'll fall on your ass. And there's one more part to this one, what ever number it is: they ain't nobody was ever insulted by a question. S'pose Doc says something and you don't know what it means. Ask him! The nicest thing in the world you can do for anybody is let them help you.”

Suzy was silent, looking down at her hands.

Fauna said, “You got nice nails. How do you keep them so nice?”

Suzy said, “That's easy. My grandma taught me. You keep a old lemon rind, and every time you wash your hands you scrounge your fingernails around in it. And then you shake a little face powder on your hand and you polish your nails on the ham of your hand and you push down the quick with a little piece of lemon wood.”

“See what I mean?” said Fauna.

“What?”

“I just asked you a question.”

Suzy blushed, “I sure fell into that.”

“No, you didn't. I wanted to know. It's best if you ask when you want to know.”

“Thanks,” said Suzy. “You're a hell of a dame. I wonder if I could learn?”

“You can if you just remember a lot of things: first, you got to remember you're Suzy and you ain't nobody else but Suzy. Then you got to remember that Suzy is a good thing—a real valuable thing—and there ain't nothing like it in the world. It don't do no harm just to say that to yourself. Then, when you got that, remember that there's one hell of a lot Suzy don't know. Only way she can find out is if she sees it, reads it, or asks it. Most people don't look at nothing but themselves, and that's a rat race.”

“What's the fourth thing?” Suzy asked.

“I'm proud of you!” Fauna said. “You listened. The next thing you'll have to do some thinking about. Nobody don't give a particular damn about Suzy one way or the other. It's hard to get them thinking about you because they're too busy thinking about themselves. There's two, three, copper-bottom ways to get their attention: Talk about them. If you see something nice or good or pretty, tell them. Don't make it a fake though. Don't fight nobody unless there ain't no other way. Don't never start a fight, and if one starts, let it get going good before you jump in. Best way in the whole world to defend yourself is to keep your dukes down! Now, when you got their attention, first thing they want is to do something for you. Let them. Don't get proud and say you don't need it or want it. That's a slap in the puss. Thing people like most in the world is to give you something and have you like it and need it. That ain't sloppy. That works. You give it a try.”

“You think Doc would fall for that stuff?”

“Just give it a try.”

Suzy said, “Fauna, didn't you never get married?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Fauna smiled. “Time I learned what I just told you, it was too late.”

“I love you,” said Suzy.

“Now you see! You got me softened up like butter. I want you should keep them furs.”

“But—”

“Watch it!”

“Yeah, I see. I sure do thank you. And would you maybe write down all that stuff so I can get it by heart?”

“Sure I will. Now look, Suzy—tonight, just before you say something, say it first to yourself, and kind of dust it off.”

“You mean cussing?”

“I mean cussing and I mean—well, sometimes if you look at it you don't say it. One whole hell of a lot that passes for talk is just running off at the mouth. I guess you're about ready now.”

“Is there anything I can do for you, Fauna?”

“Yes. I want you should repeat after me, ‘I'm Suzy and nobody else.'”

“‘I'm Suzy and nobody else.'”

“‘I'm a good thing.'”

“‘I'm a good thing.'”

“‘There ain't nothing like me in the whole world.'”

“‘There ain't nothing'—goddam it, Fauna, now my eyes'll be red!”

“They look pretty that way,” said Fauna.

At seven o'clock Doc, dressed in an open-collared shirt, leather jacket, and army pants, rang the bell at the Bear Flag. He looked at Suzy and he said, “I've got to make a telephone call, do you mind?” And he ran back to the laboratory.

Ten minutes later he returned. He had on clean slacks, a tweed jacket, and a tie he hadn't used in years.

Fauna saw him standing under the porch light.

“Honey,” she said to Suzy, “you win the first round on points.”

Sonny Boy is truly the only Greek born in America named Sonny Boy. He operates a restaurant and bar on the wharf in Monterey. Sonny Boy is plump and getting plumper. Although he was born near Sutro Park in San Francisco and went to public schools, Sonny Boy has singlehandedly kept alive the mystery of the Near East. His perfectly round face hints Orient Express and beautiful spies. His bushy voice is congenitally confidential. Sonny Boy can say “good evening” and make it sound like an international plot. His restaurant makes friends for him and supports him. Perhaps Sonny Boy, in one sense, wears a long black cape and dines with Balkan countesses where two seas kiss the Golden Horn—but he also runs a good restaurant. He probably knows more secrets than any man in the community, for his martinis are a combination truth serum and lie detector.
Veritas
is not only
in vino
but regularly batters its way out.

