“Well, how about this ticket?” McLane demanded.
“Oh, I guess we can arrange so you won’t have to pay the two bucks. Tell me, what do you hear of Marcus? How’s he getting along?”
“All right. I was up to see him the other day and he was out of bed and sitting in an armchair. Looked pretty good, too.”
“That’s fine. How are you managing at the store?”
“Not bad now that Arnold is here,” McLane said. “I’m working the same hours I did when Marcus was there. But that first week, when I was all alone, it was murder. I’d get to the store at nine and work till ten at night. Of course, Mrs. Aptaker would open, and lots of times it wasn’t too busy and I’d go out and take a breather for fifteen, twenty minutes, but—”
“Marcus was lucky he had you there. Lots of men wouldn’t have stood it,” said Lanigan.
“Well, I tell you, Mark is decent. When I lost my store, he offered me a job right away. There was a lot of talk around that I’d been hitting the bottle, but he had confidence in me, and I appreciated it.”
“And were you?”
“Was I what?” asked McLane.
“Were you hitting the bottle?”
“Hell, no. Look, I’d take a drink every now and then same as anybody else. When I lost my—when my wife passed away, I’d stop at the tavern around the corner because—well, because I was going home to an empty house. Maybe that’s how the story got started, but all I had was one or at the most, two. And I wasn’t hiding it. I didn’t take a bottle to bed with me. Just a drink at the local bar.”
Lanigan shrugged. “What difference does it make how much you actually drink? If your customers think you’re a lush and stop coming in, then you were drinking too much even if you only took a nip once in a blue moon. It lost you your store, didn’t it?”
“No such thing. I lost my store because I was pushed to the wall.”
“Aw cummon.”
“It’s the truth, Chief. You know that guy Kestler, the old geezer that died recently. He had a chattel mortgage on my store and he called it. If he’d given me some time, I could’ve worked it off. But no, he wanted that store because he had a chance to sell it at a good price.”
“So Kestler called your mortgage?” Lanigan smiled. “I guess you didn’t feel too bad when he passed on then.”
“You want to know something funny? He got a prescription filled with us the very night he died. Dr. Cohen, Dan Cohen, he called it in and I took it on the phone. When I heard it was for Kestler, I thought I’d see him in hell before I’d fill out a prescription for him. But do you want to know something? When I heard he was dead, I felt sorry for the old bugger.”
“But you did fill it out, didn’t you?” asked Lanigan easily.
“I did like hell. I gave it to young Aptaker and told him to do it. As a matter of fact, I was working on one that a guy was waiting for, and he’d volunteered to deliver the Kestler prescription, so—”
“Young Aptaker? Marcus?”
“Hell no. He’s older than I am. I mean Arnold.”
“But I thought Arnold came to work just last week.”
“That’s right, but he was up here visiting that day. We were busy as hell on account of the storm, and he came in to lend a hand with the prescriptions.”
“You mean he worked just that night?” the chief asked.
“Uh-huh, he came in like he owned the place. He goes right to the prescription room in the back and says, ‘I’m Arnold Aptaker. I’ll give you a hand.’ I looked at Marcus, who was out front, but he just smiled kind of proud and didn’t say a word. So I started to show him around, you know, how the place was organized. But these young guys, you can’t tell them anything. He says, ‘I know, I know,’ so I let him fumble around and by God first thing I know he knocks over a bottle of cough syrup. And then starts to clean it up with paper towels. That stuff is sticky. Well, anyone else I would’ve blown my stack, but this was Mark’s son. He was so pleased and proud to have him there, I didn’t say a word but just got the mop and cleaned up. After that Arnold settled down and was a real help with the pile of prescriptions we had, and we finished a lot earlier than I thought we would. I was hoping he’d stay on, because it’s a little heavy for two pharmacists, but the next day Mark said he’d gone to Philadelphia.”
“But now he’s back for good?”
