I Can Get It for You Wholesale

by Jerome Weidman

  “You’ll have to speak a little louder, please.”

  “M-m-mister B-Bogen can exp-p-plain everything. M-m-mister B-Bogen can exp-p-plain everything.”

  He said it over and over several times, as though his mind had fastened on it and he couldn’t think of anything else.

  “Very well,” Siegel said, “I’ll call Mr. Bogen.”

  We had to help Babushkin down from the witness chair, and after we’d put him into a seat against the wall, I went back to the chair.

  “You haven’t yet been sworn in this proceeding, have you, Mr. Bogen?”

  “I was sworn last week.”

  “That was the 21-A hearing. The Referee will swear you in this proceeding.”

  After he did, Siegel said, “You were present at the 21-A hearing in this matter, were you not, Mr. Bogen?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you heard all the testimony given by Mr. Babushkin at that hearing, did you not?”

  “Yes.”

  This “did you not” business was beginning to get me.

  “And you are also aware, are you not, that all the testimony taken at the 21-A hearing has been stipulated into the record of this proceeding?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you have just heard Mr. Babushkin’s testimony?”

  “I have.”

  “You have heard him say, with reference to the disposition of the thirty-two thousand five hundred dollars of corporate funds that passed through his personal account that you could explain everything, you heard him say that, did you not?”

  “I did.”

  “Can you make such explanation to us now?”

  For a moment I hesitated. I thought of Mother and Mrs. Babushkin holding the baby and the promise I had given them. But I couldn’t help myself. I was in too deep. I couldn’t stop now. A promise was a promise. It wasn’t a contract. I’d been bulldozed into it anyway, hadn’t I? Why did he have to send his wife around, crying, with the damn baby in her arms? I never did like kids, anyway. What was I going to do, let them make a sucker out of me by waving a diaper under my nose?

  “I repeat, Mr. Bogen, can you make such explanation to us now?”

  What the hell was his hurry? Couldn’t he see I was thinking?

  “I cannot,” I said.

  I could feel the whole room looking at me, but I kept my eyes fixed on Siegel’s face.

  “Why not, Mr. Bogen?”

  “Because I don’t know the first thing about it,” I said, talking quickly. I didn’t know how groggy Babushkin was, and I had to get it all out before he came to. “This whole thing has been as much of a surprise to me as it has been to everybody else. I was just as astounded at Mr. Babushkin’s story at the 21-A hearing as you were. I have always been so busy with the selling end of the business, entertaining buyers, making out-of-town trips, and so on, that I didn’t realize until now how I was being victimized by an unscrupulous partner.” When it comes to slinging the five-dollar words, I’m as good as any lawyer. “I never did understand how a business as prosperous as ours was could be ruined so quickly. But since I have learned, at these hearings, about Babushkin’s personal bank accounts, and the money that has gone through it, the failure of our business is no longer a mystery to me.”

  “Harry! Harry!”

  I could see every eye in the room turn toward Babushkin, where he stood screaming. But I didn’t look at him. I looked directly at Siegel.

  “What are you saying? What are you telling them? Harry! Harry! What are you saying! Harry!”

  He started toward me, but Golig and a couple of others grabbed him. He continued to scream and fight with them, trying to get away from them and at me.

  “What are you telling them?” he shouted crazily. “Why don’t you tell them the truth? Why don’t you—?” Somebody clamped a hand over his mouth, but he bit at it and got his head free. “Harry! What are you saying!” he screamed.

  “Why don’t you tell them the truth?” His voice stretched so thin that it cracked, but he didn’t stop yelling and fighting with the men that held him. “Harry! Harrr—eeee—eeeeee!”

  “Get that man out of here,” the Referee said, standing up.

  Three others joined the ones that were holding him, and between them they dragged him out of the room.

  In a few moments the room was quiet again. Slowly I let out the breath I had been unconsciously holding. I patted my forehead gently with my folded handkerchief.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Siegel,” I said, “I didn’t mean to start anything like this. I mean, I didn’t think he’d—”

  “That’s quite all right, Mr. Bogen,” he said. “It’s not your fault at all.”

