“Ain’t nothin’ but jersey an’ seersucker…dry tonight,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “We gotta find out how far we can ride.”
“After supper we’ll go down in the subway,” Mrs. Feeley said.
“We could phone for free.” Mrs. Rasmussen pointed to the telephone on the table. Miss Tinkham got Information at the Pennsylvania Station.
“Yes, please. The first stop.” She spoke softly.
“And the time? Every half-hour? Thank you.” She hung up the receiver and started to open her mouth at exactly the moment Katy, Danny, and the baby walked in the front door.
“How we have missed you!” she cried. “We cannot waste any of our precious remaining moments apart from you! So little time!”
“What’s the matter?” Danny said. “You all look terrible! Are you sick?”
“Who? Us?” Mrs. Feeley challenged with a brassy laugh. “Never felt better or had less!”
The laugh that went up from her friends was not faked. Katy and Danny were mystified.
“I know a run-around when I see one,” Danny said. “But if you say you are going tomorrow, that’s all there is to it. To get the truth out of you would be like trying to drink the Pacific with a fork.”
“I’m surprised on you, Danny.” Mrs. Rasmussen’s voice was reproachful. “Can’t expect us to be happy at leavin’ after all the good time you showed us.”
“An’ I never tell you nothin’ that ain’t the God’s truth!” his aunt blustered.
“Yes, indeed!” Miss Tinkham smiled. “You know how we are, dear boy: penny pound, wise foolish!” Realizing she had said too much she began to warble “California, Here I Come.”
“What I’m thinkin’…” Mrs. Rasmussen raised her voice.
“It’s a long time between drinks!” Mrs. Feeley winked.
“You must have had a highly convivial afternoon,” Katy laughed.
“I have a strong feeling that someone is waving a handkerchief to hide a horse,” Danny said.
“Horse!” Mrs. Feeley shouted and caught herself at a warning look from Miss Tinkham.
“You interrupted Mrs. Rasmussen,” Miss Tinkham reminded her.
“I was thinkin’ it might be a long time before we got a bait o’ them barbecued little-necks on the half-shell,” Mrs. Rasmussen looked wistful. “Got the hot sauce, an’ the green peppers an’ bacon…an’ my own secret mixture out in the icebox. Only we ain’t got no little-necks! Sure go good with the beer!”
“We havin’ that roasted chicken stuffed with sausage tonight, ain’t we?” Mrs. Feeley said. “Them clams sure would be tender! Only thing they got here that’s better’n what they got in California.”
“Come on, Kate,” Danny said. “I scent exit cues. The fish store for us.” Danny finished his beer and got up.
“I’ll put up the chicken,” Mrs. Rasmussen said, “an’ lay out a few little snitters o’ this an’ that…little smoked salmon an’ lemon-mayonnaise; hardboiled eggs, an’ a few marinated herrin? Huh? While we wait for the clams to broil?”
“All right.” Katy smiled and put her hat back on. “It will be the last really wonderful dinner we’ll have for a long time.”
“You never said a truer word,” Mrs. Feeley muttered as she closed the door behind them.
“We almost tore it a coupla times,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “Good you hung up that phone. Miss Tinkham.”
“An’ then them horses! I’m never gonna see one o’ them beasts again without wantin’ to kick the…”
“I’m becoming allergic to them myself,” Miss Tinkham said.
“Well, what’s the skinny? How far can we ride?”
Miss Tinkham drew a long breath and closed her eyes:
“Newark.”
“New-ark?” Mrs. Feeley shouted. “What’s the matter with the old one?”
“It’s under the river.”
“Couldn’t think of a better place! An’ I hope we have a nice night for it!”
“It’s in New Jersey…we go under the river to get to it.” Mrs. Rasmussen pulled a large roll of green tickets from her pocket.
“It’s the old stubs wrapped over toilet-paper to pad it out, just in case they get nosey.”
“If we could only keep them away from the train…partings are so sorrowful! And they are sure to suspect!”
“We have to jabber real fast an’ keep Katy from catchin’ on when we do leave…they ain’t no chance o’ keepin’ her away even if Danny has to work.” Mrs. Feeley began cleaning up the coffee table and took the empty bottles to the kitchen. “They’ll be back before we know it.”
