The Toast
The coupe sped around the corner from Woodlawn onto 53rd, its rear end thrown out into a jerky drift by the slick roadway. It was the only sign of life at nine o'clock on a lazy April evening in otherwise roaring times. It skittered and screeched to a stop down the street from the glowing "Q," and the engine died a popping, coughing death. All was still again, except for an accented feminine voice.
"Jesus, Harry, you're gonna get us killed!" screamed the ferret from the passenger seat, desperately trying to fix her hat back on her head. Her claws threatened to tear holes, both in the hat and the upholstery of the seat she was still gripping with focused tenacity.
"Aw, come on, doll," assured the slight fennec from beside her, his paws resting innocently in his lap, even though they had been maneuvering the wheel like a LeMans driver just a minute ago. "I ain't doin' nothin' fancy, just trying to show you a good time, is all."
"Well, you're acting like an idiot," the woman pouted, but Harry could see the hidden smile behind that look. Francine liked the danger of speed just as much as he did, but she would never admit it.
"Besides, we're here anyway," said Harry, opening his door and seeming to melt onto the street, before coming around to Francine's side and doing the same for her. "At least, I'm pretty sure." The fox adjusted his bow tie and smoothed his head fur down, its gelled state rendering the task almost moot. "They change this place every week. Damn shame, is what it is."
Setting her trench back to rights, Francine replied, "You can't help what the govvies do, honey. They wanna make stupid rules, let 'em make stupid rules. You said it yourself, we don't have to follow them."
"And we won't, baby. That's why we're here. To have a little fun, with some of the best swells around. I'm glad they finally let you come. I was gettin' tired being the only stag." Harry gave his girl a light punch on the shoulder, and she giggled all the way out of the car and down the stairs to the door. He knew that two drinks would have her giggling at anything she heard. But that was part of the fun. More drinks would get her doing regrettable things, and that wasn't as much fun...most of the time.
The fennec cleared his throat and rapped a pattern on the door. Three short taps. Two long taps. Two short taps. One long tap. Four short taps.
Almost immediately, a letterbox-sized hole slid open, revealing a pair of opalescent green eyes. Francine jumped back, but Harry never missed a beat.
"Hey, Judd, couldja let us in?"
"What's the password?" came the rumbly reply from the other side. Behind those eyes Harry could hear a rag softly playing, filling the narrow, crowded space with some badly-needed class.
"Don't be a drip, brother. You know I'm on the up and up."
"Ain't never seen you two before in my life. Now fess up or get lost." It wasn't mean, really, but forceful enough to sound so.
The fox turned around with mild exasperation written on his muzzle. "This is so stupid, ya know? Me and him are close, real close. I work with him, down at the plant. You'd think, since we cut up so many cows together, he'd be nicer."
Francine scowled. She didn't like to hear about Harry's work, not recently. Times were tough, though, and a day's wages were more money than they had than yesterday. "Just do it, Harry. You know it, don't you?"
The fennec rolled his eyes at Francine, silently telling her he did but he didn't like it one bit. She lowered her ears and backed down when she saw he was serious. He then turned back to the eyes in the door slot. "You're really gonna make me, buddy?"
The eyes nodded, twin floating peridots.
"Tapioca pudding makes my tummy nummy." And a shudder racked his body; no man who was a man should ever be caught saying a phrase like that. A Grade-A fairytale, that one. This wasn't Frisco, and he wasn't one of them soft boys, either. He had a girl to love him.
The door opened heavily, but the music from inside spilled out onto the stoop, bathing the two outsiders before they were rushed in and secreted away like the rest of the establishment's patrons.
"Q" didn't stand for anything in particular. It was merely a vague moniker, a symbolic emblem of the times, and their desperation for the normalcy of the not-too-distant past. The rag played on, automated notes from a player piano to keep some spirits up and others flowing. The place had class, though not of a type you could recognize right off the bat. More of a kind of invitation-only class, more intimate than a day pub. Though upbeat, the music was subdued, as was conversation. It had to be.
Harry looked around for a moment before spotting three familiar figures seated across the room, in a corner that was darker than it should have been. One, a male wolf, beckoned them with a frantic paw while his female companion made a similar, more ladylike gesture to Francine. The third, a slight and very fruity-looking weasel, drew smoke from a cigarette holder so long it was ridiculous and stereotypical. Taking Francine's paw, Harry navigated them both through the tables and chairs and various swaying tails.
