“Oh, so now you’re admitting it, eh?” I said.
“Who, me?” she said, shrugging. “What am I admitting? What did I say? I didn’t say nothing. I just—”
“Yeah,” I said, “I know. Well, let’s not waste time arguing about it. I don’t mind, Ma, except this one night you had to—”
“Aah, Heshie, don’t be a baby. What did I spoil for you, what? You want to talk business, so talk business. A girl by the table is going to spoil everything?”
“You bet she’s not,” I said. “Because as soon as we finish eating, I’m taking my friend into the living room where we can talk and you can do what you want with your Ruthie.”
“All right, all right,” she said, pushing me back toward the living room. “In the meantime, show at least the little bit good manners I taught you. Don’t leave a girl she should sit alone in the front room by herself.”
I straightened my tie and went back into the living room. She smiled as I came in. I hated to admit it, but when she smiled in that soft appealing way, she had something. Why does a gift like that have to be given to a girl from the Bronx?
“I’m afraid I’ll have to call you by your first name,” I said, walking over to the sofa across the room from her. “My mother is a pretty determined woman, and she’s put her foot down about it.”
I stopped for a moment, surprised. I wanted to say it again, just to make sure I’d heard myself right.
“I learned that already,” she said with a little laugh. “She threatened to spank me if I didn’t call you Harry.”
“Well, I guess that makes it even,” I said.
It was too bad there wasn’t a stenographer present. That brilliant conversation should really have been recorded for posterity.
“I’ll tell you,” she said. “My name is Ruthie, of course—but all my—I mean—all my friends, they call me Betty.” She blushed a little. “I mean, if it’s all the same to—”
“I get it,” I said, smiling reassuringly, and marking it up as dumb trick number one. “All right, then, Betty it is.”
But it wasn’t. Betty didn’t fit her. Ruthie was the word for that softness that was the first thing you noticed about her. Not even Ruth. Just Ruthie.
“Where have you been keeping yourself all these years since we lived on Fox Street?” I said. “I don’t seem to remember you at all.”
“Oh, we’ve been living there all this time,” she said.
“Gee whiz,” I said, “that must be every bit of, let’s see—we moved from Fox Street before I was bar mitzvah, a couple of years before, so I must’ve been about ten or eleven—say, that makes it every bit of twelve or thirteen years, doesn’t it?”
“It certainly does,” she said.
“Boy,” I said, “how time flies!”
Well, I guess we were both doing our bit toward making this one of the high spots in my conversational career.
“What do you do during the day?” I said.
She began to look more at home at once. Well, I asked for it.
“I’m secretary to one of the partners in a large law firm downtown,” she said, smoothing the dress over her crossed knees. “It’s interesting work, but the hours are long. I don’t usually get home as early as this.” Was I flattered! “You don’t get home so early yourself, do you?”
“No,” I said. “I’m rather busy downtown until six or seven and I don’t usually get home before eight or so. But to-night I’m having an important business friend to dinner, and so I came home a little early.”
“Oh,” she said, and the smile went out of her face.
Ah, well, another conquest!
“I’m terribly sorry,” I said, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. “It’ll probably be very boring for you to listen to us discuss business all night. But I didn’t know you were coming, and it’s too late now to head this friend of mine off. He’s due here any minute,” I said, looking at my watch.
What the hell was I apologizing for?
“Oh, that’s perfectly all right,” she said in that pleasant voice of hers, and her face broke into the smile again. I leaned back on the sofa and found myself smiling, too, in spite of myself. “I suppose I really shouldn’t have butted in on you on such short notice.”
“Don’t be silly,” I said. “It’s a pleasure.”
“Well, it’s nice of you to say that, anyway,” she said.
“I mean it, too,” I said, and just then the bell rang. “Excuse me a moment, while I answer that,” I said, jumping up. Now I knew what the bell between rounds meant to a fighter. Another minute and I’d have said something I’d be sorry for. What the hell was the matter with me? Maybe I was trained too fine.
