What's in It for Me? (27 page)

“Once more I'm telling you,” I said sharply. “Don't open any more returns and wait till I get down.”

“Yes, sir. I understand, Mr. Bogen.”

“Let's hope you do. I'm coming right downtown now.”

Mother's voice came out of the bedroom in a shout.

“Just this minute you came in!” she cried. “A minute you're not even in the house yet, you weren't here for three days, a minute you're not in the house, and already it's excitement with the telephone and you're running back! What kind of—?”

I covered the mouthpiece with my hand and yelled into the bedroom.

“Wait a minute, Ma, will you? I can't hear what—”

“You'll hear!” she cried. “I'll first start talking in a minute and you'll hear so much it'll start by you the—!”

I uncovered the mouthpiece and spoke into it.

“All right, Eric. You got what I told you. Don't open up anything. Wait for me. I'll be right down.”

“All right, Mr. Bogen.”

I hung up and hurried into the bedroom.

“Listen, Ma,” I said quickly. “I'm sorry about this, but an important thing just happened downtown and I have to—”

She twisted her lips again.

“What's the matter?” she demanded. “The President is waiting for you? The Governor is sitting with his hands in his pockets, he has nothing to do till you come down and start telling him how he should—?”

I grinned and shook my head.

“Ma, listen. I can't stop to talk now. This is very important.”

“By you, that partner of yours should only give himself a little tickle, so it's already by you important too!”

While she talked I ripped the paper from the bundle I had brought up with me.

“Look what I brought you, Ma.” I held up the small radio. “Nice, no?”

“What do I need it for? A radio in the living room isn't enough?”

“But you're in the bedroom! I wanted you to have something to listen to while you're in bed.”

“Isn't enough my legs hurt,” she said to Mrs. Herman. “Now he wants my ears should hurt, too.”

“You can keep it tuned in low, Ma.”

“I'll give you a tuning in low! Now you're a smart one. Just because I'm in bed and you're running around, so now you're smart with me. Wait, wait, Hershie. Wait till I get out of bed. I'll fix you good.”

“Okay, Mom, when your leg gets better I'll give you a chance.”

I turned to the door.

“Hey!” she cried. “The radio! it's not fixed in! It's not—!”

I scowled and scratched my head.

“I haven't got time to hook it up, Ma. But I'll tell you what. I'll call up a service man in the neighborhood and tell him to come up and do it.”

“My Murray could do it when he comes home tonight,” Mrs. Herman said quickly.

“Never mind, never mind,” mother said. “When Murray comes home he's tired. He's a lawyer, not a dress manufacturer. He works. He don't have to work extra for—”

“It's nothing,” Mrs. Herman said with a laugh. “Murray likes to do things with his hands.”

“All right, then,” I said in the doorway. “So long, Ma. And take care of yourself. I'll see you soon.”

“How soon?”

“Oh, I don't know. Maybe tonight, Ma.”

“All right.” She wagged her finger at me. “Remember, you promised! You promised for tonight!”

“Okay,” I said with a laugh, “I promised.”

Mrs. Herman followed me out to the door.

“Mr. Bogen,” she said quietly.

“Yes?”

She hesitated for a moment.

“It's none of my business, Mr. Bogen,” she said awkwardly, “but I think you—”

“I'm in a hurry, Mrs. Herman. You think what?”

She shrugged.

“Well, never mind, Mr. Bogen. It doesn't—”

“What is it, Mrs. Herman,” I said, annoyed. “Tell me quick if you're going to tell me at all. I have to get downtown in a hurry.”

“Well,” she said in a low voice, “I think you ought to, well, you ought to come home more. Your mother, she, she, well, she worries a lot and I don't think, Doctor Silverman said so, too, he don't think it's good for her to—”

I patted her arm quickly.

“All right, Mrs. Herman,” I said. “Ill try. I've been land of busy and I didn't get the chance, but I will.”

“That's fine, Mr. Bogen.”

