WELL, OLE MR. STANNUM’S cheeks flushed. Everybody else in the kitchen kept on about their business but leaned a keen ear in Frankie’s direction. “German food,” said Daddy. “What makes you ask that?”
“Leroy Price said—” started Frankie, but Daddy cut her off.
“That reminds me,” he said. “The menus! Stay right here.” Daddy strode into the main dining room and, a few minutes later, came back carrying a stack of rectangular menus printed on heavy paper stock. He handed one to Mother first, then to Elizabeth and Mr. Stannum, and then Frankie.
“Oh, in color, too, Hermann,” said Mother, holding on to the menu tightly, as if she wanted to be sure it wasn’t a dream and wouldn’t suddenly dissolve into raindrops. She ran her finger over “Baum’s Restaurant and Tavern” in black, regal-looking letters at the top. Below the name was an unusual scene: a line drawing of a white horse with a medieval soldier on his back, riding to war or to something else. He was holding a long trumpet to his mouth, a solid red flag hanging from its end. Behind him were a castle and two more soldiers—one with a smaller trumpet and the other carrying a cooked turkey on a serving platter. To the right, a young maiden holding a jug of wine, presumably, which was nearly half her size. She was looking up, the young lady was, in the direction of the galloping horse, and right in that empty white space of the menu was this quotation printed in dark, scrolling letters: “An Eating Place of Wide Renown.”
“It’s beautiful, Daddy,” said Elizabeth, predictably.
“What’s it supposed to mean?” asked Frankie. “‘An eating place of wide renown’? And what’s the horse for? And why are there soldiers?”
“Frances,” whispered Mother.
“What?”
“They aren’t soldiers,” said Elizabeth. “For one thing, they would have guns if they were soldiers. They’re musicians. You know, on horseback, traveling with the king.”
“What king?” said Frankie. “We don’t have any kings.”
“Not a specific king,” explained Elizabeth, trying hard to show her smarts. “A king, in general. Any king. Right, Daddy?”
“Well, where is he, then?” asked Frankie. “In the castle? And is this restaurant supposed to be a castle, because”—she looked around the room and then shook her head—“it is not.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Frankie.”
Mother smiled at Daddy. “It does look like something out of a storybook.”
Daddy turned his head slightly so that his one good eye had full view of the drawings. Then he held the menu at arm’s length as if he were judging a work of art. “I think it shows the magic of the restaurant. When people sit at a table to eat, I want them to have an experience here like no other the world over.”
Frankie opened the menu and looked over the food offerings. Under the heading Fruits and Juices:
Large glass of Chilled Tomato Juice . . . 10 cents
Eight ounces of Pure Orange Juice . . . 15 cents
One-half Seedless Grapefruit, carefully cut . . . 10 cents
Selected Prunes in heavy home-cooked syrup . . . 10 cents
“Blech, prunes,” said Frankie. Hopefully they weren’t Grandma Engel’s stewed prunes, which she force-fed to Frankie whenever she was constipated. There was nothing that smelled or tasted worse. Grandma ate them by the tablespoonful until her teeth and tongue were coated with the thick brown sauce. It was, in a word, disgusting. And why anyone would pay money for them, let alone ten cents, was beyond Frankie.
“Oh,” said Mother, smiling, “you’ve even put Mother’s prunes on the menu. She’ll be tickled.”
Heavens.
Then this:
Large Italian Purple Plums . . . 10 cents
Full ripe Bananas, sliced in milk, 10 cents . . . in cream, 15 cents
Fancy Spiced Crabapples . . . 10 cents
Frankie read further and saw an assortment of cereals, hotcakes, club breakfasts, and eggs and omelettes.
Under Eggs and Omelettes, this note:
Will you kindly give your waitress explicit directions as to how you like your eggs —we know you have a preference.
We serve two Eggs—Fried, Boiled, Scrambled, Poached, or Shirred—for 20 cents. Crisp Bacon and two Eggs for 40 cents.
Country Cured Ham and Eggs 65 cents or, if you like, Swift’s Premium or Armour’s Star Ham and Eggs 50 cents. All orders served with Rolls or Bread and Butter. Toast 5 cents.
