"Not to end up in a roadhouse you weren't. Mr Sourpuss was a multimillionaire. Newspaper reporters might have been there. Could ruin me. A member of my staff in a roadhouse with the next of kin of the deceased. God damn ruin me.'' next of kin of the deceased. God damn '' Don't get upset Mr. Vine."
"Upset. Standing out there waiting for you. Sending a car last night to where you live and your landlady spitting in the driver's face. At the mention of your name. Don't get upset.''
"Ok, all right. Fire me. I'll pay for Helen's funeral somehow. I'll shovel snow. But I'll tell you one thing, Mr Vine, you'll get every single penny I owe you. I ran all the way here. Coatless through the freezing cold just to get to work as soon as I could."
"Sit down Christian, sit down. Now listen to me. I've got to rely on people. I'll lean over backwards to give you a break. Because you're one of the most quality people I've ever met. But look at the way you're dressed this morning. You've let me down. Twice."
Somber glistening eyes of Vine. See the world out beyond. His kingdom. Stands in his vestibule waiting. One by one they become his citizens. Into his hands commit their flesh. Each anointed by his sadness. Each by green and candle light laid softly in satin. His loneliness invites you. Come. Take your rest.
"Cornelius I go home at night. Sit at my kitchen table. It's cracked and chipped, made of porcelain. A container of milk sits there. And a piece of crumb cake. Sometimes my daughter comes in from doing her homework. I think over the day's happenings. She might stand next to my shoulder. Feel her hair on my cheek. Just like her mother's used to be. When she cooked, and I came up to kiss her, a smudge of flour on her nose. That woman was all of my life. The tears of her death run dripping inside me every day. She made pie crusts on that table. And just to have my hand there touching where I knew hers had been. I loved that woman I loved her.''
Vine's eyes brimming with tears. He turns his bent head away. Leans over the edge of his desk. His fingers spread. Each gleaming nail with its moon tip of white. Soft cloth of his suit stretched across his back. Whine and whirr of a snow plow passing in the street. A strain of music.
"I'm sorry Christian. It just gets me that's all. I don't know what to do with you. If I ask you any more questions I know the answers are going to get worse. I'd like us to be friends. Not only because we've both lost our dearest one and we have a bond in that but because I see a vision of greatness in you. This business I've got to run. It's my life. Up at six every morning. I drive by each premises. Just to see if there's been a fire or something. I'm not finished till late at night. And then see that bag, my lunch is in that. Sandwiches I make before I go to bed. I earned my first pennies when I buried a friend's pet bird. Charged him seven cents. Even offered him a choice of cigar or shoe box. He picked the cheaper shoe box. I painted it black and dyed cotton wool with some of my mother's bluing. It's the only thing I ever wanted to do."
"Mr Vine could I trouble you for a little coffee.''
''Sure you can. There's plenty. And we'll send out if you need more."
"Thank you. Thank you very much.''
"You 're welcome Christian.''
Vine picking up the ringing phone. Cushioning it to his ear with his shoulder. Holding a pad on his desk with one hand and writing with the other. The little quiet murmurs of his voice. And Miss Musk at the door. Same brown dress, her hair swept up on the back of her head. Giving me a weak sour smile. Nobody likes me much this morning. Lose this job and ask Mrs Sourpuss for a loan. She stuck her tongue nearly down my throat. Friendlier than a bank would be.
Vine replacing phone. Writes another few words on his pad. Miss Musk leaning forward, her hand caught around the door jamb. Her ears are small. The muscles flex in her calves. She stands in her patent leather high heels and walks pigeon toed. As a kid I thought it was the very latest way to run. Till I fell on my face.
"Mr Vine sorry to interrupt you and Mr Christian but the west side branch is sold out.''
''You mean fully reserved Miss Musk.''
"Yes I guess I do mean that. They want to know if we can take two more, with no facial problems, starting seven this evening."
''Christian are you free tonight.''
"Yes sir, I am. Absolutely.''