“Chaucer was right,” Miss Tinkham sniffed: “There is greate comforte in smalle busy-ness! I’ll have time to Lux out our clothes.”
“Gotta stir up my wild-rice casserole,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “I soaked the rice last night…might’s well shoot the works.”
“Sure!” Mrs. Feeley laughed, pouring out fresh beer. “What a lovely prospect opens before us!” Miss Tinkham grinned. “In our old days,” Mrs. Feeley twittered in Miss Tinkham’s most birdlike accents, “we can follow the sun…and the horses! With a goddam dustpan!”
Chapter 8
“THAT WAS ONE O’ THE SNAZZIEST MEALS YOU EVER cooked, Mrs. Rasmussen!” Mrs. Feeley sighed with pleasure.
“Anybody could do it with all Katy has in her icebox an’ pantry,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. Katy looked sad and the ladies, sensing her mood, threw themselves into a spurt of gaiety.
“Yeup! When we get back we’ll send you some real Monterey jack-cheese, an’ some avocados that got taste to ’em,” Mrs. Feeley said.
“If we sat around your hospitable board much longer, Dear Katy, we should all lose our figures!” Miss Tinkham smiled. “Just look at our embonpoint!” She patted the slight protuberance below her belt.
“Damn if I can see my feet anymore,” Mrs. Feeley said. “An’ Miss Tinkham’s gettin’ to look like a garter snake that swallowed a hoptoad.”
“What we need is plain thinking and high living…I am mixed up!” Miss Tinkham said. “We have reveled in the fleshpots long enough.”
“High livin’? Mr. Feeley always said if he had to choose between a low brow an’ a high bosom…”
“We’ll notify you of our safe arrival the moment we reach home,” Miss Tinkham said.
“Just what train are you taking?” Danny asked.
“Oh, er…we can get one every half-hour. But we should start early!” Miss Tinkham stalled.
“My, my,” Danny murmured. “How service on the Pennsy has improved; trains to the Coast every half-hour!”
Mrs. Feeley watched her nephew narrowly. They had better get out of questioning range.
“Let’s get these dishes did in a hurry.” She pushed back her chair. “We can’t leave without goin’ in to say good-bye to our friends that been so nice to us down to the beer joint.”
“You’re going out? On your last night?” Katy said.
“Won’t take but a few minutes,” Mrs. Feeley said emphatically for the benefit of her open-mouthed friends. “We never know when we’ll be comin’ back, an’ we don’t want to do nothin’ un-polite.”
“We’ll go along with you,” Danny said.
“Now they ain’t no use you disturbin’ yourselfs, goin’ out in the heat o’ the night, an’ all! We’ll be back in two shakes of a dead lamb’s tail.” She banged the dishes rapidly into the kitchen and Miss Tinkham slipped them quickly into the soapsuds.
“Something distinctly not kosher around here.” Danny followed her into the kitchen.
“It’s such a pleasure to wash up after Mrs. Rasmussen,” Miss Tinkham burbled. “She always washes the pots and pans as she goes along! Time after time I have seen her prepare a seven-course meal and not a dirty dish in the kitchen!”
“The fast train that connects with The Chief in Chicago leaves in the afternoon…why are you going in the morning?” Danny said.
“Did I ever tell you about the time I was sittin’ in The Tropic in
San Diego waitin’ for Mr. Feeley, Danny?” She dragged the red herring forcefully under his nose.
“Are you or are you not going to answer my question?”
“I was sittin’ there, real dressed-up, havin’ me a beer an’ a feller comes cruisin’ up, strictly on the make, I could see, an’ when he gets up close to me an’ sees I’m kinda old, he says real snide: ‘Excuse me, lady! I thought you was my mother.’ I give him the ol’ one-two with my eye an’ says: ‘Oh no, mister! I’m married!’”
Mrs. Rasmussen and Miss Tinkham roared.
“You never told us that one,” Katy said.
“Many a dance in the ol’ dame yet! Ain’t that what the cat said. Miss Tinkham?” Mrs. Feeley handed her the torch.
“Dear Mehitabel…‘It’s cheerio, my dearie-o, that sees a lady through!’”
