Tooner Schooner (13 page)

“No, my friend,” Miss Tinkham murmured and shook her head, “you
WON’T
be back later!”

Velma came back to the booth at a brisk clip. She held up her thumb and forefinger in a circle.

“How about a drink?” She beckoned to the waiter.

“Well, maybe one,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “We gotta work tomorrow.”

“This is our night for runnin’ into people. Look what just blown in,” Mrs. Feeley said.

“Should we hail him?” Mrs. Rasmussen’s voice was eager as she admired Captain Dowdy’s blue coat and white flannel trousers. “He bought that new yachtin’ cap this evenin’.”

“Hell, no! He’s sittin’ down where Sunshine is!” Mrs. Feeley’s eyes popped.

“This is a rough night for Chartreuse,” Jasper laughed.

Mrs. Rasmussen looked bitterly into her beer.

“Too bad he missed her song,” Miss Tinkham said. “Sunshine said she was singing very softly, just sort of to herself, and the captain was listening in absolutely rapturous silence!”

“He was, too!” Mrs. Feeley said. “She sung that nice Irish Hawaiian one I like so well, ‘Farewell, Molly Heeney,’ an’ he says to me, ‘I’m the biggest music critic in this town, an’ that’s some voice she’s got on her. I could listen to singin’ like that forever.’”

“Well, what say we go?” Jasper said. “This is a week night.”

“Bleedin’ shame, but it’s true,” Mrs. Feeley said.

Velma nodded and went toward the revolving door near the table where Darleen and Oscar sat.

“Well!” the captain boomed as he got to his feet. “Where you been hidin’? You’re not goin’?”

“Gotta get some sacktime,” Mrs. Feeley said. “Too late if we stay for Sunshine’s number.”

“She’s not goin’ home alone?” Captain Dowdy challenged.

“Oh, I’ll take her.” Oscar waved a magnanimous hand.

“Oscar!” Miss Tinkham cried. “You can’t. I simply haven’t had a chance to talk to you until this minute about your music lessons!” She dragged Oscar to his feet.

“If you’re so worried, Tooner,” Mrs. Feeley poked him in the ribs, “why’nt you squire her home yourself?”

“The trouble with me,” the captain said, “is I keep forgettin’ that I ent single.”

“I’ll drive her home myself,” Velma said.

“We’d take it kindly,” Mrs. Feeley said. “A grand evenin’ all the way round.”

“I’ll get my car,” Oscar said.

“I’m happy! I’m happy!” Mrs. Feeley sang in the manner of the old-time religion.

“Yessir! Scuttle Chartreuse!” Mrs. Rasmussen said.

F
OR
MORE THAN A WEEK
,
Mother Nature herself deigned to co-operate with Mrs. Feeley and Mrs. Rasmussen. The fog hung thick and clammy for days, making cruising impossible.

“Too dangerous when you’re haulin’ for hire,” Captain Dowdy said. When the fog lifted, many of the passengers had scattered or changed their minds. “Don’t take much to get ’em out o’ the notion,” the captain said gloomily.

On Monday of the second week, the clouds lifted and a smart breeze of wind blew up. The sky was blue and low; the fleecy white clouds tumbled about like lambs at play. Ten passengers stood on the dock ready to get underway for a day of brisk sailing. Captain Dowdy and Herman were bending on a new suit of sails.

“Nothin” prettier’n clean white canvas,” the captain said. “Hope we can keep it that way. Lately the damn gulls bespatter everythin’ faster’n we can shine it. Never had ’em around before. Always give me a wide berth till now. Can’t understand it. Look at that rail!”

Mrs. Feeley glanced innocently aloft and contemplated the rigging. Mrs. Rasmussen crossed the deck to the opposite rail and quickly kicked some slices of stale bread overboard. She untied a bit of twine that held a large piece of ham fat to the end of a boom, and stuck the fat and string in her pocket.

“They’re rarin’ to go today.” The captain rubbed his hands at the prospect. “You realize we was alongside all last week? Never took in a dime! An’ that insurance comin’ due! A boat’s nothin’ but a headache. I’ll tell you it’s one per cent pleasure and ninety-nine per cent ha’dship!” Mrs. Feeley beamed at Mrs. Rasmussen. “Who left that swab hangin’ over the side?” Captain Dowdy roared.