  He turned to the Referee.

  “No more questions, Your Honor,” he said. “The trustee rests.”

  The Referee turned to Golig.

  “Any questions?”

  Golig shrugged and said, “No questions.”

  The Referee looked from one to the other.

  “Do you gentlemen want time to submit briefs?” he asked.

  “I don’t intend to submit a brief,” Siegel said, shrugging toward Golig.

  “Neither do I,” Golig said.

  The Referee reached for his pen.

  “Motion granted,” he said.

  39

  AS SOON AS I woke up I reached for the house phone and spoke to the doorman.

  “Send a boy out to get a Daily News Record, will you?”

  “A what?”

  “A Daily News Record. It’s a newspaper.”

  “All right, Mr. Bogen.”

  “He may not get it right away. Tell him to try a couple of newsstands. Then send it right up, will you?”

  “Right, Mr. Bogen.”

  As I hung up I wondered how much longer I’d be able to afford having these “Yes, Mr. Bogen” heels all around me. Well, I’d find out. I got out my savings-bankbooks, the last statement on my checking account, my check-stub book, a sheet of paper, a pencil, and went to work.

  When I finished, I felt a little better. Even after paying Golig his fee, I still had a good bit more than nineteen thousand left, almost twenty. Not bad. Not bad at all. I thought of all the money I’d pissed away in the past year, and for a moment I felt sad. But only for a moment. What the hell, I’d had a good time. And besides, a lot of that was an investment. What was I crying about? I had twenty thousand in the bank. I had an apartment. I had a car. I had a wardrobe. And best of all, I still had my brains. What was there to be sad about? I’d made it once, and I’d make it again. I wasn’t worried. For guys like me the world is wide open.

  For what I wanted to do right now, I had more than enough. I even had enough to carry me until I got going again. I’d cut down on expenses, that’s all. Mama’s weekly check would come down for a while, and I’d reduce expenses all along the line. So what was I hollering about? Who was hollering?

  There was a buzz at the door.

  “Paper, Mr. Bogen.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and paid for it. But I didn’t tip him. I was reducing expenses all along the line, wasn’t I?

  I didn’t have to look very hard. It was right on the front page. “Court Upholds Referee In Babushkin Case. Officer Of Defunct Apex Modes, Inc. To Be Sentenced Friday. Federal Judge Francis J. Guernsey, of the Southern District of New York, yesterday confirmed the turnover motion granted by Referee John E. James against Meyer Babushkin, officer of Apex Modes, Inc.”

  There was a lot more, but I didn’t bother to read it. I knew all about it, anyway.

  I sat back in my chair, with the paper in my lap, and tried to figure out how I felt. I waited a few moments, half afraid, but the feeling of worry about Babushkin that I was expecting didn’t come. It surprised me a little, how he didn’t mean anything to me any more.

  Then, to make the test harder, I thought of his wife and kid. But there was no reaction. And why should there be? Come to think of it, it was her own fault in the first place. Was it my place to worry if she was
so dumb as to get married to a kluck like Babushkin?

  I rattled the paper on my knees. I did it a little proudly. I’d worked the thing out all by myself. And it wasn’t a bad job. It gave me confidence for the future. Now there would be no more doubts. Now there would be no more scared moments. Because now, with that paper on my lap, I couldn’t go back if I wanted to.

  Who the hell wanted to?

  Instead of feeling worried or scared, I felt happy. I felt so good that I laughed out loud. I had finally arrived.

  I got out the phone book and looked up a number. Then I dialed it.

  “Hello? My name is Bogen. I don’t know if you remember me, but I was in to look at a diamond bracelet a couple of weeks ago—”

  “Oh, yes, Mr. Bogen! I remember you quite well.”

  Who wouldn’t?

  “Well, have you still got it in stock?”

  “We certainly have, Mr. Bogen.”

