Mort Ziff Is Not Dead

by Cary Fagan

  “Oh, sure,” I whispered back, although I had no idea if Herbert Spitzer’s assistant would let us in. We dressed in our good clothes and walked to the elevators. I felt awfully nervous. What if our efforts had done nothing, or had brought in just one or two more tables of people?

  The elevator doors opened and we saw the Horvaths inside. “The more the merrier,” said Mr. Horvath. “Are you going to the coffee shop too? I really don’t know what’s come over our children.”

  “It is a little suspicious,” my mother said.

  We kids all looked at each other and started to giggle. Then, when the elevator doors opened, we walked down the corridor, past the games room and the library. “Do you see what I see?” asked Amy.

  I looked, shook my head, and looked again. There was a lineup waiting to get into the coffee shop. A lineup! As we got closer, I listened to what the people were saying.

  “They say he’s the funniest man alive.”

  “Mort Ziff? He’s an institution! He’s the Mayor of Miami Beach!”

  When I turned around, Amy grinned at me. I saw Gloria give Marcus a friendly smack in the arm, and Larry and Danielle giving each other the thumbs-up. But my father said, “I don’t know if we’re going to get in. That’s a pretty big lineup.”

  Not get in? The thought had never occurred to me. But just then Deloris appeared, wearing a black dress instead of her uniform. She saw us and waved.

  “There you are, Norman! We have your reservation, Monsieur. You too, Amy.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Amy said, as we made our way to the booths.

  “I can’t take the credit. It was Mort Ziff. He said to make sure I saved you tables. And you’re his guests for dinner too. Order whatever you want.”

  “We’re Mort Ziff’s guests?” Dad asked. “Norman, what’s going on?”

  “It’s kind of hard to explain. I’ll tell you later.”

  Deloris took our order. By now all the tables and booths were full. The lights began to dim and a new spotlight came up on the microphone. Deloris herself went up to it.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the Comedy Coffee Shop is proud to present a legend in his own time. He’s the king of comics, the maestro of merriment, the sultan of sarcasm. Please welcome the unofficial Mayor of Miami Beach…Mort Ziff!”

  Mort Ziff came through the kitchen door. As always, he had Napoleon under his arm. The room might have been crowded, but he didn’t look any different. He didn’t smile at all.

  “What, you couldn’t get into the dining room? This is what I get—a second-rate audience. Well, I promise to deliver the best second-rate jokes in town.”

  “At my age I go to a lot of funerals. In fact, just this morning I went to a funeral for a man named Irving Puchnik. Afterwards, I went up to his widow and I said to her, ‘I don’t think you’ll ever find another man like your husband, Irving.’ She said to me, ‘So who’s looking for one?’ ”

  “Yesterday I went to the doctor. He told me that I had six months to live. But I couldn’t pay his bill, so he gave me another six months.”

  “After my show yesterday a man came up and said that I should start teaching chemistry. I told him that I didn’t know a thing about chemistry. He said, ‘Well, that’s as much as you know about being a comedian.’ ”

  The crowd laughed. When he finished, Mort Ziff looked at me. He raised one eyebrow like he always did and walked out of the spotlight.

  Everybody’s Royalty

  The last two days of our holiday were the best of all.

  When Amy and I went to the games room we saw Marcus and Gloria in the middle of an intense Ping-Pong game.

  “That’s some serve you’ve got,” Gloria said. “You’ll have to show me how you do it.”

  “Okay, if you help me with my backhand spin.”

  “What’s the score?” Amy asked.

  “Gloria’s winning thirty-two games to twenty-eight. But I’m catching up,” Marcus said.

  “Go on,” said Gloria, “let me see that killer serve.”

  Amy and I smiled. When we went looking for Larry and Danielle, we found them just next door in the library. On the coffee table they had put a bunch of cardboard cutout figures and were moving them around. “Are you sure that happened in episode nineteen?” Danielle asked.

  “Definitely. Speezer’s rat tail accidentally hit the oxygen-release switch on the control panel.”

