High Time

by Mary Lasswell

  ‘Just thinkin’ about that mustard makes me thirsty,’ Mrs. Feeley said, getting a bottle out of the icebox. ‘What say?’ The other ladies agreed. Mrs. Rasmussen was satisfied with her masterpiece, and the house was quiet and peaceful. Miss Tinkham looked around her and sighed blissfully. She wondered at least twice every day what she had done to deserve such friends and such a lovely home.

  ‘Guess Lily means for us to give ’em their six o’clock bottle, ‘cause there’s one round of everythin’ left for ’em!’ Mrs. Rasmussen remarked.

  ‘I’d sure like to bathe ’em,’ Mrs. Feeley grinned.

  ‘Oh, Lily does that,’ Miss Tinkham reminded.

  ‘Seems funny bathin’ ’em after they done et,’ Mrs. Rasmussen mused. ‘But I ain’t the one to argue, for she sure brung ’em up good!’

  ‘Don’t seem hardly right to take money for takin’ care o’ them fellers!’ Mrs. Feeley was mellowed by her second beer. ‘’Course we’re right tied down an’ the laborer is worthy of his hire!’

  On the stroke of six the boys started bellowing. The ladies laughed and performed what was by now a simple task for them. They were starting the orange juice when Lily appeared. She seemed doubtful about coming in, but when she saw the expressions on the faces of her lady-friends she grinned.

  ‘Guess I didn’t hafta throw my hat in first, after all!’ she laughed.

  ‘Nah,’ Mrs. Rasmussen said. ‘Get Lily a beer, Miss Tinkham? Say, ain’t orange juice three times a day gonna make these guys skittery?’

  ‘It ain’t yet!’ their mother said. ‘An’ they won’t go to sleep unless they get it! They count on it!’

  ‘Whatever the pediatricians may say,’ Miss Tinkham put in, ‘your children are living proof that your feeding is perfect for them.’

  ‘Lily,’ Mrs. Feeley said softly, ‘you know what? I finally figured out which one is Franklin!’

  ‘You did!’ the women cried.

  ‘Yeup!’

  ‘How can you tell? How can you be positive?’ Miss Tinkham asked.

  ‘Well, I can sure tell! It’s this ’un! Because he cuddles close to me, looks up in my face, an’ gives me that great big beautiful smile—an’ all the time he’s soakin’ me like hell!’

  Chapter 4

  FOR SEVERAL WEEKS Mrs. Feeley and her friends took care of the twins, living up to the motto of the men who load torpedoes on battle-wagons: Handle with care! They waited tensely for the outburst of whining, snuffling, and whimpering that must surely accompany the growth of two normal babies. Each day they looked for the twins to break out in some sort of a rash—a little heat-rash, anyway. They expected colic or at least a few gas-bubbles. But the lads, like their distinguished namesakes, were on the unpredictable side. They grew more rotund and rosy every day.

  ‘It just don’t hardly seem nacherl,’ Mrs. Rasmussen mused.

  ‘If they ain’t never no more trouble than this, we’re robbin’ her to take all that money for just watchin’ ’em!’ Mrs. Feeley thought that a sacrifice ought to be messy to really count. ‘’Course we don’t never know what minute all hell’s liable to bust loose!’

  ‘Yeah.’ Mrs. Rasmussen grinned. ‘With them lungs they got! But I figger we give Lily her money’s worth!’ She was making tiny sunsuits for the twins out of the many ‘remlets’ she bought at the sales.

  Owing to the unusual amount of time the ladies were forced to spend at home, the Ark got more than its usual lick and a promise in the way of cleaning. Mrs. Feeley and Old Timer took inventory of the things left in the junk-yard—it always paid to know what you had. They discovered that the owner of the aluminum-colored trailer had gone off and left it stored in the lot without ever paying any storage on it. When they traced him through the other patrons of the parking-lot, they found that he was in North Africa. You couldn’t dun a fellow that was off fighting for his country.

  Miss Tinkham discovered a mill-end shop that sold the most enchanting remnants of chintz, and proceeded to make-over all the sofa cushions in the house. Out in the shed she found an old birdcage on a stand; she painted it bright red. Of course, she didn’t have a real live bird to live in the cage, but a pot of ivy served nicely and was lots less trouble.

