Tooner Schooner

by Mary Lasswell

  “And why not?” Miss Tinkham said. “The captain must have been blind.”

  “Blind drunk. We mustn’t let on like we seen.” Mrs. Rasmussen drew back from the porthole as she saw the woman ramble off. “When she walks, looks like somebody throwin’ a pile o’ brush in the lake. Cheesit, here he comes now!” The ladies stepped quickly back into the main cabin and began working on their beer. They were looking just a little too intently at the overhead. “That paint’s beginnin’ to flake.” Mrs. Rasmussen looked up in surprise as the captain came smartly down the ladder. He seemed nervous and his tone was somewhat gruff:

  “We’ll get underway at nine. Everything’s took care of. Pull the hatch cover to behind you and lock it when you leave. You know where to put the key,” he said.

  “Grub for how many?” she said.

  “I forgot,” he said and pulled out his wallet. He gave Mrs. Rasmussen two twenty-dollar bills. “That cover it?”

  “Is there anything further?” Miss Tinkham got up and made ready to go ashore.

  “I’ll see you aboard in the mornin’.” With more haste than dexterity he went topside and they heard him pounding his heels down the dock.

  “Scared to death we’d see her,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “Wouldn’t he die if he knew?”

  “And not without reason,” Miss Tinkham said.

  Chapter 12

  IT WAS ALMOST TEN O’CLOCK by the time Mrs. Feeley, Miss Tinkham and Mrs. Rasmussen handed Sunshine carefully out of the taxi in front of the Pango Pango Club.

  “She really is a vision,” Miss Tinkham said. “I’m sure she won’t need any further audition.”

  Sunshine wore a full-skirted white cotton taffeta dress that was too small for Darleen. The basque bodice was enormously becoming and her shoulders and neck gleamed honey-gold above the low cut neckline. Her long black hair hung almost to her waist and she wore a red camellia behind one ear.

  Sunshine smiled as Miss Tinkham took her arm. Mrs. Feeley pressed forward through the crowd waiting to enter the front door.

  “She does a land-office business, all right.” Mrs. Rasmussen and Miss Tinkham shoved Sunshine ahead. “Hi, Velma!”

  “Come in this way,” Velma said. “I was pretty sure you’d come tonight and I wanted to head you off.”

  “Trouble?” Mrs. Feeley’s eyes danced at the prospect.

  “Just old Indian-fighter tactics,” Velma said, as she led the four through the service entrance. “I saved a good handy booth for you. We can see without being seen. The cops use it to play I Spy once in a while. Sorry to bring you in the back door.”

  “What’s the skinny?” Mrs. Feeley said.

  “You’ll see,” Velma led her friends to a booth that could be entered from the swinging doors of the kitchen or from the regular aisle of the nightclub. The partitions were quite high and the top of the partition was handily constructed of bamboo openwork. “Take a look at that center table.”

  “Neat!” Mrs. Feeley said.

  “You don’t know how neat,” Mrs. Rasmussen whispered as she and Miss Tinkham knelt on the padded seats and peered at a large table towards the center of the floor where three people sat.

  “There’s Tooner!” Mrs. Feeley said. “What in the name o’ crime…?”

  “Keep quiet an’ keep your head down,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “He’d die o’ shame if he knew we seen her.”

  They were so close to the table that they could hear everything that was being said. Captain Dowdy was holding his peace. He had deep lines from nose to mouth, the lines Mrs. Rasmussen knew so well. They meant that he was holding his hat on with his eyebrows in an effort to keep from throttling somebody. “It’s her, ain’t it?” Mrs. Feeley whispered.

  “Who else?” Velma said.

  “Who’s that mess o’ muscles sittin’ there with her?”

  “That,” Velma said, “is Sweater Boy. Mister America, the naturopath.”

  “It’s absolutely fantastic,” Miss Tinkham breathed. “His hair is touched up—that terrible brassy yellow—and I know he has a permanent.”

  “Pipe the pelisse!” Velma muttered. “White breast of virgin camel! Lined with scarlet velvet. Somebody told me she paid two grand for that toga.”

  “What’s his grift?” Mrs. Feeley said.

  “Nature Boy racket, diet and stuff like that. His specialty is old tomatoes.”

  “That one with him at the moment is one of his vintage numbers,” Miss Tinkham said. “I thought my upper slopes were scrawny until tonight!” Mrs. Rasmussen and Mrs. Feeley stared at Chartreuse’s strapless dress of baby blue organdy.

