Scene 7

Scene Seven...Doris's Birthday
Time: Dinner, Saturday, November 17, 1945
Place: Sal's Seafood
Storyteller: Janet

Paul and I rush through Sal's entry, scanning the main dining room for Doris. "Darn, she's already here. Thanks for being late, Janet."

"It wasn't my fault. Jazz class ran over time."

Paul reaches the table first. Doris is looking out the window. He says, "Happy birthday. Sorry we're late." She jumps as if startled.

"No problem. The golden moon just came up over the water. It should be full in a few days." She always makes people feel at ease.

A very prompt waitress appears, wearing a crisp pink uniform. She is prepared with pencil and tablet. "What would you like to drink?"
 

"Hi, Gail. A Budweiser, Shirley Temple and...and for you, Doris?"

"White wine, please."

"Make that Chablis...and an order of onion rings for starters," he says.

"Sure. Need menus?"

"Not if the girls want seafood platters." 

We nod in agreement.

Table talk...work, future college, the usual... gets boring. Paul catches me looking around for familiar faces; there are none. Drinks arrive; I take a gulp.

Sal puts our warm onion rings in the center of the table. My brother says, "Help yourself Birthday 

Girl."

"Those sure smell yummy." As I reach for an appetizer, my charm bracelet catches on the umbrella decorating my Shirley Temple. The glass tumbles over, drenching the table cloth.

We all jump to our feet before the pink liquid drips on our laps.

"I'm so sorry. Don't be mad."

Sal flies to the rescue with a bar towel..."Move over there." He points to an empty corner table.

We obey, take our new seats, and unroll clean silver. I tuck my napkin in at the neck.

"Another round," Paul tells Gail.

"None for me. I'm too clumsy."

"Don't be silly. I do that all the time." Doris lies to make me feel better.

I change the subject. "Doris, you want to go back to U.M. next September? Nursing major?"

"Yes and no. They'll soon offer marine science degrees."

Paul perks up. "I heard they'll have an engineering department by '47."

"So you'll both get G.I. Bill benefits, since you're vets?" I ask.

"Yes, but my plan is to quit the hospital and rent out a room in Grandma's house for more income."

"Isn't it your house...now that she's...gone?" Why did I bring this up. It's none of my business.

"But...it still feels like hers." Doris's brown eyes glisten.

"Why don't you ask Betty? She's too old to be living at home," my brother suggests.

I excuse myself, stop at the reception desk to use their phone, and slip into the powder room.

Our food beats me back to the table. Doris refused to start eating without me.

I sit, tuck in my napkin again, and tell the good news, "Betty just got off work. She'll be here soon. Please order her a bowl of clam chowder...the white kind."

"Why do shrimp have tails?" I pull it off and dip the meat into red sauce. So delicious.

"What are you up to?" Paul eye balls me.

"We need to get this roommate question settled. Doris needs college money."

"But Dad needs food and Mom counts on Betty to feed us," says Paul.

"Mom can learn to cook again. She used to know how." I wave to my sister, who is walking this way with a yellow box.

Betty hands a store wrapped present to her friend. They hug. I should have bought something. Too late now.

"Doris needs money. Want to be her roommate? You'll have to teach Mom how to cook before moving out." I summarize the situation.

"Okay." Betty didn't put up a single objection.

"Won't dad flip?" I continue.

"Not when I tell him Doris needs help. He has a big soft spot for her."

Paul agrees, "Yea. They bonded over my high school football games. Been buddies ever since."

Doris blushes and laughs. "When can you move in?"

"Give me a month...before Christmas."

"That's fine; or before Thanksgiving...whenever you're packed."

"Paul, does that sound like a motorcycle?" I ask. "It's too dark to see outside."

"Ouch." Betty kicks me under the table."