Tasting the Apple

by Sherilyn Decter

  “Inspector, I was only teasing that time I said you were stubborn. We’re a good team, you and I. Behind every good student there is a great teacher.”

  “I’m sure the quote is ‘behind every good student there is a surprised teacher’,” he says with a teasing twinkle in his eye that earns him a chuckle from Maggie.

  Frank settles further into his chair and puffs on his cigar, the smoke and odor as ghostly as he is. “I also swung past Enforcement Unit Number One headquarters. You won’t believe it, Maggie. Colonel Butler’s planning another raid on the Venice Café.”

  “What? There have been five police raids on that speakeasy in, what, the last three days?”

  “They keep reopening, and the police keep going back. Apparently, I’m not the only stubborn man in Philly. Colonel Butler is tenacious. This will be raid number six this week. It’s become a contest of wills between the Colonel, bootlegger Boo-Boo Hoff who owns the café, and the magistrates who overturn the charges. We’ll see who wins.”

  “Given the pay-offs that must be happening to keep it open, that little speak is a blessing for somebody,” Maggie says.

  “You mean everybody, not somebody. The police, the lawyers, the magistrates will all have their fingers in the pie. Boo-Boo must be making a tidy profit to be able to afford to keep paying the bribes to reopen and restock that establishment. Speaking of profit, have you found another tenant yet for Eugene’s room?” Frank asks.

  “I have. Mr. Sessions is moving in tomorrow. He’s a clerk at the Atlantic Refining Company. You know, where Joe’s fiancée, Fanny, works? She gave him my name. He’s moving here from a small town somewhere down south and needed a place for a few months before his family arrives. He seems nice enough, and Fanny says he’s a swell fella.”

  The front door bangs open. A young boy throws his jacket over the front banister. “Mother, I’m home.”

  “Tommy, I’m right here, sweetheart. You don’t have to shout. And hang up your jacket, please.” Maggie rises and meets him in the hall; gives him a hug. “Come on, let’s get some soup into you and you can tell me what you learned in school this morning.” Maggie checks in on Frank, but he’s gone. The living room is empty.

  Over soup and a frantic description of a frog in Abigail’s schoolbag, there’s also speculation about whether Mr. Stanwick adds blacking to his hair. “It was dripping on his collar, Mother,” says Tommy. He continues with a blow by blow description of a marbles’ game at recess.

  Tommy’s a gregarious, outgoing boy, but today he seems a little too upbeat; a little too anxious to fill the air with chatter. “Everything okay at school, Tommy?”

  Tommy puts another spoonful of soup in his mouth, along with a big bite of bread, to avoid answering.

  “Manners, young man,” she warns. Maggie glances at the clock by the stove. “Goodness, Tommy. Your coat. You’re going to be late.”

  Tommy grabs his coat, and turns as Maggie holds open the door.

  “Oh, here, Mother. I forgot. Principal Harris says you’re to come to his office after school.” Tommy thrusts a crumpled, soiled envelope into her hand.

  “What? Why? Tommy?” But he has taken the veranda steps two at a time and is tearing toward school.

  Maggie stands in the open doorway. A note from school. A last minute delivery. Tommy’s incessant babbling. This can’t be good.

  Maggie opens the envelope and unfolds the single sheet. It has no details beyond a strongly worded invitation to meet Principal Harris in his office at four o’clock.

  Maggie tidies the mess from lunch, then heads up the stairs to change out of her housedress. Edith’s finally home from her trip to Florida and Maggie is excited to hear all about it—before four o’clock. And yes, there will be ice cream.

  Chapter 6

  M aggie has loved Child’s Place Ice Cream Parlor since she and Jack first visited it while they were courting. Its long, marble-topped counter along one wall has many flavors of frozen temptation. You can get a crick in your neck swiveling between the chalkboard list on the wall behind the counter and the rainbow of frozen colors in the glass display case. And then there are the toppings: fruit, nuts, candy sprinkles, and mounds of whipped cream. Oh, my.