“I guess he plans to stay until his daddy gets back on his feet. I don’t know if he’ll stay after that. You know how these young fellows are.” He glanced at his watch. “Hey, I got to get back. We start to get busy now. About that ticket—”
“Don’t worry,” said Lanigan affably. “I’ll take care of it.”
43
It was her mother Leah told, because her father was not home and she couldn’t wait for him or keep it in any longer. “His name is Akiva—”
“Akiva? Spanish?”
“No, Akiva is his first name. You know, after the famous Rabbi Akiva, the one who—”
“Then his folks must be terribly religious,” said Edie.
“I haven’t met them yet, but I understand they’re not. You see, it’s his own name. I mean, he chose it for himself.” Leah finally got the story told, editing it a little along the way. How she had met Akiva quite accidentally when he brought Jackie across the road from the beach and it turned out she knew him “because he used to come from around here.” How he had come back that night because of the terrible storm and his concern for their safety—hers and Jackie’s. “He had this long beard and I joked about it and told him I didn’t like it.” And then how she had not heard from him for days “and I assumed it was one of those things” and then how he had suddenly appeared again and he had shaved his beard off. And how they had been seeing each other every night and how much he liked Jackie and Jackie liked him.
“But what does he do? How does he make a living?” her mother asked.
“Oh, I thought I mentioned it. He’s a pharmacist, working for his father.”
“You’ve got to be practical about these things, Leah,” said her mother gently. “I mean where he’s only a pharmacist working in a drugstore—”
“But that’s what’s so wonderful about it. When he told his folks about us, his father offered him the store as a kind of wedding present. You see, he had this heart attack—his father did, I mean—and he’s supposed to take it easy. So he’ll work for Akiva—”
“Where is this store?” asked Mrs. Kaplan, her voice suddenly very quiet.
“Why, it’s right here in town, over by the Salem line. I’m sure you know it. It’s one of the oldest stores in the area.”
“Town-Line Drugs? Marcus Aptaker’s store?”
“That’s right, and Akiva is Arnold Aptaker.”
Chester Kaplan arrived home shortly after Leah had left. He was overjoyed at the news.
“So what do you intend to do?” asked Mrs. Kaplan.
He rubbed his hands gleefully. “Do? What’s to do? We’ll invite the young man to dinner, and a week or so later, we’ll invite his folks. Then I suppose they’ll invite us—”
“You forget his father is in the hospital.”
“That’s right,” he said. “So we’ll invite Mrs. Aptaker, and maybe we can go visit him in the hospital.”
“And what if she should refuse to come?” Edie asked.
“Why should she refuse? We’re not good enough for her?”
“Because if it was me, I’d refuse,” his wife replied. “I’d feel that where you were pushing my husband out of business and maybe gave him a heart attack on account of it, I wouldn’t want to eat at your house. I’d feel the food would choke me.”
“I gave him a heart attack? Because we sold the block and I told him to apply to the new owner for a renewal of his lease? And when I file suit against somebody and he gets a heart attack, it’s my fault?”
“That you have to do because it’s your profession. This you didn’t have to do. And Aptaker asked you for the renewal before Safferstein made a
n offer for the property.”
“Sure but Safferstein told me he was interested in the property as soon as the terms of the will were made public. So naturally, where I’ve got a possible buyer, am I going to spoil it by giving leases?”
“And the rabbi is against it.”
“It’s a matter of interpretation of the law,” he said loftily. “You wouldn’t understand about that.”
“But how the Aptakers will feel toward you, that I can understand. I’d be surprised if they even came to the wedding.”
“So show me where it’s written that the parents of the bride have to be friendly with the parents of the groom,” her husband said. “The Schneursons and the Feldmans don’t even talk to each other. The Blackmans were in Florida all winter last year and Sidney Blackman told me that not once did his son’s in-laws invite them for even a cup of tea.”
“And if the boy feels the same way toward you?” Edie asked.
