15: “If I were you, Beaker . . .”
Little Follies, “My Mother Takes a Tumble,” Chapter 4 concludes
“If I were you, Beaker,” my father continued, “I’d get a look at this Eliza and see what I was up against. Then I’d know what to do. Maybe she isn’t really any competition at all—”
“Sure,” said my mother, “that could be. Remember how jealous you used to be of—”
“I wasn’t ever jealous,” said my father, snapping his head toward my mother.
“Bert,” said Mr. Beaker, “you’ve got it.”
My father’s jaw dropped, but he recovered quickly. “Sure,” he said, “this Eliza may be some dumpy, dull-witted—”
“No, no, no,” said Mr. Beaker. “You’ve got it but you don’t know it. Eliza is quite wonderful. She’s modest, selfless, and quite nice looking, but she’s no competition at all—” Mr. Beaker leaned toward Whitey and finished in a stage whisper that fell across the bar like a heavy drizzle. “—because she isn’t. She is not. There is no Eliza Foote at all. I’ve let myself get all upset over nothing, something my mother always cautioned me against.” He smiled and pushed his glass toward Whitey with more vigor than he had intended. It slid across the bar and over the edge. Whitey snatched the glass out of the air and began refilling it.
Mr. Beaker began chuckling. “That Simpson,” he said. “The wily devil. He doesn’t want flattery and titillation; he wants competition, an epistolary battle of wits. Oh, he’s a clever bastard. He introduced an unknown quantity, this Eliza, in order to wrest control of our correspondence from me. Next he’ll probably start asking for money. Now what do I know about this feigned Eliza? She waits at a certain bus stop each morning, wearing a blue cloth coat.” He leaned across the bar and asked Whitey, “Where is Louise’s Coffee Shop?”
“Louise’s Coffee Shop? That’s over on Bolotomy and Main, isn’t it?” suggested Whitey.
“No, no,” said May. “That’s Lucille’s Pastry Shop. They do have coffee, though I wouldn’t eat the doughnuts there, if I were you. Too heavy, greasy. Try Lucy’s Donuts. They make good doughnuts, but you have to get there early, when they’re fresh.”
“There’s a Louise’s Sandwich Shop. Where’s that?” asked my mother.
“That’s closed,” said my father. “Long ago. We used to go there when we were in high school, remember? Wait a minute, am I thinking of the right place? It wasn’t Louise’s Sandwich Shop, it was Louise’s Lunch, wasn’t it?”
Whitey leafed through a telephone book. “Louise’s,” he said. “There’s one in Hargrove.”
“Hargrove. Yes, that’s right,” said Mr. Beaker. “I’m off to Hargrove to see for myself that there is no Eliza Foote.” He reached for his drink, then rejected it with a scowl and a wave. “Good night to all,” he said. “Whitey, you run a very nice place here. Where is the door?”
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