TAXI GIRL
Chapter Fifteen
At 10 a.m. on Monday, June 3, Tania and Dan rode the yogurt cart from their rented garage to Hensler’s. They went inside the deli and carried out a seven-pound block of dry ice wrapped in butcher paper and two cases of yogurt. They put the block of ice on the bottom of the cart’s cooler and placed the yogurt on top of it. They added eight plastic sandwich bags filled with cherries plus another eight containing a combo of organic raisins and nuts. Dan closed the lid of the cart’s cooler and got on the bike; Tania hopped on the banana seat, and they headed east to North Avenue. Dan turned right onto State Parkway and peddled south. A guy getting into a parked Prestige Heating and Air truck called out.
“What’s YOG-urt?”
“It’s a fermented dairy product,” called back Tania.
The heating and air guy shouted, “Lady, at my house, we call that sour milk.”
On the other side of the street, a group of boys carrying towels and an army blanket were heading toward North Avenue Beach.
They pointed at the cart and chanted, “Sour milk, sour milk, sour milk.”
Then one of them held his nose and switched it up.
“Pee-ew. Pee-ew.”
The others held their noses and joined in.
“Pee-ew. Pee-ew. It stinks.”
Farther down State, the driver behind them beeped the horn of his black Jaguar XJ-S convertible and yelled, “What’s ya-GURT?”
“It’s delicious and good for you,” shouted back Tania.
“Will it make me lose weight?”
“Maybe.”
“Pull over.”
Tania and Dan parked the cart at the curb in front of the next stop sign. The driver pulled over behind them and got out of his car.
“What flavor do you want?” asked Tania.
“Whaddya got?”
“Strawberry, blueberry and vanilla.”
“Gimme one of each.”
“We also sell cherries.”
“I’ll take some of those too.”
“How ’bout some organic raisins and nuts?”
“Sure. Is this stuff gonna give me the shits?”
“Yes, if you eat all of it at once.” Tania handed the customer his items one at a time.
“It’s fifty cents for each yogurt, twenty for the cherries, and forty for the raisin/nut combo. That comes to two dollars and ten cents.”
Dan lifted the door to a compartment on the nose of the cart. He pulled out a spoon wrapped in a paper napkin and gave it to the customer.
“Here’s five bucks; keep the change,” said the man.
He got in his convertible and pulled away from the curb. At the stop sign, he leaned across his front seat and turned to Tania and Dan.
“I envy you two.”
The cab behind him honked, and he drove off.
Dan turned the bike east onto Erie and parked it in an open spot near Michigan Avenue on the south side of the street. It was 11:30 a.m. At 11:35, a trio of secretaries came out of the entrance to their office building.
“What’s it gonna be, girls?” said one of them. “Ladies’ sizzlers at the Barbeque and Beer or double cheeseburgers at the hot dog stand?”
“I’m starting to look like ten pounds in a five-pound bag,” responded a second.
“Me too,” said the third.
The trio stopped in their tracks when they saw the cart.
“What’s jogert?” asked one of them.
“I think it’s French and pronounced yo-gay,” said another.
They turned east and walked on.
“No, it’s pronounced yo-gurt. I just read an article about it in Cosmo,” said the third.
The threesome talked among themselves, turned around and came back to the cart. One of them addressed Tania.
“Do you eat this stuff?”
“Yes, I do.”
Another tilted her head in Dan’s direction.
“Does he?”
“Yes, he does.”
“Well then, we want to eat it too.”
By 3:30 p.m., Tania and Dan had sold eighteen cartons of yogurt and all but three bags of cherries; they still had five bags of raisins and nuts. Tania got on the bike, and Dan slid his butt onto the banana seat. She headed west on Erie, then turned right onto State. They crossed Division and continued north. The now shirtless and wet-headed boys from earlier in the day were heading south on State Parkway. They stopped, turned around and chased the cart for the two blocks between Goethe and Schiller.
“Sour milk, sour milk, sour milk,” they chanted.
“Pee-ew. Pee-ew. It stinks.”
Tania peddled faster.
“IT DOESN’T STINK. IT’S DELICIOUS, AND IT’S GOOD FOR YOU,” she screamed. She turned left at North Avenue and cycled to Hensler’s.
At 11:30 a.m. two weeks later, Michael Chappelle looked out the window of his third-floor office at the Michigan Avenue Retail Business Association. He lowered his gaze to the street below and caught sight of Tania and Dan at their usual spot on Erie Street. He called out to his secretary.
“Virginia, could you come here for a moment?”
She complied. Chappelle pointed at Tania, Dan and the cart.
“Who are they, and what the hell is that?”
“It’s a yogurt cart; they sell yogurt. They started about the time you went to Provincetown. She doesn’t wear a bra; the men love it. And the women call him Dreamy Dan, the Yogurt Man. Some guys from the other side of the bridge called to see if it was true.”
“If what was true?”
“That we had models selling yogurt at lunchtime.”