“Hello, Meyer,” I said, taking his hand with a good deal more warmth than he was entitled to. It felt strange to be thankful for the arrival of a kluck like Meyer Babushkin. “Right on time, eh?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“Well, come on in,” I said, leading him toward the living room. “Meyer,” I said, “I want you to meet a friend of mine, Miss Betty Rivkin. Miss Rivkin, Mr. Babushkin.”
While they were shaking hands, Mother came in and I introduced Meyer again.
“Well,” Mother said, “now we’re all here, I could put the supper on the table, no?”
“Ma!” I said reprovingly, “Not supper. Dinner!”
“Well, Mr. Smart One,” Mother said to me, “it’s not dinner either. What do you think of that? It’s just blintzes!”
Everybody laughed and I said, “Well, whatever it is, let’s go in and eat it.”
I moved over toward Ruthie and took her arm to lead her to the kitchen. I saw Mother looking at me with a suppressed smile, but I couldn’t avoid giving her that much satisfaction. I wanted to find out if she was as soft to the touch as she was to the look. She was. Not flabby, but firm, and at the same time soft and tender and warm. In spite of Fox Street and the Bronx and her background and her nose, there was something appealing about her. She wasn’t my speed, but I figured that while I was saddled with her for dinner, I might just as well amuse myself by trying to find out what it was.
Mother had four chairs arranged around the kitchen table, and she had Ruthie sitting directly across from me, so that while I couldn’t do much talking, I could watch her.
As soon as the blintzes were served, I had another mark to chalk up in her favor. She handled a fork like it was something with which to carry food to your mouth, not like it was a thermometer that had just been used on a typhoid case.
“Oh, Mrs. Bogen,” she said, leaning toward Mother and smiling, “these are delicious!”
Mother beamed.
“You like them, hah?”
“I certainly do,” she said, “they’re wonderful!”
“All right,” Mother said, “so after supper, I’ll show you how to make them. It’s a handy thing for a girl to know.”
Hey, Mom! Enough is enough!
I turned to Babushkin.
“How’re they coming, Meyer?” I said.
“Fine,” he said, with his mouth full. “Very good.”
It was a good thing I had an opinion of my own about those blintzes, because I never would have been tempted to try them on his recommendation.
“Have some more,” I said, loading up his plate.
When we finished I lit a cigarette and passed the pack toward her.
“Have one?” I said.
“No thanks,” she said with a pleasant little shake of the head, “I don’t smoke.”
I was glad she didn’t say it like she was showing off a medal.
“Well, then, now, look,” I said, leaning on the table with my elbows. “Mr. Babushkin and I, here, we have a little business to discuss. So if you ladies will sort of excuse us, we’ll go into the living room and get it over with. But don’t you run away, now,” I said, shaking my finger at her and kicking myself at the same time. “We won’t be long.”
“Don’t worry,” Mother said, waving us away. “I
’m going to teach her how to make blintzes. So go already, go, with your business. All the time business, business, business, business, business, business, business!”
I laughed and got up and Babushkin followed. We went through the foyer to the living room and I pointed to the armchair.
“Take a seat, Meyer,” I said, and sat down on the sofa, facing him.
“Well, Meyer,” I said, cheerfully, “how are things up at Pulbetkal?”
“Oh, you know. Just about the same.”
“Struggling along, eh?”
“You know,” he said, shrugging.
“How’s my friend Mr. Pulvermacher? I’ll bet he don’t feel so good this week. He probably only made three million dollars this week instead of the six he usually makes? Hah?”
He smiled a little. The way he did it you’d think it was against the law.
“Well, that’s the dress business for you,” I said. “If you’ve got a good combination, you can make money faster than the mint. That Pulvermacher, he must be worth all kinds of dough.”
He didn’t look very happy and he began to chew on his thumbnail.
“You make up your mind yet on that thing we were talking about the other day?” I said.
He swallowed the piece of thumbnail he had in his mouth and began to talk to the floor.
“I’ll tell you, Mr. Bogen,” he said slowly, “I been thinking about it, you know, I been thinking about it a lot, but, well, I don’t know, it’s such a big thing you know, that, well, aah, I don’t know—”
“Sure it’s a big thing,” I said. “But all good things are big.” Oh, yeah? “That’s not really an objection, is it? Because if that’s all that’s—”
“No,” he said. “It’s not that. It’s just that, well, you know, you can’t be sure what’s gonna happen. Like this, now, at least I know I got a good job, and every week, regular, like clockwork, I get—”
I love this.