“I just plain forgot.” Mrs. Feeley took the swab in and when the captain went forward to give Herman orders, she hung it over the side again. “Nothin’ grayer than a dirty old mop.” She beamed.

“Grimmy,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “An’ he said they was from some boat club back East, real tony the ones comin’ today.”

“We got a nice day for it.” Mrs. Feeley smiled. “Here they come.”

“Who are you, Grandma?” one of the passengers said.

“Lemme see the color o’ your money, an’ maybe you’ll find out.” Mrs. Feeley stared him down. “What kinda hooligan club you come from?”

“I’m from Long Guyland, got some of the finest motor sailers you ever saw.”

“Koochers!” Mrs. Feeley snorted. “Phoenician blinds an’ floor lamps.” She hurried below to help Mrs. Rasmussen, who seemed to be having trouble starting the fire in the Shipmate. The down draught in the stack blew charcoal smoke into the main cabin. “Tooner!” Mrs. Feeley stood at the top of the ladder and bawled.

“Belay that Tooner,” he growled. “You know it’s Cap’n when the patty’s aboard. Can’t you see the wind’s blowin’ from all p’ints of the compass?”

“I’m sorry, Cap’n,” Mrs. Feeley said meekly. “The stove won’t draw.” He pattered down the ladder. “’Y God,” he groaned, “helps some to open the draughts ’fore you try to light it!” He opened the door to the firebox and the small door to the ash trap. “Y’ent even opened the Charlie Noble!” He turned the draught handle that opened the flue in the stack. “What’s the matter with you people? Bend one on last night?”

Mrs. Rasmussen beamed fondly at Mrs. Feeley. “Let’s have a beer.”

A stout man in a flowered shirt stuck his head into the hatch opening.

“How about mixing us a drink down there?” He handed down a bottle of National Distillers.

“How many, sir?” Mrs. Feeley asked too politely.

“Ten, please. Don’t spare the horses. Nothing settles your stomach quicker in a spanking breeze than a nice big bourbon!” He smiled hopefully at Mrs. Feeley.

“Yessir!” she agreed. “What was it you wanted in ’em?”

“Soda, please. Don’t want to drain the captain’s carboy.”

“Whaddaya mean, the captain’s cowboy?” Mrs. Feeley said.

“You’re a hot ticket.” The man laughed and pointed to the glass water bottle that swung in its wooden rack.

“Where you from?” Mrs. Feeley said. “I can’t English your kinda talk.”

“Boston.”

“So that’s it!” Mrs. Feeley turned to get the drinks ready. She handed the tray up through the hatch and scuttled back to help Mrs. Rasmussen with the lunch. The schooner lurched and pitched as the wind shifted. Captain Dowdy stormed down the hatch, his face purple.

“Cheese an’ crackers!” he thundered. “What kinda mud, blood an’ corruption did you put in them drinks? They’re sailin’ folk. Ent rough enough to make ’em heave like that!”

Mrs. Rasmussen cowered in a corner under his fury. Even Mrs. Feeley quailed a little. The captain’s expert glance rested on the small bottles rolling on the galley deck.

“Great God in the Morning!” he shouted. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you was out to ruin me; bottled clam juice!”

“W
E
DONE OUR WORST.”
Mrs. Feeley smiled happily as she helped Miss Tinkham set the table for supper Monday night. “How’d you and Velma do?”

“The stage is set,” Miss Tinkham said. “The trap is baited. Her greed and his will do the rest.”

“Nothing to bring home tonight,” Mrs. Feeley laughed. “She give ’em cream of tomato, curdled. Them pork chops was swimmin’ in cold grease. They thrown ’em over the side…second-hand, o’course.”

“It ain’t hard once you make your mind up to it.” Mrs. Rasmussen came in carrying a few bundles. “I thought my heart would break when he tasted that soup but, like you say…” She looked at Mrs. Feeley sadly.

“Noblesse oblige,”
Miss Tinkham said. “When Velma and I finished our shopping, we went back to the Club, and Ethelbert had left a phone number with her office girl; he called five times.”

“Just talkin’ to him would gag a maggot,” Mrs. Feeley said.

“The end justifies the means. When she called him back, he said that Chartreuse wanted to go back to Arizona tonight but he laid down the law; if she went, she went alone.”

