Tooner Schooner

by Mary Lasswell

  “The person you seek is here,” Madam Gazza said.

  “Couldn’t you turn up the lights so a person won’t break their leg? What’s going on here, I’d like to know?” Chartreuse’s phlegmy voice was easily audible in the next block. She came up to the gold wire screen and stared at Madam Gazza in disbelief. Madam Gazza looked back at her, serene but unsmiling under slanting eyebrows. Chartreuse turned to Ethelbert.

  “Tryin’ to move in on a new racket? Of course you know I won’t give you a red cent.”

  “You did not find your friend where you expected to find him nor with whom you expected to find him,” Madam Gazza asserted.

  “How did you know that?” Chartreuse’s voice was incredulous. “That Velma’s got her hand in this somewhere.”

  “Madam knows everything,” Ethelbert said. “You better sit down and have a talk with her. It’s time you and myself got things on a better basis, Toozie.”

  “Who’s that?” Chartreuse squawked like a seagull at the sound of high heels on the driveway.

  “One of the other residents of the court,” Madam said. “I see no one except by appointment.”

  “She only talked to me as a favor. Now, Chartreuse, you better listen to what Madam says, if she’ll talk to you. Will you, Madam? She can pay.”

  “Exchange places with your friend and let me see your hands,” Madam said. Chartreuse sat down and stuck her hands out.

  Mrs. Feeley patted Velma on the back as she sat down beside her on the third folding stool.

  “You never made a sound comin’ in the house, but I knew your step on the drive.”

  “Took my shoes off,” Velma whispered. “Guess what’s in this basket?”

  “Loverly, loverly beer!” Mrs. Rasmussen whispered as she felt the cold bottles. “You missed some, but not much.”

  “It should be good from here on out.”

  “Tragedy has stalked your life, my dear.” Madam Gazza’s voice was gloomy. “Lines in your hand show that you have not heeded the promptings of your intellect.”

  Velma punched Mrs. Rasmussen with her elbow and rocked in silent mirth.

  “Always you have followed the promptings of a warm, overgenerous and far too trusting heart.”

  “Of course, you know, I’ve been taken advantage of ever since I was fifteen.”

  “Lines in your hand show it to have begun around the age of ten. You are the victim of unscrupulous men, always using you for their selfish ends. If you had the time to untangle this labyrinth with me, perhaps I could help you to help yourself. You have so many talents…”

  “See? What I always told you, Ethelbert! How long would it take…and how much?”

  “She’s worth it, whatever it costs,” Ethelbert said.

  “Now he’s touting for Madam!” Velma whispered.

  “The cost is very little. The time…” Madam Gazza put her hands over her eyes. “Perhaps in two readings if I can arrange them without unfairness to the other clients. If your friend will leave us, I can give you the basic life-pattern tonight.”

  Ethelbert pulled out his wallet.

  “There will be no charge for your visit,” Madam Gazza said. “I have already given you the answer to your problems. You may deposit the fee for your friend on the way out.”

  “I’ll wait for you at the apartment,” Ethelbert said.

  “You can sit in the car,” Chartreuse relented. “Here’s the keys.”

  Madam Gazza waited in stately silence, aloof from mundane considerations.

  “Lack of discipline and laziness have kept you from finishing anything you started in this life.” She flashed the light into Chartreuse’s face. Chartreuse bridled. “Unless you can learn it in ten easy lessons, out the window it goes. Each discouragement has sent you into an abyss of self-pity, and for comfort…”

  “The bottle,” Chartreuse grumbled. “I never had a chance. But since Ethelbert and I…”

  “Became associated,” Madam Gazza prompted.

  “Of course you know, I’m not married to him,” she said.

  “I know,” Madam Gazza’s voice was deeper than ever. “It is not for me to say what is good or what is bad; all I can tell you is that all your happiness and well-being depends on marrying this man.”

  “I’d marry him quick enough if he’d have me. But he’s the out of sight out of mind kind. There’s one other little detail…”

  “The fact that you are legally married to another man.” Chartreuse pulled her hands away from Madam Gazza. “Give me your hands,” Madam said. “From me you shall hear only true things. Do you think you are the first woman who has found her love too late and snatched at the crumbs she could get? You and your husband care nothing for each other. You do not live together and for years have had nothing in common. But the climax is approaching rapidly; there are two other women after your…friend at this moment.”

