TAXI GIRL
Chapter Sixteen
At 10 a.m. on Monday, August 19, Tania and Dan rode the yogurt cart from their rented garage to Hensler’s. They went inside the deli and carried out a nine-pound block of dry ice wrapped in butcher paper and four cases of yogurt.
“I never thought riding a bike would be such a pain in the ass; my hemorrhoids are killing me,” said Tania.
They put the block of ice on the bottom of the cart’s cooler and placed the yogurt on top of it. They added twelve plastic sandwich bags filled with blueberries, plus another twelve containing organic raisins and nuts. Dan closed the lid of the cart’s cooler and got on the bike.
“Hop on,” he said.
Tania inched onto the banana seat and put her arms around his waist.
Dan turned onto North Avenue and went over a bump. Tania squeezed him hard and winced.
“OUCH!”
“They’ll be better after tonight.” He turned right onto State Parkway.
Arnie, the Prestige Heating and Air guy, waved them down.
“I’ll have the usual,” he said.
Dan reached inside the cooler and pulled out two strawberry yogurts. Tania got off the banana seat, 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 Dan.
“Tania, is that you?” called someone from the other side of State Parkway.
She turned around.
“Billy Miller! What are you doing here?”
Miller crossed the street.
“Pitching a musical about the Great Chicago Fire to a City Theater board member; I’m calling it Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight. Get it?”
“I got it,” said Tania.
“This is where you picked me up the day we went to the cemetery. Remember?”
“Altgeld; I remember,” said Tania.
“Altgeld Cemetery; I’ll never forget it.”
“No, Graceland Cemetery; Altgeld’s buried there.”
Arnie handed Dan a dollar twenty and whispered, “I think the Big McGaffer’s trying to steal your girl.”
“You remember Dan, don’t you, Billy?” asked Tania. She turned to Dan. “You remember Billy Miller?”
“Every time we fry blood sausage in his cast-iron pan.”
“Do you buy the sausage at Hensler’s?” asked Miller. “Tania and I bought it at Hensler’s. You don’t mind if we have a word, do you?”
“You and me, or you and Tania?” answered Dan.
“Me and Tania.”
“I don’t mind if she doesn’t mind. You don’t mind, do you, Tania?”
“Uh, no,” she said.
“I wish I could stay and see how this soap opera plays out, but America needs heating and air,” said Arnie.
“I’ll be right back,” said Tania. She and Billy Miller walked to the sidewalk across the street.
“You look great!” said Miller.
“Why aren’t you in New Mexico?” asked Tania.
“You look like a bronze goddess.”
“What happened to Portales?”
“You know what I’m thinking?” asked Miller. “I’m thinking about all the parts of you that aren’t tan.”
“What about Illanipi, the Mescalero of New Mexico?”
“What about him?”
Dan rang the bells on the yogurt cart.
“Coming,” called back Tania.
“We did a lot of that, didn’t we, Tania?”
“You haven’t answered any of my questions!”
“I’ll answer them over dinner tonight.”
“Tonight? Tonight, I’ll be standing on my head while Dan squeezes lemon juice on my hemorrhoids because he loves me, and he’s not a bullshitting dumbass.” Tania crossed the street and inched onto the banana seat. She put her arms around Dan.
“I love you.”
Dan leaned his head back.
“I love you too.” He peddled south on State and turned the bike east onto Erie.
At Michigan Avenue, Officer Mulrooney blew his whistle once, extended his left arm and raised his white-gloved hand to northbound traffic. Then he turned his head in the opposite direction and used his right arm to stop the vehicles going south. Traffic in both directions came to a halt, and Dan peddled the cart across the intersection. When the couple got to their usual spot, Tania got off the banana seat to move the yellow and black traffic cone Mulrooney had given them to mark their parking place. Tim Murphy was standing on the curb.
“You’re late,” he said.
Dan parked the cart.
“What’ll it be, Tim?” asked Tania.
“Give me two vanillas and a raisin/nut combo; I like mixing the combo into the yogurt.”
“Where’s Mary?” asked Dan.
“Her bunions are killing her, so I came alone.”
“Where do you two work?” asked Tania.
“City Hall.”
“Isn’t that kind of far from here?” asked Dan.
