[Section opener]
Birdie
Chapter 35
At the Foote, some items simply did not sell. Baby shoes, ice skates, those four lipstick tubes of
Devil’s Delight, something called an “Electric Jewish Menorah” sent to us in error, two Flexible
Flyer snow sleds—but also milk, butter, and eggs since, if you had a cow at home, you also had a
chicken, and if you had neither, you probably couldn’t afford to buy anything at the Foote
anyway. Then there were the things people chose to buy but just from some-dang-where else.
The look on Mr. Parkins’s face as he handed a neighbor a parcel he’d ordered from Sears,
Roebuck and Co. that we probably carried right there on the shelf, but Sears, Roebuck and Co.
offered it for cheaper and maybe better made and in a wider color selection. The consumer of
1933 was both parsimonious and fickle. A good businessman knew not to take it personal, but it
still burned us up.
At the first wink of light Sunday morning, I opened my eyes and for a few seconds, I
wasn’t quite sure where I was. Then the springs in my cot squeaked and—Oh, that’s right. I
turned my sister’s house into a brothel and the items for sale ain’t selling.
I dragged myself downstairs to milk the cow and saw that Charlie had already made
coffee. Something had changed between me and Charlie last night, after our discussion, which
had continued into the early morning hours. The best way I could describe it was to say our
friendship had darkened and grown thicker, like a roux for gumbo. There were still some hard
feelings between us: She had tricked me into opening a brothel, and I’d kept the truth from her
about the Heidelbergs. And Welty. And Garnett. But what we were both pretty sure about was
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