"Heya, guys! So good to have you join us," said the wolf as they approached. "You look absolutely spiffy tonight. How's digs, Frankie?"
"Ned, it's Francine, for the last time. Gee, for someone as rich as you are, you can be a palooka sometimes."
"Ah, lay off, honey," Harry piped up. "He ain't a palooka, he's just funnin'." Addressing Ned, he said, "Things're okay, can't complain if I've got a paying job. Wanna go back to snappin' pictures, but it's not paying no more. Cows'll have to do for now." He was smiling despite all the negative news, and everyone in the group could tell it was for Francine's sake. Keeping up appearances had recently become hard for all of them.
Ned nodded. "If you were qualified, I could hire ya on as a partner at the firm, but...you know. Not even an opening for a secretary. But you wouldn't want a dame's job anyway. Speaking of being rich, take a look at Doris here. Show 'em, honey." The wolfess blushed as if she was embarrassed to show off the ring on her left paw, and damned if that diamond wasn't the size of a croaker.
Francine's eyes, normally dark and pin-like under her bob, became wide with excitement and obvious envy. "Holy Toledo, what a rock! You finally popped the question, you!" exclaimed Francine, ogling the gem. Harry looked on with a little envy of his own. Francine had a thin gold band with an embedded piece of Amazonite. He'd had it shipped straight from Chehabinsk, Russia and everything. Francine was more than happy with it, but ice was ice, and ice was pretty.
"And he thought it would be a good idea to drag us all down here for a surprise," came the weasel with an air of indifference. He sucked a long draw from the cigarette, blowing rings into the air around his head and trying to maintain an air of aloofness.
Ned smiled and said, "You're just miffed 'cause you don't have a guy right now, is all." He got a scowl in response, but nothing more.
"True, but can't you let me have some self-pity?"
"Fine, Les, but it'll only bring you more down than you already are. Just don't spoil it for the rest of us. Well," said the wolf, bringing a bottle from underneath the table, "why don't we have that surprise, eh?"
A collective gasp went up from the group. Even Les put a limp paw to his chest and whistled in a low register. The bottle was placed in the middle of the table for all to see. It was impossible, or damn near, to believe that what Ned had in his paw was the real thing. But it sat there, it glowed there, and it was real. Amazingly, no one else took notice. The label was all in French, but it didn't matter. All that mattered were the eight letters, in big black script, printed across it.
"Absinthe," muttered Harry. "How did you--"
"Straight from Geneva," said the wolf with a wry, lupine smile. "You'd be surprised how a few well-placed business contacts can work in your favor." Even Doris looked just as awestruck as the rest of them.
"Ned, you didn't tell me! Lord, how much did you pay for that?" Her eyes went from the absinthe to her ring and back as if comparing the two as items of equal value. To a bum, maybe they were.
The wolf leaned over while looking at the group and spoke out of the corner of his mouth in a whisper that was way too loud to be taken as secret. "That's not for you to know, dear heart...light of my life. Let's just say it's an extra wedding present, from my friends overseas."
"You always did know how to lay it on thick," muttered Les, who was doing a poor job of hiding his anticipation of imbibing so indulgently with the rest of them.
"You're welcome, you ungrateful son of a gun," said Ned. Les scowled back at him. You could tell they were best friends, the tiff was so transparent. "Shall we?" The glasses were already there on the table, empty as a stock broker's coin purse, waiting to be filled. With reverent care, the wolf poured a small draught into each and raised his own when he finished. The others did the same, a circle of five liquid emeralds, forbidden treasure, secreted away from the aegis of law. Gershwin plinked along happily from the piano, its syncopations gay and reassuring.
"A toast," said Ned. "To life, and the future it holds for all of us. A better one."
Doris said, "To love, and all its ups and downs. Mostly ups."
Francine said, "To the devotion and friendship of others."
Harry said, "To the right to happiness and freedom, for one and for all."
Les viewed the group with faux disgust and mumbled, "To finding that Lindbergh kid, if he's not already a goner. Oh yeah, and to FDR, may he finally come to his senses."
Glass clinked, the high pitch of leaded crystal, and the Green Fairy was born deep in the heart of Chicago.
FIN
4/27-4/30, 5/10/08