“And oh, yes, Mrs. Herman, before I forget.” I dipped into my pocket and came up with some bills. “Here's some more money. If you won't get a maid, at least get—”

“Thanks, Mr. Bogen. But your mother and I, we talked it over, and we decided a maid is too—”

“Look,” I said quickly, “you tell me tonight. Right now I simply must get out of here quick. So long.”

“Good-by, Mr. Bogen.”

I took a taxi downtown and threw my hat into Miss Eckveldt's room. She called after me as I was closing the door.

“Mr. Bogen!”

I stopped and stuck my head in again.

“Yes?”

She held up some papers.

“These orders came in from Mr. Yazdabian this morning. Will you see that they're—?”

When they taught her English they left out the word please.

“I'll take care of them later.”

“But Mr. Yazdabian wrote that—!”

“I'll get Mr. Yazdabian's autograph some other time.”

“But Mr. Bogen! He—!”

Whatever she said after that she was saying to the door. I was halfway through the place to the shipping room.

“Eric!”

He spun around and flushed quickly. I had been a little snottier on the phone than I had intended to be, but what could I do?

“Yes, Mr. Bogen.”

“Let's see those returns.”

“Here they are. I checked with my shipping book, Mr. Bogen. Every one of them came back. Every one of them is on the floor here, Mr. Bogen.”

“They're crazy,” I said angrily. “Every one of these guys is nuts. They ordered them, all right. I don't know what the hell got into them they're sending them back.” I stood up and swept my arm across the whole batch. “Take them all out of the boxes, Eric. And repack them in fresh boxes. Repack them exactly as they are now. Just put them in new boxes.”

“Shouldn't they be repressed, Mr. Bogen? I mean, before they're repacked, I thought—?”

“Listen, Eric,” I said sharply. “Did you hear me say a word about repressing?”

“No, sir, but I—”

“Your job stops with the word sir. From here on I start taking over. When I tell you to repress, you'll get them repressed. Right now I told you to repack. So repack.”

“Yes, sir.”

I turned on my heel and went into the office. I took the accounts receivable ledger from the safe and carried it out into the showroom. In a few minutes I had made up a new list of names and addresses of good accounts. I returned the ledger to the office and went out into the back with my list.

“Here's a list of names and addresses, Eric. These are the people that the repacked dresses are going to.”

“Have you got the orders for them, Mr. Bogen?”

“No orders necessary. Just write new labels and paste them on the packages. I'll work with you and show you which labels go on which packages.”

As Eric wrapped the packages and wrote the labels and pasted them on the bundles, I worked the billing machine and wrote out the charges.

“Now call Railway Express and have them send a man right up,” I said when we were finished.

“Right now?”

“Yeah, now. This stuff has to go out immediately.”

He made the call and while we waited for the man to come up, I footed the charges. This time I made them total a little over $7,000. When the Railway Express man arrived, I watched him while he wrote the express receipts and signed I them. After he left, I took them from Eric and went out into the office to get my hat.

“Oh!” Miss Eckveldt said when I came in. She was holding the phone to her ear and reaching toward the plugs of the switchboard. “I was just going to ring you, Mr. Bogen.”

“Yeah? What's the matter?”

“Miss Mills on the wire.”

“Did you tell her I'm in?”

“No, sir. I told her I was going to look for you in the back.”

“All right. You looked for me in the back. But you didn't find me.”

“What shall I tell her, Mr. Bogen?”

“Tell her I left word that if she called I might be a little late for our appointment, but she was to wait for me.”

“You left word,” she repeated, “that if she called you might be a little late for your appointment, but she was to wait for you.”

“That's right.”

She began to repeat that to Martha as I went out. I hurried over to the Pennsylvania Building on Thirty-fourth Street and spoke to the girl in the outer office.

“Mr. Nissem in, Miss Blau?”

“Just a moment, Mr. Bogen.”

Once they hung you in their gallery, they remembered your name.

“Thanks.”

She went into the private office and came out in a moment.

“You can go right in, Mr. Bogen.”

I walked through the railing and into Nissem's office.

“Hello there, Bogen. How are you?”

“Pretty good,” I said, shaking his hand. “And you?”

“Pretty good, too. What can I do for you?”

