simpleton.”
Benchley asked, “What did she say about Clay?”
“Nothing, really. I left before I could ask her.” Dorothy explained how she got fed up with Midge’s implacability. “Mr. Sherwood, I can understand how you said she looks as beautiful as a statue. She’s made of stone, too.”
“What do you mean?” Sherwood asked.
“She looks at the world like a statue would, watching it all pass by without it affecting her in the least,” Dorothy said, in a world-weary mood. “Rains may come and winds may blow, but unless the weather affects her personally, she doesn’t seem to care a whit. She seemed to care very little about Ernie, at any rate.”
“Well, speaking of caring a whit, who would care to wet their whit-stle?” Sherwood asked. He stood up, took his suit jacket off the back of his chair and slid it on. “This has been a long day for you two. I think we could all use a good stiff drink. How about we improve this discussion by continuing it at Tony’s?”
Dorothy groaned. She reminded Sherwood of their debt to Tony Soma.
“All right,” Sherwood said, undaunted. “This is Manhattan during Prohibition. There’s a speakeasy on every corner. How about Jack and Charlie’s? Or Club Durant? Or even the Roxy Grill?”
“I suppose so,” Dorothy said without enthusiasm. “Certainly, you’re right. But it’s not just the drink. Tony’s is our regular place.”
Benchley sighed. “That’s true.”
“Then what?” Sherwood asked.
Dorothy brightened. “Allow me to be optimistic—”
“That’s unlike you,” Benchley said with a gentle twinkle in his eye.
She cast him a superior look and continued. “Allow me to be optimistic and suggest we give Tony’s another try. Perhaps Mrs. Soma and that little devil Tony Jr. are away at their Tuesday afternoon coven, and Tony will take pity on us for just one drink.”
Benchley shrugged. “It’s worth a go.”
But Mrs. Soma herself met them at the door of the speakeasy. She clucked her tongue. “Well, look who it is! Do you have our money?”
Dorothy hesitated. “Actually—”
Mrs. Soma screamed over her shoulder. “Tony Jr.!”
Benchley chuckled. “No need to summon the little dickens. What we were about to say—”
Dorothy interrupted. “What we were about to say is that we have your money.”
“We do?” Benchley said.
“You do?” Sherwood asked.
Mrs. Soma folded her arms across her chest. “What is this? Do you have it or don’t you?”
“We do,” Dorothy said confidently. “I mean, we don’t actually have it on us. Would you like to meet us at the bank around the corner and we’ll withdraw it for you?”
Tony Jr. came running, grinning his wolfish smile. Mrs. Soma wrapped a thick arm around the boy’s narrow shoulders. “Meet you at the bank?” she asked. “Why didn’t you withdraw it before you came here?”
Dorothy leaned in and spoke low. “It’s quite a sum, and we’re not comfortable carrying such an amount of cash. You, on the other hand, have nothing to fear with your own little personal bodyguard.” They both looked down at Tony Jr. “What’s more, you have your car to bring the money home. You’re not obliged to go on foot, as we are.”
“It’s a trick, Ma!” the boy blurted out. “Don’t fall for it.”
“Shut up, you.” She cuffed him on the head. “Do you run this business?”
“But, Ma—!”
“No back talk. Get out and start the car.” She pushed him along.
The boy skipped down the steps, casting a malicious glance up at Dorothy, Benchley and Sherwood.
Now Mrs. Soma leaned in close, holding a stubby finger up to Dorothy’s face. “It’s one thing to try to pull a trick on me, but if you make me look like a fool in front of my little Tony Jr.’s eyes, God help you.”
“God help me?” Dorothy said philosophically. “He already did once today. I don’t want to press my luck.”
Mrs. Soma ignored this. She was already at the bottom of the steps, about to
Benchley asked, “What did she say about Clay?”
“Nothing, really. I left before I could ask her.” Dorothy explained how she got fed up with Midge’s implacability. “Mr. Sherwood, I can understand how you said she looks as beautiful as a statue. She’s made of stone, too.”
“What do you mean?” Sherwood asked.
“She looks at the world like a statue would, watching it all pass by without it affecting her in the least,” Dorothy said, in a world-weary mood. “Rains may come and winds may blow, but unless the weather affects her personally, she doesn’t seem to care a whit. She seemed to care very little about Ernie, at any rate.”
“Well, speaking of caring a whit, who would care to wet their whit-stle?” Sherwood asked. He stood up, took his suit jacket off the back of his chair and slid it on. “This has been a long day for you two. I think we could all use a good stiff drink. How about we improve this discussion by continuing it at Tony’s?”
Dorothy groaned. She reminded Sherwood of their debt to Tony Soma.
“All right,” Sherwood said, undaunted. “This is Manhattan during Prohibition. There’s a speakeasy on every corner. How about Jack and Charlie’s? Or Club Durant? Or even the Roxy Grill?”
“I suppose so,” Dorothy said without enthusiasm. “Certainly, you’re right. But it’s not just the drink. Tony’s is our regular place.”
Benchley sighed. “That’s true.”
“Then what?” Sherwood asked.
Dorothy brightened. “Allow me to be optimistic—”
“That’s unlike you,” Benchley said with a gentle twinkle in his eye.
She cast him a superior look and continued. “Allow me to be optimistic and suggest we give Tony’s another try. Perhaps Mrs. Soma and that little devil Tony Jr. are away at their Tuesday afternoon coven, and Tony will take pity on us for just one drink.”
Benchley shrugged. “It’s worth a go.”
But Mrs. Soma herself met them at the door of the speakeasy. She clucked her tongue. “Well, look who it is! Do you have our money?”
Dorothy hesitated. “Actually—”
Mrs. Soma screamed over her shoulder. “Tony Jr.!”
Benchley chuckled. “No need to summon the little dickens. What we were about to say—”
Dorothy interrupted. “What we were about to say is that we have your money.”
“We do?” Benchley said.
“You do?” Sherwood asked.
Mrs. Soma folded her arms across her chest. “What is this? Do you have it or don’t you?”
“We do,” Dorothy said confidently. “I mean, we don’t actually have it on us. Would you like to meet us at the bank around the corner and we’ll withdraw it for you?”
Tony Jr. came running, grinning his wolfish smile. Mrs. Soma wrapped a thick arm around the boy’s narrow shoulders. “Meet you at the bank?” she asked. “Why didn’t you withdraw it before you came here?”
Dorothy leaned in and spoke low. “It’s quite a sum, and we’re not comfortable carrying such an amount of cash. You, on the other hand, have nothing to fear with your own little personal bodyguard.” They both looked down at Tony Jr. “What’s more, you have your car to bring the money home. You’re not obliged to go on foot, as we are.”
“It’s a trick, Ma!” the boy blurted out. “Don’t fall for it.”
“Shut up, you.” She cuffed him on the head. “Do you run this business?”
“But, Ma—!”
“No back talk. Get out and start the car.” She pushed him along.
The boy skipped down the steps, casting a malicious glance up at Dorothy, Benchley and Sherwood.
Now Mrs. Soma leaned in close, holding a stubby finger up to Dorothy’s face. “It’s one thing to try to pull a trick on me, but if you make me look like a fool in front of my little Tony Jr.’s eyes, God help you.”
“God help me?” Dorothy said philosophically. “He already did once today. I don’t want to press my luck.”
Mrs. Soma ignored this. She was already at the bottom of the steps, about to
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