Then a list of various omelettes made to order, all for 35 cents, except the plain for 25: ham, cheese, bacon, hamburger, tomato, Spanish, or onion. Then Toasts and Salads and Tavern Specials, which included hot blue plates, cold platter combinations, cold meats—full orders, and seafood in season, ranging from 25 cents for one dozen fresh shrimp to 65 cents for the genuine calf’s liver (with onions or bacon), potatoes, and cabbage slaw. Frankie was happy to see “Toasted Cheese Sandwich” under Famous Tavern Sandwiches, which was her very favorite, but most of all she was relieved to see that there wasn’t any German food to be found, except for German fried potatoes under the heading A la Carte, whatever that meant. And considering that there were Italian plums, Spanish omelettes, and Gherkin dressing—whatever that was—Frankie didn’t think one German thing on the menu made any difference. “So we’re selling American food, then?” Frankie asked.
“Well of course, Frances,” said Mother. “What else would we be serving?”
“I told you, German food,” said Frankie. “That’s what Leroy Price said, anyway.” She knew better than to take Leroy’s word for anything, but she also knew that Daddy’s parents were German, and there was a lot of talk lately about the Germans—those Germans this and those Germans that!—and Daddy was always full of surprises.
Frankie thought she noticed Mother give a nervous glance in Daddy’s direction, but if Mother did, Daddy didn’t see it. He was still staring at the menus, paying attention to each word—from half fried milk-fed chicken to Philadelphia scrapple with syrup—as though he was adding up each printed letter on the pages, making sure all was accounted for. A missing letter, like a missing ingredient, you know, could really mess up a cake.
Then Daddy handed out menus to Julie, Mr. Washington, Amy, and Seaweed. He asked them, “What do you think?”
Julie answered right away that she had always wanted a horse. “A white one,” she said, tapping the menu, “just like this one.”
Amy, Mr. Washington, and Seaweed only nodded. But Daddy was full of encouragement. “Come on, now, don’t be shy.”
Seaweed was the only one to take Daddy up on this invitation. “Well, Mr. Baum,” he said, clearing his throat, “I see what you trying to do here with those cats and their horns on the front. I mean, they ain’t no Tommy Johnson or Blind Lemon Jefferson. But musicians are musicians, and the thing about musicians, you know, they be hungry a lot. Like for that turkey right there.” He licked his lips. “That look good.”
Frankie’s stomach rumbled. It was getting close to suppertime. “With loads of gravy.”
“And a side of potatoes,” said Seaweed.
“And cooked carrots,” Frankie added, nodding.
“Naw,” said Seaweed. “Never could stomach carrots much.”
“I don’t think Mr. Baum is interested,” said Mr. Stannum, grabbing for the menu in Seaweed’s hands. “And you all have jobs to do, as far as I know.”
Daddy stepped in between Mr. Stannum and Seaweed. “I’m very interested. I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”
Still, Seaweed, Mr. Washington, Julie, and Amy handed over their menus to Daddy and went back to work. Then Mr. Stannum leaned close to Daddy and said in a quiet voice, “Mr. Baum, can I have a word?” Daddy nodded and followed him a few steps until they were standing by the kitchen door.
Mr. Stannum towered over Hermann, but most people did, and Hermann wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable. The same couldn’t be said about Mr. Stannum, however. He had never been in such close proximity to Hermann before, and he couldn’t help but stare at his glass eye.
The thing about that eye was that people felt as though Hermann were staring at them all the time. At least partially. And that’s the sort of thing that made some people, well, anxious. They didn’t know whether to stare back or look at their feet, and if they decided to stare back, which eye did they look at? It certainly was quite the predicament for some.
Hermann eventually got used to people feeling uneasy around him, and even learned to turn himself into somewhat of an attraction. Particularly for Frankie and Joan’s friends, Hermann was happily obliged to entertain their curiosity about his glass eye by pretending to sneeze and then popping it into his hand. It was a perfectly gruesome trick. The first time he performed that trick in front of Ava and Martha, Martha turned the color of a pickled beet and then locked herself in the Baums’ bathroom for five hours until the fire department arrived and had to break down the door with an axe. After that, Mother told him he could never do that trick again, to which he mostly agreed but reserved the right for special occasions.
