Tooner Schooner (6 page)

“We gotta build a decent kitchen,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “Ain’t enough room in the trailer to cuss a cat. Hey, look…”

Oscar and Red, his companion, cruised up.

“This a private fight,” Oscar said, “or can anybody mix in that wants to?”

“This here’s Velma an’ that there’s Captain Dowdy,” Mrs. Feeley said. “Where’s Jasper?”

“That’s what we come about.” Oscar dusted off a hard bit of earth and sat down. “How’s it goin’, Gabby?” He shook hands with Old-Timer.

“Jasper got married,” Red said.

“Incredible!” Miss Tinkham said.

“And divorced,” Oscar said.

“Some streel, I’ll be bound,” Mrs. Feeley said.

“You know how them women are: all they wanna do is get married,” Oscar said. “These days they don’t even ask you your name.”

Mrs. Rasmussen changed the subject to less painful territory. “We’re workin’ aboard the captain’s charter boat.”

“That’s a hot one,” Oscar said. “Jasper an’ me got a proposition for you.”

“We will not consider anything less than a proposal,” Miss Tinkham laughed.

“Nothin’ in this town is right without the Ark,” Oscar said.

“That’s no crock,” Mrs. Feeley agreed.

“Bein’ your home, so personal an’ all,” Oscar said, “we know we couldn’t mix in on nothin’ like that.”

“You know how it is, Oscar.” Mrs. Feeley handed him a fresh beer.

“Yeah; I wouldn’t want to suggest anythin’ you’d be objectionable to. We chipped in an’ got ’em for you.”

“You can talk plainer than that,” Mrs. Feeley said.

“Seven buses,” Oscar said, “nice ones.”

“Oscar dear, you’ve flipped your lid.”

“They was gonna haul ’em to the dump. Make you a motel out of ’em. We’ll do the work. You got three of ’em rented already: Jasper an’ Red an’ me. You ladies need one. Old-Timer could hold kinda Liberty Hall in another of ’em.”

Mrs. Feeley’s eyes squinched up and she went into a trance of structural imagination that would give an architect the shuddering horrors.

“Take the wheels off? Mount the buses on cinder block foundation? Paint each one of ’em a different color?”

“That’s my girl!” Oscar banged her on the back. “I got two weeks’ vacation, Jasper’s due back from Reno, and a guy promised me the loan of a scoop-scraper for diggin’. Let’s celebrate.”

“Be nice,” Mrs. Rasmussen said, “but we promised him.”

“I wouldn’t stand in your way,” the captain said.

“I know you wouldn’t, love,” Mrs. Feeley said. “Miss Tinkham an’ Mrs. Rasmussen will work for you. I wasn’t really doin’ nothin’ but gettin’ in the way.” She got up and went over to the edge of the sidewalk. “Me an’ Ol’-Timer…we’re the best damn construction maggots in the West!”

“Right here we’ll line ’em up,” Oscar said. “Keep ’em close together to save on the wirin’ an’ the plumbin’. We’ll put the back door of ’em right on the sidewalk, next the street. Then we’ll run a nice ash-fault driveway in front of ’em.”

“Each one with his dooryard garden! We’ll have plenty room for the Ark right over there. Oscar,” Mrs. Feeley cried, “I love you.”

“Maybe we can begin to live a little,” he said.

“Miss Tinkham, I want to learn to play the piano by ear.”

She put her hands to her fevered head.

“Dear Oscar! Not that! A man with your manual dexterity? You can learn to play properly.”

“Sure,” Captain Dowdy spoke up. “Just like caulkin’ a ship. Nothin’ to it. You just learn how. Then you can do it.”

“Hope you’re right,” Oscar said. “Seems like you wimmen kinda spoil men.”

“We like company,” Mrs. Feeley said. “Trailer’s too little.”

“Modden-ize the kitchen,” Mrs. Rasmussen said.

“Yeup!” Mrs. Feeley laughed. “Put in a sink! A light in every room. Real refined place: never rent the cabins more than once a night.”

“Set a shower in, an’ a ’lectric hotplate,” Oscar said, “so we can move in right away.”

