Installment Three

"My boy, there is nothing more satisfying than the hamburger. America's gift to the world. I don't believe we invented it, but we have certainly perfected it and, by that right, can claim it as a native." Arthur Vine covered the last visible portion of meat with a splat from the ketchup bottle and replaced the bun. "Most fortuitous, indeed, young man that you suggested a bit of repast when met, for, I am not proud to say, many are the nights when the subject of solid food has slipped my mind. I have regretted it the next day, you can be sure. You have saved me dear boy, saved me indeed, from that most distressing combination of all mortal states, hunger and sobriety." Vine picked up the hamburger and took a large bite.
Norvell Kees brushed a wisp of blonde hair from his forehead and watched Vine. A small, unadorned salad sat before him. "Mr. Vine," he said, quietly, "It is my pleasure to eat with you. I have great respect for the work you've done. More importantly, I think we can help each other."
Vine put down his half eaten sandwich, wiped his mouth and smiled. "My how serious you are, and direct. You remind me of an old vaudeville act, Sober Sue. Well, not an act, really. Old Tony Pastor had her in the lobby of the Palladium for a week. He offered a thousand dollars to anyone who could make her laugh. We all tried, by God. Comics from all over the city. No one could do it," he said chuckling, his body shaking. "Well, it appears that she had some sort of paralysis of her facial muscles. The poor dear couldn't smile if she wanted to. My boy, it's a fine line between showman and charlatan."
Kees smiled wanly.


A heavy silver cross with gems at each point and an agonized Jesus in the center hung from the neck of the middle-aged woman who awaited their order. Mabel looked down at the menu briefly and back up at the waitress. "I'll have the John the Baptist platter--and make it bloody." Mabel couldn't make out the women's eyes from behind the reflected light of the glasses, but her cheeks seemed to sag.
"Excuse me," she said softly and walked from their table into the kitchen.
"Now, that wasn't nice, was it?" Paul said, looking down at his menu.
"I know," she said, "She didn't even wait for your order." Paul shook his head, then took a drink.

Mabel speared a thick, red square of steak and held it before her face. "My daddy, in his whole life, never had a piece of meat like this. He was a coal miner, you know. He died in a huge mine blast with 243 other men and boys when I was six. It destroyed my Mother. She couldn't let him go. Every day for the next nine years she walked down to the shaft with a wagon and carried back a pile of coal. She was looking for a trace of Daddy, I guess--A ring, his watch, I don't know. She sifted through buckets and buckets of coal. She never found anything. When she died, I gave the coal to the church. It must have lasted them a year. I didn't stay around to find out. I went to live with my Aunt in California. My uncle grows oranges."
Paul looked watched her pull the meat off an artichoke heart with her teeth and marveled at her feeding skills. He was quick and efficient with his meals, but she combined a voracious appetite with a simian dexterity. Paul made use of several napkins during a meal, impatiently reaching to an empty table for an extra setting if no waiter were in sight. Mabel would not waste butter on insensate cloth but would lick it cleanly from her fingers and only then make use of her napkin. Yet she was not ill-mannered. She was simply engaged absolutely with her meal.
"Coming to California from West Virginia was like dying and going to heaven, you know. I loved the orange farm. The colors, honey----blue, green, orange and white--and the sun, daddy, gorgeous." She drained her glass of wine and looked around for the waiter. "I'd like to know if I were going to die, so I could say good-bye to everyone--and give a piece of my mind to all the people that have done me wrong."
Paul smiled and asked, "There's someone somewhere who's in doubt?"
"Well, anyway, it seems kind of unfair to die the way daddy did, don't you think? You know, the last thing you experience being a big blast of pain, no chance to make up for it, in this life, at least. Personally, I think he's a ghost somewhere--you know, people who die like that, their souls can't leave the earth."