About fifteen minutes later, Tania and Dan held up a placard that read YOGURT–WHAT IS IT, AND WHY IS IT GOOD FOR YOU? Passersby stopped and gathered. The couple leaned the sign against the cart, and each held up a carton of yogurt.
“It’s nutritious,” said Dan.
“It’s delicious,” said Tania. She opened her container, scooped out some yogurt with her fingers and rubbed it into Dan’s scalp.
“It makes your hair thick and healthy.”
Dan took some yogurt from his carton and applied it to Tania’s face.
“It makes your skin smooth and silky.”
Tania smiled.
“And it fights wrinkles,” said Dan.
Tania put her hands on her hips.
“I don’t have wrinkles.”
“And you won’t if you keep putting yogurt on your face.”
Tania rubbed her tummy.
“It’s good for digestion,” she said.
Dan picked her up, tossed her onto his shoulders fireman-style and then asserted, “. . . and a good source of protein.”
Tania raised her head and made a peace sign with her fingers.
“Here’s to peace, love and yogurt.”
The crowd applauded, except for a policeman with MULROONEY written on his nameplate. Dan set down Tania, and they toweled off their faces and hair. A line formed to buy yogurt, and the cop moved in on the couple. He addressed Dan and took a side glance at Tania’s tits.
“Can I see your peddler’s licenses?”
Dan and Tania showed him the gold-colored metal medallions they had pinned to their shorts.
“Well, you can’t peddle here.”
“But we’re on the south side of Erie, not the north,” said Dan.
“Well, you can’t park here.”
“Why?”
“There’s been a complaint; you’ve gotta move along.”
Tania pursed her lips; tears streamed down her cheeks. Someone in the crowd yelled out.
“Leave ’em alone.”
The rest of the crowd took up the call.
“Yeah, leave ’em alone. Leave ’em alone.”
“Who complained?” asked Dan.
Mulrooney looked up to the third-floor windows of the Michigan Avenue Retail Business Association. Dan, Tania and the crowd looked up too. Michael Chappelle jerked back from his office window and closed the blinds.
At 10 a.m. the next day, Tania and Dan rode the yogurt cart from their rented garage to Hensler’s. They went inside the deli and carried out a seven-pound block of dry ice wrapped in butcher paper and two and a half cases of yogurt. They put the block of ice on the bottom of the cart’s cooler and placed the yogurt on top of it. They added eight plastic sandwich bags filled with cherries plus another eight containing organic raisins and nuts. Dan closed the lid of the cart’s cooler and got on the bike; Tania hopped on the banana seat, and they headed east to North Avenue. Dan turned right onto State Parkway and peddled south. He turned the bike east onto Erie, then south onto Fairbanks. He parked in an open spot on the north side of Ontario, near St. Clair. It was 11:30 a.m. A passerby stopped.
“What’s yo-urt?” he asked.
On Wednesday, June 19, at 1:45 p.m., Michael Chappelle’s secretary, Virginia, put a caller on hold; she rang her boss on another line.
“Tim Murphy from the mayor’s office is on the phone for you.”
Chappelle leaned back in his Knoll Saarinen rolling executive chair. Well, well, well. Look who’s calling me, he thought.
“Put him through,” said Chappelle.
“Are you the guy?” asked Tim Murphy. Murphy covered the mouthpiece of the phone with his hand and called out, “Hey, Mary, what’s that shit they sell?”
His secretary got up from her desk and walked into his office.
“Yogurt,” she answered.
Murphy took away his hand. “Are you the guy that got rid of the yogurt cart on Erie?”
“Why, yes, I am.”
“Listen to me, you dumbass motherfucker, it’s a long walk from here to there, and I don’t like being disappointed. I want that girl without the bra back at her spot, and I want her there tomorrow.”
“And the boyfriend, too,” whispered Mary.
“. . . and the boyfriend, too. You got that, asshole?” Murphy thrust the phone receiver into its cradle and, for a flash, saw himself driving the yogurt cart with Tania on the banana seat, pressing her nipples into his back.
At 2:30 p.m. that same day, Tania and Dan were at their parking spot on Ontario, holding up the placard that read YOGURT–WHAT IS IT, AND WHY IS IT GOOD FOR YOU?
At 3:25, the couple started packing up. They had sold twenty-one cartons of yogurt and all but two bags of cherries; they still had four bags of raisins and nuts.
“Better than yesterday, but not as good as before,” said Dan.
Tania got on the bike, and Dan slid his butt onto the banana seat. She headed west. At the intersection of Ontario and Michigan, Officer Mulrooney blew his traffic whistle once, then signaled for them to stop and pull over to the curb.
“Now what?” muttered Dan.
Oh shit, thought Tania.
Mulrooney took the whistle out of his mouth.
“They want you back at your parking spot on Erie tomorrow; I’ll make sure it’s open.”
“Who’s they?” said Dan.
Mulrooney turned away. He headed back to the intersection and stood sideways to the cart. He pointed his finger at the couple and gave two short blasts on his whistle. Then he flipped up his palm and swung his arm past his chin. The whistle dropped from his mouth.
“Move along,” he shouted. “Move along.”
