What's in It for Me?

by Jerome Weidman

  My God, I’d been a shipping clerk myself once! Had I been that dumb?

  “That’s the idea, Brilliance. Let’s see you look alive a little and get it done.”

  He went to work. I went back to the office for the accounts receivable ledger. In a few minutes I had a set of brand-new labels all made out. I returned the ledger to the safe in the office and took the new labels to Eric in the back.

  “These are the new labels for these packages. Paste them on, make out the shipping receipts, and have Railway Express up here right away. I want those signed express receipts as soon as I can get them. I’ll wait for them.”

  I made a quick circuit of the stretched-out returns, dropping a label on each package.

  “Paste them on the way you arrange them? Right, Mr. Bogen?”

  In City U. he could be an honor student. In my school he’d flunk right and left.

  “Yeah, right. And also hurry.”

  I went through half a pack of cigarettes while he got the labels pasted on, wrote the charges, sent for the Railway Express man, and wound up with the batch of signed express receipts and duplicate charges that I wanted.

  “Here you are, Mr. Bogen.”

  Now he could go back to his newspaper.

  “All right. Any more returns come in, do the same thing to them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I went into the office for my hat and hurried out to Nissem’s place on Thirty-fourth Street. Miss Blau gave me a quick smile when I came in.

  “Oh, hello, Mr. Bogen. I’ll tell Mr. Nissem you’re here.”

  Said the spider to the fly. “Thanks.”

  What they didn’t know was that I was the oddest kind of fly they’d ever had in their web.

  “Come right in, Mr. Bogen.”

  She held the door wide and then closed it behind me. Nissem waved his hand and motioned to a chair.

  “Come in, Bogen, come in. Have a seat.”

  “Thanks.”

  I sat down and pulled out my express receipts and duplicate charges.

  “Another batch?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said with a grin. “It looks like once a guy just so much as shakes hands with you, Nissem, you right away put him on a leash. You’re getting to be a regular habit with me.”

  Judging by his face, my humor wasn’t exactly killing him this time.

  “Yeah, well, Bogen, I’m glad you came in. I called your office this morning and—”

  “I know,” I said quickly. “I didn’t stop in the office this morning. I called up from outside and when they told me you called, I figured since I was coming up here anyway, I figured it could wait till I got here.”

  He nodded and relit his cigar.

  “Oh, yeah, Bogen, of course. That long it could wait.”

  I looked up at him from the charges and receipts in my hand.

  “What’s the matter, Nissem? Anything wrong?”

  He shrugged and looked at the ceiling.

  “I don’t know, Bogen. I hope not. But I’ll tell you. You told me you sell on 8/10/E.O.M., didn’t you?”

  “That’s right. We do. Always have.”

  “Well, Bogen, I’ll tell you. I haven’t received a single check yet on all the accounts you been hocking with me the last three and a half weeks, and—”

  So long as it was only worry that was eating him, he could still be handled.

  “Well, my God, Nissem, it’s only April second! You know damn well that that money isn’t due till the tenth of the month! I told you these accounts’ll pay on time and not a day sooner. These high class firms out west, you know, they don’t know from nothing. A bill is due, they pay it. Not before. No anticipation with those babies. You could stand on your head a week, Nissem, and they wouldn’t so much as send you a check ten minutes in advance any more than they’d let you—”

  He waved his hand to shut me up.

  “I know, Bogen, I know. I know all about that. I’m not worrying about that. When I buy accounts I know what I’m buying.”

  His self-confidence sounded a little silly, but this wasn’t the right time to start laughing out loud.

  “Of course. These accounts are all one hundred per cent and you can—”

  “I know, Bogen, I know. You sell some little guy in Newark or Jersey City or Furtzlochel, Michigan or something like that, a guy I never heard of, I wouldn’t take the account from you even for nothing. But you sell an outfit like Bamberger, like Marshall Field, like Macy’s, all right, accounts like that I’ll buy from you.”

