The thought of perusing the Honor Roll for the name of a former wartime lover of Mrs. Tannenbaume’s made the Commodore’s stomach turn. He decided to distract her by taking her by the location of the future Mariners Monument. He would much rather talk about the academy’s first son than listen to her reminisce about some long-ago fling. In fact, the idea of listening to Mrs. Tannenbaume at all did not hold much appeal for him. The woman did not converse, rather she launched into monologues—stories that went nowhere, stories about herself, mostly. Could the woman be more narcissistic? Whenever he tried to tell Mrs. Tannenbaume about himself, she cut him off and talked about herself.
The Commodore was about to tell her all about his hero, but what, after all, was the point? The woman didn’t listen. No, they had been walking the campus long enough and, truth be told, the Commodore had accomplished his mission. His tour of the academy made an indelible impression on Mrs. Tannenbaume, he was sure of that. And how could Mrs. Tannenbaume not be impressed? There was something about the way people looked at him when he strode across the academy grounds in his dress whites. The greetings sung out by entire platoons of midshipmen. The crisp salutes. The Commodore felt satisfied that his POA was working.
They had not gotten very far from the chapel when the Commodore turned toward his guest. “Mrs. Tannenbaume? I should like to return to my office now. I wish for you to join me. There is something I need to discuss with you, something of great importance.”
“Do you want me to pay for the headphones?”
“No, no, my dear. Heavens no. No, we have something far greater to discuss.”
Mrs. Tannenbaume stopped walking. “Like what?”
The Commodore looked around to make sure nobody was within earshot. “What if I were to say to you that all this”—the Commodore swept his hands in a circle above his head—“could be yours?”
Mrs. Tannenbaume spun her head around to see where the Commodore was pointing. “All of what?”
“All of the academy, that’s what.”
“Have you been eating Indian food lately?”
“Come, madam. Let’s get back to my office where I can explain more fully.”
Mrs. Tannenbaume did not budge. “There’s nutmeg in Indian food. Nutmeg is a hallucinogenic, did you know that? People say crazy things on nutmeg.”
The Commodore started back for his office. He would not stand there another moment and listen to Mrs. Tannenbaume’s inanities. She followed him, as he knew she would. More than anything, people like Mrs. Tannenbaume want an audience. Miss Lambright was again nowhere to be found when they reached the Commodore’s office, and Mrs. Tannenbaume made herself comfortable on the couch by sitting cross-legged with her shoes off. The Commodore removed the hearing machine from the coffee table, returned it to the credenza, and pulled a chair up to the coffee table across from Mrs. Tannenbaume.
“My dear Mrs. Tannenbaume, I have not had too much nutmeg, I assure you. Please allow me to explain. The superintendent of the academy, Admiral Johnson, has gotten himself into a bit of a jam, recently. A peccadillo one might say.”
“You told me. Mitzi took a picture of him with his pants down.”
“Yes, correct, I did tell you. Well, the mayor of Great Neck, Mr. Mogelefsky, desires to replace the admiral with a Jew.”
“I know. He wants somebody with a Yiddisher Kop.”
“Yes, of course.” The Commodore paused. “When exactly did I tell you this?”
“In the dry cleaners, don’t you remember?”
“Oh yes, I remember now.” The Commodore breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment he could not fathom how Mrs. Tannenbaume was in the know. “Well, Mrs. Tannenbaume, what you don’t know is that the by-laws of the academy specifically state that the superintendent has to have had seagoing experience as master of a merchant vessel. The problem is it is very difficult to find a Jew who goes to sea. Jews own ships, Mrs. Tannenbaume, they don’t go to sea on them.”
“Tell me about it. I’ve been telling my sonny boy all these years that if he owned the God is Able, he wouldn’t have to go to sea all those months of the year, year in and year out. It’s plain as day to me. I don’t know why he doesn’t get it.”
“Funny you should mention Captain Tannenbaume.” The Commodore stood up, looked down at Mrs. Tannenbaume, and paused for dramatic affect. “I think we have found our Jewish captain.”