“Well,” I said with a Grade A imitation of a sheepish grin, “what do you think you can do for me? Rowboats and canoes you don't sell, do you? A shave and a haircut I have to go to the barber shop to get. If I come here, Nissem, you know what I want.”

He chuckled good-naturedly.

“All right, Bogen. Let's see what you've got this time.”

I showed him the $7,000 worth of charges and the substantiating express receipts. We haggled back and forth and settled for a $6,000 advance. Miss Blau came in with the typed assignment contract, I signed it, and we went down to the bank for the cash.

“Still afraid your bank'll grab your balance?” he laughed as he handed me the money.

“Yeah,” I said, taking the money and putting it into my pocket. “I don't know why, Nissem, but God, how I hate banks! With me it's a matter of principle not to meet their notes on time.”

He laughed and slapped me on the shoulder.

“Thank God I'm not a bank, eh, Bogen?”

That was no reason why he shouldn't receive similar treatment.

“Aah hell, Nissem. You're not a bank. You're a life saver! Remember you told me?”

“That's right. I forgot. I'm a life saver.”

“So long,” I said with a grin. “I'll see you on the boardwalk.”

“Yeah,” he said, laughing. “On the boardwalk. He'll see me on the boardwalk!”

I left him while he was still chuckling over that one, and took a cab to the Montevideo. Martha was in the living room, turning the pages of
Esquire.

“Hello, Harry.” She glanced at her wrist watch. “You're not so very late. The girl at the office said you'd be—”

“I know. The last time that girl in my office got anything right, they gave the kids a half day off from school.”

“Well, let's—”

“Just give me a minute to change my shoes, will you, Martha? I'm breaking in a pair of new ones and I'm telling you, they're murder.”

“All right,” she said absently. She had her nose in the magazine again. “No rush, Harry.”

I went into the bedroom and made a lot of noise getting out another pair of shoes. Through the crack in the door I peeked out into the living room. She had her head buried in the magazine. I pulled out the bottom dresser drawer and dug down under the shirts and pajamas for the small metal box. I unlocked it and took from my pocket the $6,000 in cash I had just received from Lenny Nissem. $5,000 I put into the metal box with the rest of the haul. $500 I put into my pocket. I locked the box, buried it again under the shirts and pajamas, and came out into the living room.

“Okay, kid.” I flashed the money under her nose. “What do you say we go out and get started buying another piece of the town today?”

“That's the one thing I like to do even more than sing.”

“Today we better start buying luggage already. Don't you think so, Martha?”

“I suppose. We've got about everything else. What sort of stuff shall we get?”

I shook my head at her.

“You know when I buy something, Martha, there's only one kind to get.”

“What's that?”

“The best.”

She laughed suddenly.

“What I'm wondering about, Harry, is where in the world is all the money coming from all of a sudden?”

“I wouldn't wonder about it if I were you, Martha. I'm making myself a little bundle, and don't you worry how. As long as it's there to spend, that's all you have to worry about. You're not playing around with a penny pincher like some people I could mention. You're playing with a big shot.”

“Oh,” she said as she adjusted her hat in the mirror, “I don't mind playing, Harry.”

“Then what are you worrying about?”

“Nothing. Not a thing. Except—”

“Except what?”

“Except I'd hate to have the police walk in on me one of these days and take everything away from me that you bought.”

I looked at her calmly as I lit a cigarette.

“I wouldn't spend too much time on that if I were you, kid. Smart people don't have to steal and they don't have to worry about cops.”

She looked at me quickly.

“Oh, it's not that I don't think you're smart, Harry. My God, no! You're like the guy in the song.”

“The what?”

“The top.”

“Not very far from it, anyway, kid.”

“But I don't know, Harry. It's just that, well, some day—”

“Some day what?”

“Some day you'll wake up and find out that you're too smart to live. Like this guy Alexander, or whatever his name was, in the history books.” She said it with a little gurgling laugh to take the teeth out of it. “I mean, Harry, you'll find yourself in front of a mirror and take a good look at yourself and you'll realize that there's nothing left to do but commit suicide.”