Memories of Another Day

by Harold Robbins

  Daniel, Jr., was waiting for him. “How did it go, Father?”

  “They listened,” he said, sitting down behind his desk.

  “Think they’ll go for it?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know anything anymore.” He opened his desk drawer, took out a cigar and lit it. “Any word from the school?”

  Daniel, Jr., smiled. “I’ve been accepted at Harvard as an economics major.”

  Daniel got to his feet. His hand almost crushed his son’s. “Congratulations. I’m proud of you.”

  “I feel good about it,” the boy said. “But—”

  “But what?”

  “I don’t have to go, Father.” Junior hesitated. “I know the money situation. I’m old enough to go to work.”

  “You are going to work,” Daniel said. “Someday, you’re going to have to take all of this over. You have to be ready for it.”

  “But what if Hoffa and Boyle don’t come through? You’ll have to fold.”

  “I’ll find a way,” Daniel said. “You’re going to school. That’s your job.” The telephone rang. “You get it, Junior. I got to take a piss.”

  Though Junior tried not to show it, his voice showed how impressed he was when Daniel returned to the office. “That call was from the White House. A Mr. Adams.”

  “Sherman Adams?”

  Junior nodded.

  “What did he want?”

  “You’re invited to a breakfast meeting with the President on September sixth. They want you to call back to confirm.”

  “Did he mention who else was invited?”

  Junior shook his head. “I didn’t ask.”

  Daniel picked up the telephone and asked his secretary to return Adams’ call. While waiting for the answer, he looked up at Junior. “Eisenhower must be getting worried. Practically every union in the AFL-CIO has come out for Stevenson.” Adams came onto the phone. “Sherman, what’s up?” Daniel asked.

  “The President thought it might be a good idea if you sat down and had a chat.”

  “Who else is coming?”

  “John L. Lewis. Maybe Dave Beck.”

  “Don’t invite Beck,” Daniel said. “There are some things going on there that might turn up to embarrass you.”

  “Can you talk about them?” The President’s assistant asked.

  “Not on the telephone.”

  “I see.” Adams’ voice sounded thoughtful. “Will you be able to come?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Good. The President will be pleased when I tell him.”

  “Give him my best,” Daniel said. “And I’ll see you on the sixth.”

  “Eight o’clock,” Adams said, and clicked off.

  Daniel looked across the desk at his son. He smiled. “I guess the White House hasn’t heard yet that we’re in trouble.” He looked down at the papers on his desk. “I’ve got to get to work.”

  “I’ll get out of your way, Father,” Junior said. He went to the door and looked back. “Will you be home for dinner tonight?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Daniel answered. “Tell Mamie I’ll call her later to let her know.”

  He stared at the closed door for a moment after his son had gone. Then he took a bottle of whiskey from the bottom drawer of his desk and took a long pull at it. Carefully he screwed the cap back onto the bottle and returned it to the drawer, then reached for the telephone and asked for his messages.

  Chapter 2

  “It’s downhill the rest of the month,” Moses said. “If we can’t get our hands on some money, we’re finished.”

  Daniel looked up at his executive assistant. “I thought we were good for at least two more months.”

  “Collections aren’t coming in. Apparently they’re not even bothering to notify us that they’re quitting.” The black man’s face was worried. They had been friends for over twenty years and he was the first man Daniel asked to join him at CALL. “I think we’d better start giving our people their notices.”

  Daniel thought for a moment. “We can’t do that. The word gets out that we’re closing down and it’s really all over.”

  “I don’t know what to do, then,” Moses said.

  “We’ll have to borrow.”

  Moses laughed wryly. “Who’s going to lend us money? They won’t accept our membership lists for receivables. Especially when they see the collection record for the past year.”

  “I know where we can get the money,” Daniel said. “Lansky.”

  The black man was silent.

  Daniel met his eyes. “You don’t approve?”

  “Do you? You know what that means. Once you let them in, they never get out. I’ve heard you say that many times.”

  “Sure,” Daniel said bitterly. “And where did it get us? Maybe it’s time we just faced the facts of life. The others did it. I don’t see where they’re hurting.”

  “You’re not them,” Moses said.

  “Maybe it’s time I changed,” Daniel replied wearily. “The whole world can’t be out of step but me.”

  Moses was silent.

  “Don’t stand there like Mr. Righteous,” Daniel said in a suddenly angry voice. “Even God had to make a deal with the Devil to divide the Hereafter.”

  “We’re talking about the now,” Moses said.

  Daniel’s voice was hard and flat. “If you don’t like it, you can always quit.”

  “You know I won’t do that.” There was hurt in Moses’ voice.

  “I’m sorry,” Daniel said contritely. “I didn’t mean that. It’s just if I can nail down the deal with Boyle and Hoffa, we’ll put through. Meanwhile, I’ve got that White House meeting next week. That won’t hurt. At least it will show that we’re still alive and that the President thinks we’re still important.”

  Moses was silent for a moment. “Okay. When do you plan to see Lansky?”

  “Tomorrow, if it can be arranged. I can fly down to Miami on a morning flight and be back here in the evening.”

