“He’s O.K.,” Charlie said. “It’s just that he’s tied up with this girl and she doesn’t like him to dress like a bum. She wants him to look like a dude or something with a white shirt and all.”
“I might have known,” Sammy said sadly. “At his age, this is not uncommon. You got a girl friend, she doesn’t like you to wear orange pants, you don’t wear ’em. She doesn’t want you to play poker, you don’t play. She doesn’t like you to have a night out with the boys, drink a few beers, have a few laughs, you stay home. I seen it happen ten, twenty, a thousand times.”
He went into the back room and took the tail coat off a rack. “I guess I should offer this for sale. Ben will not be wanting it now. Too bad. It is such a beautiful garment.” He patted it lovingly.
“Why don’t you keep it yourself?” Charlie asked. “If you always wanted a tail coat, why not this one?”
Sammy stood still. He thought a minute.
“If I started buying my own merchandise, I would be out of business in no time at all. Just the other day I came across a lovely sweater, one hundred per cent pure cashmere. Soft! I got two dollars for it.
“How about a cup of tea?” Sammy asked suddenly. “It is just about that time in the afternoon. Would you care to join me?”
Charlie said, “Sure.” Ordinarily, he wouldn’t be caught dead drinking a cup of tea but here, with Sammy, everything was different.
Sammy put the Back in Ten Minutes sign on his door and turned the key in the lock.
“Just settle yourself down,” he said to Charlie, noddingat a big old broken-down armchair, “and I’ll have it going pronto.” He had a little burner, a kettle, and a teapot in the back room. He even had a tiny refrigerator that he kept milk and butter and a couple of cigars in.
“Keeps them from going stale,” he explained. “I like a good cigar.”
The water started to boil. “Would you like a saltine or a graham cracker?” he asked. “I got cream cheese to go with it.”
The old tomcat crawled out of a box of rags and rubbed against Sammy’s legs. “He knows when it’s time to put the feed bag on,” Sammy said. “He is a very smart cat.”
He put a saucer of milk down on the floor. “A pause in the day’s occupations,” Sammy said. “You know that poem?”
“No,” said Charlie. “But I have a friend, his name is Arthur. He probably knows it. He makes up poems himself, right out of his head. He says he doesn’t know where they come from, they just pop in.”
“I would like to meet your friend Arthur. Bring him down,” Sammy said. “You know the one about young Lochinvar or ‘Paul Revere’s Ride,’ to name a couple of my favorites? I am a lover of poetry.”
Charlie shook his head.
“No!” Sammy looked shocked. “You are missing a treat,” he said. Putting his hand inside his vest, he recited:
“Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west,
Through all the wide border his steed was the best;
And, save his good broadsword, he weapon had none,
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.”
He paused for breath. “From Marmion by Sir Walter Scott. These are great stories about great men. So they rhyme, that put a lot of people off. Take my advice. Read poetry. Lemon or cream?”
“Both,” Charlie said to be polite.
“I do not think you would like both together. Try a little lemon on your first go round and then you can have cream in your second cup.”
Charlie helped himself to sugar in liberal quantities and sat back with a graham cracker.
“It is too bad,” Sammy said, drinking his tea, “that Ben has not found himself a girl friend who takes him as he is. It is also too bad that we will no longer be friends. I am sorry about that.” His eyes looked very sad.
“Ben’s not friends with anybody any more,” Charlie said. “My mother says he is bewitched. She says at this rate he will get bounced out of the Honor Society.”
“Oh, oh,” Sammy said. “That is more bad news. Try another cup, with cream this time.”
Charlie had two more cups of tea and a batch of saltines with cream cheese. That was a pretty good combination.
Someone knocked on Sammy’s door.
“Ignore,” he said. “They want to get in bad enough, they’ll come back.”
“It’s been more than ten minutes since you put that sign up,” Charlie ventured.
“I am my own boss,” Sammy said. It was funny but after a while you got so used to Sammy’s crossed eyes, you didn’t even think about them any more.
