What's in It for Me? (25 page)

“Here, Mom, you eat here. Mrs. Herman and I, well have a snack in the kitchen.”

She reached for the coffee cup without a word. I took Mrs. Herman by the arm and led her into the kitchen.

“Mrs. Herman, I have to rush downtown now. I got a call from my, from my office and I—”

“You're not going to eat what I—?”

“I'm sorry,” I said gently, “but I've got to run downtown. I'm sorry you went to the trouble, but I—”

“Oh, it's, it's nothing, Mr. Bogen. It isn't such a wonderful I lunch, anyway. It's just a little bad coffee with a—”

It was getting so that I couldn't even wash my hands or lace my shoes without hurting somebody's feelings.

“It looks like a swell lunch, Mrs. Herman. I appreciate your making it and I'm sorry I can't eat it, but I just have to rush downtown and I have no time to—”

“I understand, Mr. Bogen.”

“This is what I wanted to talk to you about.” I took out a hundred dollars and put it on the table in front of her. “I want to ask a very big favor of you, Mrs. Herman. I'm very busy downtown and I haven't got the chance to do the things for my mother that I'd like to do. The doctor said she needs a maid. She probably needs a lot of things around the house that only, well, only another woman like my mother would understand. A woman like you, Mrs. Herman. Would I be asking too much, Mrs. Herman, if I asked you to sort of, well, to sort of look after her for me, to hire the maid and sort of supervise the house until she gets back on her feet again? I'd be willing to pay you for your—”

She looked hurt at once and I was sorry I'd said it. I didn't seem to know how to talk to these people any more.

“Mr. Bogen! You don't have to—!”

“I don't mean that,” I said quickly. “I mean, what I mean is, if you'd take this money to pay for the maid. To pay for the other things in the house and stuff like that. To
pay
for things you have to
buy,
I mean.”

“Oh,” she said. “That's different.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Herman. You don't know how much I appreciate what you're—”

She laughed quickly.

“Don't be silly, Mr. Bogen. My Murray told me what you told him you'd do when he went in business for himself. For a friend of my Murray's I'm glad I got the chance to be a little helpful.”

She took the money and put it into a small black purse in her apron.

“Fine, I said, getting up. “And if there's anything else you need for the house, anything at all, you just let me know. I'll be up regularly and I'll give you some more money whenever you need it.”

“For the time being I got plenty. More than plenty. A hundred dollars in the Bronx, Mr. Bogen, a hundred dollars is a lot.”

“Then I'll go in and say good-by to my mother.”

I picked up my hat and coat in the hall and put them on. Then I walked into the bedroom. She was lying back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling.

“You're going, Hershie?”

I didn't like the sound of her voice.

“Yeah, Ma. I've got a business appointment.”

“Business?”

“Yeah, Ma.”

“Well,” she said quietly, “business is business.”

“You be a good girl, Ma. And do what the doctor said. Just don't do anything.”

“That's easy for me already,” she said, still looking at the ceiling. “I've been doing that for a long time.”

My customary brilliance at repartee wasn't doing me much good now. Bright remarks couldn't wipe out the realization that things had come to a point where I couldn't even sit down and talk to my own mother when I wanted to.

“Don't take it so hard, Ma,” I said with fake cheerfulness, “I'll be back later in the day. You know what I'm gonna do?”

“What?”

“You just wait and I'll come back tonight and make up a dish of pancakes for both of us. I'll cook them myself, Ma. How's that?”

She looked at the ceiling with great care.

“I'll wait,” she said.

I
N THE TAXI GOING
downtown I put the finishing touches to the plan. The time had come to act. I tapped on the glass in front of me and got the driver's ear.

“You want me?” he asked without turning.

“Yeah. I changed my mind. Don't take me to Saks. Take me direct to 550 Seventh Avenue.”

I figured the hell with her. I had her in a position now where I could make her do a little waiting once in a while.

“Where's that, Mister? Thirty-seventh?”