  Mrs. Rasmussen dug up the back yard and planted a Victory garden—vegetables were no longer so plentiful in the markets with all the Jap vegetable-growers shut up in camps. She had rows of herbs for seasoning: every spicy and savory thing that would grow. In between bouts of cultivating and watering, she rounded up all the empty jars she could find in the junk-yard. Her cucumbers would soon be ready to pickle and she would have loads of guavas for jelly—the jelly would come in handy for the twins—be nice on their bread and butter. They were already eating mashed egg-yolk and crumbled bacon, although their mother was not aware of it. The ladies observed that their work was done in four-hour stretches: everything revolved around the four-hour feedings of the twins. The regular life and steady routine agreed with the babies and their caretakers. Mrs. Feeley said she felt so good that she must be sickening for something. And Lily was more than happy over the loving care her children were getting.

  One Friday afternoon the three friends were sitting quietly sipping cold beer, waiting for the boys to wake up and demand their six o’clock bottles. They heard a step and looked up to see Darleen on the stoop.

  ‘Gawd! You finally remembered where we live at!’ Mrs. Feeley cried jovially. ‘C’mon in!’

  ‘Sure thought you’d forgot us,’ Mrs. Rasmussen said, eyeing Darleen’s long platinum-blonde page-boy bob.

  ‘It was sweet of you to tear yourself away from all your admirers just to come and visit us,’ Miss Tinkham said.

  Darleen sat down and handed Mrs. Rasmussen a paper bag. ‘I thought a pound of coffee would be a nice thing to have around the house—after all I drank the other night!’

  Mrs. Rasmussen was delighted.

  ‘What you been up to here lately?’ Mrs. Feeley asked.

  ‘Nothing much!’ Darleen replied. ‘But I hadn’t saw you ladies at the café lately, so I came to pay my party call!’

  ‘Delightful of you to observe the amenities, my dear! So few give any thought to good form these degenerate days!’ Miss Tinkham said. ‘But I observed at once that you were definitely a genteel type!’

  Darleen could hardly believe her ears: she smiled gratefully at Miss Tinkham.

  ‘I’d make you a cuppa cawfee,’ Mrs. Rasmussen said, ‘only it’d kinda dull your edge for supper—you got time to stay, don’t you? You know what we got? Corned beef an’ garbage.’

  Darleen was sure that was better than it sounded: ‘Well, if you’re sure I wouldn’t be imposing! That we had the other night was sure palatable.’

  ‘Gawd, no!’ Mrs. Feeley said. ‘We wouldn’t never ask you if we didn’t want you!’

  ‘What I really have came about was tomorrow: I got a night off and I’d like to entertain you ladies up to my room. It’s not luxurious like this here, but I like to have company; ladies, I mean. Us girls don’t often get a opportunity to be friends with ladies like you. Johnny would think it was fine, me being able to say I know you.’ Darleen’s overtures of friendship were falling on fallow ground.

  ‘Now that’s very handsome of you, I’d say!’ Mrs. Feeley said cordially.

  ‘We ain’t been no place since the woods burned,’ Mrs. Rasmussen seconded.

  ‘Perfectly charming of you, my dear! We’ll be delighted to accept!’ Miss Tinkham had scarcely added her two-bits to the conversation when the Ark was filled with a wail that resembled nothing so much as the cry of the African hyena in mating time.

  Darleen jumped from her chair as if she had been shot out of a gun.

  ‘What was it?’ she asked when she got her breath back.

  ‘Franklin an’ Winston,’ Mrs. Feeley chuckled. ‘Gawd, we been talkin’ so much about goin’ to a racket at your house, we plumb forgot ’em!’ She dived for the diaper-bag and laid the lads on the table; by now she could change them l
iterally before the water got hot. Mrs. Rasmussen heated the formula and Miss Tinkham prepared the cereal and orange juice.

  When she had recovered from the shock. Darleen went over and stood beside Mrs. Feeley.

  ‘They’re sure beautiful,’ she sighed.

  ‘Good, too!’ Mrs. Feeley bragged. ‘You didn’t know they was in the house till they let off that blast right behind you, now did you?’

  ‘I sure didn’t,’ Darleen admitted. ‘They are the biggest and prettiest twins I have ever saw. Could I?’ she begged, holding out her arms.

  ‘Sure!’ Mrs. Feeley could afford to be gracious. Didn’t she have them all week?

  Darleen sat down in the rocker with one of the boys. Instead of kicking and screaming lustily for his bottle, the baby squirmed around on her lap until he could get his arms around her neck. She whuffled softly into the creases of his fat neck and he squealed happily.

