The Recycled Citizen (7 page)

“Just don’t make them pea green,” said Joan. “When I was in the hospital for two months that time, everything was yucky pea green, even the orderlies’ uniforms. It got me so down, I used to just lie there and cry.”

“What gets to me is that awful tobacco-spit brown,” said Annie. “My old man used to chew tobacco and spit in the sink, then he’d make me clean it out. I ran away when I was thirteen, but I still feel sick to my stomach thinking about it.”

She was making Sarah sick too. “Let’s talk about what you do like,” she begged. “How about a cheerful sunshine yellow, for instance?”

Joan said yellow was okay, but she liked peach better. Annie said peach was too blah and what about a nice purple? Purple was her favorite color. Joan made a crisp comment on the kind of women who preferred purple walls and said, “Why not shoot the works? Paint them in rainbows.”

“That’s not a bad idea, you know.” Sarah was beginning to feel she’d bitten off a good deal more than she’d anticipated having to chew. “We might think about using the rainbow as a decorative theme for the entire building. We could do the rooms in order, each in a different rainbow shade, have rainbow stripes painted along the corridors, hang rainbow-striped curtains in the dining rooms and lounges. There are various ways it might be done.”

“They got cute rainbow stickers at Woolworth’s,” Annie suggested, “and rainbow decals you stick on the windows and they look like stained glass.”

Sarah tried not to wince. At any rate, she’d given them a reason for her sudden involvement with the center and got them talking. From here it was only a step to choosing rainbow-hued chairs for the Chester A. Arthur memorial lounge, and thence to Chet himself.

“How many do you expect at the funeral tomorrow?”

“We’ll get a good turnout,” Joan replied. “Nothing like a funeral to bring out the old folks, you know. He got in the papers, that’ll count. Annie cut out the piece and stuck it up on the bulletin board. It’s not much of a write-up, considering, but something’s better than nothing, I always say.”

Annie said that was what she’d always said too. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything, not that I was ever any great pal of Chet’s.”

“Who were his pals?” Sarah asked her.

Annie shook her head. “Far as I know, he didn’t have any. Chet wasn’t mean or ugly or anything, he just wasn’t much of a mixer. Like when Harry Burr was getting up the checker tournament, for instance. Chet just grunted and said he had better things to do with his time. Which didn’t stop him from hanging around down by the Broken Zipper, I noticed.”

“When did you see Chet at the Broken Zipper?” Joan sounded quite put out. “You never told me.”

“Because I knew what you’d say if I did, honey. Okay, so I drop over there myself once in a blue moon, to see if there’s any of the old gang around. What the hey, I worked there twenty-three years, didn’t I? That was before they went topless,” Annie explained to Sarah. “I’d still be shovin’ the drinks if them bra burners hadn’t come along.”

“Sure you would,” said Joan. “What was Chet doing at the Zipper? Not picking up girls, for God’s sake?”

“Picking up muscatel bottles out of the gutter, any time I saw him.”

“Yeah? How often did you see him?”

“Once or twice. It was no big deal. I don’t see what you’re getting all steamed up about, Joanie.”

Mary Kelling shook her head. “I don’t know, Annie. That’s an awfully rough section these days. I’m surprised Chet Arthur would trust his precious hide in it. He was always so careful. Do you remember how he’d never set foot in the Back Bay?”

“I sure do,” said Annie. “I was saying to Joan a while ago, how come his body turned up way over near Mass Ave? He used to rant and rave about them big buildings like the Hancock and the Pru getting washed away underneath and falling down on top of everybody. That’s about the only thing he ever did talk about.”

“He talked about his will,” Joan reminded her friend.

“Not what I’d call talked about it. All he said was would we witness it for him, and we did.”

“That was nice of you,” said Mary. “When did Chet make a will?”

“Maybe a month ago. He was all hush-hush about it, like as if he was the spy that came in from the cold or somebody. He got me and Joanie in the kitchen one morning, about a quarter to ten. You know, that little quiet spell after breakfast and before we start getting ready for lunch. Anyway, nobody was around but us, and he took out this will he’d written up.”

“It was on a form he said he got at a stationery store,” said Joan. “Only he hadn’t signed it, see. He told us he was supposed to sign first with us two watching him. Then we had to sign underneath, to prove it was really him that signed it. He said that was what made the will legal.” She shrugged. “So we did. Why not? It wasn’t going to hurt anybody.”

