With that thought, Solomon felt his tension evaporate, replaced with a pleasurable warmth that coasted through his veins. Rebecca’s confession stirred a desire within him that was joyful. He would disregard his fears and visit her tonight in the dream world.
Chapter 62
“Hymie’s complaining about sharp pains in his stomach,” Moshe told his wife.
“But why you, and not your sister?” Leah asked.
“Because he asked for me. I’ll be back Sunday. You’ll be fine at Barbara’s. Candy will be happy to see you.”
“Okay, let me pack up what I need, and don’t rush me, Moshe,” Leah said.
“Take your time. We’ll leave after dinner.”
Moshe dropped off Leah at their daughter’s home on Long Island. Thank goodness she was happy for an excuse to spend a few days with their two-year-old granddaughter, Candy. But Moshe was not thrilled that he had to lie to her.
The city streets were a mess with the two-day-old snow. Cars that got plowed under appeared like statues carved into soot colored ice that he thought would never melt. Moshe circled the block a few times before he found a spot on Queens Boulevard.
He grabbed his valise and looked up and down the sidewalk to make sure no one was watching. Though he knew this was not what it seemed, he still didn’t want to explain why he was sneaking into the apartment of a woman who wasn’t his wife.
I can’t believe I’m doing this, he thought as he climbed the stairwell. As he reached the fifth floor landing the door to apartment 5G opened, and Noa’s head popped out.
“Come in, Moshe. I’ve been waiting for you,” Noa said.
Moshe stepped in.
“Hang up your coat on the hook,” Noa said, pointing.
The invigorating climb up the five floors turned up his sweat into a full-out drenching of his undergarments and shirt.
Anticipating his condition, Noa appeared with a glass of water. “Here you go.”
“Thank you,” Moshe said, as he gulped down the water.
“Come, put your valise here,” she said, pointing to a spot next to the sofa.
“Is this where I’m sleeping?” Moshe asked, gesturing to the three-cushion sofa.
“No, you’ll take my bed.”
“And where will you sleep?” Moshe asked, nervously.
“I’m not sleeping. I’ll be observing you.”
Moshe looked around Noa’s shoulder to the doorway to the bedroom.
“Come, I’ll show you.”
While he waited for Noa to return with groceries, Moshe looked out the window onto the frozen world, soaking up the cold drafts from the open window. From this fifth floor walkup, he was level with the elevated Queens Boulevard train station where he could watch people climbing the metal staircase, bundled up against the frigid winds.
As a train rumbled into the station the glass in the window vibrated. He wondered how he would sleep that night with the continuous noise of the neighborhood and reverberations of the trains.
He thought of Leah and wondered how she was doing. What if she calls Hymie, looking for me? Hymie won’t know what she’s talking about. Shit, I should have told him.
Moshe heard keys engaging the apartment door locks. He hurried to the door to offer Noa a hand with the groceries. Moshe turned the door knob and opened the door.
Standing there, with a key pointing at him, was a young man wearing a lightweight jacket, and no hat. A trickle of sweat ran down the side of his face, and his blue eyes expressed surprise.
“Who are you?” asked the stranger.
“I’m Moshe.”
“Where’s Noa?” he said, looking past Moshe into the empty apartment behind him.
“She went to get groceries. She’ll be back soon,” Moshe said, stepping aside to allow the man in.
“I’m Sammy, a friend of Noa’s. I thought she was out of town.”
“No, she’s here,” Moshe said, feeling awkward.
“Why are you here?” Sammy said, taking a seat by the open window.
“I’m a friend,” Moshe said, unsure if he should discuss the real reason with this stranger.
Besides the familiar sign of sweat dripping down his forehead, Sammy looked to be about thirty years old, and a handsome man, with short curly auburn hair.
“Are you friends with Noa?”
“Oh, we are more than friends,” Sammy said, with a mischievous lifting of his eyebrows.
Moshe didn’t know how to respond, except with a nod. Just then, the door opened and in walked Noa, clutching two bags of groceries.