  “What makes ’em rub rewge on their eyelids an’ under their eyes like that?” Mrs. Rasmussen said.

  “Exactly like an iguana.”

  “Her neck and shoulders remind me of a stack of those wooden folding chairs that undertakers use up in Vermont,” Velma said.

  “Bet you could write ‘slut’ on her dinin’ room table.” Mrs. Rasmussen stared in fascination at the woman shovelling in food like a boa constrictor. The waiter came up with a laden tray.

  “She gonna eat all that too?” Mrs. Feeley whispered.

  “All that and then some,” Velma said. “Drink your beer before it’s a hot toddy. God knows we need it.”

  “Of course you know,” Chartreuse’s voice was high and flat and raucous, like a peacock with the croup, “it’s just one of the psychos of life you are going through. That’s what I always say, life is just one psycho after another. Now if your aura is okay, that makes all the difference.” She paused to lift a steak the size of a bath-mat onto her plate. “Of course you know, the vibrations is the secret. The vibrations from the solar plexus, I always say. Like religions, they all varies in different ways. Of course you know, religions is all man-made. Vibrations is the thing…”

  “She gravels me.” Mrs. Feeley stuck her fingers in her ears. Mrs. Rasmussen saw the waiter bring Captain Dowdy a double whiskey.

  “He’s drinkin’ hard likker,” she said.

  “I should think hitting the pipe would be more effective,” Miss Tinkham said. “Imagine having a necktie like that.”

  Chartreuse was being served an enormous banana split laden with scoops of ice cream, nuts, cherries and whipped cream. She ate in dainty spoonfuls, cradling each one lovingly as she licked. Her eyes of skim-milk blue rolled in ecstasy at each taste.

  “Now of course you know, my drinking was always more mental than physical,” she rasped. “I never did like the taste of the stuff.”

  Captain Dowdy silently downed his whiskey.

  “Bring me another Southern Comfort and Coca-Cola.” The naturopath’s voice sounded just the way Miss Tinkham expected it to: like the dirty oil that is drained out of a crankcase.

  “Don’t she think she’s refined?” Mrs. Feeley made a face.

  “Refined as a call-house madam writing her memoirs,” Miss Tinkham said. She watched Sunshine taking in the tableau silently. The girl was studying the captain’s face with grave concern. He pushed back his chair and rose.

  “I’m shovin’,” he said.

  “Thanks for the little donation.” Chartreuse waved coyly. “Of course you know, if I wasn’t a sweet nature, I’d be sore about not being mentioned in the Sunday paper spread, but it’s better for business if the wife keeps outa sight. I’ll be around for a while. You keep them coming! Of course you know, you could cut down on all that expense. You don’t need three in the crew, and you always did give them too much to eat. Don’t spend so much on the food…” The revolving door spun madly as the captain almost whirled it off its axis.

  “A penny for them, Miss Tinkham.” Velma removed the cover from a steaming dish of lobster Cantonese, the scarlet shells gleaming under the sauce in contrast to the snippets of green onion.

  Miss Tinkham came out of her abstraction to answer Velma.

  “I was wondering,” she said slowly, “why they have been so long in marketing the home guillotine.”

  The orchestra pl
ayed the crashy, quivery music that sent the house lights down in preparation for the tropical rainstorm. Miss Tinkham could feel Sunshine’s body trembling beside her; her instinct told her not to make any sympathetic gesture. The dam wouldn’t hold. When the scene ended, Mrs. Feeley laughed.

  “Don’t never let me know where the button is that turns it on! I’d have it on all night!”

  “He has a roving eye,” Miss Tinkham said. “I think the honeymoon is over.”

  “Ethelbert?” Velma smiled.

  “Not Ethelbert!” Miss Tinkham cried.

  “Ethelbert Tights, the cut-rate Casanova.” Velma nodded.

  “As the Lord made ’em, he matched ’em,” Mrs. Feeley said. “Keep from spoil in’ two couples if they was yoked together.”

  “He works her for everything she’s worth,” Velma said. “She pays right through the nose.”

  The orchestra played the theme music for the beginning of the floor show. A very plump Hawaiian girl sang “Pretty Red Hibiscus” in a nasal voice, then danced a routine hula in her black shredded cellophane skirt.

  “She’s out.” Velma stubbed out her cigar and turned to Sunshine. “Are you a nervous girl?”