“I am my own boss, and that is a very nice thing to be,” he said. “I will never be a Mr. Vanderfeller but I open when I want, I close likewise. Besides, my customers are not run-of-the-mill people. They come in here, they know I am fair. I build up good will. Let’s face it, they don’t like me for my good looks.”
“It’s nice here,” Charlie said after a silence, “but I guess I better get home. My mother told me to come home right after school. She worries when I’m not on time.”
Sammy nodded. “Mine was the same,” he said. “Still, at my age, she wants to know did I take my vitamin pills, how is the condition of my chest. It is true of mothers that they worry a lot. There is not too much you can do about it.”
“Thanks for the tea,” Charlie said, shaking hands.
“Don’t mention it,” Sammy said. “Tell Ben I will reimburse his down payment. Tell him I got two, three customers, they’re dying to get their hands on a silk hat, never mind a tail coat in reasonably good condition. These items are in short supply at the moment. They bring good money.”
“Done and done,” Charlie said.
“And bring your friend the poet. I got a couple volumes of poetry he might like to peruse. Tell him if he would like to exchange a few thoughts, I am willing and able.”
Sammy’s eyes bounced together, then separated. “I always welcome company,” he said.
“Right.” Charley saw by the clock on the church tower that it was later than he thought. He hotfooted it for home.
Halfway down the street he turned around. Sammy was standing in front of his store, shading his eyes against the sun. He lifted his hand in salute. Charlie waved back. Then Sammy took the Back in Ten Minutes sign off his door and went inside.
10
“I went to see Sammy yesterday,” Charlie said. Ben didn’t answer. He was concentrating on rolling a cigarette. It wasn’t easy but perseverance and practice were paying off. He was getting better. The cigarettes he rolled tasted terrible—Charlie knew from trying one puff—but they were a lot cheaper than buying a pack and then too, he got a sense of accomplishment from doing it. When Ben lit up a hand-rolled job and flicked ashes into the dirty glass that served as an ash tray, he got a feeling of well-being.
“Yeah?” he finally said. “How is he?”
“He’s fine. He said to tell you you can have your deposit back any time. He said a lot of guys want to buy the tail coat.”
“I wasn’t worried about the dough. I know Sammy’s a good guy. You never have to worry about Sammy.”
Ben got off his bed and stood in front of the mirror, cigarette drooping from one corner of his mouth. He had on the bottoms to a pair of black-satin pajamas his grandmother had given his father for Christmas.
“Too rich for my blood,” his father had said when he opened them.
“Then how about giving them to me?” Ben had asked. “They’re not too rich for mine. Do you realize I don’t own a pair of pajamas? Suppose I was in an accident and the hospital called up and said, ‘Bring down Ben’s toothbrush and pajamas.’ Just suppose. It would be very embarrassing to say, ‘He doesn’t have any pajamas.’ It would be very embarrassing for you.”
His father had handed over the black-satin pajamas. “You’re right,” he said. “I don’t think I could face it. And I know your mother couldn’t. Save these for that unexpected trip to the hospital.”
“There’s only one thing the matter wi
th them,” Ben said after the first wearing, “and it’s that they’re so slippery I fall out of bed when I’ve got them on. I must’ve fallen out about five times last night.”
Today he wore his red vest with no shirt underneath. He was working out with his bar bells. Panting and out of breath, he finally put them down.
“Wrap these around the old biceps, kid,” he said, handing a tape measure to Charlie, “and let’s see how I’m coming along.”
“Exactly eleven and three-quarters inches,” Charlie said, measuring.
Ben’s face fell.
“That’s what it was last week. And the week before. I have hit an impasse. I am doomed to be an undernourished weakling. On the other hand,” Ben said, “brawn isn’t everything.”
“Right,” said Charlie, “but it sure helps.”
Ben took his vest off and put on his white shirt.
“That shirt doesn’t have time to cool off, you wear it so much,” Charlie said.