  Maggie sits at a small, round table opposite the counter, perched on a swivel chair. She’s savoring the contrast between the sharp, bitter taste of the chocolate and the smooth sweetness of the whipped cream.

  “Doll, you started without me,” Edith says, swooping in for a quick, two-cheeked peck. “Looks delish. What did you get?”

  “Mmmm. Chocolate with cherries. So-o good.” Maggie licks her spoon and smiles at her friend. Today, Edith is wrapped in a dark emerald green velvet coat trimmed in bands of dark fur. Perched on her head is a matching hat, also fur trimmed. The gal has style. “Edith, go grab yours and then hurry back. I’ve got to scoot early to meet with Tommy’s principal, so I don’t have as much time as usual.”

  As Edith heads to the counter, Maggie strokes her own brown wool coat. Serviceable. Of service. The story of my life.

  “So what’s that all about, then?” Edith asks, sliding in beside Maggie, clutching her bowl of strawberry ice cream bathed in chocolate sauce.

  “I haven’t the faintest idea. But you don’t get called to the principal’s office with good news. I’ll let you know.” Maggie licks her spoon clean and leans in close to Edith. “So. Tell me. How was the trip? How’re things with Mickey? You look great, all toasty brown.”

  Edith rolls her eyes dramatically. “Oh, you know. The same. He goes out. I’m left behind sitting alone by the pool. When we do go out together, he’s prowling around, talking to men in corners.”

  “Ah, sweetie. I thought you two were going away together. You know, for a little sun, a little romance?”

  “Oh, we did go away. I thought we’d sit on the beach, hold hands, watch the sun set and drink rum punch. But instead, Mickey was mostly meeting with a bunch of fellas about business.”

  “Oh,” Maggie says, suddenly interested in her ice cream. “Seems like a long way to go for business.”

  “Al Capone’s got a place down there. You know, that fella from Chicago? His place is beautiful, Maggie. You should see it. Like an Italian villa by the sea. It has a pool, and he’s rigged a diving board off the second-floor balcony. That little tub makes quite a splash when he hits the water.”

  “I didn’t know Mickey knew Al Capone. Is he looking to do some business in Chicago?”

  “What do I know? I’m hoping he’s looking to buy a place in Miami so that we can spend the winters down there. As if.” Edith laughs.

  “Well, I’ll come visit if you do. I love the thought of getting away from Philly’s winters.”

  “And how about you, doll? What’s new with you? What’s happened while I was away? Edith wiggles her eyebrows. Anything new?”

  “As if.” Maggie shoots back with a laugh. “No, those fires were banked and the embers gone cold a long time ago. Jack was the only man for me. Except for Tommy, of course.”

  “Well, Tommy is a sweetie. But there’s no reason you have to live like me, alone every night. You need to be going out and having some fun. Hey, I got an idea. Why don’t you come to the Cadix with Mickey and me? We could gossip about what all the dames are wearing. It’d give me something to do while Mickey talks business.”

  The Cadix with Mickey? Yikes, no way do I want to do that. Not after the kidnapping episode at his warehouse. I’ve managed to avoid seeing Mickey this long, maybe I can put it off some more?

  “Oh, I’m not sure, Edith. Who would look after Tommy? What would I wear?”

  Edith looks her up and down. “Of course, you couldn’t wear that old thing.”

  Maggie flinches. Edith never thinks about her words before they’re out of her mouth.

  “Well, options are limited. I can’t afford anything new and, believe me, there is nothing in my closet that I’d wear out to a club like the Cadix,” Maggie says.

  “Banana oil,
doll. I’ll loan you one of mine. Come over, and you can try a few things on. They’re just hanging there all lonely-like. It’d do them good to get out and be seen.”

  “Are we talking about dresses or you, Edith? Surely things aren’t that bad?”

