by Sol Stein
“Money,” said Ben.
“It’s too risky.”
“Theater is risky.”
“They don’t shoot at you.”
“Ez,” he said, “you forget.”
“Forget what? That you’re mortal?”
“What Louie said. Death isn’t risky. It’s life that’s a risk. Let’s hear their deal.”
Manucci and Rivers were staring at us.
“Mr. Hochman,” Rivers said, raising his voice from across the room. “If Mr. Riller is willing to go public with Mr. Manucci, come hear our proposition.”
I glanced at Ben. This isn’t a play, Ben, I wanted to say, it’s your life.
“We propose,” Rivers said, narrowing the gap between us, “to draw two agreements. One based on Mr. Manucci’s original offer with full collateral protection for his investment. The second will be a straight investment on the normal terms that any one buying a piece of a play gets.”
“At full risk?” Ben asked.
“Yep.” It was the first word Manucci said out loud.
The four of us were now standing in a circle. “The whole amount needed to close the partnership?” I asked.
“Of course,” Rivers said. “Contract one, the original proposal, with all supplementary agreements, goes into a safe deposit in escrow. You and I, as attorneys, will be co-custodians of the box. If Mr. Riller and Mr. Manucci work together amicably during the next several weeks until the Barone problem is solved, Mr. Riller has got himself the money he needs free and clear of any obligation. If Mr. Riller reneges at any stage, deal one in the safe deposit box gets activated. If you’d like to discuss this with your client privately, Mr. Hochman, Mr. Manucci and I will be happy to step into another office. Take your time.”
Being left in Manucci’s office felt like being in someone’s bedroom. Rivers put his head back in. “Mr. Manucci wants me to assure you that the room is not bugged,” he said, and disappeared.
I said, “You like the idea of living dangerously?”
“How the fuck do you think I’m living now? You think what I’m going through is life-enhancing? Manucci’s deal sounds a lot better than running off to Tahiti.”
“Not if Barone’s people have a go at Manucci while you’re sitting together in a restaurant.”
Ben looked at me and I saw his strong resemblance to Louie. It had always been there. I hadn’t always noticed it.
I said, “Business is one thing. Risking your ass is another. If I were you, Ben, I wouldn’t do it.”
“You are not me, Ezra. I don’t intend to take him to restaurants in the Village. And nobody’s going to go after him in Sardi’s or the Four Seasons. Before you get yourself worked up, Ezra, I have two questions. First, can you fix the escrow deal so that it doesn’t get activated by mistake?”
“I’ll propose a two-signature box,” I said. “It’ll take both of us present to get the bank to open it. I’ll also send a sealed letter on the arrangement, signed by Rivers and myself, to the Bar Association. Rivers isn’t going to do anything to jeopardize his practice.”
“Ezra, I think you’re naive.”
“Then get yourself another lawyer. Escrow is escrow. What’s question two?”
“What if Manucci gets the collateral returned from Canada and Barone decides to knock off Manucci as a lesson to others?”
Less than five seconds later the door opened and they both came back in, Rivers talking.
“I want to add a point to our proposal. The safe deposit will be a joint box, requiring two signatures and two keys, one for each attorney.”
“You said the room wasn’t bugged.”
Rivers laughed. “As for the other point, though Mr. Manucci has never been associated with the likes of Barone, he understands their mentality very well. He tells me that Barone is very angry now, and will still be angry after the collateral arrives back from Canada, but Mr. Manucci, who acknowledges his mistake, intends to send via a certain route an apology that all of Barone’s associates will learn about, thus satisfying Barone’s concern about control of his territory.”
I started to interrupt, but Ben put his hand on my arm and said, “Hear him out, Ezra.”
“Thank you,” said Rivers. “To continue. Mr. Manucci has a certain real-estate investment in Queens that has made Barone nervous for several years. It is Mr. Manucci’s intention, even before the collateral arrives back from Canada, to pass title on that property to Barone, on certain conditions. I want to assure you gentlemen that Mr. Manucci has things completely under control.” Rivers looked at Ben. “For the sake of your show,” he said, “we should come to a decision quickly.”
