Israel (44 page)

Tony Gemstones was also in a good mood that night. He asked if Stefano would see him later on, after the guests had taken their leave.

Maria de Fazio had been given a free hand to decorate her home, and she'd leaned toward red velvet, white marble and a great deal of gilt. There were ponderous crystal chandeliers and Louis XV armchairs; there was no wallpaper that was not flocked. Mrs. de Fazio used the manner of a little girl let free in a toy store, letting gaudiness and expense serve as her criteria of quality. She and Stefano loved the result, as did their friends and Stefano's business associates. The de Fazio home was a merry place.

Maria completely reversed herself in Stefano's study. Here the floors were covered with a staid blue wall-to-wall carpet and the walls were lined with banker's dark brown paneling. The heavy armchairs and sofas were set out in a circle in the manner of a men's club lounge.

The desk was massive and as barren of clutter as a desert mesa. Decorating the walls were framed mementos—union campaign posters, complimentary clippings from newspapers Stefano controlled, pictures of him with various important people, civic awards and so on. The study looked the way Maria and he imagined it ought to, but in truth Stefano was not comfortable in it. It was too dark and somber for him. He was a lighthearted, sentimental man and much preferred the movie hall atmosphere of the rest of the house to his gloomy den. The only good thing the study had to offer was a magnificent view of the bay.

Still, it was to the study Stefano brought Tony on that November night. Tony opened his briefcase and removed a bottle of vintage Scotch—no alcohol had been served at the party in deference to the police officials who attended—and an accounts ledger, the sanctity of which Tony would have protected with his life.

Tony poured them each a shot, using the crystal glasses from the mahogany sideboard. He put his hand on the ledger as if it were a Bible and toasted his boss.

“Stefano, it gives me great pleasure to inform you that you are officially a millionaire.”

Election night 1924 was nine months ago. It was now a steamy summer day at the beginning of August 1925 and Stefano was sitting behind his chipped, dented steel desk in his warehouse office on the Manhattan side of the Hudson. He was staring at Tony Gemstones, who had thrust his homely four-eyed features through the doorway that led from the outer office to announce, “Abe's wife is here with a kid, and just who the fuck is Abe?”

“Abe's my good luck charm,” Stefano blurted without a moment's thought. Then he laughed. “Why would Leah be here?” he wondered out loud. “With Becky, you say? Well, show 'em in.”

“Who the fuck is Abe?” Tony repeated.

“A guy I know.” Stefano scowled. “From the union. He's got nothing to do with anything, you know? So be a gentleman and show Mrs. Herodetsky in.”

Leah clutched a paper shopping bag with one hand and tried to hold onto Becky with the other as they waited in the lobby. Initially Leah had thought of leaving her daughter with Sadie, but she wanted no questions. Besides, she decided that having her daughter with her might help gain Stefano's sympathy. She was about to ask a great favor of him, assuming, of course, that he had time to see her.

“Mommy, what's that? What do they sell here? Why can't we go in?”

At seven—“Seven years and eight months,” Becky would announce if anyone asked her—Leah's daughter was at the stage where everything in the world fascinated
her. She was a pretty child with dark brown hair and eyes to match and a creamy, flawless complexion. Short for her age, she was roly-poly round and moved much as a turtle might if it could walk on its hind legs. She was overweight due to unrestricted noshing on the penny candy and fruit in the store. Baby fat everybody called it, including Leah.

Next year Becky would start school, which would restrict her time in the store and cut down on her snacking. Until then darling Becky could have what she wanted, her parents had decided. She was their only child, and they spoiled her no end.

“Mommy, what's that buzzing noise? Why can't we go in?”

“The buzzing is an electric lock on the door. That lady who is sitting behind the glass window works it, and—”

Leah paused as the bald man with incredibly thick glasses returned. When Leah told the receptionist that she wanted to see Mr. de Fazio and that her business was personal, this man had been summoned.

“Stefano can see you now,” the man said, holding open the door.

“Mommy, why is he wearing cheaters?” Becky asked loudly.