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “We’re recreating every episode of Planet Furball,” Danielle said. “It’s not easy to get all the details right.”

  “It’s a very complex show,” agreed Larry.

  Amy and I played tennis. We swam in the pool. And of course we all had dinner in the coffee shop while listening to Mort Ziff perform. Extra tables had to be brought in, and there was standing room only at the back. People from other hotels weren’t only making reservations to see the Centipedes in the dining room. They were making reservations for Mort Ziff too.

  Of course we went to the beach, morning and afternoon. Only now the six of us went together. We ran straight into the waves, which picked us up and rolled us back onto the sand. We swam, chased and splashed. We let ourselves drift in the shallows while our parents sat on the beach talking. We built not just a sandcastle but a whole system of castles, with a series of moats connecting them all. And when we got tired we sat in the sand where the end of the waves washed around us and looked out at the sky and the water.

  “What’s out there, anyway?” Larry asked on our last afternoon. “I mean, across the water.”

  It was a good question. I had no idea.

  “North Africa,” Danielle said.

  “Really?” asked Marcus.

  “I checked on a map.”

  I wondered what people in Africa were doing right now. Maybe I would visit some day; after all, I’d made it to Florida.

  “Hey, look,” Amy said, standing up. Beside her in the shallow water floated a real starfish. We all crowded around it. It really did look like a star that had fallen from the sky. I was afraid to touch it, but Larry picked it up.

  He turned it over and we examined the underside, which had these openings with short hairs alongside them.

  “Can we keep it as a souvenir?”

  “I think it’s alive,” I said. “We better put it back.”

  “Okay,” Larry said, “but first I’m going to name it. I’m going to name it Frank.”

  “Why Frank?” Danielle asked.

  “Frank Mahovlich is my favorite hockey player.”

  Larry put it back and we watched as the next wave drew it out to sea.

  “Good-bye, Frank,” Larry said.

  “Good-bye, Frank,” we all repeated.

  And then here it was, our day of departure. The morning felt like time was moving backwards. Instead of unpacking, we were packing. Instead of entering the room for the first time, we were leaving it for the last.

  A bellboy brought down the luggage for us. We still had about an hour before we needed to go to the airport. I knew that Amy and her family weren’t going until later in the afternoon so I went looking for her. There she was, talking to Deloris at the coffee shop.

  “So you two are going home,” Deloris said. “The place won’t be the same without you. Do you think it’s too early for milkshakes?”

  “No!” we both said.

  Now that we were going, it was hard to know what to say, so we just sipped on our straws. Back home, I thought, things might be a little different with my brothers—at least I hoped so. I had friends there, but not like Amy. Maybe she was thinking the same thing.

  We thanked Deloris and walked back to the lobby, where Marcus and Gloria and Larry and Danielle immediately surrounded us.

  “So?” Gloria said.

  “Yeah, so?” Marcus repeated. “We want our bags of money from Herbert Spitzer.”

  “I know I said you could meet Herbert Spitzer. But he’s a very busy man and—”

  “You never even me
t him, did you?” Marcus said. “You just lied to get us to help you.”

  “We did meet him,” Amy said. She looked at me. “Let’s go up in the elevator. We might as well try.”

  “All right,” I said.

  We waited for the elevator doors to open, and when they did four young men in T-shirts and jeans got out.

  “I hear the alligator ranch is fun,” said one of them.

  “Maybe they’ll let you wrestle one,” said another.

  Only when they were past us and we were riding up in the elevator did I realize that they were the Centipedes. None of us had recognized them in ordinary clothes. And then I realized something else. They didn’t sound British. They sounded American! Even their accents were fake!

  We reached the penthouse and stepped into the reception area. Mr. Spitzer’s assistant, Myron, was at his desk eating a banana. I thought he would be annoyed to see us, but instead he looked up and smiled.

  “Oh, good. I was just going to look for you. Mr. Spitzer would like a word.”

  “He would?”

