The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz (18 page)

But little was known for certain about the Boy Wonder’s activities. Only a favored few, not counting the girls, ever actually got inside his apartment, and even on Schnorrer’s Day his visitors had to pass Mickey “The Mauler” Shub before they were allowed inside the poky little office.

Shub, another F.F.H.S. graduate, had in his prime been rated number one challenger for the welterweight crown in
Ring Magazine
. He had fought lots of bouts in Madison Square Garden in the days before television when a fight there drew maybe twenty thousand fans. People in the know said that had he been handled right, if he hadn’t got mixed up with gamblers, Shub could have been world champion. He had the stuff. He also fought too long and his two comeback attempts were disastrous. The last time out Ike Williams had knocked him silly in three rounds. So naturally Shub came to see Jerry Dingleman. He said he wanted to cash in while he still had a name and open up a fancy tailor shop right in the downtown area.
His father and his younger brother would do the cutting for him. The Boy Wonder backed him, but the tailor shop developed into more of a hangout than a business. Shub’s father, for instance, seldom got a chance to use the cutting table because it was generally in use for poker. The occasions when it was free he just had enough time to scrub it clean of smoked meat fat and pickle juice before another game got started or some friend in a hurry came in with a girl and the old man was sent on a long message. After the tailor shop failed, Dingleman hired Shub to be his chauffeur and all-round personal assistant.

Shub was a pale, shuffle-shouldered man with little puzzled eyes and a huge spread of shapeless nose. From time to time he was fuzzy in the head and had to stay home. There were some guys who liked to suddenly bang a fist on the table when Shub wasn’t looking. This unfailingly made Shub leap to his feet, assuming his famous stance, and the guys would look at each other and laugh. Bang, bang, bang, the fist would come crashing down again. Then, while they still had him on the go, some guy was sure to shout in his ear, “Ike Williams!”

“Yeah, how long did you last against Williams?”

“… Fifteen rounds …”

“Three, you bastard.
Three.”

But nobody ever got funny with him when the Boy Wonder was around and there were times when Shub got his own back too. “On Schnorrer’s Day,” Murray Gold once said, “Dingleman sits like God in that office and this one, a regular St. Peter, stands outside with the keys.” When one of his tormentors showed up for a loan Shub always kept him waiting.

Shub, however, had no grudge against Duddy and he did not keep him waiting. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Kravitz.”

Duddy sat down beside an embarrassed man with a briefcase on his lap and watched as Shub slipped inside the office.

“The Kravitz boy is here,” Shub said.

“Who?”

“Don’t you remember, Mr. Dingleman? The taxi driver’s kid. He was here to ask you about him a few days ago.”

“Oh, I remember. Listen, take him to see Charlie. Say I said he should start him as a busboy and see how he does. Will you send Kennedy in, please?”

Shub told Mr. Kennedy to step inside and turned to Duddy. “You’ve made it, kid. We’re going to take you on as a busboy right here at the Tico-Tico. Isn’t that something?”

“There must be some mistake. Did you tell him it was Kravitz? Duddy Kravitz.”

“Look, you’ve got to start somewhere. If you’re O.K. Charlie’ll be giving you some tables of your own in no time. C’mon.”

“Isn’t Mr. Dingleman even going to see me?”

“He’s a very busy man, you know.”

“But I’m no waiter. Didn’t you tell him that I was Max Kravitz’s boy?”

“Sure I did. Let’s go, kid. Come on.”

Duddy turned pale. “I’m not moving,” he said. “I’m staying right here until he comes out.”

The office door opened and Mr. Kennedy stepped out. He looked shaken. “By this afternoon,” Dingleman shouted after him.

“I’ll try my best, Jerry. That’s all I can do.”

Duddy slipped past Shub into the office. “I’m Max’s boy,” he began. “Duddy Kravitz. There must be some mistake. I –”

“What’s this?”

Shub grabbed Duddy quickly from behind. “I’m sorry, Mr. Dingleman.”

“I’m no shnook,” Duddy shouted. “I don’t need your help to become a lousy waiter.”

“Let him go.”

Duddy rubbed his shoulder where Shub had held him.

“Are you in the habit of barging into other people’s offices, sonny?”

“My father said we had an appointment.” Duddy whipped out his newspaper clippings. “I’d like you to look at these, please, sir.”

Dingleman grimaced.

“We can help each other,” Duddy said.

He laughed. “Another time, sonny.”