  “Kafiffy? Of what shall I be afraid when everyone treating me so nice?”

  Velma beckoned the headwaiter.

  “I mean about dancing and singing in front of people.”

  “Samoans sing and dance all the time,” Sunshine said.

  The headwaiter came up with the master of ceremonies. “This is Don, Sunshine. Tell him something you can sing and he’ll fix it with the band.”

  “I can sing ‘Oka Oka Lau Honey,’” Sunshine volunteered.

  “Never heard of it,” Velma said.

  “People like what they’re used of, Sunshine,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “Pick an old one.”

  “Sing ‘The One Rose’ like you done when we was tackin’ up the strippin’,” Mrs. Feeley said.

  Velma slid out of the booth to let the girl pass. She put her hand on the MC’s arm:

  “Tell Tani to keep it down, so we can hear her.”

  “Lookit Ethelbert!” Mrs. Feeley whispered. “Damn near turned the table over trying to get a look at Sunshine.”

  “Typical neckline peeper,” Miss Tinkham said.

  More than one head turned to watch Sunshine as she followed the young man in the white dinner coat to the bandstand.

  “I need some beer! I’m nervis!” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “You’d think it was me had to sing.”

  “Me too. My tongue’s clove to the roof o’ my mouth with fright this minute,” Mrs. Feeley said.

  “Sunshine is a thoroughbred,” Miss Tinkham said.

  The quivering steel guitars and the throbbing bass rolled into the familiar melody dear to the hearts of sailors the world over.

  “Look how naturally she sits there until Tani gives her the high sign,” Velma said.

  Miss Tinkham squirmed in excitement. “What an absolute pity the captain’s gone!”

  “Better this way,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “She mighta choked up.”

  At the cue, Sunshine stepped to the microphone and to Miss Tinkham’s unmitigated joy lifted the contraption and put it to one side. With the ease and simplicity of a great artist Sunshine sang the simple words and banal tune. Her voice was low and rich and caressing.

  “Black velvet,” Miss Tinkham said.

  “Her words come out nice an’ plain,” Mrs. Rasmussen said.

  “I’ll make a star out of that girl,” Velma said.

  Mrs. Rasmussen looked at her and smiled.

  “Yeah. You could, all right. But that ain’t what she wants.”

  “She’s going to play hell getting what she wants,” Velma said. “She’s stuck with a career now. Listen to ’em!”

  The MC and the bandleader stood on either side of Sunshine and tried to make her sing again. Reluctantly, they went into the next number.

  Several men got up from their tables and shook hands with Sunshine as Don escorted her back to the booth.

  “Honey, you were marvelous!” Ethelbert rose and put an arm around Sunshine, almost knocking Chartreuse off her chair as he stepped over her. Mrs. Feeley and Miss Tinkham watched him as he tried to put his arm around the girl’s neck.

  “Lookit that chromo coppin’ a feel!” Mrs. Feeley stood up ready to do battle.

  Chartreuse was keeping a sharp eye on her property. She dragged him back from Sunshine with one hand and gave the girl a resounding slap in the face with the other.

  “Stuff you!” Mrs. Feeley shouted.

  Chartreuse’s twangy shriek covered Mrs. Feeley’s remark.

  “Do your hustling someplace else! We’re leaving, Ethelbert!”

  “Sit down,” Velma said. “Play it smart.”

  “We know where her Achilles’ heel is, at any rate,” Miss Tinkham said.

  “Heel is the word,” Velma said as she got up to let Sunshine back into the booth. “Did she hurt you?”

  Sunshine shook her head. “Just surprised.”

  “Don’t ever try to change what you do or learn any stagy tricks. I’m going to have you sing in the early show, just one number, and save your siva for the late show. The hours will be kind of long, but I’ll start you at two hundred a week for thirteen weeks. If you work out the way I think you will, you can pretty much write your own ticket after that.”

  “Kaley kupey.” Sunshine smiled. “With so much money, I can paying to ride on the captain’s steamer.”

  “You’re not goin’ anywhere for a while!” Mrs. Feeley said.

  “Start Saturday,” Velma said. “Wear a sarong-thing for the song and your taupó dress for the dance.”

  “I will make the lava lava of Tahitian cloth,” Sunshine said. “Also, ulas of white flowers to hang around my neck.”

  “You’d orta sell leis in here, Velma,” Mrs. Feeley said. “Miss Tinkham was sure good at it.”