“Time is a factor,” I said, feeling like an idiot. Ben didn’t want my advice.
“We’ll leave you alone to discuss things,” said Rivers.
“Why don’t Mr. Riller and I just wander down the hall.”
When we were out of the room, Ben pointed me in the direction of a door marked MEN. He went in, came back out. “No one in here.”
I followed Ben in. He was at the urinal. “I’ll wait till you’re finished,” I said.
“Ezra, I can talk and piss at the same time. I want you to see this from my point of view. Sam Glenn is quite capable of taking me to law on breaking escrow. All I need is a trial on criminal charges. I’d never be able to function on Broadway again. And think of Jane and the kids.”
“I am thinking of them, Ben. That’s why I don’t want your life on the line.”
I took advantage of the second urinal.
Ben said, “I don’t think anything will happen.”
“You know something I don’t know?”
“Yes.”
“You own a bulletproof vest?”
“No.”
“You want to do this deal?”
“I don’t want the humiliation.”
“Of the deal?”
“Of not doing the deal and facing all the rest. Letting the cast go, being chased by everyone the show owes money to, the investors, their lawyers, the SEC, you name it. This is a one-stop solution. Like the war, Ezra, remember? All that can happen is getting shot at.”
Ben laughed the laugh of a man who had made up his mind. I envied him.
*
“Well,” Rivers said when we returned. “Deal?”
I looked at Ben, giving him one last time to back out.
He nodded his assent.
“We accept,” I said.
“That’s terrific,” said Manucci. “Mr. Riller, I’d like to invite you and your wife to have dinner with me and my wife at any restaurant of your choice tonight.”
“Our deal is you and me,” Ben said, “not our wives.”
“I want this to look social,” Manucci said, “not only business. I’m sure you understand.”
“I want my wife left out.”
“Mr. Riller, if you’re in trouble, isn’t she in trouble? If you get out of trouble, doesn’t she get out of trouble? Wouldn’t she want to be part of the solution?”
Ben was pale. The deal was going to blow.
Just then the office door opened, and Miss Atherton stood there, her hand lifted nervously to her cheek. “I told you to lock the front door,” Manucci said.
“It’s locked,” she said, coming close enough to whisper to him. We were all watching Manucci’s expression. He gave us nothing, went over to his desk to answer the phone call.
“What is it?” Rivers asked Miss Atherton.
She shook her head. “He’ll have to tell you.”
Manucci’s voice on the phone was formal as he announced his name to the person on the other end of the line.
When he was through, he spoke to all of us. “That was the police chief of my village. My house has been on fire for nearly an hour.”
“Is it under control?” Rivers asked.
“Nothing’s under control. If Mary’d stayed home, it wouldn’t have happened.”
“Nick,” Rivers said, “if Mary’d been home something worse m
ight have happened.”
“Jesus,” Manucci said. “That son of a bitch. I’ve got to get up there fast.”
Rivers’s hand was hard on Manucci’s arm. “No, Nick. If Barone had that fire set, he’s got people up there waiting for you.”
I couldn’t believe how calm Rivers sounded. “Nick,” he said, “I’ll go get Mary and drive her down from your sister’s if you’ll give me directions.” Then he turned to Ben and said, “If you and your wife will join the Manuccis here, say in two hours, I’ll have a limo ready, and it’ll stay with you for the evening. I’ll reserve in your name, Mr. Riller, if that’s all right?”
Comment by Ben
I’m in the middle of a meeting and guess whose voice buzzes my ear like a hornet.
Look what you’ve done. His home’s burned.
Pop, it was Barone, not me.
You practically hired Barone to do this.
I hired Nissof.
You push the first domino, you are responsible for all that fall.
Manucci was trying to take my home as security. I was following your advice. Fighting back.
Don’t pass the blame to me, Ben. I said give him some trouble you can take away. What will Aldo say? He sent you to Nick for help. It’ll be on your head if anything happens to his son.