Doc stopped his old car in front of Sonny Boy's, got out, walked around, opened the door, and helped Suzy out.

She was a little shocked but she remained silent. The sentence, “You think I'm a cripple, for Chrissake!” rose to her throat, but she followed Fauna's advice—whispered it and pushed it back. The fact of his hand on her elbow did a magic thing to her, pushed back her shoulders and raised her chin. The gritty light of resistance went out of her eyes.

Doc opened the door of the bar and stood aside to let Suzy enter. The regulars on the stools turned to look. The eyes crept from pretty face to pretty legs, took in the martens on the way. For one second panic halted her, but she saw no look of recognition in the eyes of the regulars.

Sonny Boy turned sideways to get around the end of the bar. “'Evening, folks,” he said. “Your table is ready. Would you like to have a cocktail here, or shall I send one over?”

“Oh, let's sit at the table,” said Doc.

Sonny Boy bowed Suzy through the door to the restaurant, and she strolled ahead with her nice walk. Sonny Boy, rolling along beside Doc, said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Your secretary called. It's all fixed. You got a secretary, Doc?”

Doc overcame his surprise. “Part time,” he said.

“Who's the lady? She new around here?”

“She's new around here,” said Doc. He caught up with Suzy.

“This way,” said Sonny Boy. He led them to a round table in front of the stone fireplace. A pine fire crackled and sent out its fragrance. The table had a centerpiece of wild iris. The breadsticks stood like soldiers in their glasses. The napkins were folded to make little crowns. It was the best table in the house, private, but downstage and well lighted.

Suzy's eyes darted around the room. No other table had flowers. Something wonderful happened in Suzy. She didn't walk around the table and sit down. She waited, and when Doc held her chair she seated herself, looked smiling up at him, and said, “Thank you.”

Sonny Boy hovered over the table. “Good you telephoned,” he said. “I had trouble getting pompano, but I got it. How's about a cocktail? The wine's cooling.”

Doc said, “One time I had some kind of—”

“I remember!” said Sonny Boy. “The Webster F. Street Lay-Away Plan—a martini made with chartreuse instead of vermouth. Very good.”

“Very effective, as I remember it,” said Doc. “Two doubles.”

“Coming right up,” said Sonny Boy. “I told Tony to be here to play piano like you said, but he's sick.”

Doc looked at Suzy to see whether she knew Fauna had made the arrangements. She didn't.

It is probable that if Doc hadn't ordered the Webster F. Street Lay-Away Plans he would have got them anyway. They arrived with a speed that indicated they were already mixed.

The shock of a necktie was leaving Doc. He looked across the table and smiled at Suzy and he wondered, What is beauty in a girl that it can come and go? This Suzy did not faintly resemble the tough hustler who had screamed at him the night before. He raised the cocktail glass. “You're pretty,” he said. “I'm glad you came with me. Here's to both of us.”

Suzy swallowed a gulp, held back her tears, and waited for the spasm to pass.

“I should have warned you,” said Doc, “there's a rumor that this drink is made of rattlesnake venom and raw opium.”

Suzy got her breath. “It's good,” she said. “But I was watching its right hand and walked into a left hook!”

Her mind cried, I shouldn't of said that! I forgot already. Then she saw Doc's amusement and it was all right.

Suzy noticed a waiter drifting delicately within earshot. She had discovered something for herself. When in doubt, move slowly. Her head turned toward the waiter and he drifted away. She was delighted with her discovery—everything-in-slow-motion. She then lifted her glass slowly, looked at it carefully, then sipped and held it a moment before she put it down. S-lo-w-ness—it gave meaning to everything. It made everything royal. She remembered how all the unsure and worried people she knew jumped and picked and jittered. Just doing everything slowly, forcing herself, she felt a new kind of security. Don't forget, she told herself. Don't ever forget this. Slow! Slow!

Doc gave her a cigarette and held a match, and she leaned forward so slowly that the flame was touching her fingers before she had lighted it. A lovely warmth stole through her body. She felt bold, not defensively bold, but safe.

She asked, “Do they know—what I am?”

The Lay-Away Plan works equally on all. Doc said, “They know you're with me. That's all they need to know. Shall we have one more?”