The Commodore watched Mrs. Tannenbaume’s reaction. She did not say anything in response to his statement. She made no visible movement, her breathing remained normal, but her eyes, her eyes gave her away. Mrs. Tannenbaume’s dark brown eyes darted up and down from side to side. She appeared trapped, as if she was looking for a way out. Her eyes began to recede in their sockets until they seemed almost lifeless—a blank stare.
“It’s Tannenbaume with an E.” Her voice was limp. “We’re not Jewish.”
“Yes, of course,” the Commodore said. “But people always assume you are Jewish, you said so yourself.”
Mrs. Tannenbaume’s eyes slowly came back into focus.
“Mogie is desperate for a Jewish admiral. I am certain that he would not question for a moment whether Captain Tannenbaume is Jewish.”
“You’re saying my sonny boy will be promoted to admiral?”
“That’s correct. He will be called Admiral Tannenbaume.”
“And he’ll be the head honcho? Here?”
“That’s right. He will be superintendent of the United States Merchant Marine Academy, the same academy that refused to admit him when he was a boy.”
“How ironic.”
“The best revenge.”
“To think that I spent thirty-five years in education and now my sonny boy will be head honcho of a school himself.”
“Indeed he will.”
“But sonny’s not supposed to get off his ship until the beginning of October.”
“That’s perfect,” the Commodore said. “Just in time for the unveiling of the Mariners Monument.”
“And what if Mogie finds out that it is Tannenbaume with an E and that we’re not Jewish? What then?”
“I think there is a very low risk of that happening, madam. Mogie does not know you, am I correct?”
“Well, I know that his wife goes to the St. Aloysius. He married a shikseh named Jane. I always see him dropping her off in his big black Mercedes. What if she blows my cover?”
“Hmmm. We’ll have to give that some consideration. Why don’t you worship at the chapel, in the meantime? Steer clear of St. Aloysius altogether.”
“Well, come to think of it, Sister Mahoney is kind of mad at me now, on account of my papier-mâché Jesus. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to lay low for a while anyhow.”
“Perfect. Feel free to use the memorial chapel anytime as my guest. I will instruct the guardsman at Vickery Gate to provide you free gangway.”
Mrs. Tannenbaume uncrossed her legs and stretched them out on the couch. She looked at the Commodore. “I can’t believe it. I came here to get my hearing checked and now my sonny boy is going to be the admiral. I wanna pinch myself.” She averted her eyes from the Commodore. “I’m really sorry I ever called you Flouncy. You don’t seem like such a bad guy after all.”
The Commodore was not listening. Getting Mrs. Tannenbaume to go along with the POA was easier than he had thought. Something in Mrs. Tannenbaume’s past clearly caused her feel like an outsider, like someone denied admission to an exclusive club. The whole “Tannenbaume with an E” thing, there was something to it that did not meet the eye, the Commodore was sure of that. The woman hungered for acceptance, for a place to call home. She had one foot in Great Neck and one foot in kings Point and she did not feel at home in either place. She was so proud that her sonny boy was a ship’s captain yet she revealed today that she would prefer him to be a shipowner. That the woman had a past was clear enough, but how much did it matter? She spent thirty-five years as a typist, so how clever could the woman be? She would be putty in his self-assured h
ands, that much was clear.
He could only hope that Mogie would be as pliant. Mogie’s eagerness for a Jew was clearly in the Commodore’s favor now, but what if Mogie and Mitzi got back together? Mitzi—now there was the fly in the ointment of his POA. Mitzi knew that it was “Tannenbaume with an E,” and if she got back with Mogie, the plan would all but blow up in the Commodore’s face. Because of Putzie’s utter lack of sexual prowess, Mitzi was in all likelihood back in Mogie’s arms at this very moment. The Commodore would have to find a way to drive a permanent wedge between Mitzi and Mogie, but how?
Cloying. The Commodore had been trying to think of the one word that described Mrs. Tannenbaume best, and the word just popped into his head. Yes, cloying, that was the word.
“I’m so sorry. Did you say something, Mrs. Tannenbaume?”
“I just said, I think my sonny boy could do good here.”
“Why I could not agree more, madam. Captain Tannenbaume will make a fine superintendent. And how could it be otherwise? He, after all, has education in his blood, does he not?”
When she got home, Mrs. Tannenbaume lay down on her threadbare couch. She was about to doze off when the phone rang. Upon answering the phone, she thanked the caller and placed the phone back in its cradle. And then Mrs. Tannenbaume let out a bloodcurdling scream.