  “What’s that?” Velma glanced up, startled, from the cigar she was lighting. After a moment she smiled. “If the taxes get any higher, we may have to.”

  “I’d like to apply for the concession,” Miss Tinkham said. “I see the handwriting on the wall. Our days with the dear captain are numbered.”

  “I ain’t so sure about that,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “It ain’t right o’ him to stay hooked up to her. Enough to give him a inferior complex.”

  “She’s sure got some kinda axe over his head,” Mrs. Feeley said. “You’ll never get nothin’ outa him.”

  “He clams up, all right. If she took it into her head to marry Ethelbert…” Velma drifted off into thought. “But why should he want to marry her? Why buy the cow when you’re getting the milk free?”

  “She is obviously unsure of her hold on him,” Miss Tinkham said, “striking an innocent bystander like Sunshine…”

  “She keeps him cooped up pretty much to herself over in Arizona. I don’t suppose many of her clients give her much competition. She sees to that before she enrolls ’em, or whatever she does,” Velma said. “What she needs is competition.”

  “I’m thinkin’ of a lot else she could use,” Mrs. Feeley grinned.

  “Gotta be at the market by eight if we’re gettin’ underway at nine,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “Sure lovely here, Velma. Thanks a lot.”

  “I’ll run you home. The car’s in the alley.” Velma led the way out.

  Back at the house, Mrs. Rasmussen poured a nice cold nightcap.

  “My drinkin’s more physical than mental,” she said. “I love the taste of the stuff. Stay up, if you’ve a mind. Me for the rack. G’night.”

  “May I be excused, please?” Sunshine could scarcely keep her eyes open.

  “Sure, honey,” Mrs. Feeley said. “I’m right behind you.” Miss Tinkham and Velma were deep in conversation on the sofa. “When them two heads get together, trouble’s brewin’ for somebody.” Mrs. Feeley sat down by them.

  “Could be,” Velma said.

  “Mrs. Feeley,” Miss
Tinkham was very solemn, “would it be too much of an imposition if I asked you and Sunshine to take my place on the cruise tomorrow? There isn’t much time if Velma and I are to perfect our plan.”

  “Hell, no. But Tooner ain’t gonna like Sunshine on board. You know what a fit he taken that time, how mean he was to her.”

  “But things have changed, Mrs. Feeley. Haven’t you noticed?”

  “I’d clean forgot.” Mrs. Feeley smiled. “He’s been real decent to her lately. Do him good to see what a real woman’s like for a change.”

  “She is self-effacing,” Miss Tinkham said. “And she loves him very much.”

  “Here we go! Old Dan Kewpie again! What’ll I tell Mrs. Rasmussen?”

  “I’ll tell her,” Miss Tinkham said. “All you have to do is help her serve the food, and collect the money. Herman does all the hard work. I’ll be back in a few minutes, Velma.” She and Mrs. Feeley went through the breezeway, arm in arm. Miss Tinkham whispering a long paragraph the while.

  When Velma left Bus Town several hours later, Miss Tinkham accompanied her to the car.

  “And I can only agree with dear Mrs. Feeley,” she said. “If we pull this one off, someone is going to get a rich and rapid rooking.”

  Chapter 13

  WEDNESDAY MORNING Captain Dowdy was so preoccupied that he did not notice the substitution in his crew until almost time to get underway.

  “Where’s Miss Tinkham?” he said.

  “Mrs. Feeley’s strikin’ for her,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. Sunshine stuck her head up in the hatch and looked the captain full in the face. “I ast Sunshine to help.”

  The captain grunted and started down the forward hatch. “Somethin’ wrong with the stuffin’ box.”

  “What’s the matter with the lunch?” Mrs. Feeley demanded, and then pulled in her horns at the look on the captain’s face. “No day for shenanigans,” she muttered to Sunshine. “Shine up the barnacle like a good girl.” She put the can of bright-work polish and the rag into Sunshine’s hand. “That’ll put you in his good books quicker’n anythin’.”

  Sunshine squatted on the deck and went to work. Her dungarees were rolled up to a becoming length and her T-shirt was dazzling in its whiteness. When she finished polishing, the binnacle shone like the love in Sunshine’s heart. One last swipe, and she went below to help Mrs. Rasmussen. Mrs. Feeley came down the ladder smartly. “They’re yammerin’ for their beer,” she said.