Let's go For Broke

by Mary Lasswell

  Chapter 18

  FRIDAY NIGHT Miss Tinkham and Old-Timer waved an unfond farewell to the moving men from the studio after they unloaded the hearse from the van to the carriage house.

  “For the last time,” Miss Tinkham murmured, “I hope. But rich or poor, that money certainly helps! Three hundred and seventy-five dollars for the hearse, one hundred for my acting—and it only takes two hundred and twenty-five dollars and twenty-four cents to pay the rest of the year’s taxes in town! By rights, we should squander the balance wildly!”

  Mrs. Rasmussen bustled around the stove and Mrs. Feeley was potting the last of the small succulent plants she had bought. She thought they would be pretty in the many small glass bowls and vases that were in the antique consignment. She planted crassulas and kalanchoes in a fine mixture of sand, charcoal, and pebbles.

  “That’s cause they ain’t got no drainage hole,” she explained. Miss Tinkham was delighted. The bowls were so commonplace without the plants that she despaired of disposing of them.

  “There is one more box to be unpacked,” she sighed, “but I am not up to it at the moment. Even this lovely money feels heavy to me.”

  “Bim and Jesse brought two buckets of crabs; some feller at the V.F.W. give ’em to ’em. I’m makin’ Crab Imperial. We got cheese soufflé, too, an’ onion soup, on account o’ crabs ain’t very fillin’. I made one o’ them Key lime pies ’cause Jesse an’ Bim is goin’ away to Mexico.”

  “I didn’t see any point in starting N. Carnation’s bank account until the next sale of flower balls,” Miss Tinkham said, “since she is giving most of her money to Jesse to pay for the trip. He certainly doesn’t want to take the money.”

  “She’ll always know she paid her way,” Mrs. Feeley said. “An’ that’s better’n money.”

  The three young men arrived with the customary case of beer just as Miss Tinkham and the ladies had snapped their first cap. They saw N. Carnation pick up the beer caps as she had been doing for several days. Jesse handed the little woman two large paper cartons which she took to her room immediately.

  “She’s up to somethin’.” Mrs. Feeley grinned. “She borrowed my pliers today.”

  Old-Timer had put on clean overalls and a yachting cap.

  “We got a job for you,” James said. Old-Timer looked rueful, remembering the costume he had worn on the motion picture set. “The cab of your truck isn’t damaged much. One of our pals had an operation on his back and he’s going to the Yosemite National Park camping. He can’t drive his car to haul his trailer. His wife can drive the car, but he doesn’t want her to pull the trailer. He says if you’ll haul him, he’ll pay you good, and he can ride in bed while you’re hauling him. What do you say?”

  True to his loquacious nature, Old-Timer nodded and went out with James to examine the trailer hitch on the truck. When they returned, James said: “I think we’ll go over tomorrow, if it’s okay with you, and talk to that fellow we know that has the body shop at La Mesa. The cab’s all right, and the man with the trailer wants to leave early Monday morning. I’ll take Old-Timer to his house tomorrow and introduce him.”

  “Don’t seem to me like we’d orta spend no three hundred to fix the dents on the truck till it’s paid for,” Mrs. Feeley said.

  “If that man took it back,” Mrs. Rasmussen said, “we’d a fixed it for nothin’.”

  “This man with the bad back is an electrical contractor. He’s making lots of money and will pay well,” James said.

  “That trip will take several days,” Miss Tinkham said.

  “With just one man driving, it will take longer,” James agreed. “He doesn’t want to ride the highways asleep in that trailer at night, not even when he’s got a good driver like Old-Timer.”

  “It will be a vacation for him.” Miss Tinkham smiled. “God knows he needs it.”

  “What about you?” Bim asked. “All that mental tetanus from scaling walls like a Valcowrie.”

  “I’ll take my vacation right here under the trees.” Miss Tinkham smiled again. “That’s Valhalla enough for me.”

  Mrs. Rasmussen brought out the Mexican pottery bowls she bought. N. Carnation showed her where to buy them for a few pennies. The onion soup was richly aromatic and the cheese melted on the big croutons.

  “Won’t get nothing like this for two weeks,” Jesse said.

