"You better shut your face!" Uncle Louie cried wrathfully.
"We are all under a strain," Matsoukas said soothingly. "But we must remain calm. The secret of victory lies in proper organization and our planning has been extraordinary."
"I don't like it," Javaras said. "It's risky and dishonest too."
"Life is risky," Matsoukas said, "and as for business, old sport, it thrives on dishonesty. Do you realize at this very moment that paragon of dishonesty, that bloody real estate swindler, Aristotle, is trying to unload a restaurant deader than yours on the buyer? That pigeon is going to get plucked. The only question is whether Aristotle or I do the plucking. And the stakes are high. If we pull off this sale you are free after five years of bondage and I," he paused and a flush of heat swept his cheeks, "I will fly my son to Greece!"
They were silent for a moment watching him. He snapped his fingers. "Let us prepare now," he said. "Polish that abominable pie case and sweep the cursed floor. Find a fresh apron and a clean cap. We must move as the great Pindar counseled, to the swift movement and the strong beat of life itself!"
After a brief flurry of regular customers at lunch, the counters emptied again. Only a stray patron came in for coffee. Matsoukas waited just inside the front door staring anxiously at the street. Javaras stood nervously behind the cash register. Uncle Louie and Apollo bickered with one another to pass the time.
"Where are the union boys?" Javaras asked. "It won't look good if the buyer finds the place empty."
"Patience, man," Matsoukas said. "I told Orchowski to start sending his boys in after two. What good are patrons before the buyer arrives?" He stiffened suddenly. "Here comes the pigeon now!"
On the street outside the lunchroom appeared the broker, Aristotle, a heavy-jowled man in a checkered vest with a large gold watch chain suspended over his huge belly. The buyer was small and dapper with a wide-brimmed Borsalino set carefully on his head. Aristotle held him tightly by the arm. The broker pointed out the shabby exterior.
"Look at the well-fed wolf!" Matsoukas snarled over his shoulder to Javaras. "Trust that bloody stinknose to find cracks even the termites can't locate! I'm surprised he has the nerve to show his face after being fined last year for selling tickets to Greece on a steamship that didn't exist! Bloody crook!"
As they approached the door he burst into a hearty smile and pulled it open.
"Welcome!" he cried. "Come in gentlemen! Good to see you again, Aristotle, my dear friend!"
The broker and buyer entered the lunchroom, the buyer taking a final apprehensive look at the wretched window frame. Under the expensive hat he wore thick-lensed spectacles and through them his eyes became large magnified spheres.
"How are you, Matsoukas?" Aristotle said, his tone indicating he couldn't care less. "Mr. Cascabouris, this is Mr. Matsoukas," he paused to give the proper weight to his following words. "Broker for the seller."
"Delighted, sir!" Matsoukas shook the buyer's hand warmly. He motioned for Javaras to approach. "This is Mr. Javaras, a compatriot, and a restaurant man for thirty years. Mr. Javaras, allow me to present to you Mr. Cascabouris, and my distinguished colleague, Aristotle, a man with a reputation equally venerated on land and on sea."
Aristotle coughed and blinked and fingered his heavy gold chain.
"Why do you wish to sell, Mr. Javaras?" Cascabouris asked bluntly.
"Frankly, I am tired," Javaras said. "I need a rest."
Aristotle looked around the lunchroom empty but for a single customer lounging over a cup of coffee. "Put a bed in that corner," he said. "You should not be disturbed." He chuckled as if relishing his wit.
"Men are like bells," Matsoukas said loudly. "You cannot tell which ones are cracked until they ring."
They all stared at him slightly puzzled and he motioned to one of the tables with four chairs. "We will make a rapid tour of the facilities first," he said, "and then return to the table there to watch the trade. Customers are what is important. Fixtures can be rebuilt, repainted, renovated."
"These fixtures look like they should be burned," Aristotle said. He made a desultory gesture of apology to Javaras. "No offense."
"I cannot afford a match," Javaras said grimly.
Matsoukas threw him a look of dismay. "Always kidding!" he cried. "I don't think Mr. Javaras fully appreciates what a wit he has! Cannot afford a match indeed!" He winked slyly at Cascabouris.
"Let me take your hat, sir," he said.
