A Commodore of Errors (20 page)

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 write 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.”

“Why would you want Mitzi?” Johnson said. “She can't type Cat.”

The Commodore ignored Johnson's provocation. His sense about Mitzi —her poor grammar and numerous malapropisms aside—was that she was as
capable a woman as he had ever met. “It is an elegant solution, is it not?” The Commodore again pulled Johnson away for a quick word. “Hell hath no fury like the wrath of a woman's scorn, sir. Need I remind you?”

The Commodore saw Johnson's nostrils flare. The man was clearly distracted. “Perhaps you're right, Bobby.” Johnson was looking over the Commodore's shoulder when he said it.

The Commodore turned to see what Johnson was looking at. He saw Miss Lambright tuck a single strand of hair behind her ear. She averted her eyes and looked at the floor. Was this former librarian being coquettish? The Commodore heard Johnson breathing behind him, felt old Johnson's Johnson's hot breath on his neck.

The Commodore winced.
Oh, Miss Lambright. What have I done?

SUSPECTFULLY REMITTED

“R
ight this way, my dear,” Johnson said over his shoulder to Miss Lambright as he hurried over to the sitting area with the red leather couch and pink velour love seat. He needed to get the indignity of his resignation letter over with as soon as possible.

When Johnson reached his favorite chair, he turned around and was surprised to see his new secretary standing naked before him, her discarded clothes marking a trail back to the door.

The thought occurred to him that she was much shorter without her pumps on. Also, she looked different with her hair down—older, not as cute.

Miss Lambright lunged at him. Johnson's gold buttons popped off his starched polyester summer whites. Miss Lambright tore his shirt open, undid his belt buckle, and unzipped his trousers in a single movement. She then pushed him into the love seat and jumped in his lap.

Johnson arched his back in the love seat. “Down, girl, down.”

Miss Lambright pumped up and down on Johnson's lap. After several minutes of pumping with no discernable reaction from Johnson, she stopped, picked up her breasts with both hands, and pushed them into his face. Miss Lambright's ampleness smothered Johnson.

He shoved her away. “Hey, slow down.”

Miss Lambright pushed out her lower lip. “What's the matter, big fella?”

“Nothing's the matter!”

“But I've heard so much about you. About how you're the biggest.”

“I am. Just not now. We have work to do. I'm trying to resign here.”

“Fine. I just heard you were the biggest is all.”

Miss Lambright got dressed while Johnson put his uniform back on. They did not talk or look at each other. When Miss Lambright was all buttoned up with her hair in a bun, she turned to leave.

“Please don't leave,” Johnson said. He'd never disappointed a woman before. He didn't like how it felt and really wouldn't like how it felt if word got out.

“No, you had your chance.”

“Please.”

“I thought you wanted to resign.”

“I do want to resign.”

“I'm ready to take down your letter then.”

“Right. Work first, then play. You're so cute with your hair up. Okay. My resignation letter. Here goes. ‘Dear Board.'”

“What?”

“I said, ‘Dear Board.'”

“Who's bored?”

“The Board of Governors.”

“The governors are bored?”

“What are you talking about, Miss Lambright? You're not making sense. Please don't interrupt. And don't repeat what I say, just take it down.

“Dear Board of Governors.”

Dear Bored Governors

“I regret to inform you.”

I get to reform you

“That I hereby resign.”

That I'm here to buy a sign

“A desire to be with my family.”

Being tired with my family

“Is at the heart of my decision.”

Is the art of indecision

“Respectfully Submitted.”

Suspectfully remitted

“You can sign my name for me.”

Nine remain for me

“Excellent, Miss Lambright. Type it up on my letterhead. Oh, and title the letter ‘Letter of Resignation.' Go ahead and use my computer.”

It took Miss Lambright twenty minutes to type the two sentences. Johnson watched in amazement as she pecked at the computer, mumbling over and over about how her computer was different. When she finally handed the resignation letter to Johnson, he did not bother to read it before he signed it.