“Just get your pocketbook, Mrs. Rasmussen,” Mrs. Feeley said. “We’ll just nip round the corner an’ be right back.” She hustled her two friends out of the room.
“We can’t afford even a nickel,” Mrs. Rasmussen whispered. “An’ we got all the beer we want here…free! What’s the use o’ goin’ out?”
“He’s wise!” Mrs. Feeley whispered, wagging a finger towards the living room. “We gotta go out an’ phone the station an’ find out what train goes to San Diego! Don’t make no difference where we gotta get off: that’s the train we gotta get ON!”
“That’s right,” Mrs. Rasmussen admitted. “Right in front of ’em!”
“Stupid of me,” Miss Tinkham murmured. “Those half-hour trains must be locals.”
“Reckon we better take Ol’-Timer? Just in case he might sing while we’re out?”
Mrs. Feeley shook her head.
“It’d look suspicious. Besides, he don’t never say nothin’ nohow!”
“We’ll be right back, soon as we say good-bye to these folks.” Mrs. Feeley bustled towards the front door, herding the other two. Out in the street they looked around for a pay phone.
“We don’t dast go in no bar to phone,” Mrs. Rasmussen warned.
Mrs. Feeley looked around and spied a Bell sign.
“There’s a Liggett’s! That’ll be fine: they ain’t got nothin’ we’d want!”
Miss Tinkham came out of the booth, nodding with satisfaction. “It does leave at three; gets to Chicago around noon the next day and joins The Chief that leaves at midnight.”
“We ain’t goin’ to Chicago!”
“We’ll simply have to find some way of getting off at Newark!” Miss Tinkham said. “I shall think of a way when the time comes.”
“Guess we better walk round the block a coupla times before we go back,” Mrs. Feeley said. “It’d look like we got it over in a awful hurry.”
“I’ve been thinking,” Miss Tinkham said. “There seems to be no way to prevent them from seeing us off at the train. We must, in that case, delay going to the train till the last possible minute!”
“Won’t get no seats,” Mrs. Rasmussen said.
“It’s not quite a fifteen-minute ride,” Miss Tinkham said. “Standing up would almost be a pleasure. The reason for the delay is that during the last-minute rush we might not be required to show our tickets to get through the gates. Katy and Danny could easily see what short tickets we had if we had to show them to the conductor at the gate.”
“You sure got that down to a pat!” Mrs. Feeley said admiringly.
“Education is a burden that’s lightly carried.”
“We gotta stall an’ stall,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “They sell beer at the station?”
“We’ll find out tomorrow.”
Chapter 9
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON DANNY CAME HOME at one o’clock to have plenty of time to see the ladies off. Mrs. Feeley’s heart sank when she saw him.
“This is gonna take some doin’!” she whispered.
Miss Tinkham nodded and set Aphrodite up on the sofa. She ripped off the wrapping she had just put on and started to repack the statue. She was exasperatingly painstaking about it.
“Miss Tinkham, you’ll have to hurry!” Danny said. “I’m driving you over and we have to allow for traffic.”
“Wouldn’t the subway be faster?” She stopped her work to give Danny her full attention.
“The car’s more convenient with your luggage…and we’re taking Danny. If you’ll just step on it, everything will work out fine.”
“Yeup!” Mrs. Feeley kicked Miss Tinkham’s ankle gently, “Get there early an’ we might have time for a beer.”
Inside the Pennsylvania Station, Danny guided his party to the cocktail lounge and got a table for them.
“I’ll show you where the ticket window is, Miss Tinkham.” He escorted her out the door and she flashed an anguished look at her friends.
“If you’ll excuse me, Danny…” She clutched her stomach. “The most violent cramps…something I ate, no doubt! Which way is the ladies’ room?” Danny pointed it out and went over to the magazine stand. Miss Tinkham hid behind a fat man until she saw Danny safely in line to be waited on, and then dashed to the nearest ticket window and bought four tickets to Newark. She put them into a railway envelope with Mrs. Rasmussen’s fake tickets and beat Danny back to the cocktail lounge. He came in followed by a redcap.
“I got a porter to put your things aboard and hold seats for you.”
