Shoeshine Girl (3 page)

“You said you needed help. You've got your sign up.”

“What do you want to work here for?”

“I need some money.”

“You wouldn't get rich here.”

“I know that.”

He looked her up and down. “I don't think you really want to work.”

All at once she was tired of waiting, tired of talking. She started away.

Al said, “What did you say your name was? Sarah what?”

“Sarah Ida Becker.”

“You any relation to the lady that used to be in the library? You any relation to Miss Claudia Becker?”

“She's my aunt.”

Another man stopped for a shoeshine. When he was gone, Al asked her, “You staying with your aunt?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Go tell her you saw Al Winkler. Tell her you want to work for me. Maybe—”

“Maybe what?”

“I don't know yet,” he said. “First you see what she says.”

Aunt Claudia was waiting on the porch. “Sit down,” she said, when Sarah Ida came up the steps. “I want to talk to you.”

Sarah Ida sat in the porch swing.

“You must never do this again,” said Aunt Claudia. “You must always let me know where you're going. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Sarah Ida.

“Where have you been?”

“On the avenue.”

“What were you doing?”

“Looking for a job. And I found one.”

“You found one?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Where?”

“On Grand Avenue. Working for the shoeshine man.”

“Who?”

“Al Winkler, the shoeshine man.”

Aunt Claudia looked dazed. “How did you know him?”

“I didn't know him. He had a ‘Help Wanted' sign and I stopped.”

“Al Winkler,” said Aunt Claudia, as if she were talking to herself. “I remember him so well. He came to the library when I worked there. He hadn't gone to school much, and he wanted to learn more. I helped him choose books.” She asked, “Does he want you to work at his stand?”

“He said to talk to you about it.”

“Do you want to work for him?” asked Aunt Claudia.

“I told you, I want some money of my own.”

“This might be a good way to earn some,” said Aunt Claudia.

“You
want
me to shine shoes on Grand Avenue?”

“If that's what you want to do.”

Sarah Ida was quiet for a while. Things weren't working out the way she'd planned. She'd never thought Aunt Claudia would let her work in the shoeshine stand, and Aunt Claudia didn't seem to care!

Unless—Sarah Ida had another thought. Maybe Aunt Claudia didn't believe she'd go through with it. Maybe she was thinking,
That child is playing another game
.

Sarah Ida said, “You really want me to go tell Al Winkler I'll work for him?”

“If it's what you want to do,” said Aunt Claudia.

Sarah Ida started down the steps. Aunt Claudia didn't call her back. There was nothing for her to do but go.

She found Al sitting in one of his chairs.

“What did she say?” he asked.

“She said yes.”

“You want to start now?”

“I don't care,” she said.

He opened a drawer under the platform and took out an old piece of cloth. “Use this for an apron. Tie it around you.”

She tied it around her waist.

A man stopped at the stand. He was a big man with a round face and a black beard. He climbed into a chair and put his feet on the shoe rests.

“How are you, Mr. Naylor?” said Al.

“Not bad,” said the man. “Who's the young lady?”

“She's helping me,” said Al. “She needs practice. You mind if she practices on you?”

“I don't mind,” said Mr. Naylor.

Al said to Sarah Ida, “I'm going to shine one shoe. You watch what I do. Then you shine the other one.”

He took two soft brushes and brushed the man's shoe.

“That takes off the dust,” he said. “Always start with a clean shoe.”

He picked up a jar of water with an old toothbrush in it. With the toothbrush he sprinkled a few drops of water on the shoe.

“That makes a better shine.” He opened a round can of brown polish. With his fingers he spread polish on the shoe.

“Now you lay your cloth over the shoe,” he said. “Stretch it tight—like this. Pull it back and forth—like this. Rub it hard and fast. First the toe—then the sides—then the back.”

When he put down the cloth, the shoe shone like glass. He untied the man's shoelace. He drew it a little tighter and tied it again.

He asked Sarah Ida, “Did you see everything I did?”

“Yes,” she said.

“All right. Let's see you do it.”

She picked up the brushes. She dropped one. When she bent to pick it up, she dropped the other one. Her face grew hot.

She brushed the shoe. She sprinkled the water.

“Not so much,” Al told her. “You don't need much.”

She looked at the brown polish. “Do I have to get this on my fingers?”

“You can put it on with a rag, but it's not the best way. You can rub it in better with your fingers.”

“I don't want to get it on my hands.”

“Your hands will wash.”

She put the polish on with her fingers. She shined Mr. Naylor's shoe. She untied his shoelace, pulled it tight, and tried to tie it again.

Al tied it for her. “It's hard to tie someone else's shoe when you never did it before.”

Mr. Naylor looked at his shoes. “Best shine I've had all year,” he said. He paid Al. He gave Sarah Ida a dollar bill.

After he had gone, she asked Al, “Why did he give me this?”

“That's your tip,” said Al. “You didn't earn it. He gave it to you because you're just getting started.”

“Will everybody give me a dollar?” she asked.

