He was already salivating. The hot, fat corned beef on fresh rye was what he wanted, craved far more than anything in the world–at that moment. His wife, Sadye, sat across from him at Mac’s lunch room. Her choice was extra thin blueberry pancakes, a short order. They came before Marshall’s sandwich and were already getting cold. Putting her hand on Marshall’s arm, she pleaded with him to eat slowly. ‘You know what gorging does to you. Let’s both of us not get upset.’ Too late, she was already upset by his order. ‘Sadye, I’m telling you once only, keep quiet or move to another table.’ She gets the drift of his vehemence and moves across the aisle where she can turn her back to him. Their waitress hears the melee, takes the pancakes back to the kitchen to be nuked, be made edible again.
A low gurgling sound alarms Sadye. Her Marshall is gagging, is about to throw up. Without asking him, she swoops up the fat, over-loaded sandwich, puts it out of her husband’s sight, empties the paper napkin holder and wets several with her iced tea to wipe his sweating forehead. Her presence of mind calms him enough so he can lean back on his chair and spot the sandwich at Sadye’s table. Like a pouting five year old, he demands, ‘Give me make my sandwich, Witch.’ She gives it to him alright, right in his face!
My god! The waiters, waitresses come running. The big boss calls the police. Sadye tells the boss her husband will pay for any damage and maybe for the divorce. With that she huffs out, leaving her husband picking pieces of corned beef out of his hair. The two policemen arrive so quickly, Marshall is still sitting where he was, so flabbergasted he can’t even explain the situation. The police place no charges against him but want to give his wife a good talking to. ‘Don’t bother. As much as I would like to murder her, I won’t.’
Sadye is sitting in the car with all the windows open. There is no breeze going thru and her blouse is soaked with sweat. A thick wall of anger stands between them, one that just may never tumble. They don’t speak, don’t even glance at each other. After driving a few blocks it is Marshall who breaks the silence. ‘Close the windows, Dumbhead. I’ve got the A.C. on. What do you expect of me. I should cool all of S. Lombard Ave?’ ‘Close them yourself, Mr. Fathead. All you have to do is push two buttons.’ The windows rise one at a time. Two tempers lower slowly.
Sadye starts to cry, reaching a crescendo that sounds like Marshall is strangling her. She makes an effort thru her sobs to explain. You know, Marshal why I did it, don’t you?’ ‘No, Shmeggeggie, I don’t. Tell me.’ She tells him. “ I did it because I love you so much.’ He is dumbfounded. ‘’That was love? What would you do to me if you hated me?’ Taking only a moment to think of something, she tells him she would probably kill him. ‘But I do love you, even if you are way too fat and have a bad case of acid reflux. Dr. Kalman has warned you fat food will do you in.’
‘Keep still a minute, Marshall. Look what our waitress gave me, my totally uneaten pancakes. I’ll warm them and we can eat on the patio.
Bend over towards me a little. Let me take the piece of pickle out from behind your ear.’
No comments:
Post a Comment