"He might as well keep it on," Aristotle said. "We won't be staying very long." He looked around. "Besides it might get soiled." He fluttered his fingers again at Javaras. "No offense."
Matsoukas gritted his teeth and led them through the swinging door into the dark and gloomy kitchen.
"Notice how spacious and roomy the icebox is," he said. "The stove appears a little worn but it is still in grand condition. They don't build them of cast iron like that anymore."
"They haven't since the Civil War," Aristotle smirked and nudged Cascabouris.
Matsoukas winced slightly under the barb and then, recovering quickly, introduced them to the chef. Uncle Louie nodded nervously and offered both of them his cold limp hand after wiping it furiously on his apron.
"And that is our dishwasher, Apollo," Matsoukas pointed to the shaggy-haired man at the sinks. "He has lost four assistants in the past month because of the frenzied activity but he remains undaunted and carries on alone!"
Apollo glowered at them and pulled up his pants which were held around his waist by a length of rope.
As Aristotle and Cascabouris passed out of the kitchen Uncle Louie motioned to Matsoukas. "We need eggs," he whispered.
Matsoukas waved him a hasty reassurance and followed the others out of the kitchen. Javaras waited with a wretched and forlorn look as if he expected they would head straight for the front door.
"It has been a long time," Aristotle said gravely, "since I have seen a place so ripe for total demolition. I would not trade this entire establishment for a three-wheeled pushcart." He shrugged again at Javaras. "No offense."
"A Greek businessman is not fooled by appearances," Matsoukas said grimly. "He knows well that many a flashy stainless steel surface conceals a cemetery vault. Isn't that right, Mr. Cascabouris?"
Cascabouris nodded sagely and Matsoukas held his chair. He gave him a slight push toward the table.
"Coffee for these gentlemen," he waved briskly at Javaras. "Perhaps a ham sandwich?"
"Just coffee," Cascabouris said.
Aristotle sat down with a poignant sigh suggesting the whole affair was a waste of time. Javaras brought the coffee and nervously sloshed some into the saucers. Matsoukas gave him a warning look.
The first group of union customers arrived, a half dozen express handlers in leather jackets. They sat in a boisterous group along the counter and ordered coffee and rolls. One buffoon ordered four ham sandwiches to go. Javaras glared at him but complied to avoid any disturbance. To each man leaving, the owner was careful to hand out the small white register receipt.
"Mr. Javaras has to be extremely careful in recording his receipts," Matsoukas whispered to Cascabouris. "The income he derives from this incredible business makes him a joyous target for the Internal Revenue agents."
Aristotle grunted and drew his gold watch slowly and with ceremony from his vest pocket. Cascabouris raised his eyebrows silently showing he was suspending judgment.
A tumult at the door attracted their attention. About a dozen men were trying to enter at once, jamming the doorway. Javaras stared at them incredulously. Matsoukas knew there had not been that many people in the lunchroom since the afternoon a rumor had gone around the neighborhood that Uncle Louie was a bookie. The men filled almost all of the counter stools.
Matsoukas made a resigned gesture with his hands. "All day it goes like this," he said to Cascabouris. Aristotle frowned.
Javaras moved swiftly to take their orders. Coffee and sweet rolls. Coffee and ham sandwiches. One man asked for a
lamb chop but he must have felt the dry heat shake off the owner's cheeks. He quickly changed his order to coffee.
Before this group had been fully served another half-dozen men entered, closely followed by what appeared to be the entire membership of Local 77. In a flash every stool and chair in the lunchroom was occupied.
"Uncle Louie! Apollo!" Javaras shouted. "On guard!"
Cascabouris looked at Aristotle and Matsoukas could see he was impressed. He reached up and slowly removed his hat. "Perhaps we should watch from the kitchen," he said to Matsoukas. "It is not proper to occupy tables when customers are waiting."
"I commend your good judgment," Matsoukas said cheerfully. "As a restaurant man yourself you know every chair must pay its way."
He led them into the kitchen where they stood peering through the porthole of the door, the little buyer straining on his toes. The first load of soiled cups and saucers came down the chute into the sink and splattered the startled Apollo with water.
"What the hell...!" he said.
"Coffee!" Javaras shouted from the front. "Louie, ten ham sandwiches! Sweet rolls on eight!"
