Espresso Tales - Alexander Hanchett Smith [105]
“Oh,” said Tofu. “Well, let’s set off anyway.”
Tofu informed his father that they needed to go to the bathroom, and off the two of them went. After a few paces, Bertie deviated, and ran across to the counter where hot-dogs were being sold. Ordering a large one, he paid for it and squeezed a lavish helping of tomato sauce onto the top of the frankfurter. Then, his precious warm cargo wrapped up, he ran off to make contact with Tofu.
They completed the transaction beside a washbasin. Tofu quickly removed his jeans and slipped into the crushed-strawberry dungarees vacated by Bertie. And Bertie, his breath coming in short bursts from the sheer excitement of it, donned the jeans handed to him by Tofu. Both garments were a perfect fit on their new owners. Then, the exchange completed, Tofu wolfed down the hot-dog, licking every last drop of tomato sauce off his fingers. Then he belched with satisfaction.
“Thanks, Bertie,” he said. “That was really good. Now let’s get back to my dad.”
“Won’t he notice that I’m wearing your jeans?” asked Bertie.
“Never,” said Tofu. “He doesn’t care what I wear. He never notices. He’s too busy thinking about nuts and carrots.”
They rejoined the bowling group and enjoyed a further half hour of intensive bowling. Bertie did not do badly for one who had never bowled before, coming second to Tofu. Merlin came last, but said that this was because he had a sore wrist and he would probably have come first had he been uninjured. Hiawatha said nothing about the result.
220 Bruce’s Enterprise
Bertie was fetched and taken home by Irene, who remained tight-lipped about the outing and did not ask her son how it had gone. Bertie, realising that his presence at the party was a defeat for her and a victory for his father, tactfully made no mention of how much fun he had had, and talked instead of a saxophone piece he was preparing for his next music examination. Then, when they were driving back down Lothian Road, Irene suddenly said to Bertie: “This is very strange. I thought we had five gears on our car. This gear-lever seems to have only four.”
Bertie felt a cold knot of fear within him. “Does it matter?”
he asked. “Isn’t four enough? Isn’t it a bit selfish to want five?”
67. Bruce’s Enterprise
Bruce took occupation of his newly-rented shop at nine o’clock on a Monday morning. His excitement over the move made him wake up at six, considerably earlier than he had been accustomed to waking up since the beginning of his enforced idleness. He arose from his bed, opened the shutters, and looked out at the day. The sun was almost up, but not quite; autumn was round the corner and the days were starting to shorten. It was a good time of year to start a business, especially a wine dealership. He could expect a high volume of sales in November and December, as people stocked up for the frantic round of entertaining that marked the end of the year. Those were the months when people felt that they had to see their friends or somehow risk losing them. Nobody saw anybody in January and February, although Bruce thought by that time he would have built up a group of discerning customers who would appreciate his knowhow and return for their normal requirements. So that would carry him through the dark months of the new year and then it would be spring, and time for large orders of New Zealand sparkling and light California whites!
He went through to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. Is this the face of a surveyor, he asked himself, or is Bruce’s Enterprise
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it the face of a wine merchant? Wine merchants were urbane, elegant, poised; all of which . . . well, false modesty aside, Bruce recognised all of those qualities in himself. He would fit the part admirably.
He showered, glanced in the full-length mirror, lingering a little perhaps, and then applied copious quantities of aftershower body-cooler skin-reviver, and, of course, a slick of clove gel to his hair. Ready, he thought. No: I must remember the clothes. So he got dressed.
He left