“Mr. Arthur followed the correct procedure,” said Sarah. “Did he show you what he’d put down in the will?”

“No, just the printed part about him being of sound mind,” said Joan.

“What the hey, Chet was no nuttier than the rest of us, as far as we know,” Annie added. “Like about them buildings falling down in the Back Bay. I almost got clobbered myself once, back when the windows were falling out of the Hancock Tower. They had to keep the sidewalk roped off for I don’t know how long. You can see where Chet got the idea the whole place might go. He used to be in some kind of construction himself, wasn’t he, Joanie? Maybe he knew something we didn’t.”

“I thought he’d been a foreman at the Navy Yard.”

“Did he tell you that himself, Joan?” Sarah asked.

“Gosh, Mrs. Bittersohn, I don’t know if it was Chet or somebody else that told me. Or maybe one of the guys said they used to see him over in Southie and just assumed he worked at the yard. There’s always a lot of talk around the center, people shooting their mouths off, and half the time they’re talking through their hats just to have something to say. Me included, I suppose.”

“I just wish I knew if Chet was talking through his hat about that will.” Annie was casually tucking sugar packets into her bag as she spoke. “I asked him how come he bothered, and he said everybody ought to make a will. So I kind of kidded around a little about who was he leaving his millions to, but he just clammed up. All he said was he couldn’t talk about it or it wouldn’t be legal. I don’t know if he was giving us the business or what. Do you, Joanie?”

“I sure don’t, kiddo. I never knew anybody before who made a will. I never knew anybody who had anything to leave. Did they find it, Mrs. Kelling?”

Mary glanced at Sarah, got a nod and replied cautiously, “I believe my husband has some papers Chet left, but I can’t give you the particulars. I expect we’ll all hear sooner or later, if there’s anything to tell. Well, girls, I’m afraid I’d better get back to the center before Osmond Loveday puts a black mark on my card for loafing on the job.”

Annie and Joan took the hint and made their goodbyes.

“What are you going to do, Sarah?”

“I’m going straight home and give my child a nap. Why don’t you and Dolph stop over later? We have lots to talk about, don’t you think?”

“Looks that way, doesn’t it? Perhaps we will, but not to eat. Genevieve’s making Dolph a boiled dinner.”

Sarah shuddered and turned away. She really did want to lie down. Nobody had told her how badly a pregnant woman’s feet could swell. Of course not all pregnant women spent the day traipsing from one side of Boston to the other. She was tempted to take a taxi back to Tulip Street, but the Puritan ethic proved too much for her and she walked.

A couple of hours later Max found her on the sofa with her shoes off and her eyes closed. He knelt and scooped her into his arms. “Feeling all right, sweetheart?”

“Just resting.” She grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled his face down for a kiss. “Mm, that was lovely. Oh, I meant to call Brooks and Theonia. I’ve asked Mary and Dolph to come for a drink. What time is it?”

“Quarter to five.”

“Then I’d better stir my stumps, if I have any left. Give Theonia a ring, will you, and see if they’d like to pop over for a little while. I’ll get the ice out.”

“Shall I call Jem too?”

“If he’s free.”

Sarah wormed her way into the undersized apartment kitchen to begin cutting cheese and setting out glasses. It was going to be heavenly having a kitchen she could move around in and she’d enjoy having Max’s people closer, but she was going to miss the daily contacts with her own relatives. And what should she do about the house next door?

She’d given Brooks and Theonia the job of managing the boardinghouse when they got married a while back, not because she’d cared about keeping it going but because they’d needed a place to live. Theonia hadn’t a cent and Brooks’s little trust fund couldn’t have supported them in any kind of comfort. But Brooks wasn’t hard up any more. He’d inherited Uncle Lucifer’s coin collection and Christie’s was making him pots of money auctioning it off.

Suppose she converted the house back to a private dwelling, would Brooks and Theonia like to stay on and share the expenses? Mariposa the maid and Charles the butler, who’d been such props and mainstays during these hectic years, could have the basement rooms for as long as they wanted them. The top-floor rooms would be reserved for however many Bittersohns and Kellings might need an in-town pied à terre in the years to come.

As she was arranging the drinks tray, Max came back to report. “Jem and Theonia will be along. Brooks is going to hold the fort next door. Shall I set this tray in the living room?”