“No, Thirty-ninth.”

“Okay, Mister.”

It was ten after one when I walked into the showroom. I dropped my hat and coat on a couch and went into the office. Miss Eckveldt should have been surprised to see me, but she didn't take her nose out of her books.

“Anything for me, Miss Eckveldt?”

“Miss Haggerty of Dixon-Dowell called. She said it wasn't very important. She'll call tomorrow morning.”

“All right. Anything else?”

“Miss Mills called and—”

“I got that call. Anything else?”

“That's all.”

I walked out into the back and looked the stock over carefully. I made an accurate list of the big numbers and the quantities and tabulated the amount in dollars and cents roughly. It was enough.

I walked back into the office and hunted through the safe until I found the accounts receivable ledger. I took it out into the showroom and skimmed the pages quickly, jotting down the names and addresses of as many good accounts as I could find west of Chicago, preferably on the Coast. Then I took the ledger back into the office, replaced it in the safe, and went out into the showroom again. It was the only place where you could have a little privacy. I settled down with a pad and order blanks and the two lists I had made up: the first, dresses on the racks in the back; the second, names and addresses of good accounts that were far away. Working quickly, without interruptions, the whole thing took me twenty minutes. By that time I had written up enough fake orders to total a little over five thousand dollars. I folded the lists of names and dress numbers carefully and put them in my pocket. The batch of fake orders I took into the back with me and went up to the shipping clerk.

“Here you are, Eric,” I said briskly, “here's a stack of new orders I want out right away.”

“Yes, Mr. Bogen.” He turned to take the orders. Then he felt the thickness of the batch and he glanced at me quickly.

“What—?” He shuffled through them and looked up again with a grin. “Holy smoke, Mr. Bogen, this is pretty good, huh?”

I smiled and shrugged. Even when I was in a hurry I didn't mind pausing long enough to pick up a little praise.

“It's not bad. I spent the morning at the buying offices and I promised immediate shipment on these things. Step on it, Eric.”

“You bet,” he said carefully. “Hell, Mr. Bogen, I haven't had a batch of orders to ship like this for a long time.”

Neither had I.

“Well, let's not waste time celebrating. Let's get them out in a hurry.”

“Yes, sir.”

He swung the batch of orders up on his staple and began to read the top one for the numbers to be selected for the shipment from the racks.

“Let me ask you, Eric. How long you think it'll take you to finish charging out these shipments?”

He scratched the back of his neck and scowled at the orders.

“Well, I don't know, Mr. Bogen. But a bunch of orders like this, I guess it'll take me the rest of the day, easy.”

“All right, Eric. Ship them out as quick as you can and get them all signed properly by the express company. I want those express receipts watched carefully.”

“Yes, sir.”

“When you get them signed up by the express company, hold them for me. Don't put them through in the office. I want to look at these myself first. I'll be back tonight. You wait for me and give them to me.”

“All right, Mr. Bogen, but—”

“But what—?”

“You think you'll be back very late?”

“What's that to do with you?”

“Sorry, Mr. Bogen. I didn't mean anything. But I go to school at night, and I thought if you were getting back late, I'd be—”

“What school?”

“City U.”

“Twenty-third Street?”

He nodded quickly.

“Yes, Mr. Bogen. What makes you—?”

I waved my hand at him.

“Aah, what's the matter with you? You look like a smart kid. What do you wanna waste your time with that crap for?”

He seemed embarrassed.

“Well, Mr. Bogen, you don't know—”

“The hell I don't I used to go there myself.”

His mouth opened slightly.

“Really?”

“Sure. What the hell can they teach you down there? Those dumb baloney benders down there? Christ, you stick around and watch me for a while, Eric, and you can learn more here than—”

“Well,” he said awkwardly, “I don't know, Mr. Bogen. I—”

“Don't listen to what I say, Eric. You wanna go to school, go ahead. It's none of my business. But just get me those signed express receipts, will you—”

“Yes, Mr. Bogen. But you—?”