This occasion might’ve qualified.
Daddy could see that Mr. Stannum was uneasy and gave serious thought to having a sneeze for his benefit, though he knew Mother’s nerves were already worn thin and one good eye pop could do her in.
Mr. Stannum continued staring at Daddy’s good eye, then shifted back and forth from one to the other, until he finally settled his gaze on his own shoes. That’s when he noticed the spittle on the toe.
“Mr. Stannum?” said Daddy.
“Right,” he said, keeping his head down while wondering if he had any shoe polish left in his cupboard at home, or if he needed to stop at Wexler’s on the way. “The staff restroom,” he said finally. “There’s only one.”
“That’s right,” said Daddy. “Isn’t it working properly?”
“Oh yes, it is in fine working order,” said Mr. Stannum.
“Then what seems to be the problem?”
“The problem,” he said, “is that there seems to be only one.” He stepped beside Daddy so Amy, Mr. Washington, and Seaweed were in plain view of Daddy’s working eye. “Only one, for all of us.”
Daddy sighed and then nodded. “I see.”
“Now, the only toilets for whites you’ve got are in the dining room,” said Mr. Stannum, “but me and Julie can’t be traipsing through the dining room when you’ve got customers to use those toilets. It wouldn’t be right.”
“No,” Daddy agreed, “that wouldn’t be right. But neither would it be right for Amy, Leon, and Seaweed to do without facilities. I’m sure you’re not suggesting they just go in the street, Mr. Stannum.”
Mr. Stannum adjusted the collar of his shirt, which was feeling a bit like a lonesome boa constrictor. “Of course not.”
“Then what are you suggesting?”
“Well,” Mr. Stannum said after a few moments of thought, “the only thing to do as I see it is to make the kitchen toilet for whites only, in accordance with the laws of the city, and not to mention the laws of nature, and to put in a new lavatory for the colored staff. Not that I mind so much”—he cleared his throat—“but I’m thinking of them. It’s just not what they’re used to. There’s a closet right beside the toilet back there, and we’ve got ample storage space already.”
“That is one idea,” said Daddy. He scratched the top of his head and then smoothed his hair, which was thick with pomade, so that it didn’t stick up like a rooster’s tail. “Putting in a new lavatory would take some doing, though, not to mention a good bit of money. I just don’t think my pockets are that deep, considering all the construction going on in the dining room.” He patted Mr. Stannum on the back. “So it seems to me, the better plan is to use the same one.”
“The same one!” said Mr. Stannum.
“That’s right,” said Daddy. “I appreciate your concern for the others, as you say, but no one else has complained, and I shouldn’t think the others will be bothered. And since you yourself said you didn’t mind, I guess we don’t have much of a problem after all, do we?”
“Well, er, but,” grumbled Mr. Stannum. “No, I suppose we don’t.”
“Very good,” said Daddy. “Then there you have it.”
“Excuse me,” said Mr. Stannum, heading back toward the stoves, where Mr. Washington and Seaweed were up to their armpits in grease.
“Oh, wait,” said Daddy. “One more thing.” Then he stepped into the center of the room. “Everyone, give an ear for a moment, please.” When he had everybody’s attention, he said, “I’m inviting all the staff and their families here to the restaurant the night before we open. I thought it would be a chance to get to know everyone, and a good way to try out some of the things on the menu.”
“But that’s July the fourth,” said Mr. Stannum.
“That’s true,” said Daddy. “I know some of you were planning on going down to the celebration on the square, but I thought we could all do some celebrating of our own right here. I know of a place in Baltimore that sells an assortment of fireworks, too. Just wait until you see the Whirling Dervisher and the Marble Flash Salutes. Spectacular.”
Seaweed looked at Amy and grinned. “That sound all right by me.”
“He don’t mean us,” whispered Amy. “Don’t even think it.”
“Sure he does,” said Frankie, who couldn’t help but overhear. “Don’t you, Daddy?”
“That’s right,” said Daddy. “All are welcome.”