I Can Get It for You Wholesale

by Jerome Weidman

  I dropped my cigarette and ground it out carefully.

  “Why, I guess so,” I said. “Once in a while, I suppose. I mean, not lately. I’ve been too busy in my business. But I guess once in a while—I mean, it’s—Say,” I said, turning to face her, “what’s on your mind, anyway?”

  “Nothing,” she said; then, quickly, “maybe I’m a fool, Harry, but you know what I wanted to do? Once, just to see, well, just to see what it’s like, I’d like to go to a night club.”

  “A night club?”

  “Yes.”

  “What does a nice girl like you want to do in one of those joints?” I said. “There’s nothing to see. You just sit around and drink and maybe watch some dumb toma—some dumb dames without much clothes on dance and sing and maybe—well, that’s about all. What do you want to go to one of those places for?”

  “I’ve never been, that’s all,” she said. “I suppose you’re right, though, Harry. Forget it. I just thought—”

  Forget it was right. But like a damn fool I was already checking my list mentally, trying to remember one that wasn’t too conspicuous. And on top of that an idea about Babushkin, something that I’d been trying to puzzle out for days, suddenly came to me. One moment I was trying to think of how I could avoid taking Ruthie Rivkin to a night club. The next moment a knotty problem about the office came to me, all solved, on a silver platter. Hell, I had to be grateful, didn’t I?

  “If you really want to,” I said.

  She shrugged, slightly embarrassed.

  “I was just wondering,” she said. “Other girls, they seem to get—”

  “All right,” I said suddenly, “come on. I’ll take you.”

  We walked off the boardwalk at the next street and got into a taxi. I gave the driver the Fifty-Second Street address. We sat together quietly during the long ride, but I didn’t touch her. When we drew up in front of the place I paid the driver and prayed like hell that nobody I knew would recognize me.

  We went in and I asked the waiter for a small table at one side.

  “What’ll you have, Ruthie?”

  “I don’t want anything,” she said, looking about her.

  I ordered steak sandwiches and beer, but she didn’t touch hers. I watched her as I ate.

  “Not much to see, is there?” I said.

  She shook her head, still staring about her with a puzzled expression on her face.

  I glanced around quickly myself. The place was crowded, but I didn’t recognize anybody. A Cuban band in long-sleeved shirts began to play. Some of the musicians stood up, shaking gourds and rattles and showing their white teeth as they grinned. A thin, dark-haired girl in a low-cut dress came out from somewhere and stood in front of them, singing in a language I didn’t understand, and wiggling her hips and her tits in a way that nobody could fail to understand.

  “That’s all there is to these places?” Ruthie said.

  “That’s all,” I said. “Just what you see. Some of them are bigger, of course, and more expensive. But that’s all. When you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.”

  She still had the puzzled frown on her face.

  “Then what is it, Harry, that these other girls—when they get taken out by a fellow—he takes them to—?”

  She stopped and took a sip of water.

  “What is it what?” I said.

  “Oh, nothing,” she said. “I guess I was being silly, asking you to take me to a place like this.”

  “Why, there’s nothing wrong, Ruthie. I could take you any place you want. You want to go to another night club? Come on, I’ll show you another one.”

  “No, that’s all right, Harry,” she said quickly. “I don’t want to go to any more. If you don’t mind, Harry, I’d like to go home now.”

  “Sure,” I said, “come on.”

  In the taxi I put my arm across the back of her seat and let my hand stroke the soft warm flesh of her cheek. But that’s as far as I went. At her door we both got out.

  “Wait for you, bud?” the taxi driver said.

  “No,” I said, and paid him.

  We stood on the doorstep for a few moments, without speaking.

  “Well,” she said, finally, “I had a lovely time. Thanks, Harry.”

  “I’m glad you did,” I said, taking her hand.

  “Well—” she said awkwardly.

  I dropped her hand. I felt scared as hell.

  “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” I said suddenly. “Suppose I call you up in a day or so? All right?”

  That’s how you scare the pants off a girl!

  “All right,” she said, smiling quickly.

  “Good night, Ruthie,” I said.

