"You're certainly developing a beautiful head of skin," Mrs. D'Aura was
saying scathingly to her husband just as I joined them.
"Bless her heart, she's clever, ain't she?" Mr. D'Aura asked me as we
went in.
The air inside the restaurant was heavy with smoke and loud, hilarious
conversation. Every available seat in the dining room and around the
shining black counter was occupied by a thirsty, voracious human being;
food and beer and wine were disappearing at such alarming rates that I
wondered if the new owner wasn't regretting his impulse to throw an
impromptu party.
I saw him standing in the doorway that led to the kitchen, beaming and
genial, slapping waitresses and guests alike in hospitable good
fellowship. His stance and expression proclaimed him to be the new
owner, and he seemed to be having as good a time as any of his noisy
guests. His plump face was red and his small eyes were shining. He saw
me staring at him, and he waved at me over the sea of guzzling heads as
though we were old friends.
Two men, making vulgar noises of satisfaction, left the restaurant,
vacating two rickety chairs that were near the door. Mr. and Mrs.
D'Aura slipped into the empty chairs and began to quarrel in low,
intense voices.
There were no other empty seats, and more people kept crowding in
behind me all the time. Having satisfied my curiosity as to what was
going on, I decided to leave.
As I went out I met a plump, whiskered gentleman who stepped aside for
me courteously and a little unsteadily. His bright beady eyes held me
with an intent regard. I wondered how many of me he saw, and I smiled.
He bristled. "You think I'm half drunk, don't you, lady?" he charged.
"Well, you're wrong, absolutely wrong." He paused, for dramatic effect.
"I'm not half drunk, I'm completely drunk!"
He bent double with laughter. "I jusht had to come out here for some
fresh air. The air in theresh so smoky, itsh so crowded, itsh enough to
drive a drinking man to sobriety!"
Seeing that I was about to go on, he clutched the sleeve of my dress.
"You know what I am?" he demanded. "I'm a walking binge!"
He called after me, "That'sh pretty good, now, isn't it? A walking
binge! You remember that and maybe sometime you can say it yourself and
make people think you thought it up yourshelf. Yesshir, a walking
binge. Pretty good!"
There were a lot of walking binges in and around the cafe before the
night was over. Some of them, in fact, could hardly stagger. The supply
of beer and wine must have outlasted the supply of food.
We had two reasons, though, to be glad that the cafe had changed hands.
The first and most important reason was, of course, that we would at
last be rid of Moejy--although actually the obnoxious little creature
spent so much of his time at the Auto Haven visiting the Bradleys, that
we weren't much bothered by him. The second reason was that our
business, for this one night at least, was greatly improved. A lot of
travelers who had been bent on making a hundred miles or more yet
before stopping for the night, decided, after relaxing and eating and
drinking in the restaurant, that Banning would be as good a town as any
in which to spend the night. And, since our motel was next door to the
restaurant, we got most of the extra business.
Sunday the cafe was closed--no doubt because everything but the
furnishings had been consumed Saturday night, and new supplies couldn't
be obtained until Monday.
Monday morning it was still closed. Monday noon we saw Moe unlocking
the door and going in, walking as though thirty years had been added
suddenly to his heavy-set shoulders. Grant went over to talk to him,
and when he came back he told me what had happened. The check for the
down payment on the restaurant had bounced. The man who had given Moe
the check had disappeared after the hilarious opening night. The
restaurant was a shambles, with everything eatable or drinkable gone,
and Moe's large stock of beer and wine completely demolished.
When Grant left, Moe was sitting at the circular counter, rubbing his
bald head and completely unable to see the funny side of what had
happened, trying to figure up just how many hundreds of dollars his
trusting nature had cost him.
In spite of Banning's superlatively healthful climate, and her own
stalwart frame, Mrs. Clark was besieged and temporarily conquered by a
horde of influenza germs--or viruses, whichever they are. Although we
were having a few vacancies now, the new window in the office was
keeping most of our cabins occupied, and the lush, idle winter had so
accustomed us to loafing that we were horrified at the idea of doing
our own work, even for a week.
A pretty Mexican girl had been applying, about once a month, for work.
I had her name and address on a slip of paper in the cash drawer.
"How about this Veda Gonzales?" I suggested to Grant, pulling out the
slip and showing it to him.
We knew it would be a lot of trouble breaking in someone new to clean
the cabins--but it wouldn't be as much trouble as cleaning them
ourselves!
West of the Blue Bonnet Motel, west of the new bakery, was a bunch of
little brown shacks clustered forlornly on the edge of the highway like
ragged children gazing into a window bright with toys and tinsel. It
was in one of these shacks that Veda lived.