  “Well, Jesus Christ, Nissem, all these accounts I sold you are as good as Bamberger and Macy’s and—”

  “I know that, too.”

  If he knew so much, what the hell was he worried about?

  “Then what—?”

  “I’ll tell you Bogen. I was going over your charges, the ones you sold me. And the writing on one of them, it was a little blurred. I couldn’t exactly make out the date, you know, so I wrote to Caxton-Bleiweiss in Detroit, I asked them what the date on your charge number so and so was. And I gave them the number and the amount and all the rest of the stuff. And what do you think they wrote back?”

  I wasn’t answering that question. Because I knew what they’d written back. And because I was busy framing the answer to another one.

  “What?”

  He gave the line a send-off with a short cough.

  “They wrote they don’t owe the money and they have no record of the charge.”

  “You got the charge?”

  Question modified by puzzled scowl, very slight.

  “Here it is, Bogen.”

  He handed it across and I examined it for a moment. Then I looked up with a wide grin.

  “I know what this is, Nissem.”

  “What?”

  “It’s that smart shipping clerk of mine. He got the names twisted. I can tell from these numbers on the charge that those dresses were shipped to Biegel-Falk-Tinne, not Caxton-Bleiweiss.” I shook my head and chuckled. “That’s the college boys for you, Nissem. You know, I used to have shipping clerks, I’d pick them up off the streets and they never even saw a pencil in their lives before. In ten minutes I used to teach them all they had to know and they never made a mistake. Now I got me a college boy. At night he can’t stay a minute late because he’s gotta run like hell down to school to study accountancy or psychology or whatever the hell they teach them down there, but when it comes to getting a little thing like a charge or a shipping receipt right, he frigs the whole thing up.” I folded the charge and put it into my breast pocket. “Don’t worry about this, Nissem. I’ll take it back to my place and have him trace it and send duplicates to Biegel-Falk-Tinne. He’s also gonna get the piss bawled out of him. You’ll get that check the same as the others, Nissem, right on time. Don’t worry about it.”

  My voice must have sounded a lot more soothing than the explanation. When I finished, he was back in his usual jovial mood again.

  “Oh, well, Bogen, that’s different. I guess that’s liable to happen to anybody.”

  To anybody that had dealings with me, yes.

  “Of course. Hell, I can remember the day when—”

  “Well, Bogen, let’s see what you’ve got today.”

  The prospect of listening to my reminiscences didn’t seem to throw him into a fit of violent enthusiasm.

  “Quite a big bunch today, Nissem.”

  I handed over the express receipts and the duplicate charges. He examined them and made his calculations on the scratch pad.

  “Almost eight thousand bucks today. Boy, Bogen, you certainly must need money badly.”

  I’d like to know when he ever heard of anybody needing it any other way.

  “Bills. All I see in front of me is bills. No kidding, the next time my bookkeeper shows me bills she’s gonna get such a smack in the puss, it’ll take her a week to—”

  He grinned widely.

  “Don’t beat up the bookkeeper, Bogen. Just come to me.”

&nbs
p; What was he asking for, a fight?

  “Lemme tell you something,” I said with a grin. “You’re the only guy that’s been saving her from getting it, up to now.”

  We both laughed while Miss Blau made out the papers. Then I signed them and we went down to the bank for the cash.

  “You know, Bogen,” he said as he handed me the money and I pocketed it, “I just been thinking.”

  An unusual event like that called for strict attention.

  “What?”

  “I just been thinking, Bogen, you’ve borrowed close to thirty thousand bucks so far. And that’s, well, that’s a lot of jack, Bogen. So maybe you better not hock any more accounts for the next week or so? Till the money starts coming in on the old stuff, hah?”

  I should live so long as he’d have to wait for the money to come in on the old stuff.

  “If you say so,” I said with a shrug. “Fact is, Nissem, I was just thinking myself that this last batch, this last stock I sold you today, would just about see me through into the clear. Maybe I may need another coupla thousand at the outside. Just another two or three, within the next coupla days. But if you don’t want to carry me for it, why—”

  “Oh, well,” he said quickly, “another small amount like that, all right. But a big one like today, I don’t know, Bogen, it’s kinda—”

  “Don’t worry, Nissem. Today was the last big one.”