Leah blushed. “I'm sorry,” she told the man. “She gets that slang from the radio. Children will ask such embarrassing questions—”

“Hey, kids—” Tony Gemstones said, not exactly smiling. “Forget it, ma'am.” Stefano had said to be a gentleman, but Tony was remembering the last guy who had merely referred to his eyeglasses, never mind having the audacity to call them cheaters. Nobody saw that guy around anymore. “Watch yourself, Mrs. Herodetsky,” he warned as he led her through the crate-lined corridors towards Stefano's office. “Them boxes could do you some damage—”

They reached a large room cluttered with steel desks. Several men in suits and ties were smoking cigarettes and playing cards here. They did not look to Leah like they were clerks. Just as I thought. She nodded to herself.

“Right through here,” the man with the thick eyeglasses said, steering her quickly through this outer office and through a short vestibule to a wooden door marked. “Knock First.”

The man knocked. “It's me,” he said, opening the door.

Stefano came around his desk to embrace Leah. “What a pleasure,” he grinned. “You look wonderful—and look who else is here.” He put his hand on Becky's head. “Remember me, cutie?”

“No,” Becky mumbled, taking a step closer to her mother. It was her habit to be brash until she'd attracted a stranger's attention and then go exceedingly shy.

“Well, you were just a baby when I saw you last,” Stefano chuckled. “You want something, Leah? Coffee maybe?”

“No, thank you.” Leah looked around. The office was windowless, its walls light green and lined with cardboard file cabinets on top of which were stacked lopsided piles of yellow invoices.

“What do they sell here, Mommy?”

“Sha,” Leah hissed, anxious to silence her child, because she had a very good idea indeed what it was Stefano sold here. Coming here is a great risk, she reminded herself, as she had countless times in the past when contemplating this action. The risk was worth it, though; her marriage and her husband's well-being were at stake.

“She thinks every place is a store.” Leah smiled at Stefano.

“She's her father's daughter,” he chuckled. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“I'd like to talk to you,” Leah began, and then glanced over her shoulder at the man with the eyeglasses, who was leaning against the doorjamb. “In private.”

“Of course. Tony, would you excuse us?”

Leah smiled apologetically as the man left the office, shutting the door behind him. At Stefano's invitation she took the straightbacked chair in front of his desk, waiting until he had settled himself in his own swivel chair before starting.

Here we go, she thought. She reached into her shopping bag and put the empty vodka bottle on the desk. “I found this in my bathroom,” she said. “It was stuck behind the toilet. It had liquor in it when I found it, but I dumped it out.”

Stefano nodded. “I guess Abe likes to take a little nip now and then. A lot of men do.”

“Stefano, I'm very frightened to say this, but there is a lot at stake for me and for Becky.”

Becky looked up at the mention of her name. She had removed Stefano's stapler from his desk and taken it into a corner to play with it. Now that the adults were talking about other things, she lost interest in the conversation and returned to the fascinations of the stapler.

“Stefano, Abe sees what he wants to see. He knows what suits him. I'm different. I read the papers and I know all about the Prohibition. I think you know about it, as well.” She eyed him inquiringly, waiting for him to say something. He didn't, but merely sat stony-faced, watching her. She pressed on lest he get the wrong impression. “This is your private affair, I understand.”

She took a deep breath to control her thumping heart and then bit down on her lower lip, which had begun to tremble. “But this I beg you, Stefano, please do not sell any more of it to Abe. This liquor will be the death of him.”

Stefano smiled. “Wait a minute, Leah. You're getting
carried away. Maybe the Jewish religion doesn't approve of drinking, but a little nip now and again won't hurt.” He shrugged. “Anyway, Abe's grown up. I can't stop him.”

“You could refuse to sell it to him—”

“I don't sell it to him, Leah, I give it to him. I'd never charge Abe. I've been sending him a case a month since the war—”

“That's years ago.” Leah blanched.

“Right. And I bet he's bought you a lot of nice things with the money he's made selling it under the counter—”

“But he doesn't sell it!”