Uncle Louie was feverishly piling ham sandwiches on a large tray mumbling to himself. Javaras ran around frantically assembling sweet rolls and pouring coffee.
"I think I had best assist them," Matsoukas said to Cascabouris. "The regular waitress is ill today." He removed his suitcoat and hung it carefully over the back of a chair. He rolled up his sleeves and tied a clean apron around his waist, humming to himself.
"I'll take that tray of sandwiches out front," Matsoukas said to Uncle Louie. He picked up the tray and with a final broad grin at Aristotle, he moved swiftly into the fray.
He poured an endless stream of coffee and swept countless sweet rolls onto napkins. Javaras, bathed in sweat, made another urn of coffee, splashing the grounds over his apron in his wild haste. Still the door banged open and more men piled in. There was no place to sit and they stood three deep behind the stools and chairs waiting for the occupants to finish.
"Twenty ham sandwiches!" Matsoukas shouted. "Nine sweet rolls! Fifteen coffees!"
Uncle Louie came from the kitchen with a massive tray of ham sandwiches piled in tiers. He staggered under the load and by the time he got to the coffee urns, they were all gone. Men reached over the counter to snatch them off the tray. More men appeared outside and when they could not enter because of the jam at the door stood peering fretfully through the glass. The men leaving had to push their way out.
Matsoukas rushed to the kitchen for more cups and saucers pausing an instant to smile warmly at the broker and Cascabouris who stood watching the turmoil in amazement. Cascabouris said nothing but behind the thick lenses of his glasses his eyes darted like fish in a bowl.
In the corner Apollo had his head bent almost into the suds, his arms and hands working like a frantic swimmer trying to keep from being drowned.
"More cups and saucers!" Matsoukas shouted at him. "Put a move on, man!"
Apollo raised his head dripping with suds and water. His lips trembled. "What the hell...!"
Uncle Louie clutched Matsoukas by the arm in panic. "I have an order for two fried eggs!" he gasped. "I told you!"
"Compose yourself!" Matsoukas cried. "Tell him the bloody hen is sulking!"
He rushed back toward the swinging door and Aristotle and Cascabouris moved quickly out of his way.
"A little quieter than usual today," Matsoukas said with a breathless smile. He pushed against the door and it would not give. He pushed harder and when he finally shoved with all his strength the door sprang open scattering the half-dozen men who had been pressed against the other side.
In the next ten minutes two police cars drove up with screaming sirens. When the policemen assured themselves there was no riot in progress they set up orderly lines along the sidewalk and directed traffic in and out of the lunchroom.
"Coffee!" Javaras shouted hoarsely handing out the white register receipts as fast as he could bang out the amounts. "Sweet rolls! Ham sandwiches! Cups! Saucers!"
"Ham is gone!" Uncle Louie cried shrilly from the kitchen. "I have a little salami! No eggs!"
"Salami sandwiches!" Matsoukas shouted. He was drenched in sweat, his shirt glued to his back, his apron stained with nuts, raisins, and coffee. On his next trip into the kitchen he paused to grin at the broker and buyer.
"Incredible," Aristotle said in a stunned voice. His cheeks quivered like a man caught in the grip of a nightmare. Cascabouris made his cross. "Police to direct the traffic!" he marveled. "Fantastic!"
Things quieted down slightly after that. When word spread that the lunchroom contained nothing besides toothpicks and water the crowd lined up outside dispersed grumbling. The tables and stools began to empty.
Uncle Louie had collapsed across a chair, his face beet-red, his hand pressed against his heart as if he feared a stroke. Apollo had locked himself in the toilet. Matsoukas bent over the sink washing his face and then dried his hands. He slipped back into his coat and walked jubilantly toward the buyer as Javaras came into the kitchen. For the first time in thirty years there was a fragment of hope on the owner's doleful face.
"Well," Javaras said to them all, and paused to get his breath. "What do you think?"
"Incredible," Aristotle shook his head sorrowfully.
Cascabouris moved quickly then and raised his arms and stretched on his toes to embrace Javaras around the shoulders. "Magnificent!" he said with emotion. He turned to Matsoukas and nodded fervently with a trace of tears in his eyes. "Magnificent! Simply magnificent!"