You got it wrong, Pop. I’m putting myself in the line of fire to save him.
You mean to save your show. Ben, listen to me, God’s big trick is a pendulum. He’s the big theatrical expert, not you.
What do you mean?
Look at what He’s staging now.
*
Ezra was pulling at my elbow. “Do we or don’t we?”
“We do.”
Rivers was saying, “I’ll phone you at the restaurant, Nick, and let you know where the limo should go after you drop the Rillers off at their place. I’ll meet you in my car and take you to a hotel.” Then he turned back to me, saying, “I think that tomorrow you’ll want to bring Mr. Manucci around to meet the director and the cast and perhaps watch a rehearsal since he’s now the principal investor, yes?”
I wish Ezra had Rivers’s balls.
“I can’t hear you,” Rivers said.
I would have to learn to say yes for a while.
“Yes,” I said.
“Good,” Rivers said. “Mr. Hochman and I can attend to the drawing of the papers first thing tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, I’d better see about that fire.” He let out a breath like he’d been holding it in. “Okay now, let’s all shake hands on the deal.”
I thought of railroad cars in which surrenders were signed. Didn’t they always shake hands?
I shook Manucci’s hand.
The two lawyers shook hands.
Then Rivers shook my hand, and Manucci shook Ezra’s.
I noticed that neither of the lawyers shook hands with his own client.
23
Jane
Ben came home hyper, deranged, flying. “I did it, I did it,” he said, grabbing my hands and trying to swing me like a kid. “Actually, it was your five thousand that did it, thank you,” he said, kissing me on the cheek, then on the other cheek, and trying to find my mouth in between. “One pebble and I got a landslide going!”
“Ben, what the hell are you talking about?”
“Get dressed,” he shouted, “we’re going out to dinner with Nick Manucci and his wife. We’ve got The Best Revenge fully financed on a straight investment deal!”
“What happened to the other deal?” I asked.
“We socialize publicly with the Manuccis for a couple of weeks and it gets torn up.”
Ben laid it all out.
“You don’t look happy,” he said.
“You’re risking your life,” I said. “And mine.”
“Don’t be a spoilsport.”
“This isn’t a sport, Ben. Those are dangerous people.”
“Didn’t I risk my life with you?”
“I didn’t have people chasing me.”
“You should have had dozens of people chasing you.” His warm hands held both of mine. “Manucci’s not all bad,” he said. “You’ll see.
“What in heaven’s name will we talk about?”
“Revenge,” Ben said. “His and mine,” and he burst out laughing like the madman I once in a while still loved.
“How am I supposed to believe what you tell me?”
“You believe the weather reports on the radio,” Ben said, “you’ll believe anything.”
I knew he would lead me to the bedroom. The light was on, the drapes were open. There was an acre of glass for people to look through. He didn’t care. Like the gypsies who fornicated in the cattle cars on the way to the gas chambers, we made love in full public view.
24
Mary
My sister-in-in-law Connie is a perfectionist. Her macramé is perfect. Her petitpoint is faultless. Her crocheting is impeccable. Her Sunday dinners are unsurpassed. Connie is also the world’s best grown-up babysitter when she swoops down on our house. But if her husband Sean is to be believed, in sex she’ll never be a contender.
When I called Connie to say could I drop over to her place, she said, “Sure, sure, wait’ll you see the afghan I’m crocheting,” but when I showed up with all three kids and suitcases, understandably she seemed surprised.
Quickly I said, “I hope it’s okay. It might be overnight.”
“Sure,” she said, her “sure” less sure than it was before.
“It’s very temporary,” I said. “We could go to a hotel.”
Connie was immediately all over my kids, hugging and kissing. “With my spare bedrooms, what do you need a hotel for?” And then pulling me aside said, “You and Nick fighting?”
I assured her we weren’t.
“Then what’s up?” she said.
“Later,” I said, and held a finger to my lips and glanced at the children.