"Ok take them Miss Musk. The Mario funeral will leave at two thirty. It could be bad out in South Queens. I'll have to get over to the west side myself.''
"Very good Mr Vine. I'll catch a bite to eat around five or if Mr Christian would prefer I could bring something in for both of us."
"That ok with you Christian. There won't be time for lunch."
"Yes sir."
"Miss Musk take Cornelius, see what you can do about his shoes. Those pants could be pressed too.''
''Certainly Mr Vine. Would you come this way, Mr Christian.''
"And Cornelius. Stay on the ball."
"Yes sir, Mr Vine."
Christian following Miss Musk as she beckons him out. Downing the coffee. Following her past her office. And the chapel. Woman stands in the entrance handkerchief to her face. Byes and nose red. Black veil over her black hair. Man behind her with his hand on her shoulder. Gang of children in the chapel seats. Three nuns kneeling in the last pew. Two more mourning faces pass by, eyes fearful and staring. We go this way. That door again to the cadavers. And the fire fighting equipment. How do I say to Miss Musk don't take me back in there. But we go to a different door.
''This way Mr Christian, you 've been here before.''
"No."
"Are you all right."
"Yes. I'm fine."
"This is the store room where supplies are kept. The laying out room is attached to the embalming room through a corridor there. Mr Vine likes to keep this door locked at all times. Mourners walk out with anything that isn't chained down. They unscrewed all the imported antique crystal door knobs we had. Do you have any preference in the fabric of your socks."
"Wool if possible."
"We have silk too if that might be your preference.''
"No, wool's swell."
Miss Musk's dress rising on the backs of her muscular legs as she bends over a large drawer. Pulled out from under a shelf with compartments across the wall. Two open caskets stand on trestles, one lined in purple the other in crimson. Shoes, shirts, suits. Whole place like a naval store room. If there's silk around ask Miss Musk for a pair of undershorts. What a time to get another hard on. Unrestrained by an undergarment. She's bound to see it.
"These should fit. What size shoe are you.''
''O nine. But I 'm a double A in width.''
Miss Musk holding a dark pair of shoes. Bather pointed in the toes. With a sprinkling of those natty little holes. The kind guys wear on the executive ladder to step on the fingers below. Just bend over slightly. Must never point. An organ. Or she might take it like an insult. When I only mean it as a joy.
"Sit down Mr Christian.''
"Sure."
"Take off your shoes. And give me your coat. See if I can match the buttons.''
Christian taking off his shoes. Musk looking for buttons. Put the socks away back in my pocket. Where they make a nice cold wet impression on the thigh. If you get up one strange female. The organ wants to get up another. Globes of her arse. Mouth watering rotundities. Hear hammers banging. And something being sawn. Vine has turned undertaking into heavy industry.
"How do the shoes fit."
"Fine."
"Here. The buttons aren't exact but you can't really notice."
"Take off your pants."
"I beg your pardon.''
''Don't you want them pressed.''
"I think they're all right"
"Mr Vine likes everyone to have a sharp crease.''
''But this is tweed. Bagginess is de rigueur.''
"I don't know what this rigor is but Mr Vine still likes a crease. It 11 only take me a minute.''
"Miss Musk all I've got is my shirt tails. I was in such a rush this morning to get to work I forgot a lower undergarment.''
r /> "I don't mind. I'm open minded. As naturally you'd expect I would be."
Christian stands unbuttoning his trousers. Miss Musk turning away. Clearing her throat as she pushed back drawers and stacked back shoes. Cornelius's shirt tail draped over his projecting organ. As Miss Musk reaches for the trousers held out to her. Stares me right in the eye. Her skin has peach fuzz. My stiff and naked prick has none.
"Miss Musk I want to thank you very much for doing all this."
"You 're welcome.''
"I guess you really enjoy your work.''
"Yes I do. It's so interesting. And such a privilege to work for such a great man like Mr Vine.''
Miss Musk unfolding an ironing board from the wall. Plugs an electric cord into the two little socket holes. Lays and smoothes out a trouser leg. Takes off her gold bracelet. Sprinkles water on a cloth from a bottle.
