real paper lace doilies under the plates. We decided we would share a Ponderosa Delight, which, the menu claimed, came "with everything." Shirley ordered a Diet Cherry Coke. I asked for a Pepsi since a 1982 Mumm's Cordon Rouge was not available.
"Miss Feebling—" I started, but she interrupted.
"You can call me Shirl," she said. "Everyone in the world calls me Shirl."
"And so shall I," I said, "if you'll call me Archy. Shirl, I know that Chauncey said he loved you, but people do fall out of love, you know."
"I haven't," she promptly replied. "I still love him and want to marry him like he promised in his letters. He's such a wonderful guy."
I was about to ask if she didn't find CW somewhat dim. But I refrained, reflecting that Shirley herself might be somewhat dim and had found a soul mate in the Chinless Wonder.
"Shirl," I said, "you seem to me a very sensitive and intelligent young lady."
"Thank you, sir," she said coyly.
"And I am sure you want only the best for yourself—and for Chauncey, too, of course. He has informed you that he wishes to wed another?"
She nodded.
"I know you want him to be happy," I pleaded, "even though it might mean your own unhappiness. But a generous cash settlement would help you endure a temporary sorrow."
"Oh, I don't want any money," she said brightly. "I just want to marry Chauncey."
"Shirl, it's impossible for me to believe that a young lady of your outstanding attributes hasn't had and doesn't have the opportunity to marry any of a dozen eager young men."
"Oh sure, I've had the chance," she said, almost dreamily. "But no one like Chauncey."
That I could believe. But then our Ponderosa Delight and drinks were served, and I postponed further attempts to convince her to reach an equitable compromise.
She was starting on her second wedge of pizza when I noted she was casting furtive glances over my shoulder.
"Something wrong?" I asked.
She leaned forward across the table to speak in a low voice. "There's a man over there who keeps staring at me."
"Quite understandable," I said cheerily. "You're worth staring at, Shirl, and I'm sure you're aware of it."
"But I don't like the way he keeps smiling with a smirky grin. Like he knows something secret about me."
"Have you ever seen him before?"
"No, I'm sure I haven't."
"Shall I go over and ask him to stop smirking at you?"
"Oh no," she said quickly, "don't do that. I don't want to cause no trouble."
We finished the pizza, and I tried again to persuade her to accept cash in return for CW's mash notes. But she was adamant; she wanted only to marry the man as he had promised, not once but many times, and if he reneged she would have no choice but to make his letters public.
She was explaining all this, determinedly and with some passion, when she suddenly broke off and said, "Here he comes."
A man halted alongside our table. I looked up to see a tall, saturnine bloke in raw black silk with a white Izod. He stared down at my companion, and I could agree with what she had said: It was a smirky grin. He didn't even glance at me.
"Hiya, Shirl," he said in a raspy baritone. "Having a good time?"
Then he sauntered away, paid his bill at the front counter, and went outside. I noted that he had a profile like a cleaver. I watched him get into a gunmetal Cadillac de Ville and pull away. I turned back to Shirley.
"You don't know him?" I asked.
She shook her head.
"He knew your name."
"I don't know how," she said, obviously troubled.
"Perhaps he was a customer," I suggested.
"No," she insisted. "I'd have remembered. I don't like his looks. He scares me."
"Nothing to be scared about," I assured her. "I doubt if you'll ever see him again."
But I couldn't comfort her. Her bouncy mood had vanished; she seemed subdued. "Listen," she said finally, "I've got to get to work."
I paid our tab and walked her back. I gave her fifty dollars, wondering how much would go to Jake and how much she'd be allowed to keep.
"Shirl," I said, "it's
"Miss Feebling—" I started, but she interrupted.
"You can call me Shirl," she said. "Everyone in the world calls me Shirl."
"And so shall I," I said, "if you'll call me Archy. Shirl, I know that Chauncey said he loved you, but people do fall out of love, you know."
"I haven't," she promptly replied. "I still love him and want to marry him like he promised in his letters. He's such a wonderful guy."
I was about to ask if she didn't find CW somewhat dim. But I refrained, reflecting that Shirley herself might be somewhat dim and had found a soul mate in the Chinless Wonder.
"Shirl," I said, "you seem to me a very sensitive and intelligent young lady."
"Thank you, sir," she said coyly.
"And I am sure you want only the best for yourself—and for Chauncey, too, of course. He has informed you that he wishes to wed another?"
She nodded.
"I know you want him to be happy," I pleaded, "even though it might mean your own unhappiness. But a generous cash settlement would help you endure a temporary sorrow."
"Oh, I don't want any money," she said brightly. "I just want to marry Chauncey."
"Shirl, it's impossible for me to believe that a young lady of your outstanding attributes hasn't had and doesn't have the opportunity to marry any of a dozen eager young men."
"Oh sure, I've had the chance," she said, almost dreamily. "But no one like Chauncey."
That I could believe. But then our Ponderosa Delight and drinks were served, and I postponed further attempts to convince her to reach an equitable compromise.
She was starting on her second wedge of pizza when I noted she was casting furtive glances over my shoulder.
"Something wrong?" I asked.
She leaned forward across the table to speak in a low voice. "There's a man over there who keeps staring at me."
"Quite understandable," I said cheerily. "You're worth staring at, Shirl, and I'm sure you're aware of it."
"But I don't like the way he keeps smiling with a smirky grin. Like he knows something secret about me."
"Have you ever seen him before?"
"No, I'm sure I haven't."
"Shall I go over and ask him to stop smirking at you?"
"Oh no," she said quickly, "don't do that. I don't want to cause no trouble."
We finished the pizza, and I tried again to persuade her to accept cash in return for CW's mash notes. But she was adamant; she wanted only to marry the man as he had promised, not once but many times, and if he reneged she would have no choice but to make his letters public.
She was explaining all this, determinedly and with some passion, when she suddenly broke off and said, "Here he comes."
A man halted alongside our table. I looked up to see a tall, saturnine bloke in raw black silk with a white Izod. He stared down at my companion, and I could agree with what she had said: It was a smirky grin. He didn't even glance at me.
"Hiya, Shirl," he said in a raspy baritone. "Having a good time?"
Then he sauntered away, paid his bill at the front counter, and went outside. I noted that he had a profile like a cleaver. I watched him get into a gunmetal Cadillac de Ville and pull away. I turned back to Shirley.
"You don't know him?" I asked.
She shook her head.
"He knew your name."
"I don't know how," she said, obviously troubled.
"Perhaps he was a customer," I suggested.
"No," she insisted. "I'd have remembered. I don't like his looks. He scares me."
"Nothing to be scared about," I assured her. "I doubt if you'll ever see him again."
But I couldn't comfort her. Her bouncy mood had vanished; she seemed subdued. "Listen," she said finally, "I've got to get to work."
I paid our tab and walked her back. I gave her fifty dollars, wondering how much would go to Jake and how much she'd be allowed to keep.
"Shirl," I said, "it's
Similar Books