  “Well, then, I’ll tell you what. I’m coming down for it this morning, or maybe this afternoon. Anyway, some time to-day. You have it ready for me, will you?”

  “We certainly will, Mr. Bogen.”

  I hung up and whistled to myself as I dialed Riverside 9-0437.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Miss Mills’ apartment?”

  “This is Miss Mills talking. Who is this?”

  “Why, ah, my name is Bogen. I don’t know if you remember me, but—”

  “Why, hello, stranger. Where’ve you been all these years?”

  “Oh, I’ve been rather busy cleaning up some heavy dough in a little unpleasant thing known as a bankruptcy.”

  “Oh, Harry! I’m so glad everything turned out all right. I knew it was that crooked partner of yours all the time, Harry. I knew you’d be all right, Harry.”

  It looked like she still read the papers.

  “Thanks,” I said. “How are you feeling, Martha?”

  “Oh, so-so.”

  “I see Smile Out Loud is still running.”

  “Yeah.”

  “By the way, Martha, when did I see you last?”

  “Oh, a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Oh, sure, now I remember. We were looking at something in some sort of a place, weren’t we?”

  “That’s right, Harry, we were—”

  “How’s your wrist feeling?”

  “It’s all right. Why?”

  “Because if I remember correctly, it was a bracelet we were looking at, wasn’t it?”

  “That’s right, Harry.”

  “And your wrist feels okay, you say?”

  “Uh-huh. Why?”

  I love these dames when they try to play dumb.

  “You think it’s strong enough to hold all the weight of that bracelet?”

  “Why, Harry!”

  “Yes, sir, Martha,” I said, “I think I’ll bring that little trinket up to your place to-night. What do you say?”

  “Oh, Harry, that’ll be wonderful.”

  That’s just what I thought, too.

  “I’ll tell you, though, Martha, you know what?”

  “What, Harry?”

  “What with all the trouble I’ve been having these last few weeks, Martha, I don’t feel so strong as I used to.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad, Harry.”

  Maybe it was. But at least there was room for an honest difference of opinion.

  “And carrying a heavy bracelet like that all the way uptown to your place is just about going to knock me out, Martha, with me in the weakened condition I’m in. See what I mean, Martha?”

  No answer. But I wasn’t worried. I knew she was still on the wire. I could hear her breathing.

  “In fact, Martha,” I continued, “by the time I get up to your place to-night with all that load, I’ll be so tired out, I’ll never be able to make the trip home again. Why, I’ll bet, Martha, I’ll even have to spend the night at your place.”

  What the hell, I figured the time had come for me to talk turkey.

  “So what do you say, Martha? Do you think you’ll be able to put up a worn-out messenger boy like me?”

  “I think so, Harry,” she said.

  I could tell by her voice that she meant it. But I wanted to make sure.

  “Can’t you be more positive than that, Martha? I mean, here I am, all worn out, and I’m going to make that trip all the way up there, carrying such a heavy load, and all you can say is you think so!”

  “All right, Harry,” she said, laughing, “I know I’ll be able to put you up.”

  “Okay, kid,” I said, “I’ll be up right after the show, say about eleven.”

  “At eleven?”

  “Sure,” I said, “I like to start early.”

  “Okay, dear,” she said. “Good-bye.”

  Look, I was a dear again!

  “Good-bye,” I said.

  Now that it was all over, and I was released from the strain, I felt so nervous and excited that the hand in which I held the receiver was shaking. I tried to steady it, but I couldn’t. It rattled against the hook a few times before it dropped into its place. It was all I could do to keep myself from jumping up and down and yelling crazily. I looked into the mirror over the telephone table and grinned at myself.

  I knew it was true. I knew it all happened to me. But still it was a little hard to believe.

  “Boy,” I said out loud to the face in the mirror, “is that Harry Bogen, or am I nuts?”

  Two years ago I was just another poor slob from the Bronx. And to-night I’m going to sleep with an actress!

  Turn the page to continue reading from the Harry Bogen Novels

  1.

