I jumped. ‘What! A column a day? Whoever heard of the Hearst papers offering a column to an unknown writer?
That’s his affair, Val. He knows what he’s doing.
But will they print the stuff? I thought I smelled a rat.
No, she replied not right away. We’re to do it for a few months, and if they like it … Anyway, that’s not important! The thing is that Cromwell will pay us a hundred dollars a week out of his own pocket. He’s dead sure he can sell the man who runs the syndicate. They’re close friends.
And what am I—or you, excuse me!—supposed to write about every day?
Anything under the sun.
You don’t mean it!
I certainly do. Otherwise I wouldn’t have given it a moment’s thought.
I had to admit it sounded good. So … she’d sell real estate and I would write a daily column. Not bad. A hundred a week, you say? That’s damned decent of him … Cromwell, I mean. He must think a lot of you. (This with a straight face.)
It’s a mere bagatelle to him, Val. He’s simply trying to be of help.
Does he know about me? I mean, has he no suspicion?
Of course not. Are you mad?
Well, I just wondered. Sometimes a guy like that … you know … Sometimes you can tell them most anything. I’d like to meet him some time. I’m curious.
That would be easy, said Mona, smiling.
What do you mean?
Why, just meet me at Moskowitz’s some evening. I’ll introduce you as a friend.
That’s an idea. I’ll do that some evening. It’ll be fun. You can introduce me as a Jewish physician. How’s that?
But before we give up this candy racket, I added, I’d like to try out something. I have a hunch that if we were to send a couple of messenger boys to the various telegraph offices we would clean up. We might sell a couple of hundred at one stroke.
Oh, that reminds me, said Mona. The candy store man has invited us to go to dinner with him next Saturday. He wants to give us a treat to show his appreciation. I think he’ll offer to set us up in business. I wouldn’t turn it down cold, if I were you—you might hurt his feelings.
Of course. He’s a prince. He’s done more for us than any of our friends ever have.
The next days were absorbed in writing personal notes to all my old pals in the telegraph company. I even included messages to some of the men in the vice-president’s office. In routing the itinerary, I realized that instead of a couple of messengers I would require a half-dozen—if the coup was to be accomplished at one stroke.
I totalled up the possible sales—came to something over $500.00. Not a bad way to retire from the candy business, I thought to myself, rubbing my hands in expectation.
The day came. I picked six bright boys, gave them explicit instructions, and sent them on their way.
Towards evening they came filing back, each one with a full valise. Not a box had been sold. Not one. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I paid the boys off—a considerable sum!—and sat down on the floor with the valises all about me.
The letters, which I had attached to the candy boxes with rubber bands, were intact. I picked them up one by one and shook my head over each one. Incredible, incredible! I kept repeating. Finally I came to the two addressed to Hymie Laubscher and Steve Romero. I held the envelopes in my two hands for a while, unable to comprehend the situation. If I couldn’t depend on two old pals like Hymie and Steve, who then could I depend on?
Unwittingly I had opened the envelope addressed to Steve Romero. Something was written across the top of the letter head. Before reading a word I already felt relieved. At least he had given an explanation.
Spivak intercepted your boy in the vice-president’s office. Notified all hands to refuse the candy. Sorry. Steve.
I opened Hymie’s envelope. Same message. I opened Costigan’s envelope. Ditto. By this time I was raging. That bastard Spivak! So that was his way of getting back at me! I swore I would strangle him, right on the street, next tune I ran into him.
I sat there with Costigan’s note in my hand. Costigan the knuckle-duster. It was ages since I had seen or heard from him. What a treat it would be for him to teach Spivak a little lesson! All he needed to do was to lure the latter uptown some evening, trap him in a dark street near the river and give him the works. The trouble that stinker had gone to! Telephoning each and every office in Brooklyn, Manhattan and the Bronx! I was surprised that Hymie hadn’t dispatched a messenger to tip me off; it would have saved me a lot of jack. But he had probably been short-handed, as usual.
I got to thinking of all the goofy guys I knew who were always ready to do me a good turn. There was the night clerk in the 14th Street office who gambled incessantly; his boss was a eunuch who had been trying for years to induce the president to use carrier pigeons to deliver the telegrams. Never was there a more heartless, soulless individual than this hombre from Green-point; he would do anything for a few more dollars to place on the horses. There was the hunchback over in the fish market. An out-and-out fiend, a sort of Jack-the-Ripper in mufti. And that night-messenger, Arthur Wilmington. Once a minister of the gospel, he was now a filthy human wreck who made caca in his pants. There was sly little Jimmy Falzone, with the face of an angel and the instincts of a thug. There was the rat-faced lad from Harlem who peddled dope and falsified checks. There was the drunken giant from Cuba, Lopez, who could crack a man’s ribs with one gentle hug. There was Kovalski, the demented Pole, who had three wives and fourteen children: he would do anything short of murder—for a dollar.
For that matter I didn’t even have to think of such riff-raff. There was Gus, the policeman, who escorted Mona from place to place in the Village whenever she was in the mood for it. Gus was one of those faithful dogs who would club a man to death if a woman merely hinted that she had been insulted by a strange man. And what about our good Catholic friend Buckley, the detective, who when drunk would take out his black crucifix and ask us to kiss it? Hadn’t we done him a good turn one night by hiding his revolver when he was on a rampage?
When Mona arrived I was still seated on the floor, still in a reverie. The news didn’t upset her greatly. She had expected something of the sort to happen. She was actually glad it had turned out so; perhaps it would cure me once and for all of my impracticable schemes. She was the only one who knew how to raise money and she did it without creating a fuss. When would I begin to put complete confidence in her?
Let’s quit all this, I said. If Cromwell comes across with that hundred bucks a week we ought to be able to manage, don’t you think?
She wasn’t sure. The hundred-a-week would take care of us, but what about the alimony, what about her mother and brothers, what about this and that?
Did you ever raise that mortgage money your mother was asking for? I inquired.
Yes, she had—weeks ago. She didn’t want to go into that just now, it was too painful. She merely remarked that no matter how much money came in it just flew. There was only one solution, and that was to make a big haul. The real estate game appealed to her more and more.
Let’s stop the candy business anyway, I urged. We’ll go to dinner with our patron and we’ll break the news to him gently. I’m sick of selling things … and I don’t want you to be selling things either. It’s disgusting.
She appeared to agree with me. Suddenly, while creaming her face, she said: Why don’t we call Ulric up and go out to dinner together? You haven’t seen him for ages, you know.
I thought it a good idea. It was rather late but I decided to phone and see. It put my things on and dashed out.
An hour or so later the three of us were sitting in a restaurant down near the City Hall. An Italian place. Ulric was delighted to see us again. Had been wondering what we were up to all this time. While waiting for the minestrone we had a couple of drinks. Ulric had been working like a dog on some soap campaign and was glad of the opportunity to relax. He was in a mellow mood.
Mona was giving him an earful about the candy business—just the highlights. Ulric always listened to her tales with a sort of bemused wonder. He waited to hear my side of it before passing any comments. If I seemed in a corroborative mood he would then listen with both ears, quite as if he were hearing it all for the first time.
What a life! he chuckled. I wish I had the guts to venture out a little more. But then those things never happen to me. So you peddled candies in the Cafe Royal? I’ll be damned. He wagged his head and chuckled some more.
And is O’Mara still with you? he
