“Yes, but I know who’s doing most of the work, too,” said Michael. “Are you going to buy out Ray Whitehill?”
“I could say that that’s none of your business. But unfortunately Ray gets a few drinks in him and tells the whole Yale Club bar that I am.”
“He wasn’t in today,” said Michael.
“I know. Why do you think I’m working this late? I’m not going to let Whitehill or anyone else wreck this business. The book business generally is taking an awful beating, just at the time we were beginning to get somewhere. But it’ll come back. Statistics show that more people are finishing high school, and that means more people will be going to college. They won’t all read books, but education is going to have a good effect on the book business. Things may not look so good now, but if we can survive this depression, we’ll be all right. Meanwhile, I’m working my ass off because I want to. We have to stay a while longer in this old firetrap, instead of having office space in the Graybar Building, but we’re a young firm. We can put up with inconveniences. You don’t happen to have forty thousand dollars on you, do you?”
“Not just now,” said Michael. “Do you need forty thousand?”
“To buy out Whitehill. Grimes got thirty-five. The only thing that’s going up in price these days is a partnership in this firm.”
“I wish I had forty thousand dollars, and I’d buy in.”
“I wish you had, too, Michael. You better get home to your wife. I’ll see you in the morning,” said Jack.
“Goodnight, Jack,” said Michael, and left.
Jack telephoned home. “Speak to Mrs. Harrington, please. Dear? I’m stuck here. I’ll send around to the delicatessen. I like liverwurst sandwiches. I used to like them when I had to like them. It’s a delicatessen down on Lexington Avenue. We often patronize them. I promise, I’ll phone them right away. Not before ten-thirty or eleven. Kiss him goodnight for me, and tell him I’ll have a story for him tomorrow night. I’ll be home when I get there, and I’ll have a manuscript for you to read. You can read the first half while I read the second. Goo’bye.” He hung up, got to his feet and stretched, then returned to his desk and telephoned the delicatessen. “Mr. Kleinhans? This is Mr. Harrington. Harrington and Whitehill? Very well thank you. Have you got one of your boys there that can bring me a liverwurst sandwich on rye bread? No mustard. Your liverwurst doesn’t need mustard, that’s right. A quart of coffee, sugar and cream separate. One quart. No, no thank you. No strudel. Tell the boy to ring the doorbell, on the right hand side of the door, and my office is on the second floor. All the way back. No, I won’t let him in. The superintendent will let him in, but I’ll be here in my office. And as soon you can, huh? Thank you, Mr. Kleinhans. Auf wiedersehen. Ja. Ja.”
He looked at the work he had been doing, dismissed it for the moment and picked up the Joplin manuscript and went to an easy chair with the idea of putting in a few minutes on the novel. He thought he heard the front doorbell, frowned, but decided he must be wrong. Too soon for the liverwurst.
His door opened, and it was a cleaning-woman, with bucket, floor brush, and rags. “Oh, you’re still here?”
“Still here.”
“When can I do this room?”
“Maybe you’d better skip it tonight. I’ll be here quite late.”
“That’s all right with me, if it’s all right with you. You don’t want me to just dust around a little?”
Now the doorbell could be heard distinctly.
“No thank you. Wasn’t that the doorbell?”
“The super’ll get it. That ain’t my job, answering the door.”
“I’m expecting some sandwiches from the delicatessen.”
At that moment Mary Walton appeared in the doorway. The cleaning-woman looked at Mary, smartly dressed, and then at Jack. “Here’s your sandwiches,” said the woman, and went out.
“What did she call me?” said Mary. “A witch?”
“Not exactly,” said Jack.
(1974)
IT’S MENTAL WORK
It was nearly half-past four and the last customer had been let out the side door. The barroom was dark except for the weak night light over the cash register. For early risers it was Tuesday morning, but here it was still Monday night. Rich Hickman, the bartender, had his street clothes on, very dapper, and seeming not at all tired as he came in the back room.
