TAXI GIRL
Chapter Eighteen
Dan slept all day on Sunday. At 5 p.m., Tania brought him a cup of slippery elm tea.
“Do you wanna see a doctor?” she asked.
“No,” answered Dan. He rolled over and went back to sleep.
At 10 a.m. on Monday, August 26, Tania peddled the yogurt cart from the rented garage to Hensler’s. She went inside the deli. Then she and Herman Hensler carried out a nine-pound block of dry ice wrapped in butcher paper and four cases of yogurt. He put the block of ice on the bottom of the cart’s cooler, and she placed the yogurt on top of it. They added twelve plastic sandwich bags filled with blueberries, plus twelve containing raisin/nut combos. She closed the lid to the cart’s cooler and got on the bike.
Tania turned right onto State Parkway. Arnie, the Prestige Heating and Air guy, waved her down.
“I’ll have the usual,” he said. “Where’s Dan?”
“His throat’s bothering him,” answered Tania. She reached inside the cooler and pulled out two strawberry yogurts. She opened the compartment on the nose of the cart and handed Arnie a plastic spoon wrapped in a paper napkin.
“Still got blueberries?” he asked.
“Yeah,” said Tania. She handed him a bag.
Arnie paid her.
“Tell Dan I hope he feels better.”
“I will,” answered Tania. Then she peddled south on State and turned east on Erie.
At Michigan Avenue, Officer Mulrooney blew his whistle once, extended his left arm and raised his white-gloved hand to northbound traffic. He turned his head in the opposite direction and used his right arm to stop vehicles going south. When traffic in both directions came to a halt, he signaled Tania to peddle the cart across the intersection.
“Where’s Dan?” he shouted out.
“He’s not feeling well,” she called back.
When Tania got to the couple’s usual spot, she got off the bike and moved the yellow and black traffic cone Mulrooney had given them to mark their space. She parked the cart; it was 11:30 a.m. Tim Murphy and Mary showed up a few minutes later.
“Where’s Dan?” asked Mary.
“He’s not feeling well,” answered Tania.
“That’s too bad,” said Tim.
At 3:15, someone Tania had never seen before approached the cart.
“What flavors have you got?” he asked.
“Strawberry, blueberry and vanilla,” answered Tania.
“No plain?” he asked.
“I do have a plain.”
“I’ll have that; it’s not your private stash, is it?”
Tania did not respond.
“Your silence says it all.”
Tania reached inside the cart’s cooler and pulled out a plain yogurt.
“Here, you can have it; I’m through for the day.” She handed him the carton. Then she opened the compartment on the nose of the cart and pulled out a plastic spoon wrapped in a paper napkin.
“Thanks,” he said. “Do you have anything to go with this? I’ve been at a publisher’s meeting since nine this morning, and I’m starving.”
“Didn’t they give you any lunch?”
“No, they’re very cheap; they publish textbooks. All they gave me was bad coffee and a dried-up danish.”
“I’ve got three bags of organic raisins and nuts and one of fresh blueberries.”
“Are you saving the blueberries for yourself?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll take them and the three bags of raisins and nuts. So, out of curiosity, how’d you wind up doing this?”
“My boyfriend came up with the idea.”
“Where’s he now?”
“At home; he’s not feeling well,” answered Tania. “Out of curiosity, what was the name of the publisher?”
“Pottawatomie.”
“Pottawatomie! I used to work for them. What’s your name?”
“Ron Silverman.”
“You wrote Cultural Lag: Fact or Fiction!”
“Yes, I did.”
Tania pointed to herself.
“I wrote the copy on the back cover.”
“And you are . . . ?”
“Tania Wildman.”
“And you’d rather do this than write the copy on the back cover of someone else’s book?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t blame you.”
Tania started packing up.
“Well, it was nice meeting you, Tania Wildman. I’m going back to Minneapolis tomorrow, so I guess this was our Shangri-La.”
“YOU’RE FROM MINNEAPOLIS?”
“Originally from Brooklyn, but, yeah, now I live and work in Minneapolis.”
“I’m from Minneapolis. Where do you work?”
“At the university.”
Tania got on the bike.
“Well, bye, Ron Silverman.”
