What's in It for Me? (9 page)

“Oh, sure,” Miss Vinegard said. “She repeated it to me over the phone.”

I hesitated a moment before speaking.

“What did she say?” I asked finally.

Miss Vinegard looked at me curiously. I started to turn away.

“She said ‘all right,'” she said in a surprised voice. “What did you expect her to say?”

I
FINISHED KNOTTING MY
tie, slipped into my vest, and buttoned it quickly. Then I walked out into the living room and raised the shades. The sun poured in across the desk as I stood in front of it, my back to the bedroom door. With one hand I picked up the telephone receiver. With the other I held the hook down carefully.

“Hello,” I said in a loud voice. “Hello. This is Mr. Bogen. Yes. Mr. Harry Bogen. I'd like to find out how my mother is feeling today. Oh. She is, eh? Well. Yeah. Well, I guess I'd better—All right. I'll come right up. Thank you. Yeah. I will. Right away. Thank you very much.”

I replaced the receiver and slipped out the finger that was holding down the hook. Martha's voice called to me from the bedroom.

“Who's that you were speaking to, Harry? The hospital?”

She wasn't missing any lines in this performance.

“Yeah,” I said.

I walked back into the bedroom and picked up my coat.

“How is she, Harry?”

“Not so hot,” I said, taking my hat. “In fact, she's worse. I'll have to go up now and spend the day at the hospital.”

I didn't like to kid around about a thing like that, but I'd started the story on that angle and I had to stick to it.

“Gee, that's too bad, Harry.”

She didn't let it interfere with the attention she was devoting to seeing that the seams in her silk stockings were straight, though.

“Yeah, well, it can't be helped,” I said. “No business for me today.”

“Oh, I wouldn't worry about the office if I were you, Harry.” She stood up and swung the hair out of her eyes. “This is more important.”

She didn't mean what I meant, but she was giving it its proper weight.

“That's what I figure. Well, take care of yourself, Martha. I'll see you after the show tonight.”

“Swell,” she said. “I'll be leaving here myself in a little while. Rehearsal at ten-thirty.”

“Okay,” I said. “But don't kill yourself at it. So long.”

“So long, Harry.”

I went down to the office in the subway. I picked up Miss Vinegard's smile on my way in and went through my mail. At ten o'clock I picked up the phone and yelled across the room, “Chickering 4–3241, Miss Vinegard. Ask for Mr. Ast like a good girl, will you, A, s, t. Ast.”

Three of the seven heels that infested our so-called office were in one corner of the room, talking tail, and they thought my yelling disturbing. They wanted to know where the hell I thought I was, and I told them. They went back to stroking their mustaches and discussing the merits of somebody's recent piece of poke and I went back to ogling Miss Vinegard and perfecting my plans to fix two wagons in my intimate circle.

“Here's your call, Mr. Bogen,” she said.

“Hello,” I said, “Mr. Ast, please. Oh, this Teddy? I didn't recognize your voice for a minute. How are you, Teddy?”

“I'm all right.”

“Listen, Teddy, I'll tell you why I called you. I've got a raft of orders here I'd like to have filled, but—”

“Well, why don't you bring them up and we'll look at them. We don't have to—”

Look who was getting irritated!

“Button up your fly,” I said sharply. “Your tongue's hanging out. I'm trying to tell you something, and you start crying like—”

“Sorry,” he said more calmly, “I didn't know what—”

“Well, here's what I'm trying to tell you, Teddy. I got these orders to fill, but I can't come up to your place today because my mother's feeling worse and I have to go up to the hospital, see?”

“That's too bad, Harry. I hope—”

“So I was wondering, Teddy, if you'd accommodate me a little. If I came up there tomorrow with these orders, will you give me a help by shipping them out fast so's I can maybe catch up a little for this one day I'll lose by going up to the—”

“Sure,” he said, with sudden enthusiasm. “You know I'll do that for you, Harry.”

“Thanks Teddy. You don't know how much I appreciate that.”

“Nothing at all,” he said. “Glad to do it.”

I hung up and looked at my watch. I had a little time to kill. I walked over to the window and killed it.

