A Commodore of Errors (19 page)

Mrs. Tannenbaume studied the boys' faces while they lounged on sofas and studied.

“One of my sonny boy's fathers was a sailor,” Mrs. Tannenbaume said.

“
One
of his fathers? How many does your son have?”

“Well, since we're not sure which one of my boyfriends was the father, we say that he has three.”

It was the Commodore's turn to blush. He did not like to hear such talk. And he certainly did not want one of his boys to overhear Mrs. Tannenbaume's blue talk. A change of subject was in order.

“Let us proceed to the chapel, Mrs. Tannenbaume. It is a nondenominational chapel, of course, reflecting the diversity of our boys' backgrounds.”

Mrs. Tannenbaume looked up at the whitewashed chapel. “It doesn't look anything like the St. Aloysius.”

“We call it the U.S. Merchant Marine Memorial Chapel,” the Commodore said. “It was conceived as a national shrine to merchant seafarers lost in both world wars. A Roll of Honor lists all wartime maritime casualties.”

Mrs. Tannenbaume gawked at the big white chapel. “You know, I always wondered if one of Captain Tannenbaume's fathers—the one who was a sailor—made it through the war.”

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 hands, 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

M
itzi 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.