“We don’t need no porter!” Mrs. Feeley said.
“Then you’ll have to come down with me now and let me get you seated properly before the rush starts.”
Mrs. Feeley quickly chose the lesser of two evils. “What the hell! Let’s have the porter, then we can stay here an’ have some more beer.”
“Does he need the tickets?” Miss Tinkham produced the envelope.
“Not in the coaches, ma’am…” he said. “Unless you got reserved seats.”
“The regular coaches,” Miss Tinkham said with dignity. “The reserved seats were all gone.” The porter handed her checks for the four bags and one for Aphrodite.
“Take these too.” Danny handed him a pile of magazines and a dollar bill. “Get good seats, will you?”
“I need a beer!” Mrs. Feeley said.
“I don’t know what the score is,” Danny said. “But you’re taking this money whether you want to or not.” He handed Mrs. Rasmussen a sizeable roll of bills. The one on the outside was a twenty.
“We don’t need money,” she said.
“You take it, Miss Tinkham!” Katy urged. “Take it and mail it back when you get home, if you don’t need it. We’d feel better if you had it in case of emergency.”
Miss Tinkham said gravely:
“Perhaps discretion is the better part of valor.” She took the bills from Katy. The thunderous voice of the loud-speaker called the train and when Danny interpreted the weird syllables, Mrs. Feeley put her arms around his neck.
“It’s been the swellest time in our whole lives…words ain’t no good. But we gotta go now!” She kissed Katy and the baby. Their faces were soon covered with beery, teary kisses. Old-Timer hugged Little Danny hard and walked away blowing his nose into a big red handkerchief. They inched along towards the gate.
“Don’t attempt to come!” Miss Tinkham said. “It would be frightful to bring the baby into this atmosphere of microbes.” She hugged him to her breast for what seemed a long time.
“Well, gals! You’re on your own!” Danny said.
“There’s no bull to that, son!” Mrs. Feeley kissed him a last time and turned to shove her way after the other three who were bull-dozing a path through the crowd. She could see Old-Timer’s red suspenders ahead of her like a beacon.
“Gawd!” she muttered, “we sure better find them bags in a hurry!” The beer was circulating through her veins and she felt like crying. She hated partings and there ought to be a law against them.
“How come Miss Tinkham took that money?” she wailed. “How could she?” She saw Miss Tinkham and Mrs. Rasmussen beckoning madly, leaning out of the door of the last coach.
“We must find our luggage…and it’s almost train time! We have to search the coaches…I couldn’t bear to lose Aphrodite…then we have to find the local!”
Mrs. Rasmussen had Old-Timer by the sleeve and the four started forward with a great banging of doors.
“All aboard!” the conductor shouted outside on the platform.
Mrs. Feeley looked at her friends in apprehension. Miss Tinkham spied the luggage and handed it down quickly. “Hurry! This door!” The train began to move slowly as the four stepped onto the platform.
“Too close for comfort!” Miss Tinkham said. “I do hope they have gone! The local is at the next track to the right of the stairs we just came down! We can’t go back up the same way…we must go round!” Miss Tinkham issued directions to her dazed friends. The Philadelphia train was just about to pull out when the conductor herded them aboard.
“Hardly worth the bother,” she said, “but I am going to sit down anyway.” Miss Tinkham smiled as she handed the conductor the tickets. She got her bag and the lamp ready to carry off as soon as the train stopped. She smiled dreamily:
“I do hope dear Katy checks the laundry!”
“The laundry? What put laundry in your head at a time like this?”
“All that money! It’s buttoned up in the pocket of the baby’s shirt!”
The train slowed down and the conductor yelled:
“Newark! Newark! Station stop Newark!”
“This is it!” Mrs. Feeley said. “The end o’ the line, people!” She grinned and turned to Miss Tinkham; “I don’t mind a damn bit! I shoulda knowed you’d find some way to give that money back!”
Outside on the grim tunnel-like platform, they put down their bags and looked around them.
“What do the stars say now, Miss Tinkham?” Mrs. Feeley said.
Miss Tinkham smiled bleakly.
Thirty days hath September,
April, June,
And a vagrant!
“We can’t even qualify for that,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “We got a home address.”
One On The House Page 6