“I ain’t forgot that ’lectric’s what burnt the Ark down,” Mrs. Feeley said.

“That wirin’ job,” Red shook his head, “it was spit-an’-matchbox.”

“We done it ourselfs,” Mrs. Feeley said.

“I’m a ’lectrician, ma’am,” he said, “and there’s laws. But we’ll take care of that.”

“We got a plumber friend that’ll do a moonlight job,” Oscar said.

Mrs. Feeley grinned. “Looks like we’re in business.”

“Over at the Western Wreckin’ Company we picked out the plumbin’ an’ a lot o’ nice metal surplus war stuff, like file cabinets and bookcases; cost next to nothin’,” Oscar said. “Then of a Saturday night, if somebody throws a table or desk through the window in high spirits, won’t be no damage done.”

“What is it Mrs. Rasmussen says?” Red said quietly. “The best is not too good enough for us?”

“It’ll be fun to watch this project,” Velma said. “Mind if I kibitz?”

“Just be careful you don’t find yourself with a paintbrush in your hand,” Mrs. Feeley laughed, “or tackin’ up insulatin’ wool with a stapler.”

“Let’s go down to the boat an’ boil up a bait o’ lobsters,” the captain said.

“They’re nothin’ but crawfish here,” Velma said. “Come on down to the Club. All of you.”

“Don’t forget, Tooner!” Mrs. Rasmussen cautioned as they piled into two cars. “Tomorrow morning, minus sinus!”

“Ayah,” Elisha Dowdy said, “this is how it always fetches up, ent it?”

“R
ED
,
BLUE, YELLER, GREEN
,
pink, purple…” Mrs. Feeley surveyed the neat row of ex-buses fondly. “Short one color.”

“Orange!” Miss Tinkham said.

It was Sunday afternoon. The ladies stood on the asphalt driveway with the three tenants, Captain Dowdy and Velma.

“If I hadn’t seen it happen, nothing in the world could have made me believe it,” Velma said. “Three weeks to the day.”

“When Mrs. Feeley starts designating volunteers,” Miss Tinkham laughed, “things are apt to get done…and quickly.”

“The buses was in good shape; no holes in the floors or on the sides, no broke windows. We didn’t have to do hardly nothin’ to ’em,” Mrs. Feeley said.

“What you need is a fittin’-out patty,” the captain said.

“What about next Saturday night?” Mrs. Feeley shouted.

“Suits me,” Oscar said. “I’ll have my interior decoratin’ done by then.”

“Too bad Miss Tinkham ain’t home durin’ the week to help you,” Mrs. Feeley said. “She coulda had a big career as a interior desecrator.”

Miss Tinkham smiled proudly. “When we are finished, Blue Two will be charming.”

“I’m in Orange Seven.” Oscar caught on. “I like that.”

“You deserve the one farthest from the street, ’cause you thought up the units,” Mrs. Feeley said. “An’ besides, nobody can hear you practicin’ the pie-anna.”

“Green Four for me,” Red said. “Traffic light color scheme.”

“Port and starboard,” Mrs. Rasmussen corrected.

“Since that damn skipper showed up,” Red grumbled, “you ain’t give me no molasses pie. Fickle woman.”

“Anybody who gets married again,” Mrs. Rasmussen said, “didn’t deserve to lose her husband.”

“That sentiment calls for a drink,” Velma said. “There’s two cases of the heavy wet in my car.”

“You’ll have next Friday ashore, Miss Tinkham,” the captain said. “Rope-yarn Sunday for Mrs. Rasmussen, too, if she’ll just put up a bite o’ lunch for the crowd.”

“Whaddaya mean?” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “Not go with you?”

Miss Tinkham wailed. “Have we failed you in any way?”

“Hell, no!” the captain roared. “Loaded to the gunnels! But it’s a bunch of old codgers, crazy oscamarrions, that want to go fishin’ to San Clemente, won’t tolerate no wimmen on board. Not nohow.”

“Yeah,” Mrs. Rasmussen grated. “Some damn fool always wantin’ to fish.”

“I must confess,” Miss Tinkham said, “I am a little disappointed in Mr. Cobb. There was only a line or two in his column last week.”