“Listen, Meyer,” I said quietly, putting my hand halfway across the small room so I could touch his arm. “You’re no baby and I’m not going to talk to you like you were a baby. I’m not going to give you any of this nothing ventured nothing gained stuff. You and I we’re about the same age, maybe you’re even a little older—how old are you, Meyer?”
“Twenty-six and a half.”
“So it’s just like I said. You’re even a little older than I am. So there’s no sense in my trying to give you advice or anything like that. But one thing you and I know, Meyer. When you go into business, nobody goes around giving you a written guarantee you’ll make a million dollars the first month. It’s a risk. Everybody takes a risk. Don’t forget, Meyer, I have a running business of my own that I’m stepping out of. I don’t have to tell you that. And how about Mr. Ast? He’s the crack salesman there for Toney Frocks, you think he’s not thinking twice before he goes in for this thing? You can just about bet he’s thinking about it. And so am I, too. We’re all thinking about it. But a man’s gotta make a break sometimes. You can’t go on working for another man all your life. You have to make a break some time. You’ve been on Seventh Avenue longer than I have, Meyer.” This was true. “And you know a little more about it than I do.” But this wasn’t. “But in my business, the way I have to keep circulating around all the time, keeping in contact with all my clients, my accounts, I pretty nearly get into every dress house in the industry. I sort of get the feel of the way things are running a little better than somebody else. Every place I go, what do I hear? All I hear is what a great line Pulbetkal is got this season. Every place it’s the same thing. ‘Pulbetkal is got a line that’s hot.’ ‘That Pulvermacher is some little smart one, all right.’ ‘Look at the business he’s doing.’ ‘Look at the line he’s got.’ All day long, wherever I go, that’s all I hear. But nobody is kidding me, Meyer. Why is Pulbetkal’s line hot? Why is Pulvermacher, Betschmann & Kalisch, Inc. making so much money? Because Pulvermacher is got a bald head, or because he wears glasses with a black ribbon, or because he smokes twenty-cent cigars, or maybe because he’s president of the Associated Dress Manufacturers? All that stuff is the bull. Pulvermacher is cleaning up because in the back, in his factory, he’s got the best factory man on Seventh Avenue, a man that also happens to be one of the best designers in the business. He’s got Meyer Babushkin.”
It’s a funny thing about spilling the crap. If you don’t watch out the way you sling it, you’re liable to get snowed under yourself.
“So Pulvermacher’s got the dough,” I said, “and what has this Meyer Babushkin got?” I know, teacher! He’s got a corking puss to sling manure at! “He’s got a job, a good job, with a good salary, too, but just the same, that’s all it is, a job. But if this Babushkin was to step out for himself, if he was running his own factory, and it was his own line he was making hot, not only would he still be the best factory man and designer on Seventh Avenue, but he’d also be getting the money that’s really his, and that right now he’s not getting, but that Pulvermacher is.”
He kept nodding slowly as I talked, although the worried look still remained on his face. The look didn’t mean anything, though. It was the way he always looked. The important thing was that he was nodding. But I wasn’t really convincing him. He was convinced right from the start, before I even began. The same would’ve been true of any one of the thousands of heels you find on Seventh Avenue. Go out into the street blindfolded and reach out. The first guy you’ll touch will react the same way. Every one of them, every salesman, every factory man, every shipping clerk, every one of them is dying to go into the dress business for himself. And every one of them does, sooner or later. So I wasn’t really convincing Babushkin. He was just yellow, that’s all. And I was playing substitute for a backbone.