  “Well, it’s a big house for just one person. Mickey’s hardly home. In fact, he’s spending a lot of his nights ‘out’, if you know what I mean.” The tears swim in Edith’s perfect, hazel eyes.

  “Ah, Edith. Sweetheart. I am so sorry. Of course, I’ll come over. We’ll do some damage to your closet and find the perfect thing to wear out on the town. It’ll be a blast.”

  “Look at me feeling sorry for myself. Enough. Come over early next week, okay. Just telephone and let me know what day works.”

  “It’s going to be hectic for the next few days. I have a new lodger moving in tomorrow, and I’m not sure what’s going on with Tommy and school. But I’ll call you from Howard’s when I get groceries, and we’ll set a date.”

  Oh, Mags. You gotta get a phone. I don’t know how you get along without one.”

  “Telephones cost money, Edith. Even with the lodgers, I’m just able to make ends meet. There certainly isn’t room for new expenses.” Maggie frowns. “And now I’ve got to find a way to fix the roof.”

  Edith pats Maggie’s hand. She’s heard these tales of woe a lot lately.

  Maggie stirs her ice cream, lost in her thoughts. “Money. What I’ve got to do is find a way to get ahead. Fix the darn roof. Maybe buy a new refrigerator and get rid of the icebox. Maybe one of those new automatic washing machines. No hauling out the washtubs. No scrubbing or rinsing. My neighbor got one, and it looks so easy.”

  “You know Maggie, given that you’re running a boarding house with all their extra laundry, an automatic washing machine sounds like a practical business expense, not a luxury.”

  “Oh, you’re right. And the tenants would love to have the convenience of a telephone, especially Joe with calls from the police precinct. But it still all comes down to money,” Maggie says, rubbing her thumb and finger together. “There’s just not enough coming in.”

  Edith laughs at her friend. “Gosh, you’re practical. I thought I’d see you get all moony-eyed over a fella, not a washing machine.”

  Maggie chuckles. “You know Edith, there’s something to be said for a powerful washing machine. Mmmm, think of that lusty motor, and that agitator, churning and churning.” Maggie winks at Edith.

  “Oh doll, you do slay me.”

  “I hate to blush and run, Edith, but I do have to scoot. I can’t be late meeting the principal. I’ll call you about next week.”

  Maggie jumps up and slips on her practical, reliable, resented cloth coat. A quick buss on Edith’s cheek and she’s out the door.

  Chapter 7

  M aggie approaches Tommy’s school, her stomach in knots. Groups of children hang about in the playground and on the sidewalk. No Tommy.

  She climbs the stone steps and pulls open one side of the heavy double doors to reveal the scent of chalk, spoiled food from uneaten lunches, teachers’ perfumes, sweat, unwashed children, books. Her footsteps echo along the corridor. Somewhere, a door slams, followed by the quick-footsteps of someone running. Maybe I can run away?

  Maggie’s been in the school many times for parent-teacher interviews, Christmas concerts, and special assemblies. Each time, it’s like entering a foreign land where she’s a stranger. This time, her heart beats faster. Above a doorway, an ‘Administration’ sign extends into the corridor.

  As Maggie nears the door, she can see into the reception space through a long corridor window. A large clock hangs between windows that look out on the playground. Running below the sill is a counter piled high with books and papers. Next to the counter are wooden cubbies for teachers’ mail. Another counter bisects the room. It is where she expects to see a secretary, but the spot is empty. Everyone’s gone home, finished for the day. Against the corridor window, back to the glass, she can see the top of Tommy’s head. He’s sitting. Waiting for her, for judgment.

  Another breath, a pause to steady herself. ‘Gird her loins’ is a phrase that comes to mind. It must be the academic halls that dropped that nugget into her brain. She opens the door and looks at Tommy.

  “Hello, son.”

  His eyes widen. His face is as white as the wall behind him. “I’m sorry, Mother. It was stupid. I was stupid. I won’t do it again. Just don’t be mad, okay?”