“Then we won’t be friends,” he said philosophically. “As long as he makes Leah a good husband, I can stand it, believe me.”
“But now that the rabbi has moved for reconsideration,” she pointed out, “you have a chance to make everything right.”
Her husband was shocked. “What are you saying? You want me to turn against my friends, the people who backed me, for my own personal interests? No, sir! I’ll fight the rabbi, and I’m going to beat him.”
44
Mrs. Aptaker did not raise her voice. She was calm and controlled. But she was adamant. “I will not invite the Kaplans here and if they invite me to their house, I won’t go.”
Her son was anything but calm. He did not shout, but his voice shook with despair and frustration. “But, Ma, will you think of me? Will you please for one lousy second think where your refusal puts me? Mrs. Kaplan tells me she’d like you to come to dinner Sunday night. So what am I going to tell her? That my mother thinks she’s too good to eat with them?”
“I didn’t say I was too good. I just said I wouldn’t go. That’s all.”
“Yeah, but what am I supposed to tell her?”
“Why did she ask you in the first place, Arnold?”
“What do you mean?”
“If she wants to invite me to dinner,” his mother said, “why does she have to ask me by way of a third party? This is the way she always invites people? She sends around messengers?”
“I was there, so she mentioned it. That’s all.”
“No, Arnold. You know better than that. She asked you to ask me instead of calling me on the phone because she knew if she called, I wouldn’t accept. By going through you, she thinks maybe you could persuade me.”
He tried a new tack. “All right, let’s say you’re right. Let’s say Mrs. Kaplan is aware that you have a grievance against her or her husband. But I’m marrying her daughter. Doesn’t she have a right to meet her future son-in-law’s folks? And I should think you’d want to meet the parents of your future daughter-in-law.”
“I’ve met them,” said Mrs. Aptaker. “I know who they are. When you carry on a retail business in a small town like Barnard’s Crossing for almost forty years, there’s not many people in town you haven’t met. And don’t worry, she knows who I am and she knows what your pa looks like, too.”
“Look, Pa offered me the store, didn’t he? So the store is like mine, isn’t it? So shouldn’t I have some say about the lease? I mean, if the store is mine, shouldn’t I feel sore if there’s been a dirty trick played on us on the lease?”
“But you it didn’t give a heart attack.”
“Well, I don’t think it gave Pa one, either,” Arnold replied. “He told me that he’d had several other attacks that he thought were only indigestion. What happened on the lease is one of those things that happens in business. As far as Mr. Kaplan is concerned, he’s a nice man. He’s religious—”
“Oh, religious!”
“Yes, religious. And the letter he wrote to Pa was just what he had to write as president of the temple. The board voted on it and he naturally wrote to tell us the result. That’s all there was to it.”
“That’s all?” she challenged. “According to Kaplan’s letter, it was a unanimous vote. And the rabbi, who is a board member too, said he didn’t even know about it. You think the rabbi was telling a lie?”
“Look, Ma, the rabbi wasn’t there. The unanimous vote came from those who were there. As for the lease, I don’t give a damn. If it expires and Safferstein wants the store, that doesn’t mean we have to move out the next day. It can drag on for months. And we can get another store. I’m not crazy about the location anyway. What’s more, I don’t see why you’re so—so stubborn about it when Pa isn’t.”
“Oh, your father, he thinks the rabbi can do something for him,” she said scornfully.
“Maybe he can.”
“So when he does, I’ll accept Mrs. Kaplan’s invitation.”
45
“There’s the accident and there’s the fire policies on the Kimberly Place property. And here’s a statement for the premiums,” said the insurance agent with a sheepish smile. “Saves a stamp.”
“Would you like me to pay you now, Murray?” asked Safferstein.
“Well …”
Safferstein reached for his checkbook.
“I can always use the money,” said Murray Isaacs. That was what was so nice in dealing with Bill Safferstein. Anybody else would at least make him wait until the first of the month.
