High Time (6 page)

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 people,’ 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.

‘Our Darleen’s in a brown study! Thinking of the beloved, no doubt!’ Miss Tinkham was the first to break the silence.

Mrs. Feeley pounded Darleen on the back.

‘Snap out of it, girl! I’m a preachin’ ol’ fool! Don’t mind me! We think you’re a good kid, an’ we like you!’

‘You got the prettiest hair I ever seen,’ Mrs. Rasmussen said warmly. ‘Nice form, too!’

‘That lucky Johnny!’ Miss Tinkham said, ‘I hope you’ll pardon the familiarity, but I feel as if I knew the dear boy already! He is certainly to be congratulated on having such a lovely—ah—fiancée! Though not given to betting, I am willing to wager we shall hear the chime of wedding-bells before the year is out!’

Darleen waved a deprecating hand.

‘Johnny’s got ideels! He wouldn’t marry me!’

‘Well, he sure as hell won’t, unless you start actin’ like you thought he would!’ Mrs. Feeley said positively.

‘’Course,’ Mrs. Rasmussen added, ‘you couldn’t just jump into it, an’ go on playin’ the field like you been doin’. Once you was hitched with the bell an’ the book—you’d sure have to cut out all them other guys!’

‘I know that!’ Darleen agreed. ‘Bein’ married is sure a sacred thing, awful big responsibility. I’ve had a few chances, but I knew the guys had their fingers crossed, and expected me to have mine crossed too! But I wouldn’t play the game that way. If I ever give that step, it’ll be for good and always—that’s why I couldn’t give the step unless I felt sure I could make the grade!’

‘An admirable attitude!’ Miss Tinkham said.

‘But you do like this here Johnny better’n them others, don’t you?’ Mrs. Feeley probed.

‘Oh sure! I love Johnny. Him and me get along swell! You wouldn’t guess he was no merchant sailor—no torpedo target, he calls it. He looks almost like a college boy except for a few tattoos and they aren’t noticeable with his clothes on.’ Darleen’s eyes lighted as she described her friend.

‘We sure wanna make his acquaintance the next tune he comes in,’ Mrs. Feeley said cordially.

‘Would it be all right?’ Darleen asked incredulously.

‘I’d like to know why not!’ Mrs. Feeley exclaimed.

‘Well, I just thought—’

‘You know what thought did!’ Mrs. Rasmussen said, and
wisely let the matter drop right there.

Gee, I got to go now! I’m almost late for work,’ Darleen said, as she looked at a fancy wrist watch worn nearer to the elbow than the wrist.

‘Johnny give you that?’ Mrs. Feeley asked.

Darleen nodded.

‘My! He sure thinks a lot of you!’ Mrs. Rasmussen said admiringly. Darleen was actually beginning to think he did, at that.

S
ATURDAY
NIGHT
the ladies set out from Noah’s Ark about half-past eight. In honor of the occasion Mrs. Feeley had on a cool dimity dress and her nice canvas pumps that she kept for best. Mrs. Rasmussen wore a neat blue-and-white striped seersucker—a shirtmaker affair. Her sausage curls were arranged with geometrical exactness. Miss Tinkham had gone all out for glamour, and wore her best rayon knit suit. The skirt was a good sixteen inches longer than the current fashion, but everyone knew how knitted fabrics raveled when cut, and besides the material was so handsome! She could always take a reef in the elastic waistband of the skirt if it got too long, as it was prone to do at the end of a large evening. The sweater top was a dazzling affair embroidered in sequins and crystal beads. The bright green of the suit was a trifle marred by large rusty circles under the arms. Miss Tinkham was annoyed at the original owner of the suit for being unfastidious about dress-shields. If she kept her arms close to her sides the stains would not be noticed much. Although Mrs. Feeley and Mrs. Rasmussen were bareheaded, Miss Tinkham could not forego the final touch, the
coup de grâce
of a handsome picture-hat made of accordion-pleated Kelly-green lace. The crown was shallow and the brim a wide oval. Looking out from under it, Miss Tinkham reminded Mrs. Rasmussen of a frog peeking out from under a lily-pad.

‘Yessir!’ Mrs. Rasmussen said, ‘I got just what that hat’s needin’!’ True to her word she came out of her room with a large wax-coated artificial water-lily in her hand. She used to float it in a flat dish of water when she had company.

‘Perfect!’ Miss Tinkham breathed, and proceeded to anchor the lily with a large safety-pin.

The ladies walked along Island Avenue, well pleased with the world and each other. Soon they were climbing the steps of a building marked ‘Fleet Rooms.’

When the door opened in answer to their ring, the ladies remained speechless at the apparition before them. The woman who opened the door was a fat, red-headed, freckle-faced mulatto with gold teeth.

‘What did you want?’ she asked in a not too cordial voice.

While the ladies were still gasping for air, they heard Darleen’s voice from over the edge of the staircase:

‘It’s all right, Mabel! They’re my company!’

Darleen ran down and escorted the ladies up the stairs. They were still suffering from shock and did not say a word until they were safely inside Darleen’s room.

‘Gawdlemighty!’ Mrs. Feeley gasped, ‘what do you call that? Open the window, quick! I’m gonna let a faint!’

‘You name it an’ you can have it,’ Mrs. Rasmussen giggled, sinking into the nearest chair.

‘That’s Mabel, my landlady,’ Darleen explained.

‘Madame La Zonga!’ Miss Tinkham tittered.

‘Sh-h-h! Go easy on that “madam” stuff! She’s got a awful temper!’

‘Ain’t you scared outa your wits to stay here?’ Mrs. Feeley asked, looking around her.

Darleen shook her head. She pointed to the heavy iron bolt on the door and the Yale lock, her own addition. The only window in the room opened over the street, and Darleen explained that if any funny stuff started she would only have to stick her head out the window and holler for the patrol.

‘You ain’t got a beer handy, have you?’ Mrs. Feeley asked. ‘I feel kinda weak!’

‘Sure have!’ Darleen said, and went behind the screen that concealed the ‘running water in every room.’ The wash-hand basin was full of bottles of beer packed in chunks of ice, the whole thing neatly covered with a towel.

‘Guess I’ll live, after all!’ Mrs. Feeley sighed as she took a long pull at the cold beer. ‘Sure nice o’ you to have this beer for us, ’specially since you don’t touch none yourself!’

The other ladies hoisted their bottles in salute to Darleen’s hospitality. They thought the room was very pleasant. Her boy-friends must have all been hell-on-wheels at carnivals, for her room was filled with feather-dressed Kewpie dolls, bead-fringed lamps, and long, slinky-legged French dolls with cigarettes hanging lewdly from their mouths. Darleen smoothed the lavender taffeta bedspread with pride.

‘Johnny won this for me on the Wheel of Fortune at the Carnival. The man said it didn’t stop on the right number, but Johnny had quite a few of his oilers with him from the ship—and they persuaded him a little. Seems like they can’t argue much with Johnny and the black-gang! Engineers is a masterful bunch!’