“You all through, Rich?” said Wigman, the owner.
“All through here,” said Rich, with a smile.
“Yeah, you look as if you had some place to go,” said Wigman. “One for the road, as they say?” Wigman pointed to the bottle of bourbon on the table.
“I don’t know. Sure,” said Rich. He looked at his wristwatch, a hexagonal shape with square hollow links of stainless steel. “You want company a little while?”
“Get yourself a glass and sit down,” said Wigman. “I don’t know whether I got a date or not. It all depends.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Rich, speaking while he fetched a shot glass from the bar. “Those all-depends dates. I give that up for a coupla years, but now I’m back playing the field. All depends, all depends. They give you that all-depends chowder, but it’s still better than being tied down.”
“I don’t know,” said Wigman. “I don’t know which is better, to tell you the truth. I’m forty-four years of age and twice in my life I thought I was settled down. Settled down. But it got to be tied down, and I was too young for that. I still feel pretty young, but I know what I am. I’m forty-four going on forty-five, and if I’m gonna be ninety years old, I’m halfway there. Halfway to ninety. Cheers, Rich.”
“Cheers,” said Rich. They raised glasses and drank.
“What did we do tonight?” said Wigman.
“Around three and a quarter.”
“Yeah, quiet. Well, a Monday,” said Wigman.
“You don’t even figure to break even on a Monday,” said Rich.
“That reminds me. How is it you never owned a joint of your own?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I got offered the chance to, to go partners with a guy in Fort Lauderdale, but I didn’t. I didn’t like the fellow. And I had a rich dame in Miami Beach used to give me the big talk, but for two years straight as soon as it was April she went back to New York, and I was still on the duckboards. I guess she didn’t have the money. The cash, I mean. She had a forty-dollar-a-day room all season, and she had a coupla rings there that shoulda been good for fifteen, twenty thousand apiece. But I know for a fact she was a two-dollar bettor at the track. Her husband wouldn’t let her have any cash.”
“Were you in?”
“Oh, sure, I was in. I had the use of a big Chrysler and she give me like all my slacks and sport shirts she used to put on the tab at the hotel. They had a woman’s shop there that carried men’s shirts and slacks and a couple times special orders for an Italian silk suit, sports jackets. And you know, that husband never got wise, because it was a woman’s shop. It all went on the tab at the hotel. But cash, no. She was a two-dollar bettor. Didn’t cash ten bets all season, all long shots. Every race she had the long shot. That many long shots don’t come in.”
“That many favorites don’t come in either,” said Wigman.
“No. Not when I have them at least. So anyway, I stop going steady with her and ever since I been playing the field.”
“How old are you, Rich?”
“How old am I? I’m thirty-seven. I’m not so much younger than you.”
“You look it, though. I got too much weight on me.”
“Well, you think about it and it’s very seldom you see a bartender overweight. If he’s just a working stiff. An owner that tends bar, he’ll put on the weight. But just an ordinary bartender, he’s on his feet, moving around. Like a cashier in a bank. A paying teller. How many of them do you see fat? I figured it out why. You’re on your feet all d
ay and the lard don’t get a chance to grow on you. Furthermore, you don’t think of a bartender as using up mental energy, but we do. You carry on these conversations with the customers, you got maybe twenty-thirty customers at one time, and they all say, ‘Hey, Rich, will you do this again, please?’ and you’re supposed to know what every one of them wants. Then the cash register, the prices. And the guys that want the bottle on the bar, you gotta keep an eye on them. It’s mental work, and that uses up energy. We’re not very different than a paying teller. Except the respectability.”
“And the wages, Rich. You get better wages.”
“That we do.”
“And you’re not stuck in the one place all your life.”
“No. Oh, I’m not complaining. How long would a teller in a bank last if they found out he was driving some broad’s Chrysler and living it up in a forty-dollar-a-day room? I had a room over in Miami, a fleabag over there, but most of the time I was in Miami Beach.”
