Tooner Schooner (9 page)

The drums faded down and the music slowed to the finish, leaving Sunshine sitting on the ground, each foot resting on the opposite knee, as she completed the form of the dance with movements of the arms and hands so delicate that Captain Dowdy thought of a gull settling into the crest of a wave. Nobody moved or spoke for a few minutes. Miss Tinkham and Red came out of the shadows where they had been beating out the rhythm on empty kerosene cans with spoons. Miss Tinkham put a sweater around Sunshine.

“We’ve had it.” Velma got up brusquely. “God, what I wouldn’t give to present it just that way at the Club! Strippers get away with it, but something poetic like that’ll have to wear a top of some sort.”

“I’m all hell to skelter.” Mrs. Feeley mopped her brow.

“She thinks a lot of us to dance without no top, like that,” Mrs. Rasmussen said.

Miss Tinkham nodded. “She does indeed; in the South Seas her fine-mats take the place of royal robes, royal standard and royal treasure. We are privileged.”

“She must be big stuff back in her village,” Oscar said.

“A
taupó,”
Miss Tinkham said, “is like a maid of honor, who officiates at all ceremonies. In a Samoan village, she enjoys all the privileges of a vestal virgin in ancient Rome.”

“I’m sorry I laughed yesterday,” Jasper said. “Once you see the ritual, you know that not even the thickest lug could make a wisecrack about it.”

“That is how it always is with any authentic work of art,” Miss Tinkham said.

“I’m sorry,” Velma said, “I can’t stay. It’s Saturday night and I’ve been away from the Club too long now. Will you bring her around tomorrow?”

“You’re sure the sight of the tropical storm in her native harbor won’t be too much of an emotional strain for her?” Miss Tinkham said.

“She’s got to get back, hasn’t she?” Velma said. “If she’ll dance at my place thirteen weeks, she won’t need to stow away on a…” She looked at Elisha Dowdy’s stricken face. “There’ll be no need to stow away on a yacht.”

T
HE
SMELL OF FRESH COFFEE
and broiling bacon drifted down the driveway and past Mrs. Feeley’s bedroom window. She looked out and saw that the rain in the night had left the pavement black and glossy.

Mrs. Feeley rolled over and looked at the white ceiling of her little room. “What the hell musta happened last night?”

Mrs. Rasmussen was in Miss Tinkham’s room helping her train her hair into a pony tail in front of the mirror.

“Where’s the cookin’ comin’ from if you ain’t doin’ it?”

Mrs. Feeley’s shower was short and violent. The three walked into their drawing-room-kitchen, as Miss Tinkham called it, and saw that, except for coffee, Jasper, Oscar, Red and Sunshine had waited for them. Captain Dowdy sat over in a corner wrapping and addressing copies of his treasured interview for mailing.

“I et on board,” he said. “You look kinda kippy this morning.”

Mrs. Feeley sat down at the table with a thud like a poled ox.

“Send for a doctor,” she said. Her friends stared at her in silence. “Somethin’ terrible wrong with me.”

Oscar came and sat beside her.

“I’m sick, man. I don’t feel like havin’ a beer!”

“’Y God, you gimme a turn there!” the captain said. “We never
THOUGHT
to open them presents!”

“Sunshine had us spellbound last night,” Miss Tinkham said at last. “Anything else would have been anti-climactic.”

“Here’s Velma,” Captain Dowdy said.

“Looked like you’d be eaten out of house and home last night, so I brought a baked ham. I haven’t been to bed.” Velma’s eyes looked a little puffy. “Sat up and read that book on Samoa most all night. There certainly can’t be much wrong with a people whose ‘hello’ means ‘I love you.’”

“Didn’t none of us feel like goin’ on with the hell-raisin’,” Mrs. Feeley said.

Captain Dowdy folded up the last of his newspapers.

“It would of been a kinda sacreligion.” Nobody said anything, surprised at the gentleness of his voice. “Ent ya gonna open the blasted boxes?” he shouted.

“I second that emotion!” Mrs. Feeley said. “Let’s top that breakfast off with a nice cold brew.”

“These is so big.” Mrs. Rasmussen looked at the packages. “What you got in ’em: furniture?”

“Take ’em as they come,” the captain admonished.

