blackjack theory.”
Drink was making this difficult. “Do you work here?” I asked.
She made a noise so much like a barnyard hen that I missed Lila’s mom all over again, the way she always got pesto on hershirt but never stopped ordering it. “I wouldn’t call it working,” the woman said. “I’m wasting all my money away. It doesn’t pay much. As you well know, it’s quiet today, so I stumbled in here and saw you crying like you couldn’t go on. So I’m here to serve as an example, and I’m going to make you a drink called an Old Pal, Campari and vermouth and bourbon like you like, but served up so you look better drinking it, as you well know.”
I looked at this woman and saw also the bored nurse, and Adam and those boys who liked to run tiny cars at four in the morning. It was the usual revelation: everyone’s crazy . “There was another guy in here serving as an example,” I said. “He had a theory.”
“Everybody has a theory,” the woman said. She started shaking the shaker and I could hear that ice was already inside. “This other guy, what did he make you?”
“Nervous,” I said. Lila was taking a while—I felt the prickle of deciding whether or not to worry—but then she appeared like a miracle and tottered past the plants to our table.
“It’s a party!” the woman said, adding the Campari.
“I’m back and so are you,” Lila said, putting the toothbrush where it belonged. “This is the blackjack woman, Allison. We talked on the way in about her theory.”
“As you well know,” the woman said, “I have these birds in cages given to me by a dear young man who draws things. He’s the sort of boy you girls would like.”
“I’m done with boys,” Lila said, “except Sidney Poitier.”
“I met him once in my Hollywood days,” the woman said. “He’s not for you.” She turned to me and her eyes looked icicleshiny, sharp and pretty and not likely to last. “You want my bird friend,” she said. “Sometimes he behaves badly, like his birds, but you would like the likes of him.”
“I was telling Allison she needed someone apocalyptic,” Lila said.
“Maybe she needs both,” the woman said. “An apocalyptic boy who draws.”
“Even with the right boy I’d wreck it,” I said. “I’d join the navy on impulse and sail off right when he needed me, or we’d have a baby and I’d accidentally put it in my purse. The right boys I always toss and the wrong ones I keep on top of me like paperweights. I know they’re the wrong boys and I just go to them.” I balanced my finger on the square of a napkin and moved it down the table like a barge. “I just go,” I said.
“It’s true,” Lila said. The talk was cheering her, I could tell. When she first got sick there was a very popular book about heaven. While she languished in the hospital I stayed up all night on espresso, taping the word heaven over with the word Las Vegas, everywhere it appeared in the book. Sometimes when I’m alone I get a warm feeling inside me and I know my mother’s in Las Vegas thinking of me. She was smiling like that now. “What’s your name again?” she asked the woman.
“How about Gladys?” Gladys said.
“Well, Gladys,” Lila said, and draped an arm around me. “Allison here once met a boy named Adam. He was all pepped up on drugs when he knocked on the door desperate for money. ‘I need money,’ he said, and do you know what Allison did?”
“Fed him waffles,” I said. “He kept saying ‘I need money’and I told him if he picked up all the leaves in my yard I’d give him a dollar.”
“It wasn’t even her yard,” Lila said. “She just wanted to see him bend over.” Gladys laughed and slid the Old Pals over. They looked rosy in the indoor light. “I can’t drink,” Lila said.
“I thought you looked too sick to drink,” Gladys said gently. “Never you mind, dear. As you well know, a woman looks good with a drink in front of her whether she’s
Drink was making this difficult. “Do you work here?” I asked.
She made a noise so much like a barnyard hen that I missed Lila’s mom all over again, the way she always got pesto on hershirt but never stopped ordering it. “I wouldn’t call it working,” the woman said. “I’m wasting all my money away. It doesn’t pay much. As you well know, it’s quiet today, so I stumbled in here and saw you crying like you couldn’t go on. So I’m here to serve as an example, and I’m going to make you a drink called an Old Pal, Campari and vermouth and bourbon like you like, but served up so you look better drinking it, as you well know.”
I looked at this woman and saw also the bored nurse, and Adam and those boys who liked to run tiny cars at four in the morning. It was the usual revelation: everyone’s crazy . “There was another guy in here serving as an example,” I said. “He had a theory.”
“Everybody has a theory,” the woman said. She started shaking the shaker and I could hear that ice was already inside. “This other guy, what did he make you?”
“Nervous,” I said. Lila was taking a while—I felt the prickle of deciding whether or not to worry—but then she appeared like a miracle and tottered past the plants to our table.
“It’s a party!” the woman said, adding the Campari.
“I’m back and so are you,” Lila said, putting the toothbrush where it belonged. “This is the blackjack woman, Allison. We talked on the way in about her theory.”
“As you well know,” the woman said, “I have these birds in cages given to me by a dear young man who draws things. He’s the sort of boy you girls would like.”
“I’m done with boys,” Lila said, “except Sidney Poitier.”
“I met him once in my Hollywood days,” the woman said. “He’s not for you.” She turned to me and her eyes looked icicleshiny, sharp and pretty and not likely to last. “You want my bird friend,” she said. “Sometimes he behaves badly, like his birds, but you would like the likes of him.”
“I was telling Allison she needed someone apocalyptic,” Lila said.
“Maybe she needs both,” the woman said. “An apocalyptic boy who draws.”
“Even with the right boy I’d wreck it,” I said. “I’d join the navy on impulse and sail off right when he needed me, or we’d have a baby and I’d accidentally put it in my purse. The right boys I always toss and the wrong ones I keep on top of me like paperweights. I know they’re the wrong boys and I just go to them.” I balanced my finger on the square of a napkin and moved it down the table like a barge. “I just go,” I said.
“It’s true,” Lila said. The talk was cheering her, I could tell. When she first got sick there was a very popular book about heaven. While she languished in the hospital I stayed up all night on espresso, taping the word heaven over with the word Las Vegas, everywhere it appeared in the book. Sometimes when I’m alone I get a warm feeling inside me and I know my mother’s in Las Vegas thinking of me. She was smiling like that now. “What’s your name again?” she asked the woman.
“How about Gladys?” Gladys said.
“Well, Gladys,” Lila said, and draped an arm around me. “Allison here once met a boy named Adam. He was all pepped up on drugs when he knocked on the door desperate for money. ‘I need money,’ he said, and do you know what Allison did?”
“Fed him waffles,” I said. “He kept saying ‘I need money’and I told him if he picked up all the leaves in my yard I’d give him a dollar.”
“It wasn’t even her yard,” Lila said. “She just wanted to see him bend over.” Gladys laughed and slid the Old Pals over. They looked rosy in the indoor light. “I can’t drink,” Lila said.
“I thought you looked too sick to drink,” Gladys said gently. “Never you mind, dear. As you well know, a woman looks good with a drink in front of her whether she’s
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