A Gentleman Always Lifts the Seat

Overheard by a fly on the wall of Madigan’s Tavern, 226 E. 138th Street, New York:

“Hello there. Where ya from, soldier? The Land of Oz?”

A red-lacquered fingernail picked at the Rainbow Division insignia on the man’s sleeve, teasing out a loose thread. The nail’s owner was tall and sinuous and generously endowed. Attractive. A diaphanous agent provocateur blouse left precious little to the imagination.

“Hey! Stop it, will ya? I’m gonna have to sew the gawd-darned thing back on if ya keep that up. You any good at sewin?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“I’m good at other stuff, though. If you want, I can hum ‘Over the Rainbow.’ But you need to buy me a drink first.”

“Hummin’s a great skill, especially for a girl.”

“Yeah. Comes in useful sometimes. Staying in town for a while?”

“We’re shippin’ outta here tomorrow.”

“Europe or the Pacific?”

“Now, that’s classified information. Whatta ya, a spy or somethin’?”

“Yeah, a spy. A spy in the house of love.”

“What’s that? Another cathouse?”

“No. It’s a novel that hasn’t been written yet.”

“Hey, you’re a clever one. What kinda drink ya want? Or maybe you’re gonna write some books first?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“What? Drinkin’ or writin’?”

“Drinking. Gin tonic. Light on the tonic. Afterwards, I invite you up to my apartment. Then we write the book together. A blockbuster.”

“You sure you’re not a spy? What’s a girl like you know about blockbusters, anyway?”

“I see you’re not much of a reader. So, okay. Let’s quit the interrogation and get out of here. I didn’t really want that drink. Don’t need it.”

“Sure. But I only got a twenty-four-hour pass minus time spent in this cruddy dump. It might be New York, but I’ll take Santa Rosa, California, any day of the week.”

“That’s because you don’t know New York. I can show you the town. Teach you the Bronx Cheer. I’m good at humming, remember?”

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