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EPISODE 20

"What's that?" he asked.

"Beats me," said Betty. "Marlene had Karyl help her bring it in from the kitchen."

"Karyl left the room?" asked Howard.

"Somebody had to," Betty answered warily. "Look at that!"

"Oh... oh!..." Ruth was clucking...

"Ahh," said Mimi Kull, "new espresso..."

"Promise me a cup before we go," Ferdie said to Marlene.

"A moment..." said Mrs. Gray, "just a moment. There's a process to be followed!"

"Wayne won't drink espresso," Beatrice complained.

Howard edged onto the fringe of the crowd and, between a screen of shifting, grasping bodies, saw the new machine. The espresso maker was a complicated maze of shiny metal tubes, with a big red handle that Marlene pulled...

"Sssss!" it went.

And thick brown fluid dripped out of the tubes into a cup that looked like something borrowed from a child's tea set.

"Oh I want it!" Ruth said. "Me! Me! Me!" Marlene passed her the little cup. "Phew!" Ruth exclaimed. "It's strong, too strong... and bitter! Where's the sugar?"

With the little cup, Ruth pushed her way out of the circle and roamed off in search of sugar. Marlene passed out more cups as the espresso machine hissed and dripped.

"It's alright," Beatrice admitted, "but I'd rather hear the whoosh."

"The what?" asked Mimi.

Beatrice threw her arms apart. "The whoosh!" she said, again. "Like this... whooosh! The sound that a brand new can of coffee makes when it is being opened. I think it's more natural than all that hissing metal."

"I don't like that machine," fretted Harvey. "It looks dangerous!"

"As with all devices," advised Waldo, who had removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeve, "it has a potential to turn upon its operator, if mistreated. But, to forestall that possibility, Marlene and I have studied the manual, and have listened to a recording by Ottavio Grimaldi, that expert with over forty years' experience in the preparation of espresso."

"Have a cup," Marlene told Howard.

And, suddenly, the little cup was hot in Howard's palm. Marlene turned the red handle again and, with a hiss, a cup was filled for Betty, too.

"Whoosh!" censured Beatrice from the sidelines.

"You go first," prompted Betty.

"No. We'll go together." They touched cups and Howard tasted the espresso. "Gee... that's bitter," he determined.

"Maybe you should put a little milk and sugar in it?" Betty suggested.

"No," repeated Howard, "that is not the way that Europeans drink it. When in Italy, the saying goes. To appreciate the finer things in life, you have to learn to take them just the way they come. I'll be OK. And maybe Waldo will bring out the xylophone."

Timmy entered from the kitchen. "Making 'spresso, mom? Can I have some?

Marlene coaxed a spoonful from the red handle. For such a little puddle of espresso, there wasn't even a hiss.

"When you are sixteen," Waldo promised, "you can have a whole cup for yourself. But, until then, in moderation only. And now, since dinnertime is nearing, but not yet at hand, I am going to bring out the xylophone."

"Hooray!" cried Ferdinand, and the rest of the guests applauded, too.

Waldo held up a key and used it to unlock a little door beneath the staircase. While most of the guests were crowding round it, Howard had stepped away. Now, he craned his neck and jumped, but could not see the boss setting up any xylophone so, instead, he crossed the passage to the dining room towards Waldo's hi-fi console.

"Such a lovely model," said Ruth Swan, who'd also given up. "My father has had his fixed so it will only play at the fastest speed, where all the nice music plays. He's afraid our niece will ruin the needle with awful rock and roll... even start a fire in those inside mechanisms!"

"Is it true?" Howard asked, "that rock and roll starts fires and ruins the needles? Our baby sitter brought an Elvis Presley record."

"Elvis Presley... ugh! That animal!" said Beatrice. "He is even worse than Nat King Cole!"

"Well, I like Nat King Cole," Karyl Shea spoke up. The crowd around the xylophone had parted, so that it could be wheeled into a prominent position, and all of the guests were looking for places to sit down.

Ferdie drifted past. "At least he is romantic. But not half so romantic as Waldo's xylophone."

And Waldo trilled his hammers up and down the scales; his tune was "On the Street of Dreams", and Howard extended a hand to Betty. Presently, all of the guests were dancing with their wives and Mrs. Harwood...eyes blank as candles in a rotten Halloween pumpkin that had sputtered out... danced with the rented beatnik. Marlene watched from Waldo's side and Timmy peered down from the balcony.

"Dreams," Howard whispered, "all you can hold... nobody poor..."

"Gold," Betty hummed. "Should we paint the house, or move?"

"I'll get an estimate," Howard lied. His romantic mood was spoiled, and it was not the time to bring up what had happened in the library.

Waldo had almost finished when the telephone rang.

"Damn!" swore Betty softly.

"Can I get it?" Harvey cried and Waldo nodded sourly, already packing away the little hammers. Harvey picked up the receiver. "Vote for Blood!" he said.

Howard led Betty towards the sofa. No more music! "What a stupid contest," he grumbled, sotto voce.

"You're just jealous," Betty told him. "Wayne and Beatrice won a bathroom scale."

"Then maybe Blood is not as stupid as he seems," reflected Howard, with a sneaky glance in the direction of the hefty Rays.

"It's for you," Harvey stated dolefully and yielded the receiver, placing one hand over the speaking end. "I think it's someone selling something..."

"Thank you. Hello!" Waldo boomed, and all the guests pretended not to listen. Just a salesman, yes... a salesman. "Yes..." All the replies that Waldo made into the telephone were yesses, grunts and hums of various intonations. No one in the room, save Anne, the beatnik and Marlene dared watch, and none spoke, either, except to a wife or husband, in diminished tones.

"The thing I don't understand," Betty whispered, "...did Waldo really catch all those big fish he locks up in his library?"

"No one's ever claimed he didn't. How else could he get them... buy them, at the Friendly Frost? He is the boss, you know..."

"Good of you, Francoís," said Waldo, presently, and hung up. "Business!" he added, with an exculpatory shrug. Marlene brought forth the silver Civil Defense triangle and tapped it.

"Dinner!" she called out.

"Hooray!" the guests responded, one and all.

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