“You heard Mom say that,” Ben said. “She thinks just because I wear a shirt one day it’s dirty. I can get two, three days out of it.”
He put his gray flannels over the black-satin pajama bottoms which hung only a little below the flannels. It made a sort of interesting effect, Charlie thought.
“You look like some kind of a nut,” Charlie said. “You look like you are about forty years old or something, like a businessman.”
Ben slipped his bare feet into Ed Reilly’s loafers. “I’m out of here,” he said.
“Where you going?”
“To the store for the old lady.”
“In those clothes I thought you had a date with Penny the P—with Penny. I’m coming too.”
“No you’re not.”
“Who’s going to stop me? It’s not your car.”
“You know it. I wouldn’t drive a lousy little-old-lady-type car like that. When I get a car, it’s going to be a Porsche, a car that can do about a hundred and twenty miles per with no sweat.” Ben kicked the drawer of his bureau closed.
“Come on if you want but it’s going to be boring. I’m just going to the A & P.”
He put his Bogie hat on. “Let’s cut out before Mom gives us a bon voyage party,” he said. He tilted the hat over one eye.
They tiptoed through the kitchen and ran into the garage and almost had it made. Then their mother popped out the back door.
“Boys,” she yelled so that the whole neighborhood could hear, “don’t forget those seat belts.”
“Don’t worry, Mom, we’re all set,” Ben said, backing out the drive.
She didn’t trust them. She had to come over to the car, peer in, and test the belts to make sure they were fastened properly. Then came the worst part. They hoped nobody was watching. She stood wringing her hands and shouting instructions as they pulled out of the driveway and into the wasteland of Huckleberry Drive, which was where they lived.
Cupping her hands around her mouth, she hollered, “His life is in your hands,” and “Don’t forget, you are carrying precious cargo” and other equally embarrassing things.
“I get the impression that if it was just me, I could drive over a cliff and she wouldn’t care,” Ben said. “It’s you she worries about.”
Charlie waved and they eluded her and were off, the wind whistling through their hair. They were free.
Looking neither to the right or to the left, Ben kept his hands on the wheel in a racing driver’s position—as if they were the hands of a clock reading ten minutes to two. This gave the driver the maximum control over the car, Ben had read somewhere, and it had made an indelible impression.
Ben was careful to observe the speed limit according to road conditions. He said, “Notice the old speedometer registers right on the button. Notice also my control over this ’bile.”
“I wish I had a hat like that. It is cool,” Charlie said.
“I know,” Ben answered. “It is a Bogie hat. A good-luck hat. I can do anything I want, be anybody I want, when I have it on.”
He circled the block and drove slowly down the street.
“Where are you going? I thought you said you were going to the store.”
“I am. I just thought maybe Penny would like to go for a spin. I just thought I’d check and see if she was around.”
“You should’ve told me,” Charlie said. “If I’d known she was coming, I would’ve stayed home. Forget it. She is such a gross-out I …”
Ben slammed on the brakes.
“Cool it,” he said. “You don’t like who I give rides to, butt out, kid.”
“Hi,” Penny said. She just happened to be coming down her front path.
She leaned on the car window. She had on long earrings that swung against her cheeks. “Where’d you get the hat?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.
“You like it? It’s a Bogie hat, a good-luck charm.”
She laughed and Charlie wanted to punch her in the nose more than he had ever wanted to do anything.
“It’s too much,” she said. “Absolutely too much.”
“How come you’re wearing those?” Charlie pointed to the earrings. “They’re too fancy for the daytime. And how come you’ve got that stuff on your eyes?”
“Where are you going?” she asked Ben, ignoring Charlie’s questions. She stared at his ears. He figured she was checking to see if they were dirty.
“Just to the store. Hop in.” Ben leaned over and opened the door on Charlie’s side.
“I don’t think there’s room for three of us,” Penny said sweetly. “I’ll sit in back.”
She stood there looking at the ends of her long hair, smiling, smiling.
“O.K., so get in back,” Charlie said.