  “Okay, then. So long, Bogen.”

  “So long, Nissem.”

  I watched him go off down the street to his office. Yazdabian coming back in ten days and Lenny Nissem sending letters to Detroit. The time had come to hoist anchor. Thirty thousand bucks wasn’t bad. I’d stepped out of my last smash with less than that. Thirty thousand bucks was damn good. I walked into a phone booth and called the Montevideo.

  “Charlie, this is Mr. Bogen.”

  “Yes, Mr. Bogen.”

  “Connect me with Miss Mills.”

  “Just a moment, please.”

  I waited and then he was back on the line.

  “Her wire is busy, Mr. Bogen. Will you—?”

  “I’ll wait.”

  Thirty thousand bucks was God damn good.

  “Mr. Bogen?”

  “Yes, Charlie?”

  “She’s still busy, Mr. Bogen.”

  “All right. I’ll wait.”

  With thirty thousand bucks you could boff the right people; you could spit in the right eyes; you could kick the right asses; you could—

  “Mr. Bogen?”

  “Yes?”

  “Here’s Miss Mills now, Mr. Bogen.”

  “All right.” Pause. “Hello, Martha?”

  “Yes, Harry. Sorry to keep you—”

  She was never on time. She was always sorry.

  “Who the hell was on that damned wire so long? I been holding it for—”

  “Just the laundry, Harry.”

  Whenever I wanted to talk to her, she was busy getting cleaned.

  “Listen, kid. It’s time to get started.”

  “You mean the—?”

  “Right.”

  “Oh, Harry! When? When?”

  “Two or three days at the most.”

  “Oh, Harry!”

  There was a remarkable lack of originality in her comments.

  “So what do you say you meet me right now down at the travel agency? It’ll take me as long to get there from where I am as it’ll take you to get there from the house. Meet me inside.”

  “I’m halfway through the door already, Harry!”

  On her ear would be the way I’d like to see it done.

  “Swell, Martha. We’ll get the boat tickets and maybe we’ll have time to buy some more luggage if we need it.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “So long, kid.”

  And after you boffed the right people and spit into the right eyes and kicked the right behinds, after you did all that, what could you do with your thirty thousand bucks? You could stick it up your poop, that’s what you could do.

  “Good-by, dear,” she said.

  I certainly was paying a nice fancy price for the right to be called dear. I hung up slowly and looked at myself in the glass of the telephone booth door. What the hell did I want, anyway?

  27.

  I STRAIGHTENED UP FROM the trunk and stretched to take the dull pain out of the small of my back.

  “I don’t know about Hollywood. By the time we reach there I may need some more clothes, according to what I hear they wear out there. But I know damn well I got enough for Europe. How about you, Martha?”

  She came up from behind her own trunks with a blank scowl and a “What say?”

  The only way to hold her attention was to mention money in every sentence.

  “I said you think you have enough clothes?”

  At once it was plain from her face that she was positive she didn’t have enough.

  “Well,” she said slowly, “there are a few things. But oh, well. I can either get them on the way to the boat or just let it go.”

  Yeah, she’d let it go. Like I’d let Yazdabian send me out on the road while she was horsing around with Teddy Ast.

  “Okay, then. Suit yourself, Martha. But let’s not miss the boat because you needed another bottle of nail polish.”

  “Don’t worry, Harry. This is one boat I’m not missing.”

  Everybody was always telling me not to worry. If I didn’t do it, who was there to do it for me? I walked into the bedroom and closed the door halfway. When I was sure she was hidden behind the trunks again, I opened the bottom drawer of my dresser, shoved aside the shirts and pajamas, and took out the small metal box. I opened it and counted the money once more. A little over twenty-seven thousand in large bills. I started to put it into my pocket. But it was too bulky and I didn’t want to start carrying it around too early in the day. There was plenty of time just before the boat sailed. And anyway, twenty-seven thousand was an odd figure. I liked round numbers. I put the money back in the box, replaced the box under the pajamas and shirts, and came out into the living room.