The phone rang. “Get it, Mickey. If it’s New York I’m here.”

“Won’t you even look at them? One’s from Mel West’s column.”

“Are you still here?”

“It’s New York, Mr. Dingleman.”

Dingleman wiped his face with a handkerchief and held the receiver to his breast. “I’ll see you next Wednesday, sonny.”

“Oh, sonny yourself, you big fat lump of –”

Shub gripped Duddy’s collar with one hand and the seat of his pants with the other and lifted him out of the office.

“He’s still got my clippings,” Duddy said.

“Are you looking for real trouble?”

Duddy picked up his coat and ran to the door. “Tell him he can go and kiss my ass,” he shouted on the run.

Shub started after him.

“Mickey!
Mickey!”

“I’m coming. I’m here.”

Dingleman wiped his neck and spit into his handkerchief. “Where’s that boy gone to?”

“He beat it.”

“Get the car. I want to see him right away. Wait. Tell Shirley to book two sleepers on tonight’s train to New York. Tell her to phone Kennedy’s office and remind him that I said
this
afternoon.”

D
UDDY HAD TO WAIT A HALF HOUR BEFORE MAX TURNED
up at Eddy’s, but he was no calmer when his father entered the store with a smile.

“Hi, Duddy. How’d you make out?”

“You lousy liar. Afraid I’d embarrass
you
, were you?”

The other taxi drivers began to file out. Only Walsh stayed. He had three free games coming to him on the pinball machine.

“An intimate of the Boy Wonder? Hah! He doesn’t know you from a hole in the ground.”

“Duddy, please. Not here. The other guys –”

“All those stories. Ever since I was a kid. How could you let me build on it when I need a stake so badly right now?”

“Easy. Easy, kid.”

“Couldn’t you have told me the truth? Do you think I would have cared? It’s the time wasted and the hopes. It’s – How could you do this to me?”

“Do what? You talk so fast I can’t keep up with you. You ask me to get an appointment and you got one. Right?
Right
. You think any
shtunk
can walk in off the street and see the Wonder just like that?”

“Aw, forget it. Skip it.”

“Oh, no. No sir. Not just like that. You said some dirty things to me.”

“Yeah,” Duddy said in a small voice.

“Take them back.”

“I take them back.”

“There. Isn’t that better than yelling at the old man?”

But Duddy stiffened when Max tried to ruffle his hair. “I’m a big boy now,” he said.

“O.K. Sure.”

A car stopped outside and Shub opened the door for Jerry Dingleman. “Max Kravitz,” Dingleman said, smiling his freshest smile, “how are you?”

“Mr. Dingleman!” Max grinned broadly and gave Duddy a poke. “Hey, Eddy. Eddy quick! Would you like a drink?”

“No thanks. Hullo, Duddy.”

“A sandwich maybe?”

“I’m on a diet.”

“A coffee?”

“Stop begging him.”

“You shettup. I’m your father and you shettup. Mr. Dingleman and I are old pals. Isn’t that right?”

Dingleman nodded. “Here,” he said, handing Duddy his clippings. “That’s an intriguing idea you have there. I’d like to talk to you about it.”

“You don’t say?”

“Be polite,” Max said, gritting his teeth. “Talk nice.”

“I have to go to New York tonight. We can talk on the train.”

“Wha’?”

“You heard what the man said.”

“We’ll only be gone three days. I’ll handle your fare and expenses and something more. Mr. Shub can’t come with me. Can you drive a car?”

“Sure he can, Mr. Dingleman.”

“I don’t get it.”

Max stepped in front of Duddy. “What time do you want him at the station, Mr. Dingleman?”

“Ten.”

“He’ll be there.”

“One minute.” That would mean leaving Mr. Friar on his own for a few days. He could do plenty of damage.

“He’ll be there with bells on,” Max said.

Dingleman left and the other taxi drivers hurried back into the store.

“No questions,” Max said, making a sweeping gesture with his arm. “I’m not free to talk.”

Debrofsky ordered a lean on rye.

“Jerry’s taking Duddy to New York tonight. More I can’t say.”

Shub missed two traffic lights running.

“What’s wrong, Mickey?”

“Nuttin’.”

But Shub was concerned. It was true that Mr. Dingleman’s hunches had always worked out right before, but –

“Don’t worry,” Dingleman said. “The boy is innocent. He’s perfect.”