  We followed him to the door of Herbert Spitzer’s office. Myron knocked and then let us in. Just like before, his mother was sitting in her armchair. Herbert Spitzer was looking at some papers.

  “Hi, Mrs. Spitzer,” Amy said.

  “Oh, it’s the nice girl and boy again. But who are these others with you? They don’t look nearly so nice.”

  “They’re our brothers and sisters,” I said.

  Herbert Spitzer came toward us. “Thank you for coming,” he said. “I wanted to express my appreciation for your interest in the Royal Palm Hotel. It looks like Mort Ziff is going to be here for a long time, thanks to you both.”

  “Our brothers and sisters helped, too,” I said.

  “Did they?” Herbert Spitzer said. “Very good. Well, I’ve decided to renovate the coffee shop just for Mort Ziff’s show. We won’t take away the old-fashioned charm of the place, but we’ll freshen it up and add more tables. And we’ll put in a proper stage. But I wanted to give you—to give all of you—something to show my gratitude.”

  “Okay!” said Marcus, rubbing his hands together. Mr. Spitzer went to a cupboard and took out six small boxes. He handed one to each of us. I opened the top of mine and looked in. A coffee mug. When I lifted it out I saw that it had a picture of Herbert Spitzer on it and the words Where Everybody Feels Like Royalty!

  “Thank you,” I said. “That’s very nice.”

  “Yes, thanks,” Amy said. “I can’t wait to use it at home.”

  “Now you come back again.” Mr. Spitzer wagged his finger at us. “I don’t want you going to some other hotel!”

  Last Look

  We took the elevator down to get a last look at the beach. The pool was crowded with people, and it was weird to think that, while we were leaving, other people were just starting their holidays. Through the gate we all went. Carrying our shoes and socks in one hand and our Royal Palm mugs in the other, we walked on the warm sand.

  “Hey, look!” Larry said.

  I turned and saw a little dog running toward us with its tongue hanging out. Was it…? Yes, it was Napoleon! She came up and stood on her hind legs, wanting to be petted.

  “Good dog,” I said, ruffling her ears. “Good Napoleon.”

  “But where’s your owner?” Amy asked, crouching beside me. “Where’s Mort Ziff?”

  I looked around as a feeling of panic came over me. “Maybe something’s happened to him,” I said.

  “What?” said Gloria. “You don’t think…?”

  “He was awfully old,” said Marcus. “He was always making jokes about how long he had left. I bet that’s it. Mort Ziff is dead!”

  “Mort Ziff dead?” I said. “Really dead? Just when he was starting to do well again? That’s just terrible.”

  Amy picked up Napoleon and we stood up again. “Poor dog. You poor thing,” she said soothingly. “What’s going to happen to you?”

  I’d never felt so sad in my life. I thought maybe I’d start crying. And just then I heard somebody call out.

  “Hey! Hey, there!”

  The shout came from the ocean. We all looked out and saw a head bobbing up and down in the waves.

  “The water’s beautiful!”

  “Is that Mort Ziff?” I asked. “Swimming?”

  “It is!” Danielle said.

  The figure in the water began to swim toward us. And to my amazement, Mort Ziff waded out of the shallows, shaking water off himself. He might have been old and skinny and wearing a bathing suit that looked like it was made in 1901, but he was definitely alive.

  “I haven’t been in the ocean for twenty years,” he said, shaking water out of his ears. “Can you think of anything more stupid than living in Miami Beach and not going in the water? It’s so refreshing I feel young again. I’m going to swim every day from now on. I could use the exercise.”

  “Boy is it good to see you,” I said with relief. “We thought…we thought…”

  “What did you think, now?” He looked at me and his eyebrow went up. “Don’t tell me! You saw the dog and thought I was dead? Really? Why, that’s the last thing I’ll do. Get the joke, the last thing!”

  We all groaned. Napoleon yipped. Mort Ziff took the dog from Amy. “Thanks again, you two,” he said. “And the rest of you.”

  “You’re welcome,” we said, one after another.