  “Good night, Harry,” she said, and ran up the steps lightly.

  I walked up the block slowly. When I reached the first lamp-post I stopped and said, “Jesus Christ!”

  What the hell was the matter with me? With a dame like that I’d actually had a good time!

  31

  ON MY WAY TO my private office I stopped at the bookkeeper’s desk.

  “Good morning, Mr. Bogen.”

  “Morning, Miss A. How are the collections?”

  “Fine, Mr. Bogen. Look.”

  She held up a batch of checks. I took them and leafed through for a glimpse of the larger amounts. They were there.

  “Anybody slow with us?”

  “Just a couple, Mr. Bogen, but they’re small ones.”

  “Well, get after them. What’s to-day, the thirteenth?” I looked behind me at the calendar.

  “That’s right, Mr. Bogen, the thirteenth.”

  “Well, even if the mails are slow, their checks should’ve been in by now. Send them a letter or two, and if they don’t come through with them, turn them over to Golig for collection. He knows what to do with those birds.”

  “Yes, Mr. Bogen.”

  I slapped the checks down on the desk and said, “How much are we depositing, roughly?”

  She twisted her lips and said, “Oh, I don’t know, Mr. Bogen, I haven’t figured it yet, but about nine, ten thousand, maybe a little more.”

  “Well, all right, Miss A, get busy on that deposit, will you? I want that money in the bank in twenty minutes.”

  “In twenty minutes, Mr. Bogen?” She looked at me with her mouth open and her hands spread out. “Why, I got all my posting and—”

  “That stuff can wait,” I said. “Or you can put one of the other girls on it. What have we got four girls in the office for?”

  “But Mr. Bogen—!”

  “Get that deposit down to the bank in twenty minutes,” I said. Who did she think she was talking to, Babushkin? “I told Barnes I’d have a deposit in before ten in the morning, and I want it there. Understand?”

  “Yes, Mr. Bogen.”

  “All right,” I said. Then, “Is Mr. Babushkin in the back?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell him I want to see him in my private office right away.”

  “All right, Mr. Bogen.”

  I went into my room, hung up my hat and coat, and sat down at the desk. There was a knock on the door and Babushkin came in.

  “Hello, Meyer,” I said. “How are they hanging?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. How are you?”

  “I’m all right,” he said. “You wanted me, Harry?”

  “Yeah,” I said, lighting a cigarette and waving him to a chair. “Sit down. How are things coming in the back?”

  “All right, Harry. Things are all right.”

  “Everything under control, eh? The orders being filled on time?”

  “Oh, sure, Harry. Everything’s fine.”

  Ah, hell, I figured. What was the sense of wasting time? Being subtle with him was like giving J. P. Morgan a tip on the stock market.

  “I’ll tell you why I called you in, Meyer,” I said. “I been looking over the accountant’s reports, you know, and I’m afraid, Meyer, I’m afraid we’re making too much money.”

  He
squinted his eyes at me a little more.

  “We’re making too much money?”

  “Sounds crazy, doesn’t it?” I said with a laugh. “But it’s true just the same, Meyer. I don’t mean we’re making too much for ourselves. Hell, we can never make too much for ourselves. But I just mean we’re making too much money for the government.”

  “For the government?”

  “Sure,” I said, “for the government. You’ve heard of the income tax, haven’t you, Meyer? Well, if they ever get a squint at the money we’re making, it’ll just be good-bye Charlie. What we’ll have to pay them in taxes, don’t ask!”

  He rubbed his hand over his mouth and stared at me. “So what’ll we do?”

  “I’ll tell you,” I said. “I’ve figured out a plan to beat the government. Have you got a personal bank account, Meyer?”

  “Yeah, I got in the savings bank a—”

  “I don’t mean that, Meyer. I mean a regular checking account. You got one of those?”

  He shook his head. What I would’ve liked to have seen was this baby and Coolidge in a gab fest.