“No,” he said, “and don't be looking for it.”

Others stopped at the stand. Sometimes two or three were there at once. Part of the time Sarah Ida put polish on shoes. Part of the time she used the polishing cloth.

Toward the end of the day she grew tired. She tried to hurry. That was when she put black polish on a man's brown shoe.

The man began to shout. “Look what you did!”

“It's not hurt,” said Al. “I can take the black polish off. Sarah Ida, hand me the jar of water.”

She reached for the jar and knocked it over. All the water ran out.

“Go around the corner to the filling station,” Al told her. “There's a drinking fountain outside. Fill the jar and bring it back.”

Sarah Ida brought the water. Al washed the man's shoe. All the black polish came off.

“See?” he said. “It's as good as new.”

“Well, maybe,” said the man, “but I don't want
her
giving me any more shines.”

He went away.

Sarah Ida made a face. “He was mean.”

“No, he wasn't,” said Al. “He just didn't want black polish on his brown shoes.”

“Anyone can make a mistake,” she said.

“That's right. Just don't make too many.” He said, “You can go now.” He gave her a dollar. “This is to go with your other dollar.”

“Is that all the pay I get?”

“You'll get more when you're worth more,” he said. “You can come back tomorrow afternoon. That's my busy time. Come about one.”

She didn't answer. She turned her back on him and walked away.

In the morning she told Aunt Claudia, “I'm going to the drugstore.”

“Aren't you working for Al?” asked Aunt Claudia.

“Maybe I am, and maybe I'm not,” said Sarah Ida.

In the drugstore she looked at magazines. She looked at chewing gum and candy bars. None of them seemed to matter much. Her money was the first she had ever worked for. Somehow she wanted to spend it for something important.

She went home with the two dollars still in her pocket.

She and Aunt Claudia had lunch.

“If you aren't working for Al,” said Aunt Claudia, “you can help me.”

“I'm going to work,” said Sarah Ida. Working for Al was certainly better than helping Aunt Claudia.

She went down to the shoeshine stand.

“So you came back,” said Al.

“Yes,” she said.

“I didn't know if you would or not.”

Customers were coming. Al told Sarah Ida what to do. Once she shined a pair of shoes all by herself.

They were busy most of the afternoon. Her hair fell down into her eyes. Her back hurt from bending over.

Late in the day Al told her, “You've had enough for now. You can go. You got some tips, didn't you?”

“Yes,” she said. “Do you want me to count them?”

“No. You can keep them. And here's your pay.” He gave her two dollars. “And I want to tell you something. When you get through with a customer, you say ‘thank you.'”

“All right,” she said.

“One more thing. You didn't say yesterday if you were coming back or not. This time I want to know. Are you coming back tomorrow?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Come about the same time,” he said. “I'm going to bring you something.”

What he brought her was a white canvas apron. It had two pockets. It had straps that went over her shoulders and tied in the back. There were black letters across the front.

“Why does it say ‘Lane's Lumber Company'?” she asked. “Why doesn't it say ‘Al's Shoeshine Corner'?”

“Because it came from Lane's Lumber Company,” he said. “Fred Lane is a friend of mine, and he gave it to me.”

It was nothing but a canvas apron. She didn't know why she should be so pleased with it. But it was a long time since anything had pleased her as much. She liked the stiff, new feel of the cloth. The pockets were deep. She liked to put her hands into them.

That night she thought about the apron. She had left it locked up at the stand. She almost told her mother and father about it in the letter she wrote them. She had promised to write twice a week—to make Aunt Claudia happy. But she didn't think they would care about her apron. All she wrote was:

Dear Mother and Father,

I am all right. Everything is all right here. It was hot today.

Good-by,                         

S
ARAH
I
DA
                     

She didn't tell Aunt Claudia about her apron. She didn't feel too friendly toward Aunt Claudia.

There were times when she didn't even feel too friendly toward Al.

There was the time when she shined an old man's shoes. He paid her and went away.

Al said, “I didn't hear you say ‘thank you.'”

“He didn't give me any tip,” she said. “The old stingy-guts.”

They were alone at the stand. Al said, “What did you call him?”

“Old stingy-guts,” she said. “That's what he is.”

“Don't you ever say a thing like that again,” said Al in a cold, hard voice. “He didn't have to give you a tip. Nobody has to. If he wants to give you something extra, that's his business. But if he doesn't, that's his business, too. I want to hear you say ‘thank you' whether you get any tip or not.”

It scared her a little to see him so angry. She didn't speak to him for quite a while.

But that evening he said, as if nothing had happened, “I could use some help in the morning, too. You want to work here all day?”

“I don't know,” she said.

“You can if you want to. Ask your aunt.”

She started home. On the way, a boy caught up with her. His arms and legs were long, and he took long steps. He looked ugly, with his lower lip pushed out. He asked, “What are you doing working for Al?”

She walked faster. He kept up with her. “How much is he paying you?”

“I don't see why I should tell you,” she said.