From under the counter he produced what at first I took for a pillow. It was covered with fuzzy gray material, and its shape closely resembled the fuzzy photographs of flying saucers that appeared in newspapers every week or so at that time. When I spotted the eyes, I realized that it was a stuffed-animal version of a clam.
“I made it myself,” said Porky.
“It’s a pillow?” I asked.
“It’s a hat,” he said, disappointed. He showed me the elastic strap. “For the waitress.”
“We’re going to have a waitress?”
“We have a waitress. She starts this afternoon. In fact,” he said, raising his eyes toward the door, his expression brightening considerably, “here she comes now.” He called out, “Hey, you’re late.”
“I had to get the skirt,” said a familiar voice. I turned toward the door. Ariane was entering.
“Ariane?” I said.
“Hi, Peter,” she said.
“You’re going to be a waitress here? The waitress here?”
“Starting today,” she said.
“But what about Babbington Clam?”
“I didn’t like the hours,” she said. “Starting at seven in the morning? Forget it! Here I’ll work three to ten—my parents’ll be asleep by the time I get home. And it’s like a party every day here!”
“It is?” I said, looking toward Porky.
“Sure,” he said quickly. “Not when you’re here, Peter, but later. Dinner time—and later than that—at night. We get a great bunch of kids in here then. Ariane’s going to have a blast.”
I looked at the sales figures again. They didn’t suggest that there was ever much of a “bunch” at Captain White’s at all.
“Go put the skirt on, Ariane,” said Porky. “Use the ladies’ room.”
“Okay,” she said.
“She’s going to draw the boys the way honey draws flies,” said Porky. “When word gets around, this place will be packed at night. It will be like a party.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” I said. “She’ll probably have a good time, too. It’s just that—”
I couldn’t have told Porky what was bothering me; it was the discovery that Ariane was willing to give up our movie afternoons to work here. I had just lost those afternoons to split session anyway, but she didn’t know that. She’d been willing to give them up for a job as a waitress in a clam joint. Ariane came out of the ladies’ room wearing a tight sweater and a little skater’s skirt.
“How do you like it?” she asked.
“Very nice,” said Porky. “Here, put this on.” He gave her the hat he’d made. She put it on her head, fiddled with the chin strap, and finally ended up with the clam perched on the right side of her head, tilted forward a little, so that his goofy eyes seemed to stare down at you when you looked into her face. Porky made a twirling gesture with his finger, Ariane spun around, and the skirt flared out and showed us her legs.
“What do you think, Peter?” asked Porky.
“Very nice,” I said, but I took a bitter consolation from the realization that, though Ariane’s legs were cute enough, if legs were electrons, Miss Rheingold’s would orbit on a higher level altogether.
[to be continued]
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🎧 634: From under the ...