MIDNIGHT MUSK
Mitzi pretended to be busy. It wasn’t easy with Admiral Johnson standing by mthe side of her desk with his elbow resting on the filing cabinet. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Johnson shove one hand into his pocket and then cup the back of his head with the other. She knew the filing cabinet had a sharp edge to it, and when she glanced up, she saw it digging into his arm. What was going on here? Why was Johnson trying so hard to act casual?
“So how goes it, Mitz? How’s tricks?”
Mitzi did not look up. Oh gawd. Did he just say “how’s tricks”?
“Hey, what a day, huh? Life’s a beach, ain’t it babe?”
Oh, no. Please don’t tell me this fruitloop’s hitting on me.
When Johnson surrendered to the sharp edge of the filing cabinet and sat on the corner of Mitzi’s desk, Mitzi opened her drawer and took out her surgical mask. She did not bother to remove the gum from her mouth before she put it on, and when she chewed her gum, the mask moved up and down on her face.
Johnson stood up and paced back and forth in front of Mitzi’s desk. He finally stopped and told Mitzi, “Take off the goddamn surgical mask.”
“Sorry, no can do.”
Johnson slammed his fist down on the filing cabinet, stormed out of the reception area, and retreated back into his bachelor pad.
Mitzi still had her surgical mask on when the Commodore and Miss Lambright entered.
“I’ll only be a minute,” the Commodore said to Miss Lambright. “Perhaps you and Mitzi might care to talk shop in my absence.”
Mitzi was surprised. She kind of felt sorry for Miss Lambright sometimes, but they really didn’t have anything to talk about. Or so she thought until she heard what Miss Lambright had to say.
“Jane said that?” Mitzi said. Through the surgical mask the words came out like “Ane ed at.”
“That’s what she said,” Miss Lambright said. “She said the holocaust was exaggerated. I heard it with my own ears, in our Bible study group.”
Mitzi flung off her surgical mask, picked up the phone, and dialed Mogie’s office.
“Mitzi baby, I’ve been waiting all morning. Hang on. Okay. You’re driving me foolish—”
“No, you’re driving me foolish, schmuck face. Your little shikseh’s been mouthing off again. This time she says the holocaust’s exaggerated. I thought you were gonna put a muzzle on that trap of hers.”
“What if she’s right? How do you know for a fact that it all happened like they say it did?”
“Because my own grandmother’s got numbers tattooed on her arm! That’s how I know it happened! You’re such a self-loather, Moges, you know that? That little bitch has you brainwashed. Wait. Hold on a sec.”
Mitzi held the phone under her chin so she could hear Miss Lambright. “What else she say?”
“Well, she once said that Great Neck was nothing but a bunch of bagels.”
“She calls us bagels! Oh my gawd!”
“Look, Mitz, I’m sure this is a misunderstanding. We can talk about it on our date.”
“No, Moges, the date’s off. I’ve told you before it’s either me or your little shikseh. This is the last straw.”
The Commodore and Johnson came out of the bachelor pad just as Mitzi hung up on Mogie. Johnson looked pale. “I can’t believe Mogie found his Jewish captain. Captain Tannenbaume, I forgot all about him. Well, if it’s any consolation to me, I’m being replaced with the best. He’s the best, ain’t he? That’s what they say anyway.”
The Commodore cleared his throat and spoke so that Mitzi could hear.
“Captain Tannenbaume is a respected member of the International Brotherhood of American Merchant Marine Officers. His mother, Mrs. Tannenbaume, lives right here in Great Neck, in fact.”
Mitzi saw the Commodore look imploringly at her when he said it. She held the Commodore’s gaze for a moment and then looked away, snapping her gum.
“I’ve heard of Mrs. Tannenbaume.” Mitzi turned to look directly at the Commodore when she said it. “We go to the same synagogue.”
The Commodore was gonna owe her big time. It was high time somebody did.