“Nothin’ for nothin’ an’ damn little for a dollar,” Mrs. Feeley reminded.

“Yeah. You an’ him was stew for beans, all right,” Mrs. Rasmussen said.

“I mustn’t be unfaithful to Hope.” Miss Tinkham smiled.

“I’ll get you a real nice lunch, anyway,” Mrs. Rasmussen murmured.

“One of the cooks from the Club can come and help with the party,” Velma said. “If you’ll give me a list of the big supplies, like the meat order, I’ll get it from my wholesaler.”

“That’s real decent of you,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “The cookin’, that’s somethin’ I’ve always did for my friends with my own two hands.”

“It’s something there isn’t enough money in the world to buy,” Velma said.

“Swell having a place to do the things we’ve always wanted to do,” Jasper said. “Lot different from Reno.”

“You know,” Oscar rubbed his chin, “I been thinkin’. Mrs. Feeley an’ her friends here, bein’ kinda like a Queen Bee, an’ so sociable an’ all, had oughta have two units ’stead o’ one. One for sleepin’ and dressin’, an’ one for the parlor an’ kitchen.”

“’Course it would cut down the rental intake some,” Jasper said.

“Hell, boy, that’s fine! We don’t want to make too much money. Have all that taxi-vasion to make out.”

“That there about the kitchen an’ parlor together is sure lovely,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “Shame you already put in the toilet.”

“That’s okay,” Oscar said. “Keep the company outa your private bath. The whole back part will be her work table with the sink in the middle, the stove at one end and one of them cabinet hot-water heaters at the other.”

“Don’t need a back door, long as you’re havin’ two buses,” Red said. “To mark off the parlor, I had in mind to build one o’ them fancy dividers to hold pretty dishes an’ Miss Tinkham’s books an’ a tin-lined plant box along the top.”

“Four bedrooms and bathroom in the other bus, Oscar?” Jasper asked. “How would it strike you if we knocked out one of the windows in each bus and put two doors and a breezeway connecting Yellow Three with Blue Two?”

“Yeah!” Red shouted. “An’ I’m wirin’ every last one of ’em for sound!”

“I beg your pardon!” Miss Tinkham reached for her lorgnette.

“Yes, ma’am! Concealed loudspeaker in both units.”

“I didn’t know you were a Hi Fi bug,” Velma said.

“The Martin Luther of Radio!” Jasper laughed. “Every man his own disc jockey.”

“I’m glad you are not familiar with the works of James Joyce,” Miss Tinkham said.

“That don’t leave but two to rent,” Mrs. Feeley said. “Swell!”

“Old-Timer won’t budge from the trailer,” Oscar said.

“I’m gonna have a little o’ that corn beef an’ cabbage I seen Mrs. Rasmussen fixin’,” Mrs. Feeley said.

“Four little bedrooms with the bath at the end of the entrance hall, convenient for all you gals,” Oscar said. “Pretty snazzy having a guest room, huh?”

“You know this outfit!” Mrs. Feeley said. “Always one more at the door. You guys gonna help me lay that linoleum or do I have to holler for scab labor?”

F
RIDAY
AFTERNOON
,
Mrs. Rasmussen put away the last covered dish of food in the refrigerator.

“Sure nice of Daphne to give us the electric icebox. So big, too.”

“Never thought that woman would pull herself up by the bootstraps the way she done.” Mrs. Feeley leaned back and poured herself a beer. “That widower she married won’t have to worry about a thing; Daphne’s touched bottom.”

“Look over there.” Mrs. Rasmussen pointed to a corner of the parlor where gift boxes of all sizes were stacked almost to the ceiling. “Aphrodite’s standin’ guard on ’em. It’s downright embarrassin’.” Miss Tinkham’s alabaster lamp made from a statue of Aphrodite gave tone to the ex-bus.

Mrs. Feeley nodded. “This here’s only a fittin’-out, like Tooner says. What do you s’pose it’ll be like when we build the Ark back?”

Mrs. Feeley saw Miss Tinkham coming up the driveway with bundles of all sizes.