“Miss Vinegard,” I yelled. “Get me that Mr. Ast again, will you?”

She dialed the number.

“Mr. Bogen,” she called after a few moments.

“Yeah?”

“They say Mr. Ast is gone for the day already!”

“Ask when he left,” I said.

“When did Mr. Ast leave?” she asked. She listened a moment and then looked up at me. “A couple of minutes ago.”

Click, I said to myself.

“One more number, Miss Vinegard,” I said quickly. I scribbled my apartment number on her pad as I struggled into my hat and coat. “Ask if Bogen is in and—”

“Mr. Bogen?” she said. “But Mr. Bogen, you're—!”

There were a lot of other reasons, besides her figure, why Miss Vinegard would never live in a penthouse and sleep till two in the afternoon.

“This is another Mr. Bogen,” I said. “My twin brother.”

“Oh,” she said, but she looked at me suspiciously. “Ask if Mr. Bogen is there. A girl, a woman'll answer.
If
she answers, that is, you ask her for Mr. Bogen, if he's there, and if the woman says no, he's not and she starts to ask you a lot of questions, you just say this is the hospital calling, never mind, and you hang up. All right?”

“The hospital?”

She looked hurt and worried.

“Yeah,” I said quickly. “It's a joke. I'm playing a joke on—”

She smiled at once. Not the super de luxe smile. Just an ordinary old-fashioned Brooklyn smirk.

“Oh,” she said, “why didn't you say so?”

“I forgot,” I said. “Next time I'll tell you. If I forget, you remind me. All right?”

While she dialed the number and rattled off the message I'd given her, I hung over the switchboard, listening.

“This is the hospital calling,” Miss Vinegard said into the mouthpiece, “never mind.”

As she hung up I looked at my watch again. A quarter to eleven.

“Woman's voice, eh?”

“Yes,” she said. “A nice voice, too. It sounded like—”

So she had a rehearsal at ten-thirty, but she was there to answer the phone at a quarter to eleven, eh? Click, I said to myself.

“So long, Miss Vinegard. I'll be back after lunch.”

“She had an awfully nice voice,” Miss Vinegard said. “Who is she?”

“An aunt of mine,” I called back as I went through the door. “She promised to leave me all her money, but my twin brother's trying to horn in on it, the little louse. His own eight million bucks isn't enough for him.”

I took a taxi to the apartment and arrived at five after eleven. He had a five or ten minute start on me, but he'd be using the subway and he'd have a couple of stops to make first. I knew the people I was dealing with.

“Hello, there, Martha,” I said cheerfully as I breezed into the living room.

“Harry!” she cried. “What in the—?”

“You imagine that?” I said as I shot into the bedroom and started flinging papers around. “I get halfway to the Bronx and then I remember I forgot my check book. You beat that? I got a flock of bills to pay at the hospital and I can't—”

It was the first time since I'd known her that she absolutely didn't know what to say. She stood in that doorway and changed from white to red and back again so often that I thought she was going to faint.

“Harry,” she managed to stammer finally, “you—”

“Aah, hell,” I said slamming the drawer shut. “The damn thing is probably down the office. Now I gotta go down there and get it before I can go up to—”

I started to cross the living room to the door and out of the corner of my eye I could see the way she almost sagged with relief. But just before I reached the door, I stopped and turned back.

“What's the matter?” she asked quickly. “What—?”

“My shoes hurt,” I said. “I'm gonna change them.”

I went into the bedroom and changed my shoes leisurely. Just as I got up and walked into the living room again, the bell rang. I looked at her inquiringly.

“Wonder who that is?”

She didn't answer. I walked over and pulled open the door. There stood Teddy with an armful of packages. He stared at me and at her and then back at me.

“Why, Teddy!” I said with a grin. “What luck!”

He didn't answer. He tried a weak smile, but it was a flop. I could see where the rest of this little meeting was going to be a monologue.

“Come on in,” I said enthusiastically.

All the talking they did in the next half minute or so would have made a deaf mute green with envy.

“I just came back to get my check book and I was beginning to feel like a heel for having to leave Martha alone all day while I go up to the hospital, and then you come along!”