“Please. How was your meeting with Mr. Redfern?”

“In a word, dull. Did you get anywhere with Annie and Joan?”

“I think so. They did sign the will and they did witness Chet Arthur’s signing, but he wouldn’t let them see the provisions. They confirm what Mary said, that Chet Arthur had a phobia about the Back Bay, and they thought it odd that his body was found where it was. Annie supplied a new bit of information, for what it’s worth, that Chet used to hang around the Broken Zipper sometimes. That’s over in the Combat Zone, isn’t it? Mary said it was an awful section. Annie used to work there. She says they have topless waitresses.”

“Was she one?”

“No, she claims to have been a victim of mammarian emancipation, but I rather doubt it. Annie must be well over seventy, from the look of her. She’s rather fun, I thought. So is Joan, and they’re both longing desperately for a decent place to live. You know, Max, I do think this warehouse project of Dolph’s and Mary’s is a marvelous idea. I want to help all I can on their fund drive. You won’t mind, will you?”

“Of course not, so long as you don’t wear yourself out. Oops, there’s the bell. That must be Theonia.”

For once Max was in error. It was Dolph and Mary. “We snuck out a little bit early,” Mary explained. “Osmond Loveday offered to stay on through the supper hour, much to our surprise. We haven’t had much time to think about it, but he’s all excited about the benefit auction, and he’s going to update his mailing list of the
haute monde
for us,” she added with a wicked grin.

“Count on Loveday to know whose pockets to pick,” Dolph grunted. “You talked to Sarah about the will yet, Max?”

“I haven’t had time. I just got home myself. What are you drinking?”

Mary wanted a little bourbon and water and lots of ice. Dolph said Scotch and ice and damn the water. As Max was fixing their drinks Theonia rustled in wearing her new black taffeta with the Merry Widow flounce and said she’d like sherry because theirs was so much nicer than the boardinghouse’s, which came out of gallon jugs at about ten cents a drink. At last Jem chugged down the hill and up the stairs, and the party was on.

S
ARAH SIPPED AT THE
glass of fizzy grape juice she was trying to pretend was champagne so that she wouldn’t have to listen to another of Uncle Jem’s lectures on the perils of teetotalism; and let them all chat until Max finished fixing the drinks. Then she called the meeting to order.

“Max, why don’t you fill everybody in on what’s been happening?”

“God, you sound like your Aunt Caroline at the Beacon Hill Uplift Society,” Jem cackled.

Dolph said, “Shut up, you old reprobate,” and Max began his report.

“Most of you know about Chet Arthur’s will already, so I’ll be quick about that.” He was. “So Dolph and I took the papers over to Redfern this afternoon. He says the circumstances are somewhat unusual—”

“Old poop,” Jem growled.

“But that the will itself appears to be perfectly legal and should be filed for probate according to the usual procedure. He believes that unless some relative comes out of the woodwork and tries to contest it, Mary should get her forty thousand without a hitch.”

“Less expenses,” Dolph modified.

“But what if it does get contested?” asked Jem. “Would those two witnesses hold up in court?”

“I don’t see why they shouldn’t,” said Sarah. “They struck me as responsible women. Don’t you think so, Mary?”

“Absolutely. Their work records at the center are excellent and we’ve got Osmond Loveday’s cute little file cards to prove it. Don’t you fret yourselves about Joan and Annie.”

“What’s their story on the signing of the will?” Jem insisted.

Sarah repeated the women’s words pretty much verbatim, with a few assists from Mary.

“So you see, there can’t be any question of Chet Arthur’s intent. He knew what he was doing and he was anxious to do it right. He was wrong about its being illegal for the witnesses to read the will, of course, but I expect he only said that to discourage Joan and Annie without hurting their feelings. Don’t you, Mary?”

“Oh yes. He wouldn’t want them to know he had money for fear they’d spread the word and somebody would try to rob him. Gosh, do you think it did get around and some skunk took the notion he carried his savings with him? Anyway, I don’t see that it matters if Joan and Annie didn’t see the whole will.”

“Not a bit,” Dolph assured her. “They only had to testify that Chet signed the will in their presence, which he did. Redfern’s going to file right away. He did natter a bit about telling the police but I told him we would when we were damn good and ready.”