Gigolo | Page 9

She was slamming expertly about the kitchen.

"Hello, yourself," said Ma. Ma had a line of slang gleaned from her
numerous brood. It fell strangely from her lips. Ma had never quite lost
a tinge of foreign accent, though she had come to America when a girl.
A hearty, zestful woman, savouring life with gusto, undiminished by
child-bearing and hard work. "Eating home, Dewey?" She alone used
his given name.
"Yeh, but I gotta be back by seven-thirty. Got anything ready?"
"Dinner ain't, but I'll get you something. Plenty. Platter ham and eggs
and a quick fry. Cherry cobbler's done. I'll fix you some." (Cherry
cobbler is shortcake with a soul.)
He ate enormously at the kitchen table, she hovering over him.
"What's the news, Dewey?"
"Ain't none." He ate in silence. Then: "How old was you when you
married Pa?"
"Me? Say, I wasn't no more'n a kid. I gotta laugh when I think of it."
"What was Pa earning?"
She laughed a great hearty laugh, dipping a piece of bread sociably in
the ham fat on the platter as she stood by the table, just to bear him
company.
"Say, earn! If he'd of earned what you was earning now, we'd of
thought we was millionaires. Time Etty was born he was pulling down
thirteen a week, and we saved on it." She looked at him suddenly,
sharply. "Why?"
"Oh, I was just wondering."
"Look what good money he's getting now! If I was you, I wouldn't stick
around no old garage for what they give you. You could get a good job
in the works with Pa; first thing you know you'd be pulling down big
money. You're smart like that with engines.... Takes a lot of money

nowadays for feller to get married."
"You tell 'em," agreed Nick. He looked up at her, having finished
eating. His glance was almost tender. "How'd you come to marry Pa,
anyway? You and him's so different."
The nymph in Ma leaped to the surface and stayed there a moment,
sparkling, laughing, dimpling. "Oh, I dunno. I kept running away and
he kept running after. Like that."
He looked up again quickly at that. "Yeh. That's it. Fella don't like to
have no girl chasing him all the time. Say, he likes to do the chasing
himself. Ain't that the truth?"
"You tell 'em!" agreed Ma. A great jovial laugh shook her.
Heavy-footed now, but light of heart.
Suddenly: "I'm thinking of going to night school. Learn something. I
don't know nothing."
"You do, too, Dewey!"
"Aw, wha'd I know? I never had enough schooling. Wished I had."
"Who's doings was it? You wouldn't stay. Wouldn't go no more than
sixth reader and quit. Nothing wouldn't get you to go."
He agreed gloomily. "I know it. I don't know what nothing is.
Uh--Arcadia--or--now--vitality or nothing."
"Oh, that comes easy," she encouraged him, "when you begin once."
He reached for her hand gratefully. "You're a swell cook, Ma." He had
a sudden burst of generosity, of tenderness. "Soon's the bus is fixed I'll
take you joy-riding over to the lake."
Ma always wore a boudoir cap of draggled lace and ribbon for
motoring. Nick almost never offered her a ride. She did not expect him
to.

She pushed him playfully. "Go on! You got plenty young girls to take
riding, not your ma."
"Oh, girls!" he said, scornfully. Then in another tone: "Girls."
He was off. It was almost seven. Pa was late. He caught a car back to
Fifty-third Street. Elmer was lounging in the cool doorway of the
garage. Nick, in sheer exuberance of spirits, squared off, doubled his
fists, and danced about Elmer in a semicircle, working his arms as a
prizefighter does, warily. He jabbed at Elmer's jaw playfully.
"What you been doing," inquired that long-suffering gentleman,
"makes you feel so good? Where you been?"
"Oh, nowheres. Bumming round. Park."
He turned in the direction of the stairway. Elmer lounged after him.
"Oh, say, dame's been calling you for the last hour and a half. Like to
busted the phone. Makes me sick."
"Aw, Bauers."
"No, that wasn't the name. Name's Mary or Berry, or something like
that. A dozen times, I betcha. Says you was to call her as soon as you
come in. Drexel 47--wait a min't'--yeh--that's right--Drexel 473----"
"Swell chanst," said Nick. Suddenly his buoyancy was gone. His
shoulders drooped. His cigarette dangled limp. Disappointment curved
his lips, burdened his eyes. "Swell chanst!"

OLD MAN MINICK
His wife had always spoiled him outrageously. No doubt of that. Take,
for example, the matter of the pillows merely. Old man Minick slept
high. That is, he thought he slept high. He liked two plump pillows on
his side of the great, wide, old-fashioned cherry bed. He would sink