  “That’s fine,” I said. “Now here’s my plan, Meyer. You open up a personal bank account in your name in the Manufacturers. We’re in the National, the firm I mean, so to keep things straight, you open up this personal account in the Manufacturers. Now here’s how we work it. The corporation, Apex Modes, Inc., the corporation draws checks to your order. You take those checks, endorse them, and deposit them in your personal account in the Manufacturers. Then you draw checks on your personal account, you draw them to the order of cash, endorse them, get the cash for them in the bank, and you and I, we take that money for ourselves. See what I mean, Meyer? In that way we’ll be drawing money out of the business, and nobody’ll know how or why or what. If the tax men ever ask us where the money from the corporation checks went, we just tell them we used it to buy goods, to pay labor, or any one of those things, and we say we paid cash for it. See?”

  He stared at me without blinking for a few moments, and then started on his favorite indoor sport, picking his nose.

  “Do you get what I mean, Meyer?”

  He nodded slowly, but that part of his face that wasn’t hidden by the hand he was using on his nose still looked worried.

  “Let me repeat it again, Meyer,” I said. “Here it is, in a nutshell. You open personal account. Corporation draws checks to you. You deposit checks. You draw checks to cash on your personal account. You endorse checks. Get cash. You and I, we split the cash. Government gets a royal screwing. Understand?”

  “Yeah, Harry,” he said slowly. “I understand all that all right, but how—?”

  Wouldn’t that jar you? For a week he’ll act like a mummy, then when he does open up, the first word out of his mouth is the wrong one. I wasn’t answering any questions beginning with the word how.

  “That’s fine,” I said, breaking in on him. “So suppose we get started. I’ll have Miss A draw a check to you for a thousand dollars and you can go right down to the Manufacturers and start your personal account.”

  He continued to stare at me without moving.

  “What’s the matter, Meyer? Don’t you understand how it’s gonna work out? You want me to explain it again?”

  “I understand all right, Harry,” he said. “But what I don’t see is how—”

  “Listen, Meyer,” I said sharply, “you’re not trying to pull any of this Teddy Ast stuff on me, are you?”

  “Why, no, Harry. What’s the matter you’re—?”

  Boy, did I know my customers! All I had to do was raise my voice to him and he started crapping green.

  “Well, gee whiz,” I said, raising my voice and slapping my desk. “You’d think I was asking you to go jump off the roof or something. For crying out loud, Meyer, all I’m asking you is to start a personal bank account with firm money, that’s all. Is that something to make speeches about? Do I have to write you a whole megilla about a little thing like that? I haven’t got all day, Meyer. I’ve got buyers to see and dresses to sell. We can’t sit around all day talking. Do you understand what I was talking about, or don’t you? If you want me to explain it again, I’ll do it. But for God’s sakes, don’t—”

  “All right, Harry, all right. Don’t get excited. Couldn’t you just wait a day or so? I mean, I’d like to have a chance to—”

  I wondered if he even asked his wife which side of the bed to get out on in the morning.

  “For crying out loud, Meyer,” I said angrily. “Don’t you understand plain ordinary English? If I didn’t make myself clear before, I’ll try again. I’ve got buyers to see. And I’ve got dresses to sell. I can’t sit around all day on my ass waiting for you to make up your mind, Meyer.”

  Nor could I wait for him to go home and ask his wife about it. She’d probably have sense enough to tell him what to do.

  “All right, Harry,” he said. “I just didn’t—”

  “Okay,” I said.

  I picked up the receiver and spoke into it.

  “Send Miss A in here with the checkbook,” I said.

  Maybe I didn’t get boffed when I went out with Ruthie Rivkin, but I certainly got some swell ideas.

  When Miss A came in I said, “Did that deposit go down all right?”

  “Yes, Mr. Bogen,” she said. “I sent one of the boys down with it only five minutes ago.”

  “All right,” I said. “Now draw a check to the order of Mr. Babushkin for a thousand dollars.”

  “A thousand?”

  “Yes, a thousand.”

  She leaned the book on the desk and wrote the check. Then she tore it out of the book and handed it to me.

  “All right,” I said to her, “you can go.”

  When she left, I turned to Meyer.