  “Who do you think that’s news to?” Chartreuse grated. “I expected to find him laying up with one of ’em right this minute…”

  “Careful!” Madam Gazza cautioned. “Appearances are not sufficient grounds for…”

  “That Velma and her nightclub! He can just see himself lording it around down there! Makes it rough for me, where she throws all that dough around in front of him. I’m not worried about the little Hawaiian girl or whatever she is. I threw a good scare into her the other night. I wish I didn’t go for him so strong, but what can I do about that?”

  “Marry him,” Madam Gazza said. “If you don’t, the other one will. Your attitude makes him feel you don’t care for him because you have never divorced your husband.”

  “My husband’s a rough, outdoors bully-type,” Chartreuse grumbled. “He’ll never divorce me or let me get a divorce.”

  “These self-inflicted moods of morbidity are doing you untold damage; they sap the vital life force that you need so badly, especially since you are interested in holding a man considerably younger than yourself.”

  Chartreuse stared in stupefied silence at Madam Gazza.

  “That’s chapter and verse,” Velma whispered.

  “You can’t blame a girl for trying to hold on to what little she’s got,” Chartreuse whined.

  “Have you asked him outright for a divorce?”

  Chartreuse hesitated:

  “Well…in a way,” she mumbled. “I guess it’s no good to bluff you, Madam. It’s like I said: a girl’s got to have something she can fall back on.”

  “Someone to run back to when you got a rebuff from someone else? The only security in the world lies within yourself.”

  “What should I do to get him to marry me?”

  “The first thing to do is to get a divorce from your present husband.”

  “I’ll ask him, but I know what he’ll say. What am I going to do about Ethelbert? I’m mortified half the time, and now I have a chance to pick up some big money and he doesn’t want me to sell my place.”

  “Heed what I say,” Madam Gazza’s voice was firm. “Lines in your hand show you getting what you want most. I will help you, but only on one condition.”

  “What is it?” Chartreuse’s voice was no longer surly.

  “My condition is this: if you go in a straightforward fashion and ask your husband to consent to a divorce, granting him some rights in the matter, making some small compromise if necessary, and he refuses to agree to the divorce, I will tell you how to get what you want, permanently and legally.”

  Chartreuse stared at Madam Gazza for a full minute without blinking.

  “You mean I can do it even if he doesn’t want me to?”

  “I must remind you, my dear, that I am a seer: one who sees.”

  Chartreuse’s face lit up greedily. “Are you sure. Madam?”

  “Only if you do exactly what I tell you to do. Otherwise, your actions will backfire with most horrible consequences.”

  “Bigamy?” Chartreuse said.

  “Worse.” Madam Gazza’s voice was serene. “Perjury and fraud.”

/>   “Can you guarantee your…method?”

  “If you can fulfill one requirement.”

  “Gosh, I hope so!” Chartreuse’s voice trembled.

  “You are a legal resident of the state of Arizona?”

  “I bought my place there three years ago. I’ve lived there ever since except when I came over on little trips to see my husband about…well, business. My taxes are all paid up and I vote in the elections. If that isn’t a legal resident, I don’t know what it takes to make one.”

  Madam Gazza took one last squint at Chartreuse’s left hand. “You will go at once to your husband and ask him to agree to a divorce. You will return here tomorrow night and tell me exactly what happened. If he agrees, I will tell you how to proceed. If he does not agree, which you expect, I will show you how to get the divorce anyway. Remember you are this moment carrying a heavy burden of guilt. You will have a fresh, new life, and it must be built on a solid foundation that cannot be shaken apart by a tricky lawyer in the employ, let us say, of your present husband, or of the one you hope to have for your husband.”

  “I get you, Madam. Ethelbert could ditch me if it wasn’t done legal.”

  “That is correct.”

  Chartreuse opened her purse.

  “I’m going to do what you tell me; it’s right in line with my Mental Health Clinic. People’s got to fulfill theirselves. I’ll see him in the morning and tell you what he said tomorrow night.”

  Chapter 19

  “WHAT IF CHARTREUSE IS ABOARD when we get there?” Mrs. Feeley said to Mrs. Rasmussen on the way to the boat Wednesday morning.