“Like I said before, Meyer, we can’t get any written guarantees. But I ask you, how can we miss?” I was asking, but I wasn’t waiting for any answers. I was young and healthy and wanted to enjoy life. I couldn’t afford to waste the best years of my youth waiting for a molasses-brain like that to frame an answer to a question. “We’ve got a combination that’s practically sure-fire. Look. We’ve got you, the best factory man and designer on the Avenue. You’ve been coining money for Pulvermacher, Betschmann & Kalisch, Inc. for years. Is there any reason why you shouldn’t continue to do the same for yourself? And even better, too? The chances are that when you’re in your own business, Meyer, you’ll be even better than you ever were. So all right. We’ve got you. Then we’ve got Teddy Ast. Maybe he isn’t so wonderful a salesman as you’re a factory man. I mean, that’s just between the two of us, and I wouldn’t want it to go any further. But he certainly is one of the best in the business, isn’t he? Look what he’s been doing for Toney Frocks. They haven’t had a line worth a—a—excuse the expression, Meyer, but they haven’t had a line worth a fart in I don’t know how many years. Yet year after year they turn in a profit. Why is that? Because they’ve got Teddy Ast. They’ve got a salesman there that could sell—I don’t know, he could sell anything. And then there’s me. Why, between the three of us—I don’t know what to say. There’s just no limit to the money we can make.”
I lit a cigarette and gave him a breathing spell.
“And then,” I went on, “if you’re really worried about those things. I mean,” I said carelessly, “if the worst comes to the worst, in case the whole world is all of a sudden crazy, and we don’t make a go of it, why, then, Meyer, you can take my word for it, you’ll still have nothing to worry about. Pulbetkal will grab you back so fast, I mean just in case you ever want to go back, they’ll grab you back so fast, you’ll be dizzy. And you’ll be able to come back on your own terms, too. They’ll respect you more, too. Aah,” I said, waving my hand at him, “but what am I talking about! We won’t make a go of it! What am I, crazy? I’m so positive we’re gonna clean up, Meyer, I’m so positive, that I’m even gonna borrow some extra money so that we can start off with a little more decent capital.” I reminded myself not to get excited. I was on
ly talking. I never borrow. “That’s how positive I am about this thing.”
He turned his worried squash in my direction, but there was no change in the way it looked. So I was willing to consider it a step forward. After all, Einstein says everything is relative.
“You really think we’ll have enough to go into business?” he asked doubtfully.
“Do I think we’ll have enough?” I said. “Look. Let’s see what we’ve got. First there’s you. You said six last time, didn’t you?”
He nodded slowly.
“All right, then, we have six. Then there’s Ast. I think he said something about thirty-five hundred or four, wasn’t it? Well, all right, it doesn’t matter. Let’s say four. So your six and his four makes ten. After all, we can’t expect him to have more. You know how those things are. He’s a salesman. They can’t save any money. If it isn’t clothes it’s entertainment and this and that and God alone knows what. They spend twice as much as they make. Every cent they make is on their backs. Every one of them has twenty-seven suits and twenty-seven cents. It’s yet a wonder to me, Meyer, that he’s got the four. But anyway, that’s the way it is. So far we have ten. And me, last time I said seven, didn’t I? Well, I’m gonna borrow three or four extra, like I just told you. That’ll make ten or eleven from me. So what’ve we got? We’ve got twenty thousand dollars or over. Why, for God’s sakes, Meyer, you know what we can do with twenty thousand dollars? We can start three dress houses not one. I’ll bet three-quarters of the dress houses in the neighborhood start with a capital of less than ten. And plenty of them start with five, too. But what’s the sense of my telling you things like that? You’ve been in the dress business too long for me to tell you these things. You know all about these things.” I certainly was taking a lot for granted. “Of course we’ve got enough. We’ve got enough to not only start, but to start off with a bang.”
Suddenly I heard the front door open and close and then I heard Mother’s footsteps walking back through the foyer to the kitchen. And all at once I had it. I knew what it was in that girl’s face that had puzzled and attracted me and had kept going around and around in my mind all the time I had been talking. I saw, too, the resemblance between them that I had missed because of the difference in their ages. She had that same way of making you feel rested just by looking at her that Mother had. I could sit there, in the same room with a dope like Babushkin, and think of that girl’s face as it had looked across the table from me in the kitchen, and I got that same feeling of having reached a place where I could drop my guard and draw my breath after having gone through something tough.
I Can Get It for You Wholesale Page 12