“You know, I’d ask you to dinner if you didn’t have a boyfriend.”
“. . . and I’d say yes . . . if I didn’t have a boyfriend . . . but I do.”
Tania headed west on Erie past Michigan Avenue. She waved to Officer Mulrooney. Then she turned right onto State and started singing.
“Land of the silver birch, home of the beaver,
Where still the mighty moose wanders at will.
Blue lake and rocky shore, I will return once more.
Boom di-di eye di, boom di-di eye di, boom di-di eye di boom.”
Right before Division, Tania passed the spot where Dan pulled the bike over to the curb when she had hemorrhoids; she heard his voice in her head.
Here, roll this up and put it under your butt.
Around 4:30 p.m., Tania parked the cart in the garage she and Dan rented. She spotted yellow stains on the floor from when Dan painted the cart the day after she was mugged and a strand of red thread.
I feel ashamed that I got mugged, she remembered saying.
I feel the same way about my father going to jail, she heard Dan respond.
Tania got to her and Dan’s apartment around 5 p.m. She opened the front door and sang.
“When I’m calling you
Oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo
Will you answer too?
Oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo
You’ll belong to me
Ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee
I’ll belong to you
Oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo.”
There was no answer. He must be asleep. Tania walked to the bedroom. Dan wasn’t there. She went back to the living room. A pile of money was on the gateleg table. A note was next to it.
“Gone back to the nuthouse. Don’t try and find me. Dan.”
The next day, Tania sat in her upholstered chair, smoking cigarettes and joints from 8:06 a.m. until 6:43 p.m. At 6:45, she ate a carton of vanilla yogurt sprinkled with organic raisins and nuts.
At 10 a.m. the following day, she rode the cart from the rented garage to Hensler’s. She went inside the deli.
“Where were you yesterday?” asked Herman Hensler. “Did something happen?”
“Dan’s gone.”
“I see.”
“I’m gonna need to move. Do you have a studio?”
“Not until October. Stay in the one bedroom until then and pay what you did for your studio,” said Hensler. He went to a freezer, got out a nine-pound block of dry ice and wrapped it in butcher paper.
“Mr. Hensler, that’s so kind of you.”
The pair took out four cases of yogurt from a glass-door refrigerator; Tania was crying.
“Let’s get this outside,” said Hensler.
Herman Hensler put the block of ice on the bottom of the cart’s cooler, and Tania placed the yogurt on top of it. She added eight Red Delicious apples plus twelve bags of raisin/nut combo. She closed the lid of the cooler and got on the bike.
Tania turned right onto State Parkway. Arnie, the Prestige Heating and Air guy, waved her down.
“I’ll have the usual,” he said. “Dan’s still sick?”
“I’m gonna be doing the cart by myself from now on,” answered Tania. She reached inside the cooler and pulled out two strawberry yogurts. She opened the compartment on the nose of the cart and handed Arnie a plastic spoon wrapped in a paper napkin.
“Got any blueberries?” he asked.
“No, but I’ve got apples.”
“I’ll take one,” said Arnie.
Tania handed him a Red Delicious. He took a bite.
“Millions saw the apple fall, but Newton was the one who asked why,” quoted Arnie.
Why? That’s what I’d like to know, thought Tania. She peddled south on State and turned east on Erie.
Three weeks later, Tania drove her cart west on Erie past Michigan Avenue at 3:33 p.m. She waved to Officer Mulrooney, then turned right onto State. She headed north and then west to her rented garage. She parked the cart inside and headed home.
Tania walked up the stairs of her apartment building to the third floor. As she came closer to her front door, she heard the telephone ringing inside her apartment. She unlocked the door, raced into the living room and picked up the receiver.
“Hello.”
“Tania, it’s Maria. Daddy got hit by a car. You need to come home right away.”
Tania crammed stuff into a carpet bag from Vintage Values. Then she reached under the top drawer of Dan’s bureau and pulled down two envelopes she’d taped to the underside. In them was the cash he’d left on the gateleg table. She put it in the wallet he bought her after hers was stolen, stuffed the wallet into her fairly new shoulder bag and headed out her front door with the carpet satchel in tow.
Tania made her way to Armitage. She flagged down a taxi and got inside.
“O’Hare Airport,” she said.
