vat of chili, Father Stebbins appeared toting another one. T.S. was assaulted by a fresh explosion of steam and received, much to his amusement, one of Father Stebbins' paternal pats on the back.
"You're doing fine, son. Bless you for helping. God loves a cheerful giver," the priest murmured before moving on to other, more important tasks.
Meanwhile, Auntie Lil was still there at the juncture of the line, handing out trays and welcoming all to what she implied was some sort of marvelously exclusive street soiree. T.S. had to admit she was good at it, she didn't miss a beat. Not even when it came to grasping those hands that were coated with a thick, oily paste of city grime, accumulated through months—and maybe even years—of not bathing. The befuddled and mentally ill bearers of those hands clearly were in no shape to take care of themselves. And yet they wandered the streets. T.S. wondered how they survived.
At last, the final hungry person had been served, and several reserved with what remained. Auntie Lil wandered over to help T.S. dish out the final portions.
"I think my chili was a rousing success, don't you?" she asked T.S. proudly, as usual not shy about fishing for compliments.
"You've found the perfect audience for your culinary talents," T.S. admitted. "Starving, hungry people who haven't had enough to eat to know any better."
He had only been teasing but she looked so disappointed that he immediately amended his remark. "Actually, Aunt Lil, your chili was a rousing success. They all look happy and satisfied."
They stared together at the tables crammed with the hungry and the homeless. Heads were bent low over their meals, spoons and bread clutched in hands, bodies protecting the small plate that was theirs. Most people had chosen the nearest seat that they could find and there were many unlikely combinations of table companions. But one table hosted no one but Adelle and the rest of the perfectly dressed little old ladies that T.S. had noticed coming through the line. They argued loudly among themselves in vigorous debate, their well-trained voices projecting across the entire room so that all could hear the conversation.
"Leslie Howard brought more vulnerability to the role," one voice proclaimed.
"How can you say that?" another disagreed. "Gielgud was clearly superior."
"You just say that because he complimented you on your hair that one time."
"That is not true. Everyone knows that Leslie Howard did not possess the animal magnetism required to play a proper Hamlet."
"Leslie Howard had plenty of animal magnetism," a third voice interjected hotly. "And I should know. He was a better Hamlet than John Gielgud could ever be. And we all know why."
"What are you implying? Not even you could have missed the undertones of Hamlet for seventy-five years. Gielgud was the perfect man for the part."
A chorus of voices then entered the debate, providing an unlikely backdrop to the dispirited eating going on in the rest of the room.
"I hesitate to ask this," T.S. admitted, hating to let his curiosity get the better of him. "But who are they?” He pointed out the table of chattering old ladies with a chili-smeared finger.
"That's Adelle and her crowd," Auntie Lil explained. "They're old actresses who still live in this neighborhood. Most of them have been here for sixty or more years. A few live in tiny rent-controlled apartments nearby. And some live in shelters, I suspect. They meet here every day for lunch. Their government checks barely cover their rent. This may be the only meal they get. They're all quite charming. I recognized a few of their names from when I was a girl and your grandfather would take me to the theater."
Now who was she kidding? Auntie Lil was at least as old as all of them and probably older than most. Not that T.S. felt it necessary to point that out. "They were famous actresses?" he asked instead.
"Oh no, not famous. None of them were ever famous. They were chorus girls, maybe, or B and C parts at best. An understudy or two for the bigger parts, perhaps. I know a few were Ziegfeld girls. But never, ever famous." Auntie Lil sighed. "Really, I have to admire their dedication to their art."
Maybe. But T.S. mostly admired their dedication to their eats. They held their spoons carefully above their chili, pinkies extended into the air with archaic correctness. But their hands were practically blurs as they quickly and methodically consumed their meals between arguments.