Betsy Robinson
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Ice Cream
Are you looking for Baskin Robinson?
Now the good news: If you love ice cream, you'll probably love what follows. Give this story one lick of your time . . . "Oh my God!" gasped Corinne screeching to a halt in the middle of Broadway. "For goodness sake, what is it?" yelled Elsa nearly toppling over her friend. "Oh my God," whimpered Corinne, pointing weakly. Elsa followed Corinne's gesture across the street, over a "Bus Stop No Standing" sign, across the sidewalk and in the door of a brand new, sparkling clean Baskin Robbins Ice Cream store. "Oh my God," gasped the girls in unison as a taxi honked and a truck driver yelled something unspeakable. And finally, holding onto each other for emotional support, the two girls made it to the other side of the street. In reverent silence they gazed through the glass window at chocolate fudge brownie, butter pecan, peppermint almond and fudge swirl. "Shall we go inside?" whispered Corinne, and Elsa nodded. "What will you have?" asked the boy behind the counter. "We'd just like to look for a minute, if that's all right," said Corinne, inhaling deeply. The boy nodded and the girls swallowed hard. After several minutes of awed contemplation, Elsa glanced at the little gold watch on the chain around her neck. 4:45. If they ate fast, they could each have two cones and still make it home in time for dinner. Corinne pulled a change purse out of her jeans and counted the silver. Enough for one mammoth cup and the subway, (never mind that her mother had specifically told her to take a cab). "What are you going to have?" asked Corinne, her eyes sparkling. "I don't know," whispered Elsa. "How about you?" "I have to think about it. I don't want to rush into anything." Corinne scrutinized the butter pecan. "The last time I was at a Baskin Robbins I had jomoca almond fudge, and the time before that, mint chocolate chip. What did you have?" "Vanilla." "Just plain old vanilla?" "I like vanilla." "Bo-ring." "I almost always have vanilla," said Elsa smoothing her white linen blouse, "but I like to decide anyway." "You girls ready yet?" asked the boy, swishing a quick sponge over the counter top and scratching the end of his nose with a very clean forefinger. "We close soon." "Well, I'm not sure yet, but you go ahead, Elsa," answered Corinne. "I don't know yet either. Just another minute." "All right, but we close in ten." The counter boy turned away from them and did whatever counter boys do when they're not swishing counters or dishing out ice cream. "Why didn't you order?" hissed Corinne. "You said you always get vanilla." "I said almost always, and besides, I like to look. Hey, there's a new one, isn't it—strawberry peach delight." "Sounds like a lipstick." Elsa toyed with the ring on her pinky finger and alternately studied pumpkin pie and pistachio, wondering why Corinne always had to be so pushy. At three minutes to five a small, freckled boy walked into the shop, bought a double-decker chocolate cone, and left, balancing it precariously in one hand while catching the drips with the other and frantically lapping the top with his tongue. Corinne jingled her change purse. "I just can't decide. It's between jomoca almond fudge and strawberry cheesecake." "I've got to start closing," warned the counter boy. Elsa thrust a hand into her pocket. "I'll have a vanilla cone. ... On second thought, make that two." "We don't have any more vanilla," snapped the counter boy. "What?" gasped Elsa, her eyes popping in disbelief. "No more vanilla," said the boy swiping his cloth over the sparkling counter top. "No more vanilla?" moaned Elsa. "That's what I said." "But how—how can that be?" "We ran out. It's a very popular flavor." Then he turned to Corinne. "Wait!" screamed Elsa, completely forgetting her demeanor and jumping at the glass separating her from the ice cream. "I'll have two large, make that very large, butter scotch sundaes." "No more sundaes," said the boy. "Cones!" yelled Elsa. "Please!" "Coming right up. And what about you?" He glared at Corinne. "Oh," groaned Corinne. "I just can't make up my mind." The counter boy scooped a large hunk of butter scotch out of the vat. "One more minute." "Wait!" screamed Elsa, and the boy dropped his scooper. "I'm sorry, but I changed my mind. Could you make that one butter scotch and one cherry vanilla? Please?" The boy grunted something unrepeatable and picked up his scooper. "And you!" he demanded, pointing it at Corinne. "You have 15 seconds." "Oh, I just don't know," whimpered Corinne. "Oh, forget it." "What?" Elsa stared, incredulous, at her friend. "I won't have any. I'm on a diet anyway." "But, Corinne, it's Baskin Robbins!" "I know, I know, but— Oh, just forget the whole thing." The boy handed Elsa her cones. She paid. He asked the two girls to leave immediately, and they did—out onto the sidewalk where Corinne suddenly changed her mind, and, in her hurry to get back into the store, pushed her friend into the path of an oncoming baby carriage filled with two wailing infants, whereupon Elsa promptly dropped her cones—butter scotch in the gutter and cherry vanilla on one of the babies, who, from the shock of it, spat up all over his brother. © 2005 Betsy Robinson |
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