  “She don’t look like no early riser to me, not even to get somethin’ she wants real bad,” Mrs. Rasmussen said.

  The broker had been out beating the bushes for cruise passengers. Twenty people, more or less, were lined up at the rail as the ladies came aboard.

  “Every damn thing’s goin’ to pot, includin’ the weather,” Captain Dowdy grumbled. “What’s the idea showin’ up late? An’ don’t scorch that soup today.” He pulled his hat down over his ears. “That’s the man took out the chatter.” He pointed to a stout fellow. “Get the money off him. You people will put me in real trouble if you don’t keep this on a chatter basis: one man hirin’ the boat to entertain his friends.”

  Mrs. Feeley and Mrs. Rasmussen kept silent under the blast. They eyed each other and went below.

  “It’s tripe an’ onions today,” Mrs. Rasmussen muttered. “If I scorch it good won’t nothin’ taste worse. They’ll never come back. Chartreuse’ll soon see she ain’t got nothin’ ‘a girl can fall back on.’”

  “Nothin’ but the same thing she’s been fallin’ back on for years.”

  “Hand me them newspapers, will you?” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “Gotta get me a rattlin’ hot fire if I’m gonna scorch the milk for that tripe soup to a nice brown.”

  “Pour the coal to her!” Mrs. Feeley agreed. “We’ll smoke him out.” The schooner gave a sudden lurch, sending pots and pans crashing against the doors of the cupboards. Captain Dowdy was busy with the sails as Mrs. Feeley came on deck. “Gettin’ ready for a blow,” Mrs. Feeley said.

  “This ent half a breeze,” the captain muttered.

  “If it starts, should we take ’em downstairs?” Mrs. Feeley asked.

  “Below,” the captain snapped. “I’ll give the orders round here for a while yet.”

  “Captain,” one of the passengers moaned, “isn’t there anything you can do to stop this awful motion?”

  “Nothin’ but a little roll,” the captain said as the passenger hastily made for the rail to open an account with Neptune on the debit side. “Goddlemighty,” he said, “the minute one of ’em sta’ts, the rest’ll be yorkin’ their heads off in no time at all. Where’s the dramamine?”

  Mrs. Feeley clapped her hands to her head. “Cap’n dear,” she said, “it’s where the Dutchman left the anchor!”

  “At home!” Captain Dowdy threw his new cap down on the deck. “This is nothin’ short of mutiny! Fust big chatter I’ve had…” He stamped off to the stern of the schooner, where, true to his prediction, several other queasy stomachs were giving up the fight and other oddments.

  Mrs. Feeley scuttled down the ladder gleefully.

  “It’s jus’ one degree cooler’n the exhaust of a jet plane down here.” She mopped her brow. “You sure stoked Ol’ Betsy.”

  From above they heard Captain Dowdy bellow, “Shorten sail, Herman! She’s blowin’ like a bastard. She’s got more’n she wants to carry now!” The schooner was heeling over. Mrs. Feeley stood at the top of the ladder and saw the lee scuppers under water.

  “‘Only a little breeze,’ he says.” Mrs. Feeley relayed the news. “He’s talking a blue string to keep ’em quiet.” She turned to get Mrs. Rasmussen’s reaction to the good news in time to see the iron top of the little range rise up in the middle like a blister. “Run,” Mrs. Feeley shouted, “the goddam thing’s blowin’ up!”

  Mrs. Rasmussen turned, but not before a terrific explosion split the air, throwing bits of the broken oven door around like shrapnel. Captain Dowdy ran down the ladder, pushed Mrs. Feeley out of the way and reached for the fire extinguisher. Mrs. Rasmussen clung to the frame of the passageway in terror. The smokestack was gone away. Cloudy daylight streamed through the hole in the deck. Bits of glass and china were scattered over the galley. A sticky, orangey substance clung to the walls and overhead. The passengers were shrieking and milling about above.

  “Great Goddlemighty!” the captain yelled. “What done it? A time bomb?”

  Mrs. Feeley recovered her voice and was standing at the rail holding on for dear life with one hand and holding the tin foghorn with the other.

