Tasting the Apple

by Sherilyn Decter

  “Oh, my,” Maggie looks around the room, flustered. “Yes well, I suppose I could always benefit from a more thorough grasp of the topic.”

  “Excellent. Let’s head downstairs to the café.”

  * * * *

  “And then what happened?” Edith says. The two gals are huddled together the next day over cups of coffee in Maggie’s kitchen.

  “We talked about depreciation.”

  “Oh, pooh. You know what I mean. What’s he like? Any sparks?”

  Maggie laughs, delighted to finally be the one sharing a juicy tidbit. “He’s very nice. He’s never been married. He lives with his mother.”

  “Oh-oh,” Edith says. “You don’t want a mama’s boy. They’re a lot of work, and you always need to be picking up after them. And you get Mama. Package deal.”

  “Don’t be silly. We just went for coffee. He’s nice enough; sweet. And he has a lovely smile.”

  “Better. Better. What else?”

  “He has a face full of freckles and lots of red hair.”

  “Oh, a ginger. Well, despite that, it sounds like there might be potential, doll.”

  Maggie stirs her coffee. “There’s a calmness about him that is really appealing. He’s not a fighter. I spend my days surrounded by all this intensity, but there’s none of that with him. Placid, quiet.”

  “To each there own, Mags. Me, I need something with a bit more spark. Give me a scrapper, a fighter, every time. I’d fall asleep with someone like your professor. When do you see him again?”

  “I have class on Tuesday. I’ll see him then, of course.”

  “Oh, aren’t you just the Dumb-Dora. I meant, when do you s-e-e-e him again?”

  “Oh. Se-e-e-e him again.” Maggie has a happy smile on her face, enjoying the attention. “Well, maybe we’ll go for a walk on Sunday. Maybe.”

  “No maybe about it, doll. You’re stepping out.” Edith winks. “And speaking of stepping out, wait ‘til I tell you about what happened with Tony and I the other night.”

  Maggie’s hands grip her mug, her delicate fantasy blunted by the full force of Edith’s romantic drama.

  “Of course, sweetheart. Tell me all about it.” Maggie’s shoulders slump, and the twinkle in her eyes fades.

  “Oh, Maggie. Tony and I were just this close to Mickey finding out,” Edith says, holding up her thumb and forefinger to indicate a tiny space.

  “Edith, I warned you.”

  “Yeah, yeah. But he didn’t find out. Tony and I had been out for a drive and, when we got back to my place, he parked around the corner, like he always does. And he was walking me to the gate, like he always does. Well then, Mickey, who was supposed to be away until after supper like he always is, suddenly pulls up to the curb. Bold as brass, Mags.”

  “Well, he does live there, Edith. You shouldn’t be surprised to see him in front of his own house.” Maggie shakes her head at her friend’s rashness.

  “Well, Tony walks right up to the car and taps on the car window. I thought we were going to die, right there and then.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Mickey rolls the window down, and Tony leans in and tells him that he has info on Colonel Butler. Mickey tells him to get in the car. Then Tony stands up and thanks me for waiting with him, and tips his hat. The moxie of that man. He’s not afraid of nobody.” Edith sighs dramatically.

  “And Tony gets in the car, and they sit and talk. I walk down the street like I was going for a walk. When I get back from my stroll, Mickey’s in the house and Tony’s car is gone. Mickey never mentioned it to me, except to ask if I’d had a nice walk.” Edith shakes her head in amazement. “If I’d had a nice walk.”

  “You know, it could have ended very badly for you, Edith.”

  “I know, doll. But it didn’t, did it? It’s like fate is saying that Tony and I should be together, shining a bit of sunshine on my head for once.”

  “Well, just remember that even the sunniest days come to an end and the sun sets.”

  “Oh, pooh,” Edith says, pouting, with her arms crossed. “You’re just mad because I’ve found myself a terrific fella. A real sheik. And you’re going for coffee with a mama’s boy math professor.”

  Maggie stares aghast at her friend. “Edith. How can you say that?”

  Edith jumps up and hugs Maggie. “I’m sorry, Mags. I don’t know what I’m saying sometimes. I’m sure your fella is a real catch, too.”

  With Edith’s arms wrapped around her, Maggie stares over her shoulder, a bitter look on her face. “It’s okay Edith. Honest. Now, let’s sit and finish our coffee. You tell me more about your sheik’s dreamy eyes.”

  Chapter 33

  D eep in the bowels of the Philadelphia Inquirer building is the mailroom. Women standing around large tables sorting through bags. Mail for administration, mail for reporters, mail for the women’s section requesting recipes or patterns, mail for the accounting department, mail for circulation. Just outside the door are a series of numbered wooden cubbies. These are the slots for people requesting a response to something in a Classified advertisement: help wanted, employment wanted, love wanted.

  Maggie checks her mail slot: number one-fifty. Empty again. She frowns. It’s been a week and still no responses. Desperate to get that extra cash coming in, she’s placed an advertisement for bookkeeping services, even though she’s not yet finished her first term of classes. With the familiarity she has with accounting ledgers from spending time as a girl in her father’s office, she knows she can manage to bridge the time until she graduates from Drexel; if only she can get that first client. She’d kept her name off the ad, thinking that a woman’s name might discourage applicants. And she’d hinted at Drexel training, a stretch given she’s only been in class a short time. But still nothing, and the clock is ticking. She needs that money.