  I PAID OFF THE TAXI driver and walked briskly into the Montevideo. My watch said a quarter to one. Time enough. Charles called to me as I hurried past the desk toward the elevator.

  “Oh, Mr. Bogen!”

  I shook my head quickly and spoke over my shoulder.

  “No time now. I’m in a hurry.”

  “Your mother called and said you should—”

  I stopped short and swung around sharply.

  “You put that call through to my apartment?”

  He looked frightened at once and began to massage his chin.

  “No, sir. You told me not to, Mr. Bogen, so I—”

  “All right, all right. But remember that. I don’t want that call going through except when I’m in to take it myself. You hear?”

  “Yes, sir. I won’t forget, Mr. Bogen. I only wanted to—”

  “Okay, okay, okay. You’ll tell me tomorrow.”

  The elevator doors closed. A few moments later they opened on the 21st floor. I walked down the hall quickly and let myself in with my key. I stood in the doorway and looked around. Nothing had changed since morning. Even the air hadn’t been changed.

  I dropped my hat and coat on the couch and opened a window. Then I went to the small desk and sat down. I whistled softly as I hunted through the drawers quickly, pulling out my old papers and files. When I had everything I needed, I picked up the small stack of papers and carried it into the bedroom. I set it down on the top of my dresser and turned around to look for a piece of string. The whistle died on my lips.

  She was lying on her back in a snarl of covers and pillows. Her thick black hair was tumbled forward on her face, like a screen, and a few wisps of it rose and fell with her breathing.

  “Who’s that?” she mumbled without opening her eyes. “Harry?”

  “Who’d you expect?” I snapped. “The fleet?”

  She yanked the top of her pajamas down to her waist and smacked herself erect against the head of the bed. She was no Phi Beta Kappa, but she’d been circulating long enough to be able to read voices.

  “I don’t care very much for your choice of words, Mr. Bogen,” she said in a low voice. “I’d watch my language if I were you.”

  “You can call me Harry. When you sober up a little it may come back to you. But we’ve been formally introduced.”

  “I’m not bragging abo
ut it,” she snapped.

  “What do you want?” I asked sarcastically. “An apology?”

  “It might help,” she rasped.

  “Well, it isn’t going to help you, Martha. You’ve been living with me long enough to learn that I don’t apologize to anybody. For anything.”

  “Don’t worry,” she sneered. “I’ve learned more than that since I know you.”

  She bit her lip and reached for a cigarette on the night table.

  “Got a match?” she asked.

  I tossed her a book of matches.

  Suddenly she kicked a pillow out of the bed and banged her hand on the night table.

  “I don’t know what you’ve got to yell about,” she cried. “At least I’m working. But what the hell are you doing?”

  “You mean that off-key yodel you do every night in Smile Out Loud in the last act?” I said. “When there’s so much goddam noise on the stage that they can’t hear you anyway?”

  “Maybe they don’t hear me,” she said, “but I get seventy-five dollars a week for it.”

  I stopped fussing with the papers and books on the dresser.

  “Any time you want to go back to living on that salary and free-lancing for the difference,” I said coolly, “just say the word. I can always get someone to keep the bed warm for me.”

  I followed the shot with my eye just long enough to make sure it was a direct hit. When she spoke there was a new note in her voice.

  “I know what’s the matter, Harry.”

  If she did, she was smarter than I thought she was, but it didn’t matter. At least she was beginning to understand that things were a trifle screwed up.

  “Well, if it’s a secret, don’t let me pry into your private affairs. I’m a bashful guy anyway.”

  She let the dig ride and shook her head seriously.

  “These three months of loafing,” she said. “That’s what it is. Since you were pulled out of your dress business you haven’t been doing anything. It’s beginning to do things to your nerves, that’s all.”

  “My nerves are all right,” I said. “But my ass hurts. I got a pain there from the way you can’t seem to learn that even if money does grow on trees, there are times when the season is bad and the harvest is weak.”