Stefano stared at her. “What do you mean? I've been sending him a case a month since Becky was born—”

“He doesn't sell it, Stefano, he drinks it.” Leah pointed to the empty quart bottle on the desk. “This is not the first one I've found. I've known about his secret vice for months. There have been others hidden in my closets and my cupboards. Once I even saw him take a bottle from beneath the cash register in the store and put it to his lips and gulp it down. He didn't know I was watching him. It could have been his daughter who was watching.”

Stefano was dumfounded. There were eight quarts to a case, being delivered once a month to Cherry Street. If Abe was drinking two quarts a week . . .

“He's become a different man,” Leah told him. “He's very different. You don't know. You've not visited him for any length of time for years, and when you have stopped by, he's been on his best behavior with you.” Leah smiled. “That's why I've come to you, Stefano. I don't dare talk to him. He's always finding fault with me. Of course he has good reason, I guess.”

“That's not true,” Stefano said gruffly.

Leah shrugged. “We both know how Abe pines for a son. He loves his daughter, but a girl is not a boy.
Anyway, I want him to live to see his daughter grow up. He's not a well man, you know. He has his heart thing . . .”

“The heart murmur, yeah.” Stefano nodded thoughtfully. “The sauce is no good for a guy with a weak ticker.” He tapped his fingertips on the metal desktop. “You did right to come to me, Leah. I'm going to talk to Abe.”

Leah sagged in her chair with relief and gratitude. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You're not angry with me, I hope?”

Stefano winked at her. “Nah. Like I said, you did right. Now, you don't say nothing to him about this, and of course you don't tell nobody about where this”—he touched the empty vodka bottle—“comes from.”

“I would never do that, Stefano, no matter what.”

He nodded again. “I know that, Leah. Me and you and Abe go back a long time. I owe him a lot, and I'm going to get him out of this. Don't you worry. I got some ideas on how to do it, and I think you'll be real pleased. I'm not saying I'm gonna do it tomorrow, it'll take some setting up, you understand, but I'll straighten this thing out for you.” He stood up.

“Thank you so much. Come, Becky. Mr. de Fazio is busy.”

Stefano smiled down at Becky. “My little Dolores is just a few months younger than your daughter—”

“I'm seven years and eight months,” Becky said.

Stefano went to the door, opened it and summoned Tony. “Show 'em out and then come see me,” he instructed. He kissed Leah on the cheek. “Remember, you can count on me.”

After she and the little girl had left, Stefano walked back to his chair. He stared at the empty vodka bottle, then took it from his desktop and tossed it into his wastepaper basket. Who would have thought a guy like Abe would become a juicer? He had such a nice wife—a little skinny
for my taste, Stefano mused, but nice, all the same. And Rebecca—what a little doll.

“Poor Abe,” he muttered to himself. “What a stupid bastard.”

“What's up?” Tony Bucci asked, coming into the office.

“Sit,” Stefano ordered. “I got some stuff for you to do, some details to iron out.”

That night Leah sat at her vanity in the bedroom, staring into the mirror. She was thirty-two and there was a good deal of grey in her long black hair. When she smiled, the laugh lines framing her small mouth and the crow's-feet at the corners of her eyes were deeply etched.

Nu? So life is hard and the girl soon becomes the woman. I feel healthy, and that's what's important, she thought.

She could hear Abe's voice coming from the parlor, where he was reading the comics to Becky. Listening, Leah was overcome with love for him. Abe was such a good man! This drinking habit was serious, but no real harm would be done as long as it was stopped. Going to Stefano was the right thing to do. She had been frightened, not knowing how Stefano would react. She had long ago sensed what Stefano was capable of. She knew that he could kill and probably had. She shuddered, then remembered that with Abe and her Stefano was gentle and kind. Ganef or not, he was going to fix things.

As Leah stared at her reflection she found herself deciding that it was time to fix things from her end. “You could die,” the doctors had warned her, and for a long while their dire predictions frightened her. But in seven years—seven years and eight months, as Becky would say—the fear had faded. Doctors didn't know everything, after all. After her miscarriages they had warned against trying again, but she had, and there was darling Becky to show for it. No, the doctors did not know everything.