  ‘Ah poo!’ Darleen said, and the baby hid his face on her breast.

  ‘Now ain’t that a pretty sight?’ said Mrs. Rasmussen, coming up with the bottles. She took the other baby from Mrs. Feeley and sat down near Darleen to feed him. She gave Darleen the other bottle.

  ‘Here! Shove this in his musket!’

  Darleen did and the baby sighed blissfully.

  Miss Tinkham came up with the second and third courses on a tray.

  ‘Isn’t it marvelous how they know instinctively who loves them? Darleen, at this moment you are a perfect Botticelli madonna with that golden hair!’ Miss Tinkham contemplated the picture, enraptured.

  Darleen knew what a madonna was, anyway.

  ‘I was always good with the littlest ones at the Orphan Home,’ she explained.

  ‘What you need is a good steady man an’ a houseful o’ your own sprouts!’ Mrs. Rasmussen said solemnly.

  ‘Gawd, yes!’ Mrs. Feeley added. ‘Ain’t nothin’ like a good husband an’ a pack o’ house-apes to settle a girl down! You wouldn’t have time to notice no broad shoulders nor no dimpled chins! You’d be too busy changin’ dimpled bottoms!’

  Darleen laughed good-naturedly.

  ‘Just think, my dear: it might resemble you, a lovely golden-haired cherub!’ Miss Tinkham added her powers of persuasion.

  ‘It’s only right I should tell you, my hair wasn’t exactly this color to start out with—I have it touched up with a heavy rinse,’ Darleen confessed.

  ‘Gilding the lily, my dear! And it is certainly most becoming!’ Miss Tinkham was wondering if she should try some heavy rinse again—they had a variety at the Five-and-Ten that was guaranteed to leave the hair dark, sooty, and sultry-looking—utterly irresistible, the envelope said. The last time Miss Tinkham used heavy rinse, most of it had come off on the inside of her white lace picture hat.

  The twins had finished supper and were all ready for their mother to take them home. Darleen was holding them both on her lap. They crawled all over her, swarming like monkeys.

  Suddenly she giggled and said: ‘My goodness! Men are all alike! One of these fellows has roaming hands!’

  One of the twins was apparently seeking further refreshment. The ladies laughed gleefully.

  ‘That’s what you get for bein’ young an’ good-lookin’! They ain’t never tried nothin’ like that on us!’ Mrs. Feeley cackled.

  Just then Lily came in and bundled the boys off in their carriage. The ladies got busy putting supper on the table and Darleen wandered around the front part of the room looking at pictures. She stopped in front of a picture of Kate and Danny.

  Mrs. Feeley came over and explained:

  ‘An’ she used to be our school-teacher!’

  Darleen was impressed.

  ‘An’ that was took right in Jack Dump’s Bar on Broadway, New York! That heavy-set feller leanin’ over talkin’ to ’em is Jack Dumps, the champ hisself!’

  Darleen thought it was Jack Dempsey—in fact, she was sure of it.

  ‘My, they certainly go all the best places an’ know all the best people,’ she sighed admiringly.

  ‘Sure! Why not? Ain’t Danny got a right to be proud with a girl like that for a wife? Any girl that’s got ambition an’ gumption an’ keeps her nose clean can make her husband proud of her—but they gotta be square! Love’s the only business that won’t stand for a partner!’ And Mrs. Feeley looked Darleen right in the eye as she said it.

  ‘There’s a lot in what you say,’ Darleen admitted wistfully. ‘Don’t you suppose she ever gets lonesome when he’s away?’ she asked, pointing at Katy.

  ‘Lonesome?’ Mrs. Feeley said quietly. ‘Lonesome ain’t the word for it! When you love each other like them two does, it takes a bigger word than lonesome! Miss Tinkham knows the right words, but I know what they mean. It’s like the sun forgot to rise and the moon to shine. Just like they died a little bit—till them two get together again! An’ let me tell you the handsomest, best-lookin’ man, the biggest wolf that ever lived, might just as well pack up his traps an’ move on, ’cause he’s gettin’ nowhere fast! He just ain’t about to make no headway! For that girl wouldn’t never know he was alive! I mean she actually wouldn’t know he was on the face o’ the earth. Far as she’s concerned, there ain’t but one man in the world—an’ that’s Danny, God love him! An’ he feels the same, ’enticle way about her!’