“Out,” Ben jerked his thumb at Charlie. “He’s young,” he said to Penny. “He’ll learn. Get in back,” he directed Charlie.
Charlie got out of the car and slammed the door. “I just remembered I have something to do,” he said.
“Open the door for her,” Ben said, his face red, his smile growing stiff on his face.
Penny flicked her hair over her shoulders.
“Let her open it herself. She’s a big strong girl,” Charlie said, stalking off.
He heard the car pull away, tires squealing, but he didn’t turn around. The taste of the last word was not nearly as sweet as it was cracked up to be.
11
Ack Ack stopped by the next day to see if Ben had finished work.
“No, he’s not here,” Charlie said, “but come on in. I’ve got a couple of things I want to ask you.”
“Ask away,” Ack Ack said, draping himself around the stove.
“What happens if Ben and Penny decide to get married or something?” Charlie blurted out.
Ack Ack looked even more mournful than usual.
“The way I figure it, that might ruin a beautiful friendship,” he said after some thought. “She’s my sister, right? I know her bloodlines are of the finest, right? She has a dowry of a hundred clams my grandmother left her and a couple of crummy tablecloths in an old hope chest. She’s also got a lousy disposition, but she’s not too bad-looking now that she shed all that flesh. She says she’s going to be a zoologist and I understand zoologists make good money.”
“What’s a zoologist?” Charlie asked.
“It’s like working with animals, stuff like that,” Ack Ack answered.
“Boy, that’d be cool. You mean like a zoo keeper? Ole Penny would make some neat zoo keeper. She could hop right in there with the hippos and they’d think she was a long lost relative.” Charlie got a mental picture of Penny and the hippos shaking hands and it took him several minutes to recover.
Ack Ack chortled gently. “She’d like that, oh, yes, she would,” he said. “She’ll have your scalp for that one, Charlie. The whole thing’s too much for me.” Ack Ack’s face seemed to lengthen as Charlie watched. “I mean, that Ben thinks she’s great. I just don’t dig it. Captain Chubby herself. The old biological urge. It’s too much.”
Ack Ack and Charlie sat in silence, each thinking his own murky thoughts.
“What’s up?” It was Arthur at the kitchen door.
“We were talking about Ben and Penny maybe getting married,” Charlie said.
“Then you’d be related to each other,” Arthur said firmly. “You’d be related by marriage. You’d have to have Christmas dinner together and give each other presents and all.”
Charlie cracked his knuckles in despair.
“Quit that,” Arthur said. He hated that noise. It sounded as if all the bones were being broken into tiny pieces and the fingers would be ruined forever. He would almost rather watch Charlie pick at a scab.
“You like white meat or dark?” Arthur asked Ack Ack.
“I don’t even like turkey,” Ack Ack said. “I am a picky eater.”
“I like the second joint,” Charlie said. “My father gets one second joint and I get the other.”
“O.K., as long as Ack Ack doesn’t care, that’s good,” Arthur said briskly. “How about stuffing? You’ve got to figure out what kind of stuffing everybody likes. My father makes ours and he puts celery and apple and onion and a mess of things in it. It’s delicious.”
“We have chestnuts in ours,” Charlie said. Then he shouted, “What’s all this garbage about stuffing and turkey? Ben’s not going to get married. He’s going to be a millionaire bachelor. He told me. And even if he does get married, he wouldn’t marry her in a million years.”
“Like I said,” Ack Ack moved toward the door, “her bloodlines are of the finest. See you around. Tell Ben I was here.”
Charlie and Arthur looked at each other. “You think he was sore?” Arthur asked.
“How do I know.”
“Well, she’s his sister, after all. Blood is thicker than water,” Arthur said darkly.
“What’s that mean?”
“I don’t exactly know,” Arthur admitted. “I think it means if somebody says something bad about a relative you’ve got to stick up for ’em.”
“If Ben marries her,” Charlie said, “I will never speak to him again as long as I live.”
The Good-Luck Bogie Hat Page 4