Pearl: Dish Fairy

Part III of III.  Parts I and II are on the previous days.  Go ahead.  Read them.  We’ll wait.

“What’s going on?”

I look up, and there in the broken kitchen window is Mikey.

Mikey, Ace, Towhead and I had all met some months back in a gasoline-will-take-care-of-those-speed-bumps incident.

Towhead’s head appears alongside Mikey’s.  In contrast to Mikey’s scowling demeanor, Towhead is a meaty blond in constant, happy motion.  He beams down at me.

“Hey!” he says, looking at the cart.  “What are you, the dish fairy?”

“What happened to your plates?”

At this, they both smile.  “Ace!” Mikey bellows.  “Someone here to see you!”

And in a moment, Ace appears at the door.  “Why Miss Pearl!” he exclaims. “You’ve come by to view the damage?”

I look at the broken dishes at my feet.  “What happened here?”

He smiles, shrugs.  “A disagreement."

I smile back, my father’s teachings that a salesman is always pleasant and upbeat.  “That’s a messy disagreement.”

“You didn’t hear anything the other night?”

I shake my head.  “My mom says I sleep like a drunken log.”

Ace nods, rubs the side of his jaw with the back of his hand.  “You got a boyfriend, Pearl?”

I wrinkle my nose.  “Boys are dumb,” I scoff.  And then remembering that this may not be construed as “pleasant”, I smile again.

He laughs.  “So you have a bunch of dishes, I see.  Someone send you here?”

“Nope.  I’m just trying to – “ The words “unload his merchandise” come to my mind, but that doesn’t seem right.  Remembering my father’s advice that adults are always looking for ways of getting children out of the house, I improvise.  “I’m saving to go to camp.”

“Uh-huh,” he says.

“So let me ask you this,” I say, further channeling my father.  “What do I have to do to get you a kitchen full of dishes again?”

Ace erupts into laughter, and I blush furiously.

“How many plates you have left there?”

Ah.  Something I know.  “I’ve got 30 plates, 12 cups and 12 saucers.”

“I tell you what,” he says, “I’ll give you $8 for the whole lot.”

Eight dollars!  I frown, count feverishly on my fingers.  If I sold four plates for a dollar, then 30 of them were worth seven-fifty.  The cups and saucers – well, I didn’t think anyone would really be interested in them.

“Sold,” I say. 

He pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his breast pocket, lights one.  “And,” he says, blowing the smoke toward the sky, “you sweep up this mess and get it into the garbage and I’ll throw in another $2.”

My smile was becoming more genuine by the minute.  “Deal,” I say.

“Towhead!” Ace shouts.  “Bring Pearl here a shovel!”

It was a mess, but it was all on the patio.  I shoveled the broken plates, bowls, glasses, into a large pile.  Towhead met me with another shovel and we dumped it all into a garbage can he pulled from out behind the trailer. 

Ten minutes later, Ace comes out of the house with a ten-dollar bill.  He hands it to me.  “Tell your mom,” he says, “that if she heard the ruckus the other night that I apologize.”

“I’ll do that,” I say. 

I turn to watch Mikey and Towhead take arm loads of crockery into the house.

“Thirty plates is a lot of plates,” I say.

Ace smiles at me.  “Love is funny,” he says.  “Maybe she’ll be back.”

I nod solemnly.  “And if she comes back and makes dinner, she’ll have something to serve it on.”

Ace shakes his head, laughing.  “Yeah,” he says.  “Maybe she’ll make dinner.”

"Or you could give some of them to her."

Ace looks at me strangely.

The cart now empty, I take a step toward him, hold out my hand.  “Thank you, sir,” I say, once again channeling my father.  “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”

We shake, and I leave, dragging the cart behind me.

“Pearl!”

I turn.

Ace holds a hand up.  The streetlight has just come on, and he looks like a statue.  “Take your time growing up,” he calls.

I hold my own hand up.  “OK,” I say.