  N. Carnation put her hand in the pocket of her apron and pulled out a roll of bills which she handed to him. He said something to her in Spanish, obviously reluctant to accept the money. She got up and brought a small clean paper sack to hold the bills.

  “That’s that,” Jesse said. “To be so little, she can sure be stubborn.”

  “You’ll send us a wire, Jesse, won’t you?” Miss Tinkham asked. “You can get the full benefit of your two weeks vacation that way, and still not keep us on the hook. Go as far into the interior as your time will permit. I’ve always longed to go.”

  “Come with us,” he said. “You know I’ll send the wire.”

  “You are dear to ask me,” she said. “But winter is coming on and I am concerned about the world situation. I feel that we had best follow our natural instincts and do as the little woods animals do: prepare our nest for the winter and for whatever may lie ahead. Forgive me for bringing up disquieting thoughts at the table.”

  “I know what you mean,” James said. “If you want anything done, now’s the time to do it. We may not be around to help you.”

  “I was thinkin’,” Mrs. Feeley said, “James is gonna be lonesome by hisself with Jesse an’ Bim gone two weeks. Whyn’t you come to live with us till they get back?”

  “We could see you got your hot dinner,” Mrs. Rasmussen said.

  “You go in my place, James,” Bim laughed. “I’ll take that invite anytime.”

  “I’ve got a folding cot.” James smiled.

  “And the big upstairs bath to yourself,” Miss Tinkham said, “if it works, of course. And only cold water.”

  “We’ll see about that,” James said. “First thing I want to do is plank this floor.”

  “We didn’t invite you to work,” Mrs. Rasmussen said.

  “I know it,” James said, “but with Old-Timer away, four lovely women alone…”

  “Four ravenous dolls!” Bim cried. “Wholesale invitation to White Slavers. James will protect you.”

  N. Carnation said something to Jesse in Spanish.

  “She says not having to carry the water in buckets, and having electric light and a stove, the work does itself in this house.”

  “It is all relative,” Miss Tinkham agreed. “The only people who will survive nuclear war will be those who know how to live as their pioneer ancestors did. I am afraid we have all come to depend too much on modern conveniences. The day Old-Timer caught the rabbit, I was happy that he cleaned it. I should have been at a loss to know how to go about it.”

  “Most women today can’t clean a chicken,” Mrs. Feeley said.

  “I can,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “Never broke a gall sac yet.”

  “We must lay in a supply of distilled water in the basement,” Miss Tinkham said. “In the event of disaster, we might very well be designated as a shelter or hospital for survivors. Water is more important than food.”

  “Beer,” Mrs. Feeley said. “That’s food an’ drink.”

  “It never hurts to be forted up for a siege,” Miss Tinkham said, “for we are just that much ahead of the game if we don’t have to use our supplies.”

  “I’ll bring a deck of cards and a guitar,” Jesse said.

  “Enough!” Miss Tinkham cried. “Some psychologist said that you cannot brood over anxieties while singing the words of a song. Let’s sing!”

  “Can you play ‘Siete Leguas,’ Miss Tinkham?” Jesse asked. “It’s all about Pancho Villa’s war horse that used to rear up on its hind legs and neigh whenever it heard the locomotive whistle of the troop trains carrying the troops to the battle.”

  “I’m sorry, Jesse. I don’t
know that song. Won’t you sing it a capella?”

  Jesse stood up and sang in a natural straightforward manner. A second little sound soon was heard, almost an overtone. Miss Tinkham cocked her head and saw that it was N. Carnation “making second” for Jesse.

  At the end of the song, all the friends applauded wildly.

  “I love that line about ‘the horizons were singing,’” Miss Tinkham said. “There can be no vulgarity in a people whose folk songs contain lines like that. ‘Cantaban los horizontes!’ It sounds like Latin.”

  “If we’re going to the Villa country tomorrow, we better hit the sack now,” Jesse said. N. Carnation gave him the abrazo, the formal embrace, first over the right shoulder, then over the left.

  “It’s years since anybody did that,” Jesse said. “La benedición, viejita linda.”

  N. Carnation looked embarrassed, but crossed her forefinger under her thumb and traced the sign of the cross on his forehead, his mouth and his chest, giving the blessing he asked for.