“A good tan goes well with your white hair.”
“Oh, I used to pass for ten years younger. This broad thought I was around twenty-six, twenty-seven. Gave her a little priority over the other broads. Priority? You know what I mean. Not priority.”
“Superiority.”
“That’s it.”
There was a metallic rap on the window. “I guess I got a date after all,” said Wigman.
“I’ll get it,” said Rich, going to the door. “Howdy do?”
The woman said: “Hello. Is Ernie here?”
“Come on in,” called Wigman. “That’s Rich Hickman, my bartender. Come on in, June.”
“Hello,” said June to Rich, acknowledging the introduction.
“Nice to meet you,” said Rich. “I’ll be going.”
“Stick around, don’t go,” said Wigman.
“I better go,” said Rich, looking at his watch.
“Time you meeting your date?” said Wigman.
“Well, I don’t know. She was gonna be here or give me a buzz.”
“Well, stick around a while,” said Wigman. “So she’s a little late. They’re always late. Hello, Junie.”
“I wasn’t so very late,” said the woman. “I told you between four and five, so I’m early.”
“What’ll you drink?” said Wigman.
“Oh—I don’t know,” said June. She looked at the bottle on the table. “Not bourbon.”
“Well, you can have anything you want, and if you want a mixed drink, this is the guy to do it for you. This guy is only the best. Take my word for it.”
“You know what I think I’ll have is a Rob Roy. I had a Scotch earlier.”
“That’s easy,” said Rich.
“Live up to your reputation now, Rich. Give her the best Rob Roy she ever hung a lip over.”
“What an expression!” said June. She lit a cigarette and Rich went to the barroom. “What happened to the other fellow you used to have?”
“He quit, and I got this fellow. This fellow’s twice as good. No spillage. No getting out of hand with the customers. And pretty, too, isn’t he?”
“He’s almost too pretty. He dyes his hair. Is he queer?”
“If he is, I should be as queer. The women go big for this guy.”
“Does he go big for them is the question,” said June.
“I got an idea that it’s mutual. How was your business tonight?”
“Off. Way off. They’re talking about closing Monday nights entirely. I heard they’re trying to make a deal with the unions. It may pick up though, towards the end of the week. They moan and groan every Monday, but as soon as it begins to pick up towards the end of the week, you don’t hear any more about it.”
“I know,” said Wigman. “We were way off tonight.”
“It starda rain out,” said June. “I just got a few drops on me, getting out of the cab.”
“I owe you for the cab,” said Wigman. He took a bill out of a money clip. She looked at the bill and then at Wigman. She shook her head.
“This five has an O behind it,” she said.
“I don’t need glasses,” said Wigman.
“You want to give me fifty dollars?”
“Why are you acting surprised? It isn’t the first time I gave you fifty dollars.”
“You don’t have to give me fifty dollars,” she said. “I don’t mind when business is good, but you said you were way off tonight.”
“We were very good Saturday and Sunday.”
“Ernie, you don’t have to do this,” she said.
“But I’d rather,” he said. “Here’s your Rob Roy. A good way to unload the cheap Scotch.”
“I didn’t use the cheap Scotch,” said Rich. “That’s as good as we have in the house.”
“Well, that’s all right, considering,” said Wigman.
Hickman looked at the rain-streaked window. “Hey, you know it’s starting to come down.”
“You might as well wait here till it stops.”
The fifty-dollar bill disappeared into June’s purse and she sipped the cocktail, moving her eyes from right to left, left to right as she judged the taste. “Good,” she said. “Just right.”
“Thanks,” said Rich.
“I told you, this guy is only the best,” said Wigman. “You better stick around in case she wants another one.”
“Well, if it’s all right with all concerned,” said Rich. “My friend should be along any minute, or phone.”
“There’s the bottle,” said Wigman. “Help yourself. You know the combination.”
“Do you mind if I ask you something?” said June.
“Go ahead,” said Rich.