Dingleman didn’t turn up at Central Station until a minute before departure time. He smiled absently at Duddy and led him into the club car. “Here,” he said, handing him a one-hundred-dollar bill. “Order anything you want. I’m going to sleep. We can talk tomorrow.” But the next morning at breakfast in the hotel Dingleman did not say a word to Duddy. He read the market reports in the
Times
.

“It’s nice here,” Duddy said. “I’ve never been to New York before like.”

Dingleman lowered his newspaper. “I’m going to be tied up all day,” he said. “Why don’t you see the sights?”

“Didn’t you want me to drive you around or something?”

“Not today.”

Duddy bit his lip. “What do you want me here for?” he asked.

“Meet me in the lobby at seven-thirty. We’re going to a play
together tonight. Afterwards I’d like to talk to you about your film company. It sounds fascinating.”

Duddy went to see the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall. He visited the planetarium, he sent postcards to his father, Lennie, and Yvette, and he wandered up and down Broadway until his legs ached. He got back to the hotel on time but Dingleman was more than three quarters of an hour late. “Did you enjoy yourself today?” he asked.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Good.”

There were some new books lying on the taxi seat beside Dingleman. One was by somebody called Waugh and two others, Duddy observed gleefully, were in French with plain covers.

“Have you ever read
God’s Little Acre?”
Duddy asked.

Dingleman laughed. He squeezed Duddy’s knee. “Here we are,” he said. “I hope you’ll like the play. It was very difficult for me to get tickets.”

There were no movie stars in it. Some bit players. Duddy recognized Lee J. Cobb from the movie with William Holden about the boxer and the violin. He thought he had seen the Kennedy guy before too, but he couldn’t remember in what movie. The play went on and on with people shouting and using dirty language. The jokes were from hunger and there was only one sexy scene, but the broad in it was old and not much to look at. A big deal, he thought.

“Did you like it?”

“It had a lot to say about life,” Duddy said.

At supper Duddy began to talk uneasily about his film company, and gathering courage with the wine, he gave away more than he had intended. Dingleman asked him more and more questions, and at first Duddy took this for genuine interest, but each reply made the Wonder laugh harder, and when Duddy told him about Mr. Friar, Dingleman slapped the table again and again and said, “That’s too much. Too much.”

“What I’m really looking for is a silent partner. An investor.”

“I’m sure you’ll find one. Let’s get out of here. We’re invited to a party.”

The party started off to be a bore for Duddy. There was lots to drink, it’s true, the view of the river from the window was A-I, and three or four of the broads there he wouldn’t have tossed out of bed on a cold night, but for a long time nobody spoke to him. He could have been a piece of wood for all they seemed to care. Two o’clock came, soon it was after three, and nobody even bothered to turn the lights out. New guests were still arriving, in fact. Then, all at once, Dingleman summoned Duddy to his crowded corner and he became the center of attention. “Tell them what you thought of the play,” Dingleman said.

He did.

“Isn’t he the end,” a girl said.

She was, Duddy noticed, as flat as a board. The jerk with her was introduced to him as a painter and Duddy, winking at Dingleman, asked, “Inside or outside?”

Dingleman explained that Duddy was a movie producer. A vital new Canadian talent. “Tell them about Mr. Friar,” he said.

Duddy’s imitation of Mr. Friar went over bigger than anything Cuckoo Kaplan had ever done. Dingleman laughed so hard he had to keep wiping his neck.

“Jerry,” a woman said, approaching timidly. “Don’t be angry. They told me you’d be here, Jerry.”

Dingleman’s smile shut like a purse. “Get me my coat, Duddy.”

“Jerry, I’ve got to have some. Please.”

An embarrassed man tried to lead the woman away but she wouldn’t be pushed. “Jerry,” she said. “I’ll go crazy. Please, Jerry.”

“You’re a tramp,” he said so that nobody else could hear. And puffing, his face red and shiny, he started for the door where Duddy waited with his coat. From behind he heard her empty, foolish
laughter. “It’s like a scissors,” he heard her tell somebody. “When he walks on those four legs it’s just like a scissors.”

Duddy hailed a taxi.

“We’re not going to the hotel,” Dingleman said. “Tell him to take us to Harry’s on Seventh Avenue.”

Dingleman consumed one cup of coffee after another.

“Shouldn’t we get back to the hotel? Aren’t you sleepy?”

“Why are you so crazy to make money?”

Duddy was startled. He stiffened. “I want to get me some land,” he said. “A man without land is nobody.”