  * * * *

  She settles into her spot at Child’s with a butterscotch sundae. Nothing like a bit of ice cream to cheer a girl. Edith joins her, glowing with good cheer. She’s loaded with parcels and packages. Rats. She’s in a good mood. And been shopping, something I haven’t done for ages. For once I’d like to talk about my problems and not listen to Edith’s victories.

  Maggie scowls into her ice cream. Then she collects herself and looks up. “Well, don’t you look chipper,” she says to a beaming Edith.

  “And don’t you sound sour. What’s the matter, doll? It’s a beautiful day. The sun is shining, the birds are singing. The butterscotch sundaes are delish.”

  Maggie keeps scowling. “I’m not sleeping well. Too much on my mind these days.”

  “Here, I got you a little something that might cheer you up.”

  Edith puts a shopping bag in front of Maggie. “Open it, sweetie. I’m dying to hear what you think. Oh, I hope I got the right thing.”

  Curious, Maggie stands, peering into the top of the bag. Inside is an adding machine. And not just any adding machine but a Full-Keyboard Victor Adding Machine, its steel frame painted black and green, eight columns of color-coded black and white metal keys. A metal crank with a wooden handle on the right of the machine to operate it. Behind the keyboard is a two-colored ribbon, printing mechanism, and fixed narrow carriage with a paper roll.

  “Oh, Edith. It’s perfect. It’s outstanding. I’m, I’m… beyond thrilled. I can’t believe it. Thank you,” she says, wrapping her arms around her friend.

  “Then I did good? I went to the business supply store and explained what I wanted. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it. You know, Mags, I’m just thrilled you’re doing this business thing. It’s so brave, so modern. I just wanted you to know.”

  “Oh, Edith. I’m speechless. Here I was down in the dumps, and now I’m over the moon. Thanks, sweetie.” More hugs.

  “So why down in the dumps?” Edith asks, pulling up a chair and digging into the strawberry sundae the waiter has just put in front of her.

  “I’ve just been to the Inquirer, and there’s still no respons
e to my ad. Nobody wants to hire me. Oh Edith, I was so sure that I’d get a couple of clients quick, I did something crazy to celebrate the advertisement.” Maggie shakes her head and pushes her sundae away. The tightness in her chest is growing familiar; trapped.

  “I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess the money from the loan just went to my head. I’m not used to having money to spend and it made me reckless.” Maggie covers her face and moans. “After I placed the ad, and paid my tuition, I went out and bought a new electric refrigerator with the last of the money from the loan I got. A mortgage loan from the bank secured against the house to fix the roof.”

  Maggie grabs Edith’s hand. “Oh, why did I buy that stupid refrigerator? First the washing machine and then that. The loan was supposed to be for roof repairs, not upgrading appliances. The ice box was working fine. So what if it was small, we could have made do. Fortunately, the balance on that stupid refrigerator is through time-payments, but now I’m really tight for cash. Especially with Archie only paying part rent. Oh, Edith. I’m in a bad spot if I don’t find some clients fast. And on top of it all, I’ll have future tuition to pay, too. And I’m supposed to be good at accounting?”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Maggie. I had no idea. The loan is serious.”

  “More than serious. I could lose my house. I managed to squeak by and make the last payment, but every month is more turmoil. It’s gotten so bad I’ve been watching how much food the lodgers put on their fork and into their mouths.”

  “Look, doll, something will come along. It always does. Tell me, what did your advertisement say?”

  Maggie describes the ad.

  “What about if you asked a question at the top? ‘Looking for more time to spend on your sales strategy but buried by paperwork? Let me take that chore off your desk’ kind of thing?”

  Maggie stares at her friend, mouth hanging open. She leaps up and hugs Edith who, surprised, almost falls off her stool.

  “Whoa, girl. Hold on.”

  “Edith, you are brilliant. That is absolutely the cat’s pajamas. I’m going to go right down there and rewrite my advertisement.”

  “Hang on, Gal Friday. Finish your ice cream first. Besides,” Edith leans in wiggling her eyebrows up and down, “I want to tell you about Tony.”

  “You’ve seen him again?”

  “A couple of times. We go to the pictures, or out for a drive. No funny business. But Maggie, he is just swell.”

  Maggie looks at Edith’s flushed cheeks and is worried. “You know this won’t end well, don’t you?”

  “You’re such a wet blanket, Mags. Why shouldn’t I have a bit of sunshine in my life? Mickey certainly does.”

  “Because you’re married, you dope. The rules are different for gals. Mickey is going to hit the roof if he finds out.” Maggie sits back, looking at her friend. “You know, that’s a lot of risk to be taking on for some harmless fun. Are you sure nothing’s happening?”

  Edith blushes, eyes wide. “Maybe just a kiss or two. But that’s it, I swear.”