I pulled him in and helped him put down the flowers and candy and the rest of the junk before he dropped them. I sent my innocent grin swinging all the way around again.

“Well, I've got to run. You two enjoy yourselves.” I pulled open the door. “So long,” I said. “I'll pick you up after the show, Martha.”

I closed the door and then, a moment later, pushed it open again. They hadn't budged from their tracks. Teddy's mouth hadn't made any more progress toward closing, either.

“Some time during the day,” I said, “I'd try to work in a little fresh air also, if I were you two. It's a hell of a nice day out.”

I distributed another piece of my grin and then slammed the door on them.

T
RY THESE, FRANK,” I
said. “I don't smoke cigars myself, but I hear these are pretty good.”

Old Man Dumpor took the cigars and smelled them.

He showed me his toothless gums in a grin and put the cigars in his pocket.

“Oh, by the way, Frank, let me ask you. They have a rehearsal here this morning at ten-thirty?”

He shook his head.

“Rehearsal?” he said. “Ain't been no rehearsal here since—” I knew there hadn't been. But when I tie up a package I like to see that the loops in the ribbon get balanced off nicely, too.

“Thanks,” I said. “I didn't think there was. I was just wondering, that's all.”

“Why'n't you go right in Miss Mills' dressing room, Mr. Bogen? Show's over now and you can—”

“Thanks, Frank. Every once in a while I like to get a whiff of fresh air, just to see what it smells like. You know? I'll wait for her out here.”

He looked at me over his glasses.

“Fresh air,” he said with a chuckle. “You know, I'll tell you something, Mr. Bogen. After you been in my—”

Martha came down the corridor, pulling on her gloves, and saw me resting my elbow on Dumpor's window.

“Hello, Harry. What are you—?”

I stood up and slipped my arm through hers.

“Just having a little chat with Mr. Dumpor here.”

She began to pull me away rapidly.

“Let's go, Harry.”

I waved my hand at Dumpor and grinned cheerfully.

“So long, Frank. You'll tell me that story tomorrow.”

“Good-night, Mr. Bogen.”

“What's the matter,” she said finally, “you beginning to prefer that crazy old Dumpor's company to mine? Why didn't you come into the dressing room?”

“I got back from the hospital rather late,” I said calmly. “And I wanted to ask Dumpor a question or two first.”

The corners of her full red mouth began to turn down slightly.

“What sort of questions?” she demanded.

When she started to get sullen and angry her appearance improved a lot. For a moment she stopped looking like tail and seemed almost charming.

“If this is going to develop into a gab fest,” I said, “maybe we'd better do it sitting down. I can't get properly sarcastic when I'm standing up.”

“Listen, Harry,” she began.

“Just a moment, Martha, and I will.”

I signaled to a cab and helped her in. When we were settled the driver turned around.

“Where to, bud?”

“I'm not your bud,” I said, “and I don't know where to. Just drive through Central Park or something.”

He glared at me and slid the window shut as he turned back to the steering wheel.

“What were you talking to Dumpor about?” she asked.

“I asked him if there was a rehearsal this morning at ten-thirty,” I said promptly. “And what do you think he said?”

She must have known a couple of prize fighters in her day, too, because she'd learned something about ring tactics. She tried to get in the first punch by getting sore.

“What are you trying to do?” she asked nastily, “check up on me?”

“Frankly,” I said, “yes. Any objections?”

She swung around on the seat to face me.

“Listen,” she said sarcastically, “who introduced me to this guy Ast anyway? Didn't you tell me to—?”

I grinned at her. I hadn't even mentioned his name.

“Well, at least one thing is settled. At least we both know what we're talking about.”

“I always know whom I'm talking about.”

She was a cool customer, all right. She even had time to watch her grammar.

“Well, now that we've got that settled, maybe we'd better understand each other.”

“It seems to me it's about time,” she snapped.

“All right,” I said. “Then listen. When I introduce you to this cluck and ask you to be nice to him because I need him for business reasons, that's all right. But when you start going off on your own, making appointments with him behind my back, when you starting running around with a little son of a bitch like that because you like it, then I—”