Chapter 6: The Gavel

Ms. Sloane called for me and I obeyed the norms of office society and to-and-froed my way up the rear staircase in a timely manner.

“Shut the door, please, Birdy.”

Some blighters, and you may have noticed this, simply shut the door. A rather casual, cavalry way, don’t you think? I assigned my full attention to the task, turned the knob counterclockwise — or is the other way? — to insure safe passage. Realigned the handle, tugged to make sure the portal was secure. Professional tailors have a saying, ‘Measure twice to make sure everything fits real nice.”

I turned to face Ms. Sloane with the quiet satisfaction of having performed well.

“Birdie, what were you thinking?”

Now if that query had a ringing of familiarity to it, it’s because that very same inquisition is sometimes put to me by Peggy and Auntie Pru. Perhaps it’s something the female form learns in some sort of classroom.

As it happens, I’d had fish and chips the previous evening and my associate neurons were clicking over at an accelerated pace. “That video?”

Just the right tone. That old thing? Yesterday’s fish wrap. Birdcage liner, Ms. Sloane.

She swiveled her laptop around. Sort of an accusatory finger of a device when it suddenly confronts you at nine in the morning. Especially when you’ve only had one cuppa with your b. and eggs. Wandy giving me the old heave-and-ho, “You can’t be late again, Birdie.”

But there I was, frozen in time, standing in that damnable streetcar. In full profile, in this case.

Ms. Sloane turned the screen back to face her. Was that a small smile? “All right, I’ve examined the evidence, Birdie.”

I nodded, folded my arms, All-Business Brewster.

“Your Miss McGovern is hearing wedding bells, correct?”

More nodding.

“And you can’t discern them yourself?”

“Well stated. Capitol summary.”

“Is she close to her mother, Miss McGovern?”

“What? Well, of course. I assume. I mean, mothers and daughters.”

“Has she shared the video with her mother?”

“WHAT! Of course not. No. No way. Absolutely not.”

Ms. Sloane gazed at me steadily.

“I mean she wouldn’t. No one would. People don’t...”

She nodded at the laptop, “I can see the physical attraction, Birdie, really, I can.”

That could have, to a slower lad, sounded like a compliment. But those fish and chips were whispering sweet nothings to me, “Watch out, buddy boy.”

“Have you known Ms. McGovern long?”

“All my life.”

“So she’s familiar with ... um, the way your mind works and all?”

“Oh, quite. Don’t worry yourself, familiarity-wise. Trish and Froggy and I — the Three Mouseketeers, that was us. One for all and ... you know.”

Ms. Sloane nodded, “And she still ... um, she still wants to marry you?”

Something in the tone. Implied, if you catch my drift. Like maybe The McGovern maybe should visit a custom shop for a snugly fitted jacket.

Auntie Pru hadn’t seemed to be as upset over the Streetcar Incident as Mama. Maybe because she hadn’t been the one to have to go downtown and bail Froggy and me out.

She did mention, just in passing, something about, “Use your fucking head, Birdie.” Then she winked, “The big one.”

Wandy winked at me too. The mater turned the page on the current edition of Vogue.

Court adjourned.