*
At The Silver Slipper Café: Two men walk into The Silver Slipper Café. One of the men — a pasty-white, tall man in a shirt with palm trees on it — has a black cat sitting on his shoulder. The other man, also tall, but with a good tan and bloodshot eyes, takes a knife from his friend’s shirtpocket and cuts the phone off from the cord. The waitress notices and starts for the other end of the counter, but both men mouth, “No,” and she freezes.
“Hello, family,” the first man says. The cat looks down at them.
“Hello,” David says.
“What are you enjoying there, family?” the man asks.
“Apple pie,” David says.
“Don’t pick up that hot coffee,” the second man says to the waitress.
She doesn’t. The second man hands Sheila the phone. “I’m gonna call you on this telephone,” he says. “I’m gonna ask you a question. You be Betty Crocker, okay?”
Sheila looks at David, about to cry.
“Sure she will,” David says. “Go ahead, honey.”
“And just so the young fellow won’t be bored, he can whistle ‘Dixie,’” the first man says, tapping Wally’s shoulder.
“Hello, Betty?” the second man says.
“Yes,” Sheila says.
“What ingredients go into an apple pie, Betty?”
“Apples. And sugar and flour.”
“Don’t you put in anything else, Betty?”
“Yes. Lemon juice. Sometimes raisins …”
“What else, Betty?”
“Uh-cinnamon. That’s all, I think.”
“But what accounts for the special goodness of your pies, Betty?”
“Nutmeg. I use … cinnamon and nutmeg.”
“Thanks, Betty. I’ll be ringing off now.”
The other man is standing in back of Wally, who is loudly whistling “Dixie.”
“Out!” he screams, and the two run from The Silver Slipper Café. The waitress screams. The police are called. Sometime during the confusion the cat wanders in.
“That was their cat!” the waitress says, pointing.
“Oh yeah?” one of the cops says. “I don’t think we’ve got anything on it, though.”
“You’re real comedians,” the waitress says angrily.
“This town just puts you in a good mood all the time,” the cop says. “You folks here for a little vacation in vacationland?”
“I don’t know what we’re here for,” David says, trying to comfort Sheila.
“Well, don’t lose what you already got,” the other cop says. He finishes writing something on a piece of paper, rolls up the paper, and holds the door open for his partner.
Marshall’s Dog
She was eighty-two when she died. She had the usual old-lady fears — Democratic Presidents, broken bones. When the spaghetti was snapped in half and dropped into the boiling water she heard the sound of her own bones cracking. She loved spaghetti. They had to eat so much spaghetti. She wouldn’t eat the sauce. She had butter with her spaghetti. She used to knit for her son, Marshall. She loved her son, she knitted all the time. Once she knitted him a bathrobe and he broke out in a rash all over, an allergy to wool. She cooked for Edna. She made alphabet soup. Edna remembers fishing out letters, saying, “Let’s see what Mom wants to tell us this time.” Fish. Fawn. Up. Dollar. She wouldn’t be left alone. When Edna went to work at the sporting-goods store she was there. At the store snowmobiles are sold, and wool hats, helmets, boots. Edna rode to work on her snowmobile; Marshall brought his mother in the car. She sat in a comfortable chair behind the counter and waited for Edna to finish work. She watched television. When customers came in, she turned up the volume. When the reception was bad, she listened to the radio instead. Marshall is talking to Edna. Edna has held the door open too long — the house is getting cold. Where is the dog? Didn’t she call the dog in? Edna closes the door. But then it’s open again — Edna and Marshall go out for a walk in the snow.
*
The boy at the table behind Mary is singing to her. He is no longer at the table behind her, he is at her table, and Kathy, her girlfriend, has gone to the bathroom. Now there is laughter in addition to the music. His friends are going crazy. They looked drunk when Mary and Kathy walked in an hour ago. One of the boy’s friends has a harmonica that he is blowing.
“Can you see?”
The boy has pulled the neck of his shirt down. Across his chest is a scattering of moles, a brown blur of them.
“It looks like the Milky Way galaxy,” he says. He waves his arm, motioning his friend to stop playing the harmonica. The music is replaced by a cappella singing. Kathy comes out of the bathroom and looks the situation over. She orders a Coke at the bar and returns to the table. Two summers ago, Mary danced for the boy and his friend. They paid her two dollars. Since then the boy’s friend lost a finger that got infected after he caught it in a mattress spring. He used to play electric guitar.
The waitress is at the table. Beverly tonight. Beverly has bright-blue eyes and wears blue eyeshadow. Her sister Miriam is on weekends. Miriam has green eyes and wears green eyeshadow.
“Miriam comin’ in Saturday night?”
Beverly puts the boy’s drink down.
“Rest of you want anything?” she says.
“Bring her a hamburger,” the boy says, nodding to Mary.
“Who’s paying for it?” Mary asks.
“I already paid,” the boy’s friend hollers. “They’re tradin’ hamburgers for fingers tonight. Tomorrow night there’s a spaghetti special.”
Laughter. An explosion of music. A dog has wandered into the bar. The dog is confused, running everywhere. Two women in a booth across the bar meow. Finally Sam sees the dog.
“It’s Marshall’s dog,” he says to Beverly. “Want to call him?”
“Take my toes,” the boy’s friend calls to Beverly. “I want a hot dog.”
“I’ll come back for your orders,” Beverly says over her shoulder.
“I’m leavin’!”
One of the boys is yelling. He has gotten up from the table. The dog has wandered over to their table. Mary recognizes the dog — her uncle’s. She reaches out to pat the dog, but the boy has grabbed the dog up into his arms. He starts to run.
“Did he pay?” Beverly hollers.
One of the boy’s friends holds up a wad of dollar bills.
“Well, what about the dog?” Beverly asks Sam.
“I told you,” Sam says. “Call Marshall.”
“He took it.”
“Tell Marshall.”
Beverly lifts the phone and dials.
*
“It’s Marshall, George. Things aren’t very good over here.”
“No? Is Mom’s cold still hanging on?”
“Yes and no. Edna took her to the doctor a week ago, and the medicine he gave her has helped. She gets around better. She’s depressed, though. Really, Edna wanted me to call you …”
“George,” Edna says, “she says that at night her heart stops, and if she’s very still it starts again. I know that isn’t true, but she’s very depressed. She’s cleaning out her drawers and gave me things to give you.”
George is speaking to Marshall again.
“The doctor recommends a cardiologist, but she says she won’t go. I think she’ll pay attention to you, George.”
“Anna and I’ll come over tomorrow night after work.”
“It’s no emergency. We wanted you to know.” Marshall lowers his voice. “Can you hear that?”