  ***

  It was almost six o’clock, and he was getting ready to leave the office, when his secretary buzzed. “Miss Rourke is here.”

  He drew a blank. “Miss Rourke?”

  “She telephoned last week. You spoke to her. Something about her father not collecting his pension from his union. You asked her to bring in the details. I put her down for six today.”

  He remembered. The girl’s father had been run over by a tractor and had lost the use of one leg. Now he was having trouble collecting his pension. “Okay,” he said wearily. “Send her in.”

  The door opened and the girl came into the office. He struggled to his feet. “I’m Daniel Huggins.”

  She was very young. Not more than nineteen, he thought. Soft black hair to her shoulders, blue eyes and Irish pale skin. “Margaret Rourke,” she said, taking his outstretched hand. Her voice was soft and cool. “Thank you for seeing me.”

  He gestured to the chair opposite his desk as he sat down. “That’s what I’m here for. Now, what’s the problem?”

  She opened a large manila envelope and took out some papers, which she placed on his desk. “I told you about my father’s accident. Here are all the details you asked me to get.”

  He picked up the papers and went through them quickly. She was thorough. Everything was in there, from the accident report to his paid-up membership card, indicating his dues were up to date. There was only one thing wrong. The local he belonged to was bankrupt. Money that was supposed to have been paid into the pension fund had disappeared along with the union’s president and treasurer.

  He looked up at the girl, who had been watching him intently. “There is a problem.”

  “They have no money,” she said.

  He nodded. “That’s right.”

  “But my father said that you were the one who set up the pension plan for them and that they weren’t supposed to be able to touch that money.”

  “That was the way it was set up,” he said. “But the loc
al itself changed it.”

  “How can they do that?” she asked. “If you people are responsible—”

  He interrupted her. “We can only advise them. We cannot order them to do anything. We haven’t the authority. We set up what we think is a safe, foolproof plan. If the union wants to go along with it, good. If they don’t—”

  “It’s not fair,” she said angrily. “My father said the union paid you to take care of it. You have to be responsible.”

  “They never paid us to administer the pension plan. We would have had they requested it, but all they wanted was our advisory services.”

  She looked down at the papers on the desk. “Then those things aren’t even worth the paper they’re printed on.”

  He didn’t speak.

  She looked up at him, tears of frustration in her eyes. “What do we do now? My father can’t work, and there are two more kids at home, younger than I am. We even applied for welfare but were turned down because I’m working. But there’s no way we all can live on the thirty dollars a week I make.”

  “What about the union? Did your father ask if they could find a watchman’s job in one of the plants for him?”

  “There’s no one down there that can do anything,” she said bitterly. “All they could tell me is that they’re still trying to find out what happened after the president took off with their money.”

  “Let me see what I can do,” he said.

  She rose from her chair angrily. “You’re all alike. Great when you’re collecting dues, but none of you are there when it’s your turn to pay.”

  “That’s not true,” he said quickly. “Most unions take their responsibilities seriously. It’s unfortunate that your father belonged to one where the president was a thief.”

  “You’re all thieves,” she said. “You can’t make me feel any different.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Getting angry won’t help,” he said gently. “Why don’t you sit down while we try to figure something out?”

  Slowly she returned to her chair, her eyes on his face. “Do you really think you can do something?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But we can try.” He reached for the telephone. “Let me make a few calls.”

  It was almost an hour later when he put down the telephone for the last time. He looked across the desk at her. “At least we have a few possibilities started. Now we’ll wait and see what happens.”

  Her eyes met his gaze. “I apologize, Mr. Huggins. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

  “It’s all right. I understand. You’ve had enough provocation.” Suddenly he was tired. “If you don’t hear from me by the beginning of next week, call me.”

  A concern suddenly came into her voice. “Are you all right, Mr. Huggins?”

  “Just tired,” he said wearily. “It’s been a rough day.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I suppose you have lots of problems like this. I didn’t mean to make it worse, but there was nowhere else for me to go.”

  “It’s okay, Margaret,” he said. He opened the bottom desk drawer. “Do you mind if I have a drink?”

  She shook her head and watched as he took out the bottle and two glasses. He poured himself a shot and looked over at her. “No, thanks,” she said.

  He swallowed the drink, and she could see the color come back into his face. He refilled his glass. “Where do you work?”

  “I’m in the typing pool at the housing agency,” she said.

  He took the second drink. “Good job?”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I’m still on temporary. But I grabbed it. It was the first thing I could get.”

  “Do you live far from work?”

  “Two-hour bus ride,” she said. “But it’s not so bad. I get through work at four o’clock and I’m usually home in time to get dinner ready.”

  “What about your mother?”

  “She’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Maybe I’d better let you go. Dinner will be late enough as it is.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve made arrangements for a neighbor to do it.”

  He finished his drink and returned the bottle to his desk. He got to his feet. “My car’s outside. I can drop you at the bus station.”

  “I can walk,” she said. “The next bus doesn’t leave until nine o’clock.”