  “Helpl Help! Shore Patro-o-o-o-l!” she bellowed. At the end of each appeal she blew a long blast on a fish horn. She kept up her theme and variations until Herman came up and banged her on the shoulder, pointing aloft.

  “That ain’t no use. I h’isted the distress signal for the Coast Guard,” he said.

  “What happened?” The passengers seemed to have forgotten their mal de mer in the crisis. The captain came on deck, livid.

  “Sweet potato!” he cried. “Nothin” but a goddam can o’ sweet potato!”

  “Never mind,” Mrs. Feeley said, “the Coast Guard’ll be along in a minute!” Mrs. Feeley’s faith in the forces afloat was touching.

  “Coast Guard!” the captain roared. “Take that rag down! Don’t want them nosin’ around. No ha’m done.” He hauled down the distress signal. “You got your life jackets on. Stop your bellerin’…”

  Mrs. Feeley took up her old refrain. “Help! Help! Sho-o-o-o-o-re Patro-o-o-o-o-l!”

  “Belay that noise!” he snapped.

  “Here they come now, Captain,” an excited woman cried. “Here we are! Here we are!”

  “Go below, all hands!” Captain Dowdy’s voice left no room for argument. They went, muttering among themselves. Mrs. Feeley surveyed the wreckage as she sat huddled with the other trippers. The main cabin was a shambles and the ironical sun streamed in through the big hole in the overhead of the galley. Mrs. Rasmussen’s eyebrows were missing.

  “Lucky I saved my eyes,” she whispered to Mrs. Feeley. “He’s fit to be tied.”

  Mrs. Feeley nodded and clambered back up the ladder and went on deck to see what the captain was doing. She saw the Coast Guard cutter come to a stop. The captain had a megaphone in his hand. The boat was within hailing distance.

  “No ha’m done!” he shouted. “Nothin’ but a little conk chowder we was b’ilin’ up in a pressure cooker. Foolish contraption blown up an’ spattered the bulkheads some.”

  “Pretty loud for a pressure cooker,” the Coast Guardsman said. “You had the signal up. Sounded more like your gas tanks.”

  “You know the all-hands, general-quarters type! Wants to be a bloody hero!” Captain Dowdy bellowed.

  “We’ll come alongside and take your passengers,” the Coast Guardsman said.
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  “Not by a long shot!” the captain bellowed. “Everybody’s finest kind! Goin’ back in under our own power!”

  “Yaaaaah!” Mrs. Feeley thumbed her nose at the Coast Guardsman. “What would we want with the hooligan Navy?” she bellowed. “No head an’ no hot coffee on your ol’ tubs!”

  Captain Dowdy put his hand across Mrs. Feeley’s mouth and shoved her away from the rail with such force that she sprawled on the deck, legs out in front of her.

  “Ent things tough enough now?” he muttered violently through his teeth. “Stay there.”

  She rubbed her rump and went back down the ladder. The passengers stared forlornly at the hole in the overhead and the wrecked stove.

  “And they said the meals were wonderful,” a fat woman said.

  “Cheese an’ crackers an’ beer. Can’t beat it.” Mrs. Rasmussen placed the tray on the deck. “If you want it, reach for it.”

  Mrs. Feeley saw the cutter pull away from the schooner at last. The captain came below.

  “We’re goin’ back in on engine, Herman. Douse your sails. Give ’em back the money,” he said to Mrs. Feeley. “No cha’ge for the excitement.” When the last passenger had disembarked with the captain’s heartfelt apologies and reassurances, he came below.

  “This here’s where we separate the men from the boys,” Mrs. Feeley muttered. For several minutes the captain just stood and looked at them.

  “It’s no use askin’ for a sensible answer,” he said. “But in the name o’ common decency, you oughta tell me how a big can o’ sweet potatoes got in the oven.”

  Mrs. Rasmussen was on the rack. “I didn’t do it a-purpose.”

  “You want to see everybody blowed sky high. Go home!” he roared. “Go home an’ don’t come back till I send for you. Now for the last time; try to get a little dawn over Marblehead: how come a gallon can of sweet potatoes in the oven?”

  Mrs. Rasmussen’s chin quivered.

  “When you come bringin’ that agent fellow to inspect the galley, an’ I was cleanin’ the cupboards, I musta shoved ’em into the oven to get ’em outa sight.”