  Maggie grabs hold of her friend’s hands. “Oh, Edith. Just call it off with Tony.”

  Edith shakes Maggie off. “Well, I won’t. I’m tired of being unhappy.” Edith pouts, stabbing at her strawberry ice cream. “Say, you want to come out with Mickey and me? Next week?”

  “I’m so relieved you said Mickey. I thought you were going to invite me out with Tony.”

  “Oh, ha ha, sweetie. No, three would be a crowd there. But we sure had a swell time the last time you came out with Mickey and me to the Cadix. We’ve got a great band coming in. And a magician. Come on. Say yes. I’ll lend you another one of my dresses? Please?”

  “Oh, all right. It will be fun. But even better at the moment is for me to get my tail down to the Inquirer with the wording for a new advertisement. Gotta run, doll.” Maggie leans in and gives her friend a quick buss on the cheek before heading off.

  “Thursday. The Cadix is Thursday. We’ll pick you up at eight,” Edith shouts after her.

  Chapter 34

  G us pokes his head into the suite at the Ritz. Mickey is meeting with Henry and the accountant, Mike Malazdrewicz. Mickey had lost his previous accountant to a nefarious plot, and so wasn’t taking any chances with the latest recruit. Malazdrewicz is fom Poland; his people and Mickey’s people from the same village. “Hey Boss, Frankie Bailey is here to see ya.”

  Mickey looks over to Henry, a question in his eyes.

  “Could be Frank Bailey or his kid Frankie Jr. The Baileys run moonshine out in the sticks.”

  “Do we buy from him?”

  “Not yet, but maybe.”

  “Sure. Let him in.”

  Frankie Jr. stands, hat in hand, in front of the man himself. He tries not to look like a rube by ogling the hotel suite. He takes a step forward, hand extended.

  “Mr. Duffy. An honor, sir. My pop speaks of you all the time.”

  Mickey declines to either rise or shake his hand but continues to stare, matchstick in his mouth.

  “Right. Frank Bailey. Give him my regards,” Mickey says around the matchstick.

  Frankie nods. “Yes, sir.”

  “So what can I do for you, Junior?”

  Frankie winces at the handle. Mickey notices with a smug smile. Like the kid has earned any respect.

  “My brother, James, and I was wonderin’ if you had a couple of spots for us in your crew? You know, muscle, or drivers.”

  “God, it seems everybody wants in. First Copeland and now a pair of Baileys. Are we in expansion mode, Henry? We got a Help Wanted sign out front on the sidewalk or somethin’?”

  Henry smirks. “It’s amazing the crud that blows in off the street.” Henry had been in a bit of a set-to with one of the Bailey crew a while back. It hadn’t ended well, for the other guy.

  “Why would we hire you lot?” asks Mickey.

  “We’ve been working with Pop since we was small. Done everything, from making the hooch to selling it. We understand the business, Mr. Duffy. And we’re hard workers.”

  “Was it you guys who shot up that whiskey run south of town last month?”

  Frankie squirms. “Yeah, but they was trickin’ us. Laying a trap, like. We had to shoot first.”

  “You like to shoot first? Ask questions later?”

  Frankie puffs out his chest. “Yeah, of course we do. We got a name to uphold. Nobody messes with the Bailey brothers.”

  “That’s quite a boast.” Mickey looks over at Henry, who gives a slight shake to his head. “You know, Junior, we got enough hotheads on our crew as it is. I like good soldiers that can follow orders. Your kind of initiative always leads to trouble. I think maybe you should head home to your pop. No hard feelings, of course.”

  Frankie stares at Mickey, confused. He was sure Mickey would have said yes. He and James are a catch.

  “No way, Mr. Duffy. Did I mention that James and I are crack shots? Pretty familiar with a gun. Probably the best there is. And for sure we can follow orders. James, especially. He always does what I tells him.”

  “Look, kid. Mr. Duffy said no. He’s not lookin’ for an argument. Now, get lost,” Henry says.

  Frankie glances around the room, a confused look on his face. “Sure thing, Mr. Duffy. I guess we’ll see ya around sometime, maybe.”

  Gus shows Frankie the door.

  “So, what got your goat, Henry? Usually, you like the swaggering types.”

  “Don’t know, Mickey. There’s just something.” Henry shrugs. “We don’t need guys right now, maybe later. Maybe later.”

  * * * *

  “So, what did he say, Frankie? Huh? We in? When do we start?” James, who has been waiting outside, peppers questions at Frankie as he leaves the Ritz.

  “He said no. They don’t need anybody right now.”

  “Huh? That ain’t right. Did you tell him what we can do? That we got skills?”

  “Yeah, but he said he was looking for good soldiers.”

  “I don’t
get it.”

  “I don’t either. Maybe we missed something. Maybe he was looking for something to sweeten the deal?”

  “You mean like a bribe?”

  “No, not a bribe. We’re too good. We don’t need to bribe somebody to hire us. Nah, I was thinking more like something that would show him how glad we are to be part of his crew. Like it’s an honor or something. Like tribute. You know, like you’d give a king.”

  * * * *

  “Hey, Boss. That Bailey kid is back. And he’s not alone.”