Five's A Crowd Read Free

the lit cigarette dangling out of the corner of her Ida Lupino red lips. “Sure you are, honey. And I’m Miss America. Now, get out from behind that door and then get yourself out of my house. Therapist, my eye! And what sort of name is Taylor for a girl, I ask you?”
    “A fairly miserable one, I admit,” Taylor said, taking her life into her hands and stepping into the room, warily eying the broom. “But there’s no nickname possible with Taylor, now is there? And using my initials wouldn’t work, because I’m officially Taylor Noreen Angel, and that would make me T.N.A., and let me tell you, I have enough problems without that.”
    “T and A? Ha! I haven’t heard that one since Sam gave up watching that there ‘Charlie’s Angels’ show on the television!” The old woman dropped the broom and sat herself down at the dining-room table, laughing so hard tears squeezed out from under her heavily mascara-caked eyelashes. “Oh, sit down, girl,” she commanded at last, indicating the chair across from her. “I don’t bite. Bark a lot, but don’t bite.”
    As soon as Taylor was seated, Mrs. Helper hopped up and went into the kitchen, talking as she went. “You’ll have some iced tea with me, and then we’ll sort things out, all right? Too damn many steps in this house, don’t you think? I mean, what’s an old woman to do—lugging groceries, dragging laundry. Eight weeks of this, and I’ll be joining Sam—not that he wants me. Probably has himself two or three good-looking angels all to himself.”
    She came back into the room, carrying two glasses she then plunked down on the table. “There—you want sugar? Rot your teeth, sugar. But those substitutesare chock-full of chemicals that’ll probably rot the rest of you. Drink it plain, honey. It’ll put hair on your chest. Do you watch the soaps? I never miss my three o’clock show, so if any of you go asking for anything between three and four, you might as well ask the air. Don’t budge an inch away from the set between three and four. Not in this lifetime anyway. That Masters fellow gets here first thing tomorrow, you know. Maybe you can lug the groceries up from my car. I’m parked right out front. You’ve got the legs for it, but I don’t. Aren’t you going to say anything, girl? Don’t talk much, do you? My Sam was like that, yes, he was.”
    “I can’t imagine why,” Taylor said, taking a sip of bitter tea and trying not to wince. “And I’d be happy to help you, Mrs. Helper,” she continued, unable to hide her wince anymore as she verbally tripped over “help” and “Helper” in the same tongue-twisting sentence. “Did you know you could park your car out back? There’s a dumbwaiter there, and that should make it easier to bring in the groceries.”
    Mrs. Helper leaned forward, grinning around her cigarette. “A dumbwaiter? You’re kidding! So that’s what those little doors are in every hallway, huh? Shoulda known. Sam and I went to a fancy hotel in the Catskills once, years ago. There was a dumbwaiter there, too. Sam got a little well-to-go one night—stinking drunk, you might say—and stuffed me into the dumbwaiter and sent me for a ride. I’mjust a squirt, in case you haven’t noticed, so I fit in just fine. Best fun I had in years. Want to try it? You can give me a boost up?”
    Taylor’s eyes watered as she choked on her bitter iced tea, trying to compose herself. “Another time, perhaps?” she got out at last, rising from her chair and wondering if Ocean City was just another name for the rabbit hole in Alice in Wonderland.
    “Whatever you say, Taylor,” Mrs. Helper agreed cheerfully enough, picking up a huge bunch of keys on a chain decorated with several plastic disks advertising different brands of beer, and then following Taylor down the steps. “Let’s just get cracking. I’ve got to get home and feed Killer.”
    “Of course you do,” Taylor answered, barely able to stay ahead of Mrs. Helper as the