“Uh . . . not really. It’s good exercise.”
At 11:50, Esther Harris came out of Saks Fifth Avenue and crossed Erie at Michigan. She walked south, stopped and turned around.
“Tania, is that you?”
“Esther! What a nice surprise!”
“I love the cart! Tim Murphy! What are you doing here?”
“You know each other?” asked Tania.
“Everybody knows Tim Murphy; he runs the city.”
Gee, I thought he, like, had an insurance business in that building on Randolph with the creepy loan companies and modeling agencies, reflected Tania.
“Where’s Mary?” asked Esther.
She turned to Tania and Dan.
“Nobody gets to Tim Murphy without going through Mary, and nobody gets anything done in Chicago without going through Tim Murphy.”
“Tim, I didn’t know you were a big shot,” said Tania.
Murphy shrugged his shoulders. “Hey, I’m just a guy who likes yogurt.”
Tania and Dan sold out of everything by 3:15. They packed up, and Tania set the yellow and black traffic cone in the middle of their spot. Dan got on the hard, pointy bicycle saddle.
“I’ll drive home today,” he said.
Tania inched onto the banana seat; Dan headed west on Erie past Michigan Avenue. Both waved to Officer Mulrooney. Dan broke into song.
“Chicago, Chicago, that toddl’ing town.
Chicago, Chicago, I’ll show you around.”
Tania joined in.
“Bet your bottom dollar you lose the blues in
Chicago, Chicago, the town that
Billy Sunday could not shut down.”
Dan turned right onto State.
“OUCH,” said Tania. The couple continued singing.
“On State Street, that great street,
I just want to say,
They do things they don’t do on Broadway. Say!
They have the time, the time of their life.
I SAW A MAN WHO DANCED WITH HIS WIFE
In Chicago, CHICAGO, MY HOME TOWN.”
Dan pulled over to the curb at Elm. He got off the bike, took off his shirt and handed it to Tania.
“Roll this up and put it under your butt.”
“What are you gonna wear?”
“We’re by Clark and Division; nobody gives a shit what I wear.”
The couple got to their apartment around 5 p.m.
“Want some yogurt?” asked Tania.
“Got any vanilla?”
“You never eat vanilla.”
“I know, but it sounded good with raisins and nuts mixed in it.”
Tania put two cartons of vanilla yogurt in a bowl. She handed it to Dan with a quilted place mat, a spoon and a bag of the raisin/nut combo.
“How much longer do you think we can do this?” asked Tania.
“Do what?” asked Dan.
“The yogurt cart.”
“I think at least until the middle of October.”
“We’ll have to get jobs.”
“We could move to Florida and sell yogurt in Miami.” Dan mixed some raisins and nuts into his yogurt; he took a taste.
“That Tim Murphy knows what he’s talking about,” he said. “No wonder he’s a big shot.”
Tania squeezed lemon juice into a bowl. Then she put the juice into an empty red-plastic, tomato-shaped ketchup dispenser with a green nozzle. She set it in the palm of her hand and raised her arm in the air.
“Tell me when you’re ready for this.”
“What’s that?”
“You know—the cure.”
Dan set down his bowl of yogurt.
“I’m ready.”
Tania handed him the ketchup dispenser. She took off her underwear and stood on her head.
The next morning, Tania woke up and went into the bathroom.
“Dan,” she called out, “I’m cured.”
At 10 a.m., Tania and Dan rode the yogurt cart from their rented garage to Hensler’s. They went inside the deli and carried out a nine-pound block of dry ice wrapped in butcher paper and four 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 twelve plastic sandwich bags filled with blueberries, plus another twelve containing raisins and nuts. Tania folded a hand towel and laid it on the hard, pointy bicycle seat. She covered the towel with a quilted placemat she’d hemmed to encase a shoelace. She pulled the two ends of the lace and tied them around the base of the saddle. Dan closed the lid of the cart’s cooler. Tania hopped on the bike; Dan slid onto the banana seat.
“Dan,” she said. “I don’t want to go to Miami. I want to stay here. I want us to do a show.”
“What kind of show?”
“I don’t know, but if that dumbass Billy Miller can do a show, we can do a show.”