“What we need is a nice handy crowbar,” Mrs. Feeley laughed.

“You’ve been peekin’, Mrs. Feeley!” Oscar laughed.

“Put me on the lie detestor if you don’t believe me!”

“This is from us fellows,” Jasper said. “You might’s well have it now.” Mrs. Feeley ripped open a package that contained modern, workmanlike tools.

“Gawd, can’t I drill holes like mad now!” She flourished a brace and bit. “Lookit! The little baby crowbar! It’s grand!”

“Bear a hand, will you?” Captain Dowdy tried to move out the biggest packing crate of all. Red and Jasper took hold of it and helped him haul it to the middle of the floor. “Lord!” he groaned as he tugged at the box. “I wish I’d a went to Yale instead a Hahvahd!”

“What do we need with a iron safe?” Mrs. Feeley shouted. She began attacking the crate with her crowbar and quickly got to the excelsior and wrapping paper. Suddenly she stepped back and turned to Mrs. Rasmussen. “This is more in your line.”

Mrs. Rasmussen came up slowly, almost reluctantly, and pulled away the last bit of brown covering paper. Her face was pale as she turned to the captain.

“You shouldn’t orta done it.” She ran her hand lovingly across the white porcelain oven door.

“Magnificent!” Miss Tinkham stepped in for her friend. “It will be the pride and joy of her life.”

Mrs. Rasmussen stared at the floor.

“Hell! Won it on a quiz show!” The captain slapped her on the back.

“No you never.” She raised her face at last, her eyes filled with unbearable affection like a dog’s.

“So I bought it,” he said gently. “They ent no pockets in shrouds.”

“What the hell kinda party is this?” Mrs. Feeley shouted.

“There’s just one more big item,” Jasper said, and the other three men moved over to help him. “We didn’t crate it, just put enough boards across it to keep you from monkeying with it.” He stood in front of the object tantalizingly. “Let’s unveil, boys!”

The ladies were speechless. Mrs. Feeley recovered first.

“You’ll all end up in the workhouse, every blasted one o’ you.”

Miss Tinkham was on her knees, hands clasped in front of the little piano.

“You guys sure blew a fuse,” Mrs. Feeley said.

“Don’t be put off by the size,” Jasper said. “Wait till you hear the tone. It was a great big old-time Mason and Hamlin upright. A fellow in National City cut it down and restrung it for us.”

Miss Tinkham got up and struck a chord.

“There never was a tone like it,” she said. “I’m a better woman for knowing you, Oscar. I take my solemn oath to practice every day.”

“You play swell. Miss Tinkham. I’d be satisfied to do one tenth as good.”

“Once, Oscar, I did.”

“Start right now!” Red brought up a chair and sat down close by. “What about ‘Shine On, Harvest Moon’?”

“Before the saints come marching in,” Velma said, “here’s a donation that I hope you’ll all get the good of.” She handed Mrs. Feeley a slip of paper. Mrs. Feeley squinted at it and handed it to Miss Tinkham.

“It’s a gift certificate,” she said. “One hundred and fifty dollars in merchandise at the Point Loma Gardens!”

“Velma,” Mrs. Feeley said finally, “I’m dumbfoundered. You don’t hardly know us from Adam’s old fox!”

“My pleasures are few,” Velma said. “Don’t deny me this one.”

“Gawd! That’s the last thing I’d do! Remember them big bushes we seen on the way home from keepin’ Timmy’s saloon for him? Rosydandrums. That’s what they was. I been pinin’ for two o’ them ever since I seen ’em that time. We’ll have ’em now!”

“Will they grow in California?” Miss Tinkham said. “The climate of New Jersey…”

“They’ll grow.” Mrs. Feeley’s tone left no doubt as to the fact that rhododendrons would grow any place a person was lucky enough to have the price of a couple. “We’ll get them high-breds.”

“Only one thing wrong,” Mrs. Rasmussen said softly. “Shame all the gang wasn’t here to see the handsome stuff you give all of us.”

“Start the music, Miss Tinkham,” Oscar said. “Don’t worry about the gang: they’ve knew all about this for months. Long before we even bought the buses.”

“I can’t even think of any square words,” Mrs. Feeley said.