  As the boys drove off, Miss Tinkham said to her friends: “I just can’t decide whether I love N. Carnation or Jesse the most. I think it is what they mean to each other that I love.”

  “Kinda like the son she never had,” Mrs. Rasmussen said.

  “Miss Tinkham would be sure in one hell of a fix if they ever made people stop sayin’ that word love,” Mrs. Feeley laughed. “Her mouth’s full of it all the time.”

  After the dishes were done, N. Carnation went to her room and the light was still visible under her door long after the rest of the friends had retired.

  Saturday James arrived with his cot and a secondhand gas water heater sticking out of the turtle shell of his new Chevrolet.

  “Glass-lined, good as new,” he said. “They were wrecking an almost new house and we bought it for you before the fellows shoved off for Mexico.”

  “You hadn’t oughta done it,” Mrs. Feeley said.

  “Ten dollars split three ways,” James said. “Less than a few beers.”

  “We was just leavin’ to go to the stores,” Mrs. Feeley said. “Wanna go?”

  “I’ll stay, unless you need me. What about Old-Timer? We’ve got to see the man.”

  “I can drive the truck,” Mrs. Rasmussen said.

  “Take my car,” James said. “I have to go with him in the truck to the body shop.”

  “Ooooh, I dassent!” Mrs. Rasmussen’s eyes glowed. “Too newfangled. I might dent them fins or somepin’!”

  “Nonsense. It has the same kind of gear shift the truck has. Drives easy.”

  “You driven the Cadillac…” Mrs. Feeley reminded.

  “Do just think of the sensation we’ll create,” Miss Tinkham laughed. “After all, you’ve pulled a hearse!”

  Mrs. Feeley got in the front with Mrs. Rasmussen and Miss Tinkham rode with N. Carnation in back.

  “Get going!” James shouted and walked off towards the truck with Old-Timer.

  Timidly she started the engine and pressed down the accelerator. She backed out the long tortuous driveway without a stutter.

  “Who died an’ left me Queen!” she said as they hit the hard top.

  “Muy jaitones,” Miss Tinkham chuckled to N. Carnation who was sitting up very straight as befitted the passengers of such a high-toned vehicle.

  “It’s a good thing we drove our bargain with Ben Hur Grossman before he saw us in this chariot,” she said. “We would never have got away with fifty dollars. This forty-five dollars debt has weighed on me terribly. It will be good to have that paid off. Take this right turn, Mrs. Rasmussen, for the trailer park. I won’t be a minute.”

  “After that there water heater,” Mrs. Feeley said, “we sure gotta lay in some good stuff for James an’ the fellas when they get back. It never cost no ten dollars…more like ten apiece. Them big glass-lined jobs got a lifetime guarantee an’ costs way over a hunnert dollars new.”

  Mrs. Rasmussen nodded: “Lettin’ me drive his purty car an’ all.” She was deep in a study of what things would keep and what things were edible without the addition of anything, not even water, maybe.

  “If we didn’t have no way to cook nothin’,” she said, “this here canned brown bread would sure come handy.” She took six cans. “Little by little, we’ll just put by a little somethin’, like canned ham an’ things. Right now, them short ribs look temptin’. Not fat at all.”

  They loaded two grocery carts full of hefty nourishing staples. Another cart held cartons of beer.

  Miss Tinkham smiled at N. Carnation: “The money for all these provisions came from the flowers you showed us how to make. El dinero de usted.” She hoped that meant “the money you made.” N. Carnation put her hand down the front of her blouse and pulled out her small roll of bills.

  “No, no, no!” Miss Tinkham cried. “She thinks we want her money to help pay for the groceries.”

  “Dinero from flores pagar groserías,” Mrs. Feeley shouted.

  N. Carnation doubled over giggling wildly.

  The ladies were nonplussed.

  “I think groserías means insults, or at any rate, rudeness.” Miss Tinkham smiled. “We simply have to put up a blackboard and start learning some Spanish tomorrow. I’ll buy a secondhand grammar and a dictionary on the way home.”

  “We’re outa feathers,” Mrs. Rasmussen said.

  N. Carnation showed the way and they added several grass sacks full of smelly feathers to the load of groceries. Near the turkey-processing plant, Mrs. Rasmussen spied a secondhand store. An old-fashioned treadle sewing machine stood outside. It was marked ten dollars.