“Sammy, what are you doing here?”
“You told me I could stay here, don’t you remember?”
Noa placed the groceries down on the counter top in the kitchen and said, “Oh my god, I completely forgot. I changed my plans because of… well, I guess you met Moshe.”
“We just met. So what am I supposed to do? I need to stay here a few days.”
“That’s fine, you can sleep on the couch. I’m going to be working with Moshe at night, so we’ll be in the bedroom.”
“Can you tell me what’s going on?” Moshe asked.
Noa walked over and patted Moshe on his cheek. “Sammy and I are lovers.”
Moshe blushed, and sweated even more.
“I know what you’re thinking, that I’m too old for that stuff now. But not in the dream world,” Noa added.
“Oh, you should see her, Moshe. She’s a young, beautiful woman, full of sensuality,” Sammy said, squeezing Noa around her shoulders.
“Stop it, Sammy. You’re embarrassing Moshe.”
“I don’t think I need to know any of this,” Moshe said, sitting down at the kitchen table.
“It’s what’s beautiful about the dream world, Moshe. Sammy and I are happy together, but I’m forty-five years older, and we can’t have a sexual relationship that would be pleasing for either of us.”
“But we can in the dream world,” Sammy interrupted with a grin.
“All right, let me make dinner. I have plenty. After dinner, I’ll take Moshe into the bedroom and we’ll get to work,” Noa said.
Moshe rubbed the back of his neck and wondered if he had made a mistake in coming. Certainly, if he was able to learn how to move about in the dream world he wouldn’t waste it on sexual encounters, unless Leah wanted to learn, which he doubted. But he did imagine dreaming about being with his parents, Pincus and Clara, who passed many years ago. Now that would be exciting.
Chapter 63
Myron sat at his table near the front of the ballroom. As mayor of the country’s largest city, he was a featured attendee at the 1961 Conference for American Mayors, held in Miami. The organizers of the event had even asked if Myron would provide one of the keynote speeches to the group. But he declined. His interest was just to show up, and get out of there as quickly as possible, in order to spend time with Niko.
Niko had told her father that she was going away with friends for a few days, which wasn’t unusual. But Myron wasn’t as calm as Niko. He prayed that no one would recognize her during the conference.
While he sat there through another dull address, this time by the Mayor of Los Angeles, he doodled mindless geometric shapes on a note pad that featured a line drawing of the Fontainebleau Hotel.
The speech was about the usual things mayors needed to deal with, like crime, trash pickup, snow removal, and education. But the only thing that Myron thought about was Niko, and the men who were, most likely at this very moment, gawking at her as she pranced about the pool in her tiny bikini.
Myron hurried out of the convention hall and up to his room in the adjacent hotel. He smiled at the Do Not Disturb sign hanging off the doorknob to his room. He took out the large brass key and unlocked the door.
“Hey, I’m back,” he shouted.
There was no reply in the large penthouse suite. Myron stepped onto the patio that offered a sweeping view of the Atlantic Ocean and saw Niko relaxing on a cushioned lounge chair.
“There you a
re,” he said.
“How did it go? Did you learn anything new and exciting?” she said, standing up, wearing a white bathrobe with the Fontainebleau logo embroidered upon it.
“Oh, I was mostly bored, to tell you the truth.”
Niko lifted her hand and said, “I would think that hanging around with other big-time mayors would be a good opportunity to learn how they do things.”
Myron nodded. “That’s true. Actually, there were a few ideas I liked.”
“Tell me, Myron?” Niko asked.
Myron thought for a moment before he said, “The mayor from Philadelphia spoke about smaller class sizes in elementary school.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” Niko said wagging a finger. “I always thought that there were too many children in my classes when I went to school. Education reform is one of the biggest responsibilities you have as mayor.”
Myron nodded. “There was also an idea from a roundtable discussion about the police getting out of their patrol cars and walking their beats, like they used to do years ago.”