"What did you do before you became an undertakeress.''
"I tried to be a model. But I guess I wasn't good looking enough. They said I had the figure but not the face. Then I went back to graduate from high school.''
''I think you 're very good looking.''
"Well thank you."
"Are you athletic."
"Yes very. My best subjects were civics and physical education. I was head of the cheer leading squad and then drum majorette. I won the Bronx twirling championship and the trophy awarded annually by Mr Vine.''
"Really."
"And he offered me a job. I've never regretted it. All the important people you meet. In suite three, the deceased was killed by his wife hitting him with a plank. It was all over the papers she only weighed ninety eight pounds and her husband was two hundred. Wonderful how she did it. And in suite two next to the chapel it's the boy who was murdered by this gang. He was from a good family and home. The gang just stabbed him to death. All over the face and body. Twenty two stab wounds. Mr Vine prepared him. I'll show yon, he looks marvelous. You just couldn't tell where the knife went in. Just let your pants dry a minute.''
Miss Musk hanging Christian's trousers over a casket trestle. Slips her bracelet back on. Turns to face me. I sit my shirt tail poked up. Just like her nose. Her shoulders slightly heaving. As she walks past and locks the other door behind us.
"I wouldn't like any one to walk in Mr Christian while you're like that. So easy for someone to get the wrong idea. If they came in. With all the going and coming today we 've got.''
"Miss Musk can I ask you a question."
"O sure."
"I hope you won't be offended.''
"O I won't be offended."
''Would you hug me.''
"What are you asking. I mean I'm not offended but I don't know whether I could answer a question like that.''
"You mean no, you won't hug me.''
"It's during working hours. And it's kind of fresh. Besides I hardly even know you.''
''It would help you get to know me.''
"Well I don't get sexually excited at the drop of a hat.''
''I was only asking for a friendly touching gesture.''
"You're a fast operator. How do you know I do that kind of thing."
"What thing."
"Hugging."
"Do you."
"Well I think that's my business.''
"Just an endearment, a dalliance while my trousers are drying."
"I don't think you should get so familiar, undressed like that Mr Christian. I know sometimes girls are forward but I'm not that kind of girl, even though I'm very broad minded. But I'm not off ended."
"Then don't stand so far away.''
"Well I 've got to, lordy sakes. I have responsibilities.''
"I admire your fingers. They're so delicately tapered. The soft peach fuzz. You have on your arms and your face haven't you. Please, may I. Just rub it. Please."
"Just ordinary little hairs that's all."
"Please. Come closer.''
"You haven't even dated me.''
"I'd like to. Come on. Just a touch.''
"I'm engaged to be married.''
"Is he an undertaker.''
"No he's a salesman. And maybe I think you've got your nerve. You didn 't seem like that kind of person at all.''
"Miss Musk, I'm an orphan. And just a pampering enfolding caress, sinless and pure often rids me of the awful glooms I sometimes feel."
"Well gee I'm sorry you're an orphan but everybody feels that way once in a while, lordy sakes. People just don't get right away what they want. I'm just surprised. I wouldn't expect that from you being cultured the way you are and coming back from Europe. Such a lousy trick too, to pull on your wife. She was one of the most beautiful deceased we've ever had. Sorry. But that's how I feel. Here maybe you should get your pants back on.''
"This city is against me.''
"No it's not at all. Not if you give of your best. And please don't feel I don't appreciate what you've said to me, I would like it if we got to know each other better. Mr Vine said you were very smart. And that you would go a long way and get right up to the top.''
"And jump off."
"That's cynical."
''What's your first name, Miss Musk.''
"Elaine. My friends call me Peaches.''
"Ah Peaches would that you give me a chuck under the chin at least."
"Can we have an understanding. I would like you to get over your wife's death first. And then.''
"And then."
"Well then. I don't know. But lordy the time. I've got to get back to work.
