RSS 2.0 FeedEddie and Olive Oyl
"Hey, Mac, it's me, Eddie. I'm on my cell phone. Too early for dinner, so I'm sittin' here at Starbucks workin' on a triple espresso. I don't know what I expect it to do for me. If I was the ordinary guy I always say I am, I'd be in a bar with a bottle of Jack Daniels. But I'm here with this triple espresso, which is about the limit of what I can handle in a case like this. I've had troubles before, but now I'm in with both feet."
"Whadda you talkin' about, Eddie?"
"Here's what. The best thing in my life is Iris. You know that. I've loved that woman from the minute I seen her, and been pretty much devoted to her ever since. And I know she feels exactly that way about me. Fact is, the one thing I want is to make Iris happy. Why else would I work till I'm half dead, except to set her up with our elegant condo in that rehab by Wrigley Field, which gives her a leg up on her relatives in Jefferson Park?"
"What are you leadin' up to, Eddie?
"What I'm leadin' up to, Maxie boy, may be more than you can take - may be more than I can take."
"What's happened?"
"It's a woman, name of Olive Oyl."
"I was hopin' maybe you wised up after your last imbroglio. Who is this Olive Oyl?"
"Don't get antsy, Mac. You'll find out. This thing I got goin' is not like anything that happened before - at least, not in certain ways. It's, like, problematic, you know? So, I'm hopin' if we talk, maybe it won't be so problematic."
"So, talk."
"So, this Olive Oyl I'm tellin' you about is a very slender doll who works at our place and is, I would say, in her early twenties. She wears these tight skirts that show off what she ain't got and these sweaters that show off what little she has got. She has long brown hair, and she comes to work one day with it all twisted into a knot at the back of her head. That's when we first called her Olive Oyl because she looks exactly like Popeye's girlfriend in the funny papers. If that's all there was to her, I guess I'd be somewhere else besides here at Starbuck's, lookin' at this espresso and kickin' myself in the pants.
"The thing about this Olive Oyl is that she oozes what you might call womanly appeal. She looks right at you with this smile that says there is somethin' squalid on her mind. She flirts and teases and is so good with this magnetism of hers that she becomes the most popular woman in our shop - among the men, that is. I am sorry to say that I am not the last among her admirers."
"Maybe you oughta write to Dear Abby. Ever think of that?"
"That'll be the day. Anyway, why am I so goofy over this woman? And the one before her, whoever she was, and the one before that? Women are the cause of a lot of agony in my life, and what I'm beginnin' to think is that my agony over women started with my old lady when I am about four years old. At the moment in time of which I speak, my dad is sittin' at the kitchen table in our bungalow on north Damen, readin' the Herald Examiner. My mom is doin' the dishes. I'm in the dining room playin' with blocks...Jesus!"
"What's wrong, Eddie, what is it?"
"Excuse me, Mac, but the yoyos in this place are makin' me a little nervous. Why do you people have to listen in on other people's private conversations? Will you please go back to drinkin' your coffee? I'm discussin' personal matters with my buddy."
"Eddie? What...?"
"I don't know, Mac. So-called human bein's can be so insensitive. Anyway, I heard my dad tell my mom he was readin' in the paper about how, in Sweden, parents go naked in front of their kids. Seems this is the modern thing to do back then. At the time, my parents wanted to think of themselves as modern. Not long after this the bedroom and the bathroom doors were left open, and I was seein' surprising sights. They are sayin' things like, 'Eddie, darling, you can see that Daddy and Mommy are different.' And they encourage me, sayin', 'If you have any questions, just speak up.' After three days of this, it happened there was one thing I am curious about, and I say, 'Mummy, show me where your pee-pee comes out.' Right away I could tell I was askin' the wrong question. 'I don't think you need to see that,' she says, usherin' me out of her room and closin' the door."
"Your parents were kooky."
"They thought they was doin' the right thing. Anyway, it turned out that this is one part of modern life my old lady was not able to embrace. What I got out of it was curiosity, and this curiosity is what is making me so interested in women like Olive Oyl."
"All right, Eddie, so what's goin' on between you two?"
"That's what I'm comin' to. So, this Olive Oyl was workin' in the plant about six months and is always a fun kid. You know, flirtin' with me if I say somethin' to her - nothin' serious, really. Well, one day she comes up to me and asks would I give her a ride home that night. In a moment of self-delusion I say, 'Yes,' tellin' myself she'd be fun to kid around with. She says she lives in this place in Lakeview, which is not far out of the way."
"Rocks got more sense than you," said Mac. "Seriously, you need help."
"That's why I got you, Mac. Anyway, things were quiet for the rest of the day, and at five o'clock we got in the car and headed north. So, we were about halfway there, and there was a lot of the usual banter back and forth, and she kind of got me goin'. Then she says how would I like to come up to her place? And I say what does she mean by that, and she says that she doesn't know but she thought I might just want to. I was definitely interested, and she could see that."