It came before he got his finger raised for attention. If this was conspiracy, Sonny Boy wanted to be in on it. If felicity, he liked that too.

“I like a fire,” Suzy said. “Once we had a fireplace where I lived.”

Doc said, “You're pretty. Yes, by George! You're pretty!”

Suzy swallowed the first words that rose and swallowed the second ones and ended up by dropping her eyes and saying “Thank you” softly.

Sonny Boy personally escorted the waiter, who carried the ice bucket with the chilled Chablis. Then he stood back and surveyed the table. “How is everything, Doc?”

“Just fine,” said Doc.

“You ready to eat?”

“Any time,” said Doc.

And Suzy's discovery continued to hold good: Take it slow and keep your eyes open and your mouth shut.

The cold, cracked crab, the pompano, were new to her, and they required an eating technique she didn't know. She did everything a little behind Doc, and he wasn't conscious that she watched every move he made.

When champagne and fruit and cheese arrived, Suzy knew she had to be alone. A thought so overwhelming had come to her that her knees shook and the blood pounded in her temples. Slow! she warned herself. Take it easy. She looked at the leaping flames and then pivoted her head to Doc. “Will you excuse…?”

“Of course!” He jumped up and drew back her chair. Suzy moved regally toward the Ladies' Room. She could not feel her feet against the floor.

Doc watched her passage. Strange, strange, he thought. What is it? “Maidenly” is the word. A kind of lonely and terrible modesty. What has made the change? Then he thought, It's an act. Fauna coached her. But he knew that wasn't true. Acting couldn't get into the eyes like that. Coaching couldn't draw the blood to her cheeks. He spun the champagne bottle in its bucket, and he found himself wishing she would hurry back. His eyes found a window that reflected the door to the Ladies' Room.

Behind that door Suzy dampened a paper towel and put it against her forehead. She stared at herself in the mirror and she didn't know the face. She thought of the dinner. “I hate fish,” she said out loud. “It makes me break out. But I ain't broke out.” Finally she was ready to inspect the thought that had sent her out: the symbol, the mystery, the signpost with an inexorable pointing finger. It was so plain no one could miss it. Fate was not only pointing the way but booting from behind. She thought of the dishes being taken away: the heaped legs and claws of crab and—They had eaten their horoscopes! Cancer and Pisces—fish and crab.

“Great God Almighty!” she said, and she was limp in the hands of Fate.

Sonny Boy came to the table. “Everything all right?”

“Fine,” said Doc.

“Just like you ordered.”

“Huh?”

“Your secretary told me.”

“Fine,” said Doc, “just the way I wanted it.”

When Suzy came back she was dedicated. You can only fight Fate so far, and when you give in to it you're very strong; because all of your force flows in one direction.

Doc held her chair and then he popped the champagne cork and smelled it.

Suzy said, “Can I have it?”

“Of course.”

Suzy turned the cork in her fingers and looked at it. It was very beautiful. She put it in her purse and took an iris from the vase.

“Do you like champagne?”

“I love it,” she said and wondered what it would taste like. And she did love it.

Doc said, “You know, out in the sand dunes there are little valleys covered with pines. Sometime, when you can, let's take meat and things out there and cook our supper. It's very nice.”

“The fire reminded you,” said Suzy.

“That's clever of you—so it did.”

She said, “Doc, will you sometime teach me about the stuff you got in your place?”

“Sure I will.” A surge of affection filled him. But he was a little afraid too of her terrible modesty. He looked away from her eyes to the wild iris in her hand. “There's an old Welsh story,” he said. “It's about a poor knight who made a wife completely out of flowers—”

The wine was strong in Suzy now. She said the sentence twice to herself before she said it aloud to Doc. “I hope she didn't wilt.”

The low voice of Doc's guts burst through at last. “I'm lonely,” he said. He said it as a simple matter of fact and he said it in wonder. Then he apologized. “I guess I'm a little drunk.” He felt very shy. He filled the glasses. “What the hell! Let's have some brandy too.”

Suzy turned half away from him so that her face was outlined in leaping pine flames. “You know that place you said—out in the sand dunes?”

“Yes.”

“Could we look at it?”

“Whenever you want.”

“On our way home?”

“You'll ruin your shoes.”

“I know,” said Suzy.

“You could take them off.”

“I will,” said Suzy.