"You like it, eh?" Javaras said. He seemed on the verge of tears himself.
"Mr. Javaras," Cascabouris said in a trembling voice. "Permit me to extend to you my felicitations. Twenty-five years in the business myself, ten different locations, big restaurants and small lunchrooms and I swear to you I have never witnessed activity such as this. In a year a man could make a fortune."
"Right!" Matsoukas cried. "That is only the truth!" He threw a look of triumph at the grieving Aristotle.
"Thank you," Javaras said softly. "Thank you." He looked numbly at the floor, at the tips of his worn shoes.
"We can discuss an offer at once," Matsoukas said. "Mr. Javaras has made his money here. He is prepared to let the business go at a price covering his investment and a small profit. A contract can be drawn and signed in a few moments."
Cascabouris raised his hand. He smiled warmly. "I cannot tell you how impressed I am," he said. "I know that nothing else I see can possibly equal this Homeric activity. But..." he paused. "I am no longer a young man. My heart flutters. In a year a man could make a fortune, true, but in three months I would be dead. This kind of activity might even kill me sooner."
A dreadful silence followed the buyer's words. Javaras staggered as if he had been kicked in the groin. Matsoukas stifled a fearful moan. Hope sprang like a flower to Aristotle's graveled cheeks.
"Mr. Cascabouris!" Matsoukas cried. "Do not be hasty! It is not always as vigorous as it was today! Sometimes it is very quiet! An hour, two, and maybe three go by and not one patron enters!" He nodded fiercely at Javaras who stared at him in horror and then began numbly to nod in unison with him.
"The truth," Javaras said hoarsely. "Often it is much quieter than today, much quieter. I swear it."
Cascabouris shook his head vigorously. "You are modest, Mr. Javaras," he said. "Don't be. Your spirit and energy have built this fantastic business. This is your testament, a shining example for every restaurant man in this great country. I will never forget I have been witness to a colossal and moving experience. Goodbye, my friends, goodbye."
He started through the swinging door and Aristotle leaped to follow his spoor. "I think you might reconsider that little jewel on 39th Street..." His voice faded and they walked out the front door with the broker's fingers working in earnest and furious patterns. Matsoukas watched them go.
Javaras flexed his arm slowly. First one arm and
then the other as if he were testing his circulation. Uncle Louie came to stand beside them, his face swept by exhaustion.
"Are they coming back?" Uncle Louie asked.
"What is my faith?" Matsoukas said somberly. "To admit what is. What is, is catastrophe."
A single truck driver entered and sat down on a stool. Javaras opened the swinging door wide enough to put out his head.
"Ham sandwich and coffee," the man said.
"We are closed," Javaras shook his head. "There has been a death in the family." He waved the man farewell.
"Whose death?" Uncle Louie asked.
"Mine," Javaras said. "Very soon."
Apollo came out of the toilet and stood a moment staring at the mountain of dishes that engulfed the sinks. "What the hell...!" he cried and turned and went back into the toilet. They heard him snap the lock.
"Ye mortal men, resign yourselves," Matsoukas said. "The world to destiny belongs." He uttered a sigh that swept from deep in his bowels and then he straightened his shoulders and violently threw off the cape of gloom. "Do not despair, my friend," he said to Javaras. "Every disaster opens a perspective on the human condition. The true mettle of a man is revealed in his response to what seems to be defeat." He started through the swinging door.
"Where are you going?" Javaras asked.
Matsoukas paused.
"I go to the offices of Local 77," he said gravely. "Perhaps we can salvage something from this debacle. Perhaps my friend, Orchowski, will allow us to settle for twenty or twenty-five cents on the dollar. I will try."
"I expect nothing," Javaras said mournfully, "and will receive less."
"If you come back this way bring some eggs," Uncle Louie said.
CHAPTER SIX
"I have had it," Fatsas pushed himself away from the table into the perimeter of shadow. He looked disconsolately at the few worn dollar bills still before him. "I will keep this ragass stake until tonight."
"I join you," Charilaos said. "The faces of the cards begin to blur."
"We may as well stop," Matsoukas said. He leaned back and stretched his arms above his head in a great unjointing of his cramped limbs.
A Dream of Kings Page 6