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The Diva and the Dame.
by P.A.Bines
Based on characters created by E.F.Benson.
This story (c) 1999 P.A.Bines
With apologies to Damon Runyan, of whose writing style this is a
poor parody.
I am enjoying an Apple Strudel and a coffee in Mindy's when suddenly I
see Olga the Voice sit down opposite me and ask me how I am. Now, I'm not
normally one for the cheery chit chat and smalltalk, especially not at
this time of the morning and especially not after the sort of night I have
had and so I try to ignore her. However, Olga the Voice is not the sort
of person you can ignore, her being what you would call a sizable dame
in most respects and an opera singer as well, which means a big voice that
carries.
It may surprise you to learn that I am not a regular attendee at the
opera, the horses being more likely to attract my interest, but apparently
Olga the Voice is a big-shot in the world of the singer and there are guys
who would be honored to meet her socially. I know her mostly from her regular
visits to a certain gin joint downtown, where the songs she sings are very
far from opera, but which are enjoyed by the regular clientele when they
have had a few which they usually have by the time Olga the Voice shows
up.
It so happens that I need to leave the city for a while, following
a disagreement concerning the winner of the 3.30 at Belmont, and, for the
sake of something to talk about, I ask her if she has any suggestions as
to where I can go until the heat dies down. I figure that, given that most
opera is Italian and the guys I had the disagreement with are Italians,
Olga the Voice might have some useful ideas on where to go that Italians
would not think to find me.
Well, she makes a suggestion and after a little consideration (and
a slug of bourbon in my coffee; this is not my usual morning refreshment,
however as Olga the Voice happens to have a small flask hidden in her pocket-book,
and as she offers it to me I feel I can not refuse), I take her suggestion
and pretty soon I find myself in the town of Tilling, which is famed across
the state of New York for it's fairground which, it is said, is greater
than any other in the country, although I have my doubts, being a regular
visitor to Coney Island and having many friends there who would be most
upset if I thought otherwise.
Anyway, I am in Tilling and I am taking some refreshment in a dive
called "Diva's" , catching up on the sporting news as it were, when I am
disturbed by a small group of guys and dames entering. I put down the pastry
I am attempting to eat, (which is, it appears, a good idea, given that
it is supposed to be a sardine tartlet but if it has sardines in it then
I feel sorry for the sardine as it is not like any sardine I have ever
tasted and as for the pastry, it is hard and soft all at the same time
and my digestion is not built to cope with it), and call over the dame
who has been serving me. "Who are that mob?" I enquire, although I ask
in more gentilmanly language than that, as this dame behaves like one of
the delicate sorts even though she is bult like the sturdier type of dame
and the dame tells me that is is the Mayor of the town and the Mayoress
and two of their friends. Well, I have reason to take this as being a joke,
as the guy she points out does not seem like the Mayoral type as his hair
is a bit too red and a bit too fake for him to be a decent guy. I
am mistaken however as when I point this out to the dame, (who, it turns
out, is the owner of the joint), she tells me that it is the dame she is
pointing at, not the wig wearing gent. This, on further thought, seem to
be more likely as the tall dark haired dame she now points to does seem
more in charge and so I ask about the other pair. It seems that the other
dame is the Mayoress and the guy is a retired major, though he looks like
a lush to me and I should know, having seen more than a few back on Broadway,
that being a place to see that sort of person.
The mob goes in to a separate room and I recognise this as meaning
there is a game on so, feeling in need of a game of chance, having been
prevented by my absence from participating in those activities I would
normally partake of, I ask the serving dame if I could join the group,
telling her that I am an authority on games of chance and she goes off
to ask and when she comes back it is to say yes and I join them.
Now, there's some local bylaw that states that card games cannot be
played for cash money in unlicensed premises and, from the way this mob
are hidden away I take a guess that these premises are not licensed. It
strikes me that perhaps someone like the Mayor should not be breaking the
bylaws but I decide not to mention this as to do so would mean I wouldn't
be able to play and besides it was their town and they could break what
they liked as long as it wasn't anything I might need or want, like a leg
or an arm. I have been to this sort of event before and have seen some
unfortunate things happen to guys who asked the wrong questions and I have
learnt not to be too inquisative when not on my home patch.