I assumed Connie’s problem about us arriving with suitcases was her chronic toothache over the way Sean acted with me. According to Connie, he doesn’t treat me like a sister-in-law, he treats me like a woman. He pats me on the fanny in front of her, he kisses me on the earlobe instead of the cheek, that sort of thing. She once said to me she didn’t know how I stood Nick’s fooling around, she wouldn’t let Sean do that for one second with another woman.
I hope Connie is never surprised the way most wives are at one time or another. It would blow her immaculate world apart. Clean floors call for a clean husband and to Connie sex is dirt.
Once Nick and I were there for a Sunday visit, the main event a showing of Connie’s latest, a wall hanging she had painstakingly crafted for over a year that was supposed to have been inspired by a color photo of French renaissance tapestries she clipped out of a magazine. It was Queens Boulevard gauche. After a moment’s admiration, I excused myself and said I needed to catch something on PBS. Nick, a good guy to his sister, stayed to hear all about the fine points of imitating art.
Sean drifted downstairs and found me sitting on the playroom couch in front of the TV. It was a long couch, but Sean sat down so close his right thigh was touching my left thigh and straight out, no cue, no reason, described their sex life in four words. “Connie just lies there.”
Was I supposed to say I’d give Connie lessons?
Then he said, “You and me, we’ve always got along, Mary.”
“Sure.” What was I supposed to say?
“If Nick doesn’t always make you happy…”
“Stop right there, Sean.”
“…maybe I could.”
I started to get up from the couch, and only then did I see what Sean was doing.
“Are you crazy?” I said. I headed for the stairs, and Sean the fast engineer was instantly behind me letting me feel in my backside what I saw. I turned around and said, “Sean, you’re a nice guy, but this family is Italian. Connie’s Italian, Nick’s Italian, I’m Italian, you’ve got to be real careful because Italians get upset very easily about family int
rusions.”
He echoed “Intrusions?” as if he’d never heard the word before. “It isn’t incest, Mary,” he said. “You and I aren’t related.”
I was already up the stairs.
Sean had crossed a line it wasn’t easy to retreat back over. And I had crossed a line by my curt dismissal of his pass. What was I supposed to do, keep family relations intact by patting Sean’s thing on the head and saying now be a nice boy and stay where you belong?
If I played with Sean, it’d be to send a message to Nick. He wouldn’t care about me. He’d care enough about his ego to kill Sean.
*
I’m glad Sean wasn’t home when I arrived with the suitcases. What do I do if he comes into my bedroom at night? I went over to the door. No lock.
I was lying back on the bed alongside my not-quite-unpacked suitcase when I heard the phone ringing somewhere in the house and then a knock on my door, Connie stage-whispering, “It’s Nick, for you.”
Nick’s voice was all gravelly.
“Mary,” he said. “I don’t have time for a lot of explanation. I want for you to get dolled up fast. Bert Rivers is picking you up. We’re having dinner at the Four Seasons.”
“With Bert Rivers?”
“Mary, I haven’t got time to hang on the phone. Bert’s just driving you into town because I can’t. We’re having dinner with a man named Ben Riller and his wife.”
“The producer?”
“That’s the guy.”
“You thinking of becoming an actor, Nick?”
“I haven’t got time for jokes, Mary. Please.” He disconnected, but that please hung in the air.
“Trouble?” Connie asked.
“I’ve got to get dressed to go into town, Connie. Nick’s got a meeting he wants me to be part of. At the Four Seasons, can you imagine?”
“Oooh, are you lucky.”
“Do you mind? About the kids, I mean?”
“No, no, you just go and have a good time.” She looked relieved. Because I wouldn’t be around when Sean came home?
There was a lot to do in a hurry. Connie got the kids settled in front of the TV while I saw what I could make of myself with what I’d brought, not having counted on needing real dress-up clothes. Nick always jokes about the black dress I take whenever we go on a trip, saying I’m just like the other Italian ladies, always ready for a funeral. I’m going to shove that joke right in his face because that black dress plus pearls, plus pumps and a bracelet and the mirror tells me I’ll do for the Four Seasons.