“All right, then. Let it go till the morning. But get them signed up by the express company tonight. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then just hold them for me till tomorrow morning. I'll pick them up then.”

“Right, Mr. Bogen.”

I hurried out into the showroom, grabbed my hat and coat, and went down to the bank where I kept my personal account. I asked the teller for my balance as of that date. He hunted through the ledger.

“Eleven eighty-two thirty-seven, sir.”

“I'm drawing the whole thing out.”

I took out my pocket check book and wrote a check then and there to the order of cash for $1,182.37.

“You're drawing out the whole thing?” he asked in surprise.

“Yeah. I'm closing the account.”

He looked worried.

“Is there any reason that you—? I mean, Mr. Bogen, are you dissatisfied with the service, or is there any other—?”

“No, I just want to close out my account.”

“But surely, Mr. Bogen, there must be some reason why

“Yeah,” I said sarcastically, “there's a reason. I've suddenly lost confidence in all banks. I bought myself a mattress and I'm gonna start keeping my money in that.”

He gave me a long glare and squeezed his lips together. But he paid out on the check and closed the account.

Then I took a taxi up to Saks. As I came into the little lounge on the third floor, Martha ground out her cigarette, stood up, raised her wrist to look at her watch, and gave me a dirty look. I grinned widely and hurried up to her.

“What do you—?” she began.

“Stop, Martha! Don't call me names yet!”

“What do you expect me to do? After keeping me waiting for—!”

I dipped into my pocket and came up with the roll of bills I had just taken out of the bank.

“I've got four reasons for being late, Martha. All of them good. All of them excellent. But here's the best one.”

I wagged the bills under her snub nose and the hardness began to melt a little from her face.

“Well, all right, Harry, but you let me sit here for—”

“Come on,” I said, slipping my arm through hers. “You buy, I pay.”

“A
MR. FLIEGEL CALLED
you,” Miss Eckveldt said as soon as I came into the office the next morning. “He said he was from your garage.”

“All right. Get him for me.”

She dialed the number and looked up.

“Where will you—?”

“I'll take it in the showroom.”

The less I saw of her the better I felt

“All right.”

I walked out and picked up the phone.

“Hello.”

“Hello,” Fliegel said. “This Mr. Bogen?”

“Yeah, Abe. This is Mr. Bogen. What's on your mind?”

“I got a customer for the car, Mr. Bogen.”

“Swell, Abe. How much?”

“Four-seventy-five.”

“What? For a thirty-five hundred dollar job, you tell me you—?”

“The best I could do, Mr. Bogen. Sorry. I told you it'd be like this on a—”

“Yeah, but hell. Thirty-five hundred bucks I paid for that damn—”

“I know, Mr. Bogen. But I told you how it was. This guy offered four-fifty and I told him five hundred was absolutely rock bottom. So we chiseled around, you know, till we split the difference. Four-seventy-five.”

“Oh, well, all right.”

What did it matter, anyway? I was directing my energies into more profitable channels.

“You want me to close the deal, Mr. Bogen?”

At that price you couldn't even dignify it by that name.

“Yeah, Abe. You close it. When the guy's ready with the check, you bring it up here and I'll sign the papers. Okay?”

“Okay, Mr. Bogen.”

“So long, Abe. And thanks.”

I hung up and hurried into the back.

“Eric.”

“Yes, Mr. Bogen?”

“Those express receipts for the—?”

He handed me a batch of signed receipts.

“This covers all the orders I gave you last night?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right.”

I slipped the express receipts and the duplicate copies of the charges into my pocket. I hurried into the showroom, took my hat and coat, and went out. I walked down Seventh Avenue to Thirty-fourth Street, then turned right to the Pennsylvania Building. On the seventh floor I stopped in front of a door marked “Leonard Nissem & Co., Financing.” It was a funny word for a hockshop, but nobody else laughed, so why should I? I went in and spoke to the girl in the outer office.

“Is Mr. Nissem in?”

“Who wants to see him?”