A shattering crash brought her to the front door. Her friends were not long behind her. Down the driveway they pelted to the sidewalk facing on Island Avenue. Old-Timer had a truck backed up to the sidewalk with a two-by-twelve for a gangplank to the ground. He stood mopping his face with a red bandanna surveying the wreckage around him. One section of his handiwork he had delivered intact. A section of wall consisting of five equilateral triangles nailed together formed a racklike frame about four feet high in which beautiful, gleaming bottles were racked up the way pool balls are. The bases of the first and third triangles formed a V-shape that was filled by the apex of the second triangle. Every other triangle was filled with dark amber beer bottles in contrast to the green ale bottles. The frames were painted spruce green.

“All that work, an’ they smashed on him!” Mrs. Feeley cried. “What’d you have to go an’ try it alone for. Boar Brain? You borried Slim’s truck; whyn’t he help you?”

“It really is lovely,” Miss Tinkham said. “Don’t scold, Mrs. Feeley.”

“I’m tellin’ the damn fool how much I like it!”

“I’ll get the broom.” Mrs. Rasmussen started for the house. “He shoulda put the bottles in place after he got here.”

Red and Mrs. Rasmussen came back with a big sheet of tin and a brush on a long handle.

“Hold the tin for a dustpan an’ I’ll sweep it up in nothin’ flat,” Red said. “You and Jasper lift down the other frame, Oscar.”

“Bear a hand,” Captain Dowdy shouted as he slipped the other section of wall into place on the other side of the driveway. “We’ll get you some more bottles, Mate.”

Old-Timer sat on the curbstone dejectedly until Sunshine squatted down beside him and put her arm around his shoulders. He blew his nose loudly and began to play “Home Sweet Home” on a foot-long harmonica.

“I like that girl,” Miss Tinkham said to Velma. “There are times when it’s terribly important to know that you matter to somebody.”

Velma nodded and lit a cigar.

“Just the same,” she muttered, “a hell of a lot of bartenders in this town must be wondering what became of their crates of empties that were set out in the alley for collection!”

“It’s the intention that counts, don’t you think?”

“God, I hope so!” Velma said.

“C’mon, Old-Timer,” Red said. He put an arm around Old-Timer and one around Sunshine. “I just figgered out a way to wire ’em so I could light ’em up at night for you.”

“Stop pawrin’ Sunshine,” Mrs. Feeley said. “You jokers ain’t told us yet how much we owe you.”

“Get the book, Red,” Jasper said. “It’s that kind of realism that separates women from females.”

“Business ain’t legal transacted on Sunday,” Oscar said.

“Legal? Who cares whether it’s legal, so long as it’s honest?” Mrs. Rasmussen fetched a brand new copybook from the bookcase.

Mrs. Feeley took her place at the table.

“Where you goin’?” she said to Velma.

“Keep an eye on the waiters.”

“We work tomorrow?” Mrs. Rasmussen said as she brought the captain his khaki jacket.

“If you’re willin’,” he said, fishing in the pocket of his shirt. “Here’s the receipt.”

“It’s the handsomest thing in my life,” she said. “Somethin’ like that shoulda been kep’ for the Ark.”

“That’s what I’se thinkin’.” Mrs. Feeley scratched her head.

“She needs it now,” Captain Dowdy said.

“We’re holding up the board of directors’ meeting,” Velma said. “Can you bring Sunshine down tomorrow night?”

“Depends,” Mrs. Feeley said. “If they come in late like last time…”

“He didn’t have us to help him,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “We’ll be in on time.”

Captain Dowdy turned red about the ears.

“No hard feelin’s?” He spoke in Sunshine’s direction.

“That is for you to say,” she said.

“Well…” He jammed his cap firmly on his head. “Goddamit, c’mon, Velma! Lift up the mud hook!”

“If we let Sunshine work,” Mrs. Feeley got up and accompanied Velma to the door, “you’ll keep a sharp eye on her?” Velma nodded. Mrs. Feeley stuck out her hand. “We’re very precious of her.”

“I
T’S
TOO LATE
to go down to Velma’s now,” Miss Tinkham said as she dried the dishes for Mrs. Feeley Monday night. “Sunshine’s worn out.” She nodded towards the girl asleep on the couch.