  “Say, Martha. Do me a favor, will you?”

  She came up from behind the trunks again.

  “What, Harry?”

  “Call up my place and ask if Mr. Yazdabian got back yet.”

  She looked at me curiously.

  “Why don’t you call yourself, Harry?”

  My life was a merry-go-round. When I wasn’t answering questions, people were asking them of me.

  “He’s supposed to be coming in from the road today. I don’t want him to tie me up all day and night answering dopey questions about what happened while he was away and all that junk. I don’t want to miss that boat, either. You call. If he’s in, the hell with it, just hang up. If he’s not in, I’ll hop down to get some of my papers that I left in my desk.”

  She shrugged and walked to the telephone.

  “All right, Harry. If you say so.”

  For five trunks full of clothes she was paying me back. She was making a phone call for me. Her idea of an even exchange.

  “Thanks.”

  I gave her the number and she dialed it.

  “Hello? Hrant Yazdabian, Inc.? Is Mr. Yazdabian in? Well, this is a friend of his. I heard he was coming back to town today. Oh. I see. Well, in that case, never mind.” She hung up and turned to me. “Some sour-voiced girl on the wire, there, and—”

  “Yeah. That’s Miss Eckveldt. She looks like wall paper and she’s sore at the world. What did she say?”

  “Said they got a telegram from Yazdabian this morning. He’s held up in Chicago. Won’t be in for another two or three days.”

  Enough time for me to make a round figure out of an odd number.

  “All right, then,” I said, taking my hat. “I’ll tell you what you do, Martha. You finish your packing. And go through my stuff, too, like a good kid, will you, and see if I left out anything? I’ll go downtown and wind up the few things I have to do. Then I’ll be back for you,
we’ll have lunch, and taxi down to the boat. Okay?”

  “Okay.” She smiled quickly and held out her arms. “How about a kiss, huh?”

  She was getting awfully grateful suddenly.

  “Why not?” I kissed her, but she must have had her mind on the packing. From the way it tasted, it would take an awful lot of them to flavor a cup of coffee. “So long, kid.”

  “So long, Harry.”

  As soon as I walked into the office Miss Eckveldt started hovering around me with her list of telephone messages and the wire from Yazdabian. I glanced at the wire and handed it back to her.

  “All right. The calls can wait. I’ll take care of them later.”

  “But Mr. Bogen—I”

  I gave her the steely glance.

  “I said later.”

  I walked out into the back. Eric was tearing labels from a batch of new returns and blotting out the old shipping instructions with his black crayon. It looked like you could even teach a night college student something.

  “When did these come in?”

  “This morning, Mr. Bogen.” He shrugged quickly. “I don’t know what it’s all about, these damn returns coming back and forth. But you told me to tear off the old labels when they come in, so I’m—”

  He wasn’t supposed to know what it was all about.

  “That’s right, Eric. Clean them all up quickly and I’ll give you a fresh bunch of labels.”

  I made a new set from the names and addresses in the accounts receivable ledger and helped him paste them on while he wrote the charges and shipping receipts and called for the man from Railway Express. When the receipts were all signed and ready, I took them and hurried over to Lenny Nissem’s office.

  “Oh, Mr. Bogen!” Miss Blau cried flutteringly when she saw me. “You missed Mr. Nissem by a minute.”

  What was she so excited about?

  “Aah, nuts. Where’d he go, you know?”

  “I don’t know,” she said nervously, “but he was looking for you, Mr. Bogen.”

  I was looking for him, too.

  “Do you know if he’s coming back soon?”

  “I don’t know—” she began, then corrected herself quickly and hung a smile over her jittery face. “Why don’t you sit down and wait for him, Mr. Bogen? I’m sure he’ll be—”

  It was worth waiting to turn twenty-seven thousand into thirty thousand. But I didn’t like the way she was acting.