It worries me not a little (and as any guy on Broadway will tell you,
should you happen to ask them, I do not worry easily) when I hear some
of the party assembled speaking in Italian, and I wonder if joining this
game might be a bad move given my recent difficulties with others who also
speak Italian on a regular basis, but I realise that Olga the Voice, knowing
my difficulties, would not have recommended this place for me if she knew
that there would be any friends of the Italian speakers I have a problem
with here present and soon I realise that the Italian being spoken at this
table is pretty poor stuff and that the speakers are only playing with
it and so I calm down somewhat.
I lay my stake on the table and the Mayor dame starts to deal. Now,
I have a pair of deuces and I am wondering if I should play or fold when
the dame that owns the joint hurries in again, all nervous and worried
and announces that the local constabulary is outside wanting to talk to
the Mayor, at which everyone starts to panic and worry about being sent
to the slammer and so forth. When I say everyone, however, I do not mean
the Mayor. The Mayor dame is playing it cool; she drapes the table cloth
over the table, cards and all, and tells the dame Diva to show in the member
of Tilling's finest.
Now, I am naturally nervous when the guys with the uniforms are on
the scene and when this one shows his face I find myself shaking not a
little and the cards, which I had placed on my lap under the table fall
on to the floor in full view of the copper and the mob sat around. As I
bend down to pick them up I knock the table and the tablecloth and pretty
soon all the cards are on show, and the stake in front of each person as
well and some high stakes they were too. The Mayor dame gives me a hard
stare and I get the feeling that here is not the place to be and now is
not the time and I am reminded of the discussion that caused me to come
here for a few days. The flatfoot, however, pays no attention to the game
of poker now revealed; it turns out that the paper is some sort of document
that requires the Mayor's signature. The copper puts a sheet of paper in
front of the Mayor dame, who signs it. In doing this, the copper has to
move some of the cards aside, and I can hear the dame sitting next to me
take a deep breath and hold it, which made her even redder in the face
than she was already (and, by the way, redder than the toupee on the guy
I first thought was not the Mayor.)
Anyway, the flatfoot leaves after apologising for interrupting the
game and the cards are picked up and redealt, which is a great shame as
it see from the overturned cards that I had the best hand there and would
have done well to stay in. The atmosphere around the table is not the same
however, and after a couple of hands I quit the game and make my excuses.
After a few days I return to my home in the city and I find myself
back in my regular joint enjoying a bagel and a coffee, and studying the
form in the newspaper when who should show up but Olga the Voice. She is
obviously going to engage me in cheery chit chat again, but this time I
am amenable to partaking of such an activity and so I invite her to sit
down and join me with the bagel, which she does.
Something I should point out is that Olga the Voice is from England
and it is sometimes hard to understand what she says but it gets easier
when she has been over here for a while and it appears that she must have
been here for a while as I can understand her every word which makes a
change. She asks me how I enjoyed my trip and so I tell her, knowing
that she enjoys a good story as well as the next guy. She roars with
laughter and says that if that isn't the funniest thing she's heard this
year then she doesn't know what is, it is so like some friends of hers
in England and would I mind if she told another friend of hers in England
as he is an author and he'd love to use that story in some book.
Well, I am a gentleman, (or at least the nearest you'll find in this
street) and so I agree and the next thing I know she sends me a book by
some English guy and tells me to read Chapter 5 which I do.
My version is better though and I write and say so and he writes back
and says that he's sure I am right but that he had to change it a bit to
make it fit his book so I let him off, though I warn him not to go to Tilling
any time soon or the Mayor might go for him, she seeming to be a dangerous
dame who he would not want to meet and he agrees.
Mind you, he got it right about those Sardine pastries.
-O-
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