The Commodore, his back to Johnson, closed his eyes when he heard Mitzi say she went to the same synagogue as Mrs. Tannenbaume. It worked. His POA worked. His heart was in his throat and he did not trust himself to speak or move. Was he really on the cusp of ridding himself of the man who had stood in his way all these years? Johnson had proven to be a staunch nemesis. So many improprieties covered up by his toadies, peccadilloes too numerous to mention glossed over by a chauvinistic board. Well, the board would not be able to cover this one up. Mitzi had a picture of Johnson standing in front of her desk with his trousers around his ankles! If the board did not go along with removing Johnson, the photograph would end up on the front page of Newsday.
There clearly were a few more hoops to jump through, but the Commodore would handle them with ease. The best thing he could do was to keep Mogie as far away as possible from Johnson and the board. He would handle the board himself. The Commodore marveled at his continued climb up the ladder of the academy. It all began with desire. If one desired something, really desired it, it was all but there for the taking. Too many people failed to achieve things of any consequence in life, not for lack of ability, but for lack of desire. The average person looked out at the world and never got past fulfilling his basic needs. The Commodore’s formula for success worked over and over again: first comes desire, then comes a plan, then comes action, what the Commodore called follow-through. The Commodore excelled at following through on his POA.
The Commodore opened his eyes and looked at Mitzi. He mouthed the words “bless you.” Mitzi’s reaction, her face all but covered by the surgical mask, was difficult to read, though her eyes were definitely cold. But it hardly mattered if Mitzi’s reaction did not give the Commodore a warm and fuzzy feeling. She was, after all, his co-conspirator now. They were, for all practical purposes, bedfellows.
The Commodore turned back to face Johnson. He spoke in a hushed tone, as if trying to keep the hired help from overhearing their business. “Well, sir, I am sorry to give you the news. I will endeavor to keep you informed as things progress.”
“I’m not waiting for things to progress, Bobby. I’m out of here. Why prolong the agony? Besides, I wouldn’t want to give Mogie the satisfaction of kicking me out on my ass. I’ll do it my way.” Johnson looked at Mitzi with disgust. “You never could type a lick anyhow, Mitzi, not that I would give you the satisfaction of taking down my resignation letter.” He looked at Miss Lambright. “Mind if I borrow your secretary, Bobby?”
“Might it be better to w
rite the letter longhand, old boy? Take your time with it?”
“I haven’t written my own letters in twenty years and I’m not about to start now. Come, Miss Lambright. This’ll only take a minute.”
Mitzi opened her drawer and took out a brand-new surgical mask, still in its plastic wrapper. “Take this, babe,” Mitzi said to Miss Lambright. “It’s never been used. Trust me, you’re gonna need it.”
Johnson rushed over to Mitzi’s desk, ripped the surgical mask out of her hands, and slammed it on top of the metal filing cabinet. “No, she will not need one of your goddamn surgical masks! I paid good money for this cologne. It’s Midnight Musk. It’s advertised in all the sports magazines!”
“What sport? Mud wrestling?”
“Mitzi, you’ve gone too far. I will not stand for this, this, this insubordination. You’re fired!”
Mitzi looked at the Commodore. Her eyes were cold.
“You can’t fire me. I need the health benefits. Insurance companies don’t like to cover dry cleaners on account of all the chemicals, you know what I’m saying?” Mitzi said it directly to the Commodore.
Now it was the Commodore who turned pale. His plan was falling apart before his very eyes. He nodded his head for Johnson to join him for a tête-à-tête a few feet away from Mitzi. He lowered his voice to a whisper.
“Surely you don’t mean it, sir. Things could get awfully sticky for you. She is Mogie’s mistress and you know the sway a mistress holds over a man.”
Johnson did not bother to lower his voice. He poked his finger in the Commodore’s chest. “I do mean it. I’m not working another day with that bitch.”
“Shhhh!” The Commodore turned to see if Mitzi heard what Johnson had just called her. If she did hear, it didn’t seem to bother her in the least. The Commodore turned back to Johnson. “Look, sir, there must be something—”
Johnson pushed the Commodore away. “Come on, Miss Lambright. I need you to take down a letter for me.”
“That’s it!” The Commodore swept around on his heels. He held up his hand to stop Miss Lambright. “The perfect solution.” He turned back to Johnson. “Why don’t we swap secretaries? You take Miss Lambright and I’ll take Mitzi.”
A Commodore of Errors Page 13