“How’s it stand now?” Mrs. Rasmussen wiped her hands on her apron and reached for the glass of beer Mrs. Feeley held out.

Miss Tinkham wiped her lips. “Chartreuse said the boat business was not paying off as expected. He said that the real money is in a night club like the Pango Pango and that he felt certain Velma could create some kind of position for him. He wanted a job where he could shine and he liked the sound Velma’s Cadillac convertible made when the door slammed.”

“What was Velma sayin’ all this time?” Mrs. Rasmussen said.

“She laughed that low, visceral laugh of hers and said that he who leaves too soon comes back too late.” Miss Tinkham beamed.

“Hook, line and sinker,” Mrs. Feeley said.

“What never ceases to amaze me about
genus homo,”
Miss Tinkham said, “is that frauds are completely gullible. A dishonest dollar appeals to them so much, they believe implicitly any tale about how to get one. Velma told him to insist that Chartreuse go down to the schooner alone tonight. She implied that if Ethelbert could come to the Club by himself and have dinner with her, she would tell him where the real money came from.”

“Can we watch from the booth?” Mrs. Rasmussen said.

Miss Tinkham said, “She has reserved the small booth next to ours. We can hear everything.”

At half past seven, Mrs. Feeley and her friends came through the back door of the Pango Pango and sat down in what they considered their private booth.

“Feel like I got my head in a churn.” Mrs. Feeley squirmed under the snapbrim Milan she wore.

“Neither of them has ever seen us,” Miss Tinkham reminded. “But one can’t be too careful.”

Ethelbert Tights’ Tyrian purple dinner jacket had satin lapels of exotic cut.

“I shouldn’t be surprised if they light up when car lights strike them,” Miss Tinkham murmured. “Isn’t Velma clever to keep him waiting?”

Miss Feeley dug Miss Tinkham violently with her elbow. She and Mrs. Rasmussen stared open-mouthed as Velma passed their booth, looking them right in the eye without betraying that she saw anything in the booth except the usual place settings.

“How
do
you do!” Mrs. Rasmussen whispered, as she squirmed round for a better look. Velma’s severely shingled gray hair glistened like newly polished silver. Her bangs fluffed up with artful casualness to create the effect of a little crown above her brow.

“Cheese! Lookit that dress,” Mrs. Feeley said. Velma’s dress was of black wool lace, closely patterned and dull-surfaced. It was lined with ruby-red thin jersey, cut to a deep scoop neck, almost off the shoulder. The sleeves were tight and bracelet length; the lines of the dress were princess, flaring to a lovely skirt that stopped ten inches from the floor. Around the neck and down the front of the dress, some of the pattern of the lace was picked out in tiny dull jet beads.

“I’ll just die if Chartreuse don’t see her in that rig,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “Don’t know if they make dresses that cost five hundred dollars, but if they do, that one did. Nothin’ to it. No gingerbread.”

“All fluid line and texture.” Miss Tinkham sighed a little.

“What’s he say?” Mrs. Rasmussen whispered.

“Aw, you can’t hardly hear nothin’,” Mrs. Feeley beefed. “He’s tryin’ to chaw her ear off.”

Miss Tinkham breathed deeply of the rich, ambery fragrance Velma left on the air:

“Quelle
smell!”

“She’s givin’ him the full treatment.” Mrs. Rasmussen grinned.

“All it takes is a little Moxie.” Ethelbert’s oleaginous voice came over the partition. “Not everybody would have the nerve to call up a classy dame like you. Here I am and here you are. Here’s to us!”

“She’s givin’ him the ol’ one-two with the eyes this minute,” Mrs. Rasmussen almost giggled, “right over the top of the glass.”

Velma’s clipped accents came over the partition at last. “But I lose money. Month after month…take a Monday, like tonight. The place is almost empty.”

“Don’t give me that stuff, honey. You got at least a half million-dollar setup here.”

“That’s true enough,” Velma said, “but it costs me that much to keep it open.”

“What do you use for money?” Ethelbert hinted delicately, “the swag your old man lifted?”

For a moment Miss Tinkham went cold all over. When Velma spoke, her voice was light and controlled.

“Money’s the easiest thing to get,” she paused, “if you know how.”

“Then why do you keep a losing proposition?”

“Where would I get my business deductions?” Velma said. “Once you have the right info, all you do is pick up a phone and from there on just endorse the checks.”