Niko opened her palms out wide and said, “Myron, that’s obvious. When the police are among the citizens they make a better connection to the people they are serving, instead of isolating themselves inside a vehicle.”
“Wow, Niko, maybe you should run for mayor.”
Niko smiled, shrugged and turned to walk into the bedroom.
“Tonight we’re having dinner with the Mayor of Chicago, Richard Daley, and his wife Eleanor,” he called after her.
Shouting from the bedroom, Niko said, “I’ve heard good things about him. He has that city under his control. Father says he is one of the most powerful men in the country.”
Myron followed Niko into the bedroom. “We have a half-hour to get ready.”
Of course Niko wasn’t ready in thirty minutes, so Myron waited for her on the patio smoking a Cuban cigar, his favorite. There were rumors circulating at the convention that President Kennedy was considering an embargo of products from Cuba, which would include Myron’s precious cigars.
Myron slipped two extra cigars into his jacket pocket for the evening. Perhaps if he shared a smoke with Mayor Daley he might convince the mayor’s good friend, President Kennedy, not to include the cigars in the ban.
Agnes, who had also accompanied Myron to the conference, had become his right-hand woman. She educated Myron about the warm relationship between the Chicago mayor and the President of the United States.
“The rumor is that the mayor helped steal the 1960 presidential election by stuffing the ballot boxes in Chicago,” Agnes said earlier that day during a break in their meetings.
She also told him about numerous scandals plaguing his administration.
“This mayor is notorious. He’s been accused of ticket fixing, inflating government construction projects, and accepting bribes for influence,” Agnes told Myron.
“Sounds like my kind of guy,” Myron quipped.
Myron loved watching the waves as they crashed upon the white-sand shoreline of Miami Beach. Getting out of the city, especially in the dead of winter, was a great idea. Even if he had to endure hours of mind-numbing presentations.
“I’m ready,” Niko said, emerging from the bedroom.
Myron turned and needed to grab onto the back of the chair to steady himself.
“Wow, you look amazing.”
“You like?” she asked spinning around, showing off a long, yet shapely black gown.
Myron nodded, and said, “You should be quite a sight next to Daley’s wife, Eleanor. I hear she’s rather, um, plain-looking.”
“Stop it. I’m sure she’s very nice.”
When they arrived in the lobby of the hotel Myron saw a crowd of photographers surrounding Mayor Daley and his wife. “There he is,” Myron said. He grabbed Niko’s hand and ushered her behind a series of columns and planters that camouflaged them as they sneaked by without being noticed.
“What are you doing?” Niko asked.
“Discretion, my dear. Let’s just find our table. I’m sure the mayor and his wife will join us shortly.”
When Mayor Daley and his wife Eleanor made their way over to the dinner table, Myron and Niko rose and greeted them. Myron noticed how the expression on Richard Daley’s face changed from a jovial smile to a momentary frown when he introduced Niko. But he dismissed it as nothing important.
After dinner, with the ladies chatting away in the bar, Myron shared his Cuban cigars with the Chicago mayor in the men’s smoking lounge.
“I was in Cuba right before the revolution,” Richard said and blew a cloud of smoke up into the wood beams stretching across the ceiling.
“I hear it used to be amazing,” Myron said.
“I prefer Miami. It has that Latin charm, but it’s still in America,” he said with a wink.
Myron nodded and looked at his watch.
“You’re in a hurry to get back to that hot little package?”
“Mr. Mayor, I didn’t think you noticed.”
“I may be old, but I’m not dead.”
Myron laughed, and slapped Richard on the back. “That’s a good one.”
Richard’s demeanor suddenly shifted. He leaned into the table and grabbed Myron’s wrist hard. Myron was surprised at the sudden move and tried to jerk his arm back. But Richard wouldn’t release his grip.
“What the hell?” Myron protested.
“Now you listen to me, Mr. Mayor. You’re fucking the wrong man’s daughter. I know what Mickey Coppola is capable of, and it’s not pleasant.”