  “Endorse this on the back,” I said, “and go right down to the Manufacturers and start an account. Remember, start it in your name, personally, Meyer Babushkin. Get it?”

  He nodded and took the check.

  “I’ll tell you what,” I said. “I’ve got some work here, so I’ll be sticking around for about an hour or so. Go right down and when you come back, drop in here for a minute and tell me about it. Okay?”

  “Okay,” he said, and went out.

  Boy, oh, boy, oh, boy, I said to myself, did I have a partner!

  32

  MISS A STOPPED ME on my way through the office.

  “Oh, Mr. Bogen.”

  “Yes?”

  I was at the other end of the office, and she was at her desk. But I didn’t walk over. I was paying her, and if she wanted to speak to me, she’d come over to me, not me to her. Besides, I was still tired and sleepy.

  “Well, well, what is it, Miss A, what is it?”

  She came over with her desk diary.

  “We’ve got some very big piece-goods bills due to-day, Mr. Bogen.”

  “So what? Pay ʼem, that’s all.”

  I turned to go.

  “But Mr. Bogen—”

  I turned back.

  “How much do they amount to? Who are they?”

  She read from the diary.

  “D. G. Dommelick fifteen hundred, Commercial Textile Factors eight hundred, Mandel Laces twelve hundred, Sanson and Huber—”

  “What’s the cash balance?”

  “Twenty-five hundred.”

  “What?” I looked at her quickly. “Twenty-five hundred? That’s all?”

  She squeezed up her mouth and said, “That’s all, Mr. Bogen. Twenty-five hundred.”

  “Why, we deposited over twelve thousand on the thirteenth and fourteenth, didn’t we? And we had more collections later, didn’t we?”

  She screwed her squeezed up mouth all the way around to one side and picked up the checkbook. Then she read from the stubs, as though she enjoyed it. “Well, last week Mr. Babushkin drew two thousand dollars, and two days ago he took another fifteen hundred and then the week before that there were, let’s see, there were—”

  The girl at
the switchboard looked up and interrupted. “Miss Mills on the wire, Mr. Bogen,” she said.

  “I’ll take it inside,” I said, then, “No, wait, give it to me here.”

  I picked up the phone on Miss A’s desk and said, “Hello, Martha. All right. Yeah, sure. Any time you say. What? It did? I’ll tell you what. Don’t you worry about it, Martha. I’ll call my own garage and have them send a man over to look at it for you. Okay? That’s all right. What? Sure. You bet. Any time you say. You know me. Fine. Okay, then, kid. I’ll pick you up right after rehearsal. About two, two-thirty. ʼBye. What? What was that?”

  “I said,” she said sweetly, “I hope you won’t stand me up for any Bronx housewives.”

  “Where did you—? What the devil are you talking about, anyway?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “Only a couple of nights ago, in Dumb Dick’s, I saw you—”

  “You didn’t see me, Martha,” I said with a laugh. “Not me, kid. Because I was out of town, see?”

  “I guess it was somebody else, then,” she said slowly.

  “It was,” I said emphatically. “You made a mistake, see?”

  “I suppose so,” she said quickly. “But anyway, Harry, dear, you wouldn’t stand me up for a Palestine import, would you?”

  “Not for the whole country, kid,” I said. “You know that.”

  “Then it’s a date,” she said.

  “Right,” I said, and hung up.

  The little sharp-eyed bitch!

  I turned back to Miss A.

  “Where’s Mr. Babushkin?”

  “Somewhere in the back, I guess.”

  I turned to the door that led to the factory.

  “What about these bills, Mr. Bogen?” Miss A said, holding up the diary. “Mr. McKee of Dommelick called you twice about them.”

  “Ah, the hell with them,” I said, waving my hand at her. Then I stopped and turned back. “No, wait, Miss A, I’ll tell you what. Send them each a couple of hundred dollars on account. Send D. G. Dommelick five hundred and the rest three.”

  “All right, Mr. Bogen,” she said, “but what about the others?”

  “What others?”

  “We’ve got some smaller bills that are due.”

  “Let them go to hell,” I said, putting my hand on the doorknob. “They can wait.”