  ‘Get a soap-box!’ Mrs. Rasmussen yelled. ‘Or come an’ eat your supper, one!’

  Old Timer came in and Miss Tinkham presented him to Darleen. He bugged his big pop-eyes at her and slicked his white hair down extra flat. By some sleight of hand, he produced and donned a red polka-dot tie.

  ‘Don’t it beat the Dutch?’ Mrs. Feeley cried. ‘You sure are some vamp, Darleen! You get ’em all goin’—from six months to sixty! Long as they’re men they sure go for you!’

  Darleen smiled happily. It felt good to be with cultured people who appreciated her. In her entire star-spangled career, she had certainly never met any people equal to these.

  There was little conversation at the table, as all mouths were engaged with the corned beef and buttery green cabbage. The corned beef had simmered over a low flame until it was as tender as a mother’s heart. The pink juicy slices disappeared from the plates like magic. Darleen drank her beloved black coffee, but all the others washed the food down with gusty swigs of beer.

  ‘Try the mustard, Darleen,’ Mrs. Feeley urged.

  ‘It’s a spécialité de la maison,’ Miss Tinkham said proudly.

  Mrs. Rasmussen hoped that wasn’t what she thought it was.

  ‘Try this fresh horseradish in sour cream,’ she said, ‘it’s more better. Try some on your potato!’

  Darleen speared a potato and peeled it. She could not decide whether it was steamed or baked—one thing sure, she had never tasted anything like it in her life!

  That thick sour cream really did things to that potato!

  ‘I just never knew they was things like this to eat,’ she said admiringly.

  ‘You know what I promised that night!’ Mrs. Rasmussen reminded.

  ‘Can Katy cook?’ Darleen asked.

  ‘Can Katy cook!’ Mrs. Feeley snorted. As a matter of fact, she didn’t know whether she could or not—but she hadn’t told any lies—merely repeated Darleen’s words. Let her draw her own conclusions.

  ‘That girl’s got fingers like di’monds,’ Mrs. Rasmussen said staunchly. ‘She could do anythin’ she’d a mind to!’

  ‘And do not forget her understanding heart!’ Miss Tinkham added, shaking a finger. ‘Darleen would simply adore her!’

  ‘Do you suppose she’d ever let me get to meet her?’ Darleen asked shyly. ‘I’m not a good conversation-list or anythin’, but I’d feel good to think I met her. Maybe she wouldn’t want to be bothered to talk to a girl like me.’

  ‘You’re forgettin’ that she’s a real lady—an’ ladies is always nice to everybody!’ Mrs. Feeley said.

  ‘Katy never met a stranger in her life,’ Mrs. Rasmussen assured her.

  ‘She loves pe
ople,’ Miss Tinkham said. ‘She knows people from all walks of life—and treats them all exactly alike! Commoners and kings!’

  ‘Some ladies sure look down on dance-hall girls,’ Darleen insisted.

  ‘Dammit, girl!’ Mrs. Feeley roared, ‘every dog’s gotta hold his own tail up! You hadn’t oughta let ’em look down on you! Live so they can’t! ’Long as you pay your own way, don’t talk no scandal, an’ keep yourself clean—you’re just as good as them an’ a damn sight better than most!’

  ‘Yes, my dear: the world will accept exactly the valuation you place upon yourself!’ Miss Tinkham knew.

  ‘Respeck! That’s what you gotta demand; respeck!’ Mrs. Rasmussen announced.

  Darleen looked earnestly from one face to another. They made her feel better than anyone she had ever met.

  ‘You gotta run your life so’s you wouldn’t be ashamed to have Johnny walk in on you any hour o’ the day or night!’ Mrs. Feeley said.

  Darleen’s eyes opened wide: that was a large order. Mentally she checked through the routine situations of her life. She always took care of her appearance and went to the beauty parlor regularly, so she was safe on that score. Late afternoons she went to lots of movies—she could see them before she went to work. Certainly Johnny could not object to that. At nine she began work as a hostess, dancing with customers, getting them to buy her as many drinks as possible so she could get the commission on the check. That was her job. Nothing objectionable about a girl earning her living the only way she knew how! But there had been nights—well, she wouldn’t have felt exactly happy to have Johnny walk in on her about that time. There was something vulgar about a fellow making a door out of a window in a hurry. Until this minute she had never realized quite how shoddy it really was.