With a burst of anger, Myron ripped his wrist free for Richard’s grasp, and said, “What’s it to you?”
Mayor Daley stood up, picked up his hat, and with one slick move, placed it on his head, pointed at Myron, and said, “That scumbag also does business in Chicago.”
Myron watched him leave. He picked up his whiskey, swirled the ice around in the glass, put it to his lips, and downed it.
Chapter 64
Arnold gulped down his coffee and peeked out the window to see how much snow had fallen overnight. From what he could make out, there was a fresh coating of about an inch or two. Not so bad, he thought. He took his coat and hat from the stand and was about to walk out the front door when the phone rang.
He reached for the receiver on the wall and answered, “Hello?”
“Hi, Arnold.”
“Agnes?”
“Listen, I just heard from Myron. There was a huge altercation at the Colosseum site.”
“What happened?”
“Not sure. Apparently the local carpenters union took offense to the subs brought in.”
“I’m going to head over now. Thanks for the heads up, Agnes,” Arnold said and hung up the phone.
By the time Arnold arrived the site was swarming with police trying to keep the curious gawkers back behind the barricades. Several ambulances were pushing their way through the clogged traffic to get to the injured. The media had already descended upon the scene with reporters and cameras.
Arnold tried to enter the crime scene but was stopped.
“You need to stay behind the barricades,” ordered a tall police officer.
“Is the commissioner here?” Arnold asked, looking toward a group of men in suits.
The officer turned. “That’s him over there.”
Arnold thanked the officer, stepped around the barricade and approached the commissioner. “What the hell happened here?” asked Arnold.
“The local carpenters union sent over some of their enforcers. They confronted the subs with baseball bats,” Frank said. “Some were beaten up pretty badly. They’re being taken to New York Presbyterian,” he said, gesturing to the ambulances.
Arnold scanned the construction site. It looked like a war zone.
“Let me guess, Mickey Coppola.”
“No doubt,” Frank said.
“Have you made any arrests?”
Frank nodded. “We’ve already taken a dozen or so down to t
he station for booking.”
Suddenly there was a commotion of activity causing the flock of reporters and onlookers to run to the curbside.
“What the hell is it now?” Frank said.
A black Caddie pulled up, and out stepped Mickey Coppola.
Arnold shook his head, and said, “I can’t believe he has the balls to show his face.”
Mickey walked from his car over to where a recent lumber delivery was spread out on the sidewalk. He stepped upon a foot-high stack of plywood. From his elevated position he was able to be seen by the crowd, as well as by Frank and Arnold.
He held out his hands over his head to quiet the buzz. Frank and Arnold moved closer to hear what he was about to say.
“What happened here this morning is a disgrace,” he announced, gesturing to the crime scene. “And the worst part about it, is that all of this could have been prevented. The building of the largest public construction project in our city should be built by our proud New York City unions. Not by some scabs brought in from Brooklyn.”
Flashbulbs popped away as the reporters wrote frantically in their notepads.
Mickey pointed a finger into the air and continued, “There is only one person to blame for today’s violence.” He paused, and let the accusation hang there for a moment before he continued.
A voice from the crowd yelled, “It’s those fuckin’ carpenters. They came here swingin’ bats and bashin’ heads.”
“Who said that?” Mickey said, looking out onto the crowd.
The crowd went silent.
“That’s what I thought. Cowards, you’re all cowards. These men,” he paused to gesture to the dozen or so men being handcuffed by the police, “have dedicated their lives to their union in order to support their families and would do anything to protect them. Tell me, if you lived from paycheck to paycheck, and suddenly your livelihood was threatened, what would you do?”
The people stirred, but no one dared to bring attention to themselves.
“Do not fret my friends, I’m not here to blame you.” Mickey smiled.
He scanned the crowd and saw Arnold and Frank, standing side-by-side. “But there is someone to blame for today’s violence, and that is Mayor Myron Blass.”
The Righteous One Page 19