Trousers creased I watched streams of school children enter Vine's Funeral Parlor. Miss Musk organising them in relays throughout the afternoon. The little attention buzzers ringing. Folk standing in the lobby smoking cigarettes. A squeak in the rest room door as it opened and closed. Miss Musk found me a can and I oiled the hinges. She smiled at me. Made my pecker go up again. Then two little boys approached.
"Mister are you the undertaker.''
"Yes."
"Well we brought our own plant here and we wanted to put it by the casket of our friend who died in there but they wouldn't let us. Could you put it somewhere for us. Everywhere they got all those roses. Guess our plant doesn't look so hot. But we don't have any money for flowers."
"Ok kids. Follow me."
Christian entering the suite. Dead boy with his hands folded one across the other. Entwined with rosary beads. Faintest pink marks on his face. Where the knife went in. The white casket top open under a bower of fern. Red vigil lights burning. A pillow of flowers. A small blond head and wavy hair. Christian taking the plant from its wrapping and placing it center of the green draped altar.
"There you are kids.''
"Thanks a lot mister. He was our best friend. We don't hold no grudge against the killers. Now that he's dead. What good would it do. But we want the police to catch them. And give them their just desserts.''
Darkness falling. Vine leaving his office. Carrying away his rolls of drawings. Miss Musk holding open the front swing doors for him. I checked the temperatures and ushered people to their suites. Took coats and hung them in the little cloak room. Couple of people gave me a quarter. Bead the newspaper on a long visit to the crapper. Where I thought the thoughts of all my dreams. When I would come to this new world. And skim over the highways singing, arms out in a cross in the sun. A land sprinkled with money. Cry out for joy stuffing it in my pockets. And climb into the sky rich and strong. Instead of sitting here. Leaky arsed forlorn. Staring down on the black and white tiles. In this steel grey walled cubicle. So hoping Miss Musk would get down on her knees and take it in the mouth. But everybody wants to blow their own horn instead of yours. No matter how much your melody is laughter sweet.
Passing cars crackling the ice as people dwindled away out into the cold night. Taking their sadnesses home to sleep. Sat starving till ten o'clock when Miss Musk came back with food. In a big brown paper bag. I waited tilted back on a chair against the wall. Folded hands in my lap. Licking my lips as she took out
the neat white little packages. Set them down in their wax paper wrapping. Bolls with slabs of Virginia ham and caraway seeds. A container of hot coffee and cinnamon buns. Two pickles and cardboard trays of potato salad.
"I hope it's o k what I got. Well what a day. So cold out. It's zero. There shouldn't be any more mourners this late. I've locked the front. Now how do you like that, there's the emergency bell. I'll go. Help yourself."
Something strange. Makes you get up. Just as you enjoy a mouthful and it gets lumped in your throat as it squeezes down. Just take a look. Two policemen entering. Politely taking off their caps, standing asking something. Miss Musk points this way. Move my balls to the left side of my trouser leg. I need to pee. All three turning to look at me. What in god's name have I done now. Besides make a carnal suggestion of hugging. Just beginning to feel at home here. Genuinely liking the hushed whispers, the odd little wail. The sorrow, the peace and quiet. The blue uniforms approach.
"You're Cornelius Christian."
"Yes."
"We're police officers. Don't do anything foolish now and put your hands up."
''I beg your pardon.''
"We're arresting you under suspicion of murder. Frisk him Joe."
Christian slowly raising his arms. Miss Musk open mouthed backing away. Officer behind Christian patting him up and down. And over the pockets. From one of which he pulls my still wet lump of socks. A mourner coming out of a suite, her bent head straightens and her handkerchief drops from her face. Takes only a casual incident to knock sorrow for a loop. When you become a prisoner. Other people become free. And look at you.
And
Murmur
Golly
Winikins
9
Squad car siren roaring through the icy streets. Pulls up outside a red brick police station. On the west side of town. Up the stone steps between the twin globes of light. Inside desks and shirt sleeved policemen. And through a very brown door. The bars of cells.