  He looked at his watch. It was just past seven o’clock. “Would you like to have a bite of dinner with me? I’ll get you to the bus in time.”

  She hesitated. “I’ve put you to too much trouble already.”

  “Don’t be silly,” he said, smiling. “I had nothing planned. Just an early dinner and then to bed.” He reached for the telephone. His secretary answered. “Call home and tell Mamie I’m having dinner out.” He saw the questioning look on her face. “Mamie’s my cook.”

  She nodded without speaking.

  “I’m not married,” he said.

  “I know that,” she said.

  “What else do you know about me?”

  She was silent.

  “You can tell me. I won’t be angry.”

  She hesitated, then spoke. “My father didn’t want me to see you. He said you have a lot of women.”

  He laughed. “What else did he say?”

  “He said you would probably offer to take me to dinner.”

  “He was right. That’s exactly what I did. Did he say anything else?”

  “He said if I went to dinner with you, I should be careful.”

  “Well, we haven’t gone to dinner yet, so we don’t know about that, do we?” He was smiling.

  After a moment, she too smiled. “That’s right.”

  “Well, you’ve got a chance to check that out.”

  She was still smiling when she met his eyes. “I’ll take that chance.”

  “We won’t go anyplace fancy,” he said. “The restaurant across the street has good steaks.”

  “That sounds good to me.” She got to her feet. “Is there a ladies’ room?”

  “Through my secretary’s office. In the hallway to the right.” He watched her go through the door, then sat down and took the bottle out again. He took a quick drink. It was something about the way she walked. It was another kind of walk than the one she had used coming in. Then she had seemed like a young girl. Suddenly, she was a real woman.

  Chapter 3

  He came down the ramp into the Miami airport, already sweating in his summer suit, a small briefcase in his hand. Two young men moved toward him purposefully, one tall and blond, one short and dark, both dressed in cotton seersucker suits. The short man spoke. “Mr. Huggins?”

  “Yes,” he answered.

  “We have a car waiting outside. Do you have any luggage?”

  “No.”

  The short man nodded. “Okay. This way, please.”

  They fell into step alongside him and went through the airport, crowded with summer package vacationers on tour. Outside, a Cadillac limousine was waiting, the motor running. They held the door for him. Then the blond man got in beside him, while the dark man got in front beside the driver.

  “We’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” the blond man said. The car began to move. “Did you have a good flight?”

  “Very nice,” Daniel answered.

  “It will be even better in a few months. They expect to have the new jet planes flying by the time the winter season starts.”

  “I thought they had them already.”

  “Only a few,” the blond man answered. “By fall, the whole schedule will be jet.”

  Daniel looked out the window. The car was moving rapidly toward the causeway leading to Miami Beach. There didn’t seem to be much traffic. They paused for a moment at a tollbooth, then continued, beginning to pass small islands in the bay that separated the mainland from the beach. As the car approached the last few islands it began to slow down, finally turning off onto the causeway leading to one of the islands.

  Daniel noticed two uniformed arme
d guards at the foot of the ramp. They knew the car, because it went past them without slowing down. They drove past several low-built Florida homes, green rolling lawns of zoysia grass behind cropped hedges, finally turning into a private street, at the end of which was a high iron gate. The car stopped in front of the gate.

  A man came out of the small gatehouse and looked at the car. A moment later, he went back into the gatehouse and the iron gate swung back. The car went through, the gate closing behind it, and around a long, rolling driveway to the house, which had been hidden from the road.

  The two men got out of the car and waited for Daniel. “Just a moment, sir,” the tall man said politely. “We have to do this.”

  Daniel nodded silently and held out his hands while the man expertly patted him down. The tall man straightened up. “May we see your briefcase, please?”

  “It’s open,” Daniel said, giving it to him.

  The blond man riffled through the papers quickly and checked the sides for any hidden compartments, then gave it back to Daniel. He nodded politely. “This way, please.”

  The house was cool and air-conditioned as Daniel followed them through the house to a room with two floor-to-ceiling windows looking out at a pool. Beyond it he could see a small pier on the bay, at which a forty-five-foot cabin cruiser was docked.

  “Mr. L. will be with you in a minute,” the blond man said. He gestured to a corner. “The bar is over there. Help yourself.”

  “Thank you,” Daniel said. The men left the room as he went to the bar. It was completely stocked with every kind of liquor one could want, pitchers of orange and tomato juice, buckets of ice, cuts of lemon peel, olives, pearl onions, Tabasco and Worcestershire sauce. Daniel was fascinated by the liquors. There were no open bottles. Every bottle was sealed and full. He took down a bottle of Old Forester, cracked the seal and poured himself a drink, adding just a touch of water from the pitcher. He sipped the drink and walked toward the window.

  The view from the window was beautiful. The sky and water blending shades of blue, speedboats and sailboats lazing their way back and forth. He sipped at the drink. Good whiskey. The voice came from behind him. “Mr. Huggins.”

  Lansky stood there, a small man, old before his time, a Florida tan over his pallor. Daniel was shocked for a moment. They were about the same age, but Lansky seemed much older.