  I watched Mort Ziff walk along the edge of the beach. Without looking back, he raised his hand to wave one last time.

  When we got into the hotel we found our parents looking for us. It was time to go—a taxi was waiting with our luggage already in it.

  My brothers and I hardly had time to say good-bye to the Horvath sisters. I saw Gloria give Marcus a friendly punch in the arm, while Larry and Danielle gave each other a Planet Furball collector card. Amy looked at me and smiled. “Maybe you’ll come to Teaneck, New Jersey, some time.”

  “Maybe,” I said, but it didn’t seem likely. I wished there was something else to say, but I didn’t know what.

  “Come on, you three,” called my father from the front doors. “We’ll miss our plane.”

  “See you, Norman,” Amy said, and then she pushed a note into my hand. “Read it on the airplane, okay?”

  “Okay,” I said.

  Marcus, Larry and I ran to the taxi and squeezed into the backseat. The driver pulled away from the hotel and onto the road.

  “Well, well,” said the driver. “Look who it is.”

  I looked up to see the same man who had picked us up at the airport. “What a coincidence,” Dad said.

  I turned for a last look at the hotel. “Hey, stop shoving me,” Marcus said. He reached up to flick my ear with his finger. But then he shrugged and just looked out the window.

  “So, did you follow my advice?” the driver asked.

  “Yes, we did,” Mom answered. “And nobody got a sunburn.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. And you, young man,” he said, gesturing to me. “Was Miami Beach everything that you hoped it would be?”

  “It was,” I said. “It was paradise.”

  The driver chuckled. “Paradise for some, true enough.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Oh, you don’t need to worry about it.”

  “No, really. I want to know.”

  “If you say so. Did you know the great Louis Armstrong is playing trumpet in Miami Beach right now? But he’s not staying in any of the fancy hotels.”

  “Why not?”

  “Not allowed. Nor Harry Belafonte either.”

  “But he’s my favorite singer!” said Mom. “Is there actually a law against Black people staying in Miami Beach?”

  “Not anymore there isn’t, but that doesn’t mean it’s allowed. An unwritten law, I guess. Not long ago they didn’t allow Jewish people, either. Like I said, paradise for some. But I’m glad you all had fun. Now take a good look out the window. Enjoy that blue sky and those palm trees before you go
home!”

  On the airplane, I couldn’t stop thinking about what the taxi driver had said. Everything had looked so perfect in Miami Beach, but I guess it wasn’t perfect at all. I wished that I could talk about it with Amy. I remembered the note she had given me and took it out of my pocket.

  Dear Norman,

  Here is my address.

  22 Duckwalk Lane, Teaneck, New Jersey, U.S.A.

  You better write me!

  Amy

  I smiled and put the note back in my pocket. The first thing I was going to do when I got home was write.

  Our lunches came and we ate them on the fold-down tables. Then my brothers and I played cards. Finally an announcement came over the speaker. Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain. We are beginning our descent into the Toronto airport, so please fasten your seatbelts. I’m sorry to tell you that the weather in Toronto is—cold! Freezing temperatures, and last night there was another big snowfall…

  I looked out the window but all I could see were a few thin clouds. Then the plane banked and I saw the ground below, an endless expanse of white crisscrossed by the darker lines of roads and highways. As we got lower and lower I could see snow piled on the roofs of houses. I could see backyard skating rinks.

  The plane straightened out, went down some more, leveled and touched the runway. We rolled to a stop.

  People began to get up. “Do we really have to put our winter coats back on?” Marcus asked.

  “I don’t want you catching cold,” Mom said. “Your hats and scarves too.”

  The plane door opened and everyone filed up the aisle. As we got closer to the open door I could feel a chill. The stewardess smiled at us as we went through the opening onto the portable stairs that led down to the runway. The cold hit me in the face.

  Inside the terminal, we pulled our suitcases from the luggage carousel. “I really wish I could have bought a stuffed alligator,” Marcus said.

  “Look.” Dad pointed at the waiting people. “There’s Uncle Shlomo!”