“Did you used to be in Miami Beach, driving a big kind of a Cadillac or one of those?”
“A Chrysler, yeah,” said Rich.
“Last season. You know you almost knocked me down?”
“Me? I don’t remember even coming close. Seriously, are you sure it was me? I don’t remember no accident.”
“You wouldn’t remember me, but I remember you. Corner of Thirty-first and Lincoln. You were so busy talking to your lady friend you never even saw me. Or heard me. I really gave it to you, but it was all wasted. I think you were having a little fight with the lady friend. A blonde with those big sun glasses?”
“That could fit forty-five thousand dames in Miami Beach, but I guess it all adds up. I apologize.”
“I knew I seen you some place before. That hair gives you away.”
“Next question. Do I dye it? No, I don’t. I stard getting gray hair when I was twenty-three years of age.”
“I didn’t ask you. That’s none of my business.”
“Well, then you’re the exception because they all ask me,” said Rich.
“That’s funny, because I wasn’t,” she said. “It’s too bad you don’t have that big car tonight. You could ride Ernie and I home.”
“What is this, the needle? You know damn well it was never my car or I wouldn’t be tending bar for a living.”
“Ernie, I thought you said this man never got out of hand with the customers.”
“You’re not a customer, and let’s face it, you got the needle in there pretty deep. But enjoy yourself, the both of you,” said Wigman.
“Yeah, how much do I have to take when I’m not getting paid for it?” said Rich. “You know what I mean? I got the apron off now, a first-class citizen after four A.M. What do you do, June? Are you a hatcheck chick?”
“What if I am?”
“Well, then, relax,” said Rich. “You know what I mean? So you take it all night for a lousy buck, so do I. But here it is close on to five o’clock in the morning and we’re people now. Not only you, but me. What’d somebody give you the big pitch tonight? Is that what’s bugging you?”
“Nothing is bugging me, a
nd nobody gave me any big pitch.”
“Maybe that’s what’s bugging you, nobody give you the pitch. Did I strike oil there, June?”
“Easy does it there, Rich,” said Wigman. “Don’t get personal.”
“You mean I shouldn’t call her June? How’s the cocktail, ma’am?”
“I must say you’re a sarcastic son of a bitch,” said Wigman. “I never realized that before.”
“Oh, I hold it in when I got my apron on, but this is after hours, Ernie.”
“Ernie, huh?” said Wigman.
“All right. Mr. Wigman, if that’s the way you like it. But I coulda been Mr. Hickman in Fort Lauderdale, and then maybe you’da been one of my customers. Mr. Hickman and Mr. Wigman.”
“You coulda been Mr. Hickman in Miami Beach if the broad had the cash, only her husband wouldn’t let her get her hooks on any cash,” said Wigman.
“Now who’s sarcastic?” said Rich.
“I think you’re making a fast load,” said Wigman. “You only had three sitting here—”
“And one when I was mixing her drink, making four.”
“Well, that’s a half a pint in about fifteen minutes,” said Wigman.
“Do you do everything fast?” said June.
“That depends on how you mean that. Some things I take it slow and easy.”
“All right, Rich. Down, boy,” said Wigman.
“The lady asked me a question. I thought she wanted to know. Some things I can take it slow and easy, whereas I know some women don’t like it if you take it slow and easy. Speaking of shaking up a Dackery, for instance.”
“Yeah. Sure. Well, I tell you, Rich,” said Wigman. “I think you better take a slow and easy powder out of here while we’re all still friends. I see you tomorrow night.”
“Okay, Ernie. Okay. Goodnight, Ernie, and good night, June. Watch out for reckless drivers.” He got up and went out the side door.
“The idea asking him does he do everything fast?” said Wigman. “You couldn’t have but only the one meaning to a question like that.”
“So?”
“You mean you go for that guy?”
“I don’t go for anybody. I’m so sick of men. I wouldn’t care if I never saw another man for the rest of my life, the way I feel now.”