"Eddie, Eddie, Eddie."
"Then she named a price - one that I knew from experience wasn't bad. This was a little surprising, but I say okay, and I ask where's a good place to park in that neighborhood, which is not so good. So we parked behind her building and went up the back stairs and entered through the kitchen, which was pretty much of a dump. I was surprised to see that her old lady was home. But it was soon clear that the old lady was in on the game and was not about to make any trouble. So I relaxed and followed Olive Oyl into the other room and shut the door."
"Jeez, Eddie..."
"When we came out a little later and started through the kitchen to the back door, the old lady was sittin' at this beat-up table with a cup of coffee, and she asks would I like a cup. This old gal is about my age and not half-bad lookin' - a slightly filled-out version of Olive Oyl. So I say yeah, I could drink a cup, and I sat down, and we all three began to talk. So what we get around to, finally, was that the old gal is in the same business as Olive Oyl, and she is also putting out for a decent price. The first thing I knew, I was goin' with her to the other room."
"No! Oh, my God!"
"Between the two of them, they got the biggest part of my pay, which is what me and Iris use for day-to-day expenses. Olive Oyl alone was more than I could really afford. This was a situation that was not going to be easy to explain when I got home. So after I leave, I stop at the bank and get a couple of hundred so Iris won't notice. Then I ...Ah, crap!"
"Eddie, what..."
"Hold on a minute, Mac. They're dumpin' trash in a garbage truck out front. Compactor is roarin' so loud I can't hear myself talk...Okay, they've quit. So here I am, like so many times before. I oughta be sippin' this coffee and thinkin' about how contented I am with Iris. After all, she was a Playboy Bunny."
"Yeah, Eddie, and in them days, if you got a Bunny, you knew you got the real thing. Right?"
"Righty-o. But now I'm stuck on this new combo, which is a different type of deal altogether. Who coulda ever predicted this Olive Oyl situation, even once in a lifetime? Too good to pass up. I know in my gut I'll risk everything I got with Iris just to let this play itself out. These two broads in Lakeview are gonna bleed me until I'm all at once disgusted with myself and can't stand 'em anymore. I don't want 'em now, but...Will you people stop gawkin'? I told you, this is personal. A cell phone is a wonderful thing, Mac, but it turns a lot of weird people into regular eavesdroppers."
"Weird people. Right, Eddie."
"So, what is it about women besides Iris? Why is it that I always seem to need 'em so much more before I get 'em than I do after I got 'em? I know I shouldn't blame it on my mother, but it is her fault. Once, when Iris found out about one of my flings, I told her about that episode with my mom, and she says it is likely the root of my problem. She seen a case like mine on TV; a 'newrosis' is there because I been hidin' the truth from myself, and I oughta be able to shake it now that I know about it. I got respect for what Iris says, but this is not so easy as you'd think, as I keep findin' out when situations like Olive Oyl turn up."
"So, where'd you leave it with her?"
"It is no more than a week before this broad is after me to drive her home again, sayin' her mother thought I was a real regular guy; and I know I will drive her, even though it's for sure things won't be the same as they were the first time...What the hell!"
"Eddie! What's goin'on?"
"Jesus, Mac, this broad in a $200 hat was sittin' here with her three kids. She just got up and threw coffee all over me and yells that I am a piece of garbage. She was pointin' at the guys heavin' trash in that truck out front, musta been listenin' to me the whole time. Then she hustles them kids outta here like I am a piranha or somethin'."
"Do you mean 'pariah'?"
"Whatever."
"Why do you mention the hat?"
"Don't expect that from a woman in a $200 hat: I'm garbage?"
"Well?"
"Whadda you mean, 'Well?' Jesus, I never thought I'd hear that outta you. You know, I'd of figured Olive Oyl to hit the scrap heap someday, but not me. I'm a regular guy. For sure, though, when I think, how many times has Iris taken me back already...?"
"Yeah, how many is it, Eddie?"
"I'm outta here, Mac. I hope dinner's still warm."
Dennis Beard spends his days reading fiction, writing stories, and trying to keep his wife's computerized embroidery machine running. The reading these days is mostly 19th century Russian novels. The writing includes essays such as An Ideological Lamentation.
He thinks stories ought to reflect the unpredictability of life, both the serendipitous and the maddening. Unexpected things happen, and people respond in ways surprising to themselves. The joyful, the melancholy, the placid, the chaotic, love, and animosity are part of living ─ he tries to reflect all of these in his stories.
Dennis was raised in central Illinois, but has lived most of his life in and around Chicago. He has been published in The Journal (a Northwestern University publication), Further Persons Imperfect (an anthology), Shotgun Sports Magazine, and Quilters Newsletter Magazine. His e-mail address: Dennis Beard