Safferstein passed the check across the desk. “You going to the board meeting Sunday?”
“You bet,” Isaacs assured him. “I’ll be there. The missus wanted us to run down to New York for the weekend to see my daughter. But I told her nothing doing, I had to be at the board meeting.”
Safferstein clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “Something special expected at the meeting?”
Isaacs stared at him. “We’re voting on the rabbi’s motion to reconsider the sale of the Goralsky Block. Didn’t you know?”
“Oh sure, but is there any question on it?”
“Well, you can never be too safe, I say, and every vote helps.”
“But it was carried unanimous—”
“Yeah, but that was before the rabbi made his spiel.”
“And you mean that could change some votes? I didn’t think he was that convincing,” said Safferstein easily.
“It’s sort of funny about the rabbi. He’s such a lowkeyed kind of guy, you know, never raises his voice. Even in his sermons, it’s like a professor lecturing to a class. So when he does get excited, it makes a special impression, like this is something that means a lot to him.”
“Yes, but—”
“And remember, Billy, not all the guys that voted for that motion were sold on the idea. I mean, everybody was anxious to sell the Goralsky Block, but not everybody was keen on using the money to buy the property up in Petersville. But where the two are tied together in one motion, they went along.”
“So you could always split it into two different motions, couldn’t you?”
“Well, of course, but some of the guys have been saying that maybe the board acted hastily, that if it’s against the Jewish law like the rabbi says—well, you know. And then there are the guys who weren’t at the meeting, and the past presidents. If the rabbi was to contact them … see what I mean?”
“How does it look to you right now, Murray?”
“Oh, we’ll win. There’s no question about that.”
But Safferstein detected doubt underneath the brave assurance, and for some minutes after the insurance agent left he sat staring gloomily out the window at the gray afternoon sky. Then he reached for the phone and called Kaplan.
“Murray Isaacs is an idiot,” declared Chester Kaplan flatly. “Sure some guys will switch their votes, but I’m not worried.”
“He said the rabbi made a big impression with his speech at the meeting.”
Kaplan laughed. “Yeah, he really had them going fo
r a minute or two. But then do you know what happened? The school bell rang, and it just petered out. Look, the rabbi is a rabbi. It’s his job to point out any little corner-cutting ethicswise. But the people on the board are practical men, and they’ve had a chance to think about it. I’m sure they’ll vote the right way Sunday.”
“Have you done anything about it, though?” asked Safferstein.
“How do you mean?”
“Have you spoken to each member of the board? Have you done any campaigning?”
“Oh sure, Bill, that goes on all the time. I’m always in touch with the membership. But I’ll tell you something that would really clinch it, make it a unanimous vote, in fact.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, the big thing appears to be Aptaker’s lease,” said Kaplan. “That’s what got the rabbi worked up in the first place. Now if you could give Aptaker a renewal—”
“No.”
“No?”
“No, I’ve got special plans for that store. Look, Chet, what you’ve got to do is call each and every member and make a real strong pitch.”
“There’s no time, Billy.”
“What do you mean, there’s no time. You’ve got tonight and tomorrow—”
“It’s the Sabbath. I don’t do business on the Sabbath,” said Kaplan stiffly. “I could make a couple of calls now and a few Saturday night—”
“If you pick the right ones that could help a lot.”
“All right, Billy, I’ll do what I can. And don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll win.”
Brave words, but the more Safferstein thought about it, the more it seemed that Kaplan was anything but certain of the outcome. He got up and paced the floor, trying to assess the situation. He felt hemmed in. He opened the door and, taking his hat from the rack, he announced to the receptionist that he was going home.
She glanced at the clock. “You all right, Mr. Safferstein?”
“Yeah, I’m all right. Just a little headachy.”
“Hadn’t you better take your raincoat? It’s hanging in the closet. You could be coming down with something.”
Wednesday the Rabbi Got Wet Page 20