  “We need that,” the chef said.

  “Let’s get it,” Mrs. Feeley charged forward. N. Carnation saw the Mexican proprietor lounging in the doorway and pulled Mrs. Feeley back gently. She pointed to herself: “Con permiso?”

  “She wants to do the dickerin’,” Mrs. Rasmussen said.

  “Permitty! Permitty!” Mrs. Feeley shoved her forward. N. Carnation walked languidly around the machine, eying it distastefully. She snapped the belt to see if it was tight. It was new. Then she tried the treadle with one foot. The proprietor came down and opened the top, showed her the spool drawer and the attachments and tools. N. Carnation still turned her nose up.

  “A ver si jala!” She wanted to make sure it “pulled.” The owner brought out a scrap of cloth and a chair. N. Carnation saw that it sewed perfectly. She took out the bobbin and held it under his nose. It was the long type.

  “Tres pesos.” She held up three fingers.

  The man slammed the lid shut and took away the chair.

  N. Carnation started to walk away.

  “I will let you, you personally, have it at seven. A bargain. Only to you would I make this price because you are cute and pretty.”

  “Viejo sinverguënza.” N. Carnation tried to look angry.

  “You look so cute when you’re angry. I like temperament. I will let you have it at six-fifty.” The man showed off his English. Miss Tinkham saw that N. Carnation got his meaning well enough, probably because she knew the ancient ritual phrases used in bargaining. She shot a rapid fire of Spanish at him.

  “It is not a hundred years old,” the man said indignantly. “For six-fifty you can make the down payment on a new one? Just because it sews backwards as well as forwards you think a new one is better? Suppose the bobbins are long? There are eight of them. Five dollars is my last word and you are stealing it off this sidewalk.”

  N. Carnation handed him a five-dollar bill before he had his mouth shut. She started pushing the machine towards the edge of the sidewalk.

  “Isn’t it splendid how she has blossomed out?” Miss Tinkham said. “She knew she could get a better price than we could—and she feels that she has made a contribution.”

  “We can put it on its side in the trunk of the car,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “James didn’t mind haulin’ the water heater in it. Now we can do somethin’ about our ratty-lookin’ clo’es. Some of them boys’ shirt collars
needs turnin’, too.”

  “The secondhand bookshop is near the library,” Miss Tinkham said.

  “Want a beer while yer browsin’?” Mrs. Feeley had opened up four cans.

  “Is it quite the thing?” Miss Tinkham said.

  “Books is dusty.” Mrs. Rasmussen winked. “Take your time.”

  Back at Five Points Associates, James and Old-Timer were hammering energetically. They had the worst corner of the kitchen floor planked over with clean, new boards.

  “Now we can get some linoleum.” Mrs. Rasmussen looked at the floor lovingly.

  “Cork tile,” James said. “I’m going to put it down for you. Got to hook up the water heater now so you can get the gas man here to turn it on Monday.”

  “What’d the trailer man say?” Mrs. Feeley asked.

  “A hundred dollars and all expenses, going and coming, including gasoline,” James said. “He took a shine to Old-Timer. Said he was restful.”

  “I don’t suppose you had time to go to the body shop,” Miss Tinkham said.

  “It was all I could do to get Old-Timer out of the owner’s clutches. Bill was trying to rewind an armature and Old-Timer did it in nothing flat. Bill said if you send them out to be done, the shops charge a fortune. He wants to give Old-Timer a steady job.”

  “He’d work for nothin’ if you let him take your car apart,” Mrs. Feeley laughed. “Keep an eye on him, James. He was strokin’ your paint job this mornin’!”

  “He’s a natural-born mechanic,” James said. “He can work on my car anytime.”

  “Did you know he was the cook on the Star of India? A ship with sails? Outa San Diego?” Mrs. Rasmussen asked. “He’s handy as a pocket in a shirt.”

  “You gonna take the job?” Mrs. Feeley said to Old-Timer who was fitting joints of new pipe.

  He nodded solemnly.

  “I am terrified that we will soon be making too much money,” Miss Tinkham said. “We might even have to pay income tax.”

  “Got to pay out the truck first,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “He’ll feel better payin’ it out his own self. Maybe the garage will make him a rate on the body job.”