  Maggie pats Tommy’s knee, staring at the principal’s closed door. “Whatever it is, son, we’ll get this sorted.”

  Mr. Harris’ door opens. He’s a small, slight, older man in a tweed suit and wire-rim glasses. Balding, grey, stern.

  “Mrs. Barnes. Please, come in. Thomas, you’ll wait here until your mother and I are finished.” He stands slightly to one side so that Maggie can enter his office.

  Closing the door, he returns to sit behind his desk.

  “Thank you for coming, Mrs. Barnes.”

  Maggie acknowledges the remark. She’s rigid in a hard wooden chair, both feet firmly planted on the ground, handbag in her lap.

  “What do you know of Thomas’ academic performance?”

  Maggie hates these trick questions. Will she answer correctly? Will her answer confirm what he already suspects—that she’s a bad mother?

  “Tommy does his homework. His grades seem okay. He’s struggling in math, but I was never good at math either.” She fibs, and tries a shy smile to soften the man and win him over. No luck.

  “Mrs. Barnes, it’s always a sad duty when I have to ask a parent in for a meeting. I have grave news. Thomas was found cheating. On a math test.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “His teacher, Mr. Stanwick, found him cheating on his math test this morning. Thomas had the answers written on a small piece of paper.” Mr. Harris slides the evidence across his desk toward her, grimacing at the offending cheat sheet.

  Maggie ignores the paper; continues to look Mr. Harris in the eyes.

  “I’m sure that you can understand that this kind of behavior is unacceptable, Mrs. Barnes. It will not be tolerated.”

  Maggie waits to see if there is more information, then leans forward to counter his attack. “Mr. Harris. Tommy is not a cheater. I don’t understand what would have caused him to act this way.” Like the Inspector had taught her, establish a motive for the crime.

  “Thomas is failing at mathematics, and doing poorly in some of his other subjects.” Mr. Harris’ smile is the smuggest she’s ever seen.

  “Let me be blunt, Mrs. Barnes. I’m sure we both have Thomas’ best interests at heart. He’s almost ten and getting close to the stage of his academics when most young men like him decide to pursue an occupation rather than further schooling. The mills and canneries are always looking for young lads, and of course there are the messenger boys. It’s a fact that there are many young boys who are happier working in a trade rather than sitting in a classroom. And I’m sure the extra money would be appreciated. Perhaps it’s something that should be considered?” He rests his case.

  You sanctimonious, judgemental… Maggie vibrates. “Mr. Harris. I’m not certain what you mean by ‘boys like him’?”

  Mr. Harris regards her over the top of his glasses. “I only meant that Thomas is fatherless. I’m sure that it is trying at times. Raising a boy on your own.”

  “I appreciate your concern, Mr. Harris. I need to stress that Tommy is only nine years old. He’s not leaving school. In fact, after he’s finished here, he’s going to go to Boys’ Central High School.”

  Mr. Harris shakes his head, judgment rolling off him. “It’s doubtful that Thomas’ grades will be strong enough for Boys’ Central, Mrs. Barnes. I am a graduate myself, and I assure you they do not consider young men who do not have the academic rigor to succeed. No, it’s not likely that Boys’ is in Thomas’ future.”

  “Tommy will apply himself. And he will be ready to meet the school’s admission requiremen
ts. I will make sure he does,” Maggie says. Her face is grim and determined. “Are there any other issues that I should know about?”

  Mr. Harris consults the contents of a file folder in front of him. “Not at this time. Thomas is a middling student. His stronger subjects are English, History, and Geography. He also appears to be doing well in Science. But, as I said, failing in Math. And now the cheating.”

  “Yes. The test. May I ask what the consequences will be for this accusation?”

  Mr. Harris closes the file marked: Barnes, Thomas. He rests his pen precisely perpendicular to the folder’s top edge. “We’ll be suspending him from class for two school days. He’ll be responsible for making up any work that he’s missed. If he is caught cheating again, he will be expelled.”