Read New York Echoes Online

Authors: Warren Adler

Tags: #Fiction, Brothers and Sisters, Domestic Fiction, Married People, Psychological Fiction, Single, Families

New York Echoes (27 page)

BOOK: New York Echoes
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"They consider themselves businessmen and
wish to be referred to as such," Gorlick said. "And they must always
be called Mister."

"Like Mr. Kid Twist and Mr. Pittsburgh Phil?" Mickey asked. When Gorlick and Gloria didn't laugh, he said:
"Just a joke."

"Monickers are for them and the news boys.
Not for you," Mr. Gorlick said. "We had an incident with Mr.
Buchalter.One of the waiters called him Mr. Lepke."

"Even though he used Mister," Mickey
said.

"These are very sensitive men,
Mickey," Gorlick said.

"What happened to the waiter?"

"Don't ask," Gorlick muttered.

"They can be very demanding," Gloria
said. "Right Solly?" Gorlick nodded.

"And they are very possessive of their
women," he said. "Hence my earlier reference to shtupping."

Gorlick puffed his cigar and watched him.

"Discretion is the better part of
value," Mickey said, the pun chasing the pall of gloom.

"Yeah. Yeah," Gorlick said.
"Something like that."  He turned to Gloria who had closed her
compact and smoothed her skirt. "So whattaya think, Gloria?" He
glanced back at Mickey. "Gloria is a specialist in entertainment."
Gorlick winked. "Right Gloria?"

"Bettah believe. Teddy Katz would have been
a mistake to hire," Gloria said. Apparently this was the man they had
fired before the season.

"She thought he was too pretty."

"All we needed was a tumler who looked like
Clark Gable. In my opinion we saved him from a not too good fate. These boys
don't play games about things like that."

"This ones so so," Gorlick said.

"At least he's no Gable," Gloria said.
"He doesn't look like a chaser."

Mickey faced her and showed his good white teeth.
He was picturing her spread-eagled under Gorlick's corpulent body, her smooth
white thighs hugging his whale-like middle. In his mind, he saw the porch swing
of her hips in double time.

"Not a world beater," Gloria said. He
noted that she had lipstick on her teeth. "And his jokes stink."

"I didn't show you everything. I got the
whole Jessel routine with the mother down pat." He put one fist to his ear
and one to his mouth.

"Hey Mother this is your son Mickey, the
one with the checks..."

"I'll say this,"  Gorlick interrupted.
"He's a real tumler. He gives me a headache."

"I do imitations, too," Mickey
persisted, summoning up his Edward G. Robinson. "Ya ya, you boysh get your
gats and come wish me to the Soush Side."

"How many guesses?" Gorlick said.

"Want to see my Eddie Cantor?"

"Not today," Gorlick said.

"Who's this?" Mickey said, summoning
up his Joe Penner. "Wanna buy a duck?"

"You're shpritzing me?" Gorlick said.

Gloria's continued contemplation was an
elaborate routine. She lit a cigarette with the pistol lighter that had been
lying on the cocktail table, then got up from the chair, brushed down her
dress, looked behind her to straighten the seams of her stockings, then walked
across the room, hips swinging, her cute ass bobbing.   

At the other end of the room, she stopped, took
a squinty drag on the cigarette, picked a morsel of tobacco from her tongue,
then throwing out her ample chest, she posed against a doorpost eyeing Mickey
up and down.

"Great audition, kid," Mickey said
imitating Cagney. "You got the job."

 Gorlick moved his head from side to side.

"Not bad," he said, barely cracking a
smile.

"You a fagele?" Gloria asked suddenly.

"Oh my God," Mickey said mincingly,
waving a limp wrist. "You do know."

"A fagele they wouldn't like," Gloria
said. "They like a real tease."

Mickey hid his embarrassment. He did not like
being judged like horseflesh.

"Considering the others we seen,"
Gloria said, "and since we need someone in ten days, maybe you should give
him a try."

Gorlick turned to Mickey.

"I personally am not overly
impressed."

"I swear, Mr. Gorlick," Mickey said,
raising his right hand. "If I let them down may I drop dead."

"Believe me boychick, that's no joke."

"They kill people that aren't funny?"
Mickey asked with elaborate innocence.

"For less than that," Gloria said as
she came back to the chair and sat down. 

Again Mickey caught a peek at pink flesh beside
her stocking suspenders. The sight, with its resultant twitch of lust, somehow
mitigated the sense of the ominous.  Their warnings seemed unreal,
make-believe, a kind of initiation ritual for a tumler rookie.

"The important thing," Gorlick said,
shifting his body on the couch and lowering his voice. "No matter what you
see, what you hear, you gotta always make like them three monkeys."

"See no evil, hear no evil, speak no
evil," Mickey said acting out the words, walking around the room like a
gorilla.

"Enough already," Gorlick said.
"You got it."

"You mean BO or the job?" Mickey asked,
sniffing under his arms.

Gorlick looked at Gloria.

"There's a fine line between a tumler and a
nudnick." Gorlick said.

"Finally you're getting the message, Mr.
Gorlick. A "Fine" line. That's me. That's what I feed them. Fine's
line."

Gorlick took another puff on his cigar and
shrugged.

"Step outa line, boychick. It's your
funeral," Gorlick said, pausing, as he relit his cigar which had gone out.
“And my hotel.”

“You won't be sorry, Mr. Gorlick.”

"It's twenty a week with free meals and a
room. From decoration through labor day."

"I was hoping for thirty," Mickey
said. He knew he was being lowballed because of his weak bargaining position. 

"First thing we argue about money," 
Gorlick said. "For this opportunity, you discuss money. You be a good
boychick, you'll get tips you'll double what I pay you." He took a deep
puff on his cigar and displayed a scowl.

"All I'm asking is a fair deal,"
Mickey said.

"Talk to President Roosevelt then. Gorlick
pays twenty. By right, you should pay me for the privilege."

"Twenty-five then."

"Right away with the money. There's a
depression., Mickey. Haven't you heard?"

"Blumenkranz mentioned thirty," Mickey
said.

"Sure, it's not his money," Gorlick
said. "Twenty or nothing."

"All right then, Mr. Gorlick," Mickey
said. "This is my last offer. Twenty a week with room and board. I warn
you. Not a penny more."

"This Mickey is a mensh," Gorlick
said, stuffing the cigar in his mouth and putting out his fat stubby hand.

Mickey Fine took it in his. He wasn't sure whose
hand was sweating more, his or Gorlicks. 

Then he moved to the door, stopped and turned.

“I leave you with one thought people.”

“Please,” Gorlick said. “Enough.”

“Anytime someone orders a pastrami sandwich on
white bread from a delicatessen, a Jew dies.”

“Getoutahere tumler,” Gorlick said.

Mickey did a skip and jump movement, saluted,
opened the door and left.

BOOK: New York Echoes
8.26Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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