A Commodore of Errors (24 page)

“What's everybody here gonna think when Captain Tannenbaume shows up with a Thai wife?” Mitzi asked. “It's bad enough we have to pass Captain Tannenbaume off as Jewish. How are we gonna pass off his Thai wife as Jewish?”

“That is a good point, Ms. Paultz,” the Commodore said.

“What if we tell people she converted?” Mrs. Tannenbaume said.

“The Jews in Great Neck'll see right through that,” Mitzi said. “They'll ask a few questions and the girl'll get all tripped up. It'll never work.”

“What if we teach her how to act Jewish?” Mrs. Tannenbaume said. “If she acts Jewish, then maybe nobody will think to try and trip her up.”

The Commodore liked the way this conversation was going. He was beginning to see some intriguing possibilities.

“You yourself act Jewish, Mrs. Tannenbaume, even though you're not. I know,” the Commodore put up his hand to stop Mrs. Tannenbaume's objection, “it's from living in Great Neck all these years.”

“I just know a few Yiddish words is all,” Mrs. Tannenbaume said.

“I do know that the Thai people are great mimics,” the Commodore said. “Perhaps you can teach Sylvia some Yiddish expressions.”

“But my sonny boy's ship doesn't get here until the middle of October,” Mrs. Tannenbaume said. “You said that would be just in time for the unveiling of that monument of yours. You can't teach someone Yiddish in a day or two.”

“What if you joined Captain Tannenbaume's ship now? You can join as a supernumerary. Teach Sylvia some Yiddish.” The Commodore's heart raced.

“What?” Mitzi said. “That's the craziest thing I've ever heard. You can't make someone seem Jewish by teaching them a few words of Yiddish. It'll take more than that.”

“Like what, Ms. Paultz? Be specific.”

“Like . . . a lot of things. Like how to keep kosher, for starters.”

“Can you teach someone how to keep kosher, Ms. Paultz?” The Commodore wiped his palm on his pant leg. He hoped Mitzi and Mrs. Tannenbaume could not see that he was sweating. He could barely contain his excitement at the idea forming in his mind.

“Of course. My family has always kept kosher.”

“Well what if you joined the ship as a supernumerary as well? Between you and Mrs. Tannenbaume, surely we can turn Sylvia into a nice Jewish girl.”

“What kind of ship is it?” Mitzi said. “Like a cruise ship?”

“Well, no,” the Commodore said. “It's not exactly a cruise ship . . . ”

“It's an old freighter,” Mrs. Tannenbaume said. “My sonny boy calls it ‘his ‘tween decker.'”

“Is it safe?” Mitzi said.

“A 'tween decker is a classic ship design, my dear. Its integrity is beyond reproach. You don't see many of them anymore.”

The Commodore knew that classic really meant “old.” Mitzi would probably regard the
God is Able
as a rust bucket.

“A 'tween decker,” Mitzi said. “It sounds romantic.”

“Romantic, indeed, Ms. Paultz. You ought to consider joining the
God is Able
on its voyage back to the States. I'm sure it can be arranged. I have friends—former classmates—in the Maritime Administration. I'm certain we can pull some strings and get you credentialed as a supernumerary.”

“Wow,” Mitzi said. “A supernumerary. Putzie would be so proud of me.”

“I have a standing invitation to join my sonny boy's ship,” Mrs. Tannenbaume said. “I wouldn't need any arrangements. My sonny boy is the captain.”

The Commodore sensed that Mrs. Tannenbaume was feeling infringed upon, as if she, and only she, had the privilege of being a supernumerary on her son's ship.

“You are correct indeed, madam. Perhaps we can arrange that Mitzi join the ship as an emissary of the academy.”

“But not as supernumerary,” Mrs. Tannenbaume said. “There can only be one supernumerary.”

Mrs. Tannenbaume looked at Mitzi when she said it. Mitzi refused to acknowledge Mrs. Tannenbaume. She turned to the Commodore. “Well then, what would I be?”

The Commodore needed to be certain of his next move. He desperately wanted to rid himself of both Mrs. Tannenbaume and Mitzi for the next month. Mrs. Tannenbaume was too unpredictable to keep around, and he was not at all confident of his tenuous relationship with Mitzi either. Mogie continued to circle Mitzi like a shark and it was only a matter of time before they resumed their affair. And what then? Surely Mitzi would confide in Mogie that Tannenbaume was not Jewish. No, the faster Mitzi and Mrs. Tannenbaume were out of
the Commodore's hair, the better. What better place for them to be than in the middle of the ocean on a rusty old ship?

“What if we sent Mitzi to the ship for some professional training? An executive administrative assistant to an important executive at the Merchant Marine Academy surely needs to know the inner workings of a ship. We'll call it ‘continuing education.'”

“She can be the ship's cadet,” Mrs. Tannenbaume said.

“The cadet?! I don't wanna be no cadet,” Mitzi said.

“But what's wrong with being the cadet?” the Commodore said. “I was a cadet once.”

“My sonny boy says the ship's cadet is lower than whale shit.”

The Commodore slammed his hand down on his desk. “How dare you talk of my boys that way, madam!”

“I'm just telling you what my sonny boy said.”

Mrs. Tannenbaume looked at Mitzi when she said it. Mitzi ignored her.

“Well,” Mitzi said. “I have heard some of the midshipmen talking about their year at sea. It does sound kind of fun.”

“Sea year is a transformative experience.” The Commodore spread out his arms towards Mitzi and Mrs. Tannenbaume. “So? Do you two think you can work together to turn Sylvia Tannenbaume into a nice Jewish girl?”

Mrs. Tannenbaume appeared to be mulling it over. She looked the forty-ish Mitzi up and down. “Some cadet. She looks more like a cougar.”

“Cadets come in all shapes and sizes, madam,” the Commodore said.

“Well, I do want my sonny boy to be admiral. I guess we have to do something about his little Thai girl.” Mrs. Tannenbaume looked at Mitzi again. “Are you really a keeper of kosher?”

“My whole life.”

The Commodore wanted to bring this thing to a close. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that having Mitzi and Mrs. Tannen-baume hang around the academy for the next month was simply too great a risk. If Mogie found out in the coming weeks that Captain Tannenbaume was not really Jewish, the Commodore's perfect plan would blow up in his face. Mogie would have enough time to replace Tannenbaume with someone else. No, the
Commodore needed to spring the news on Mogie the day before the unveiling of the Mariners Monument. The board would have to appoint a new superin-tendent immediately or risk grave embarrassment to the academy, and the clear successor to Tannenbaume would be the Commodore. The Commodore's plan was sound. He just needed to protect it.

The Commodore leapt to his feet and clapped his hands together. “Well then, it looks like you two will be shipmates.”

Mitzi and Mrs. Tannenbaume still did not look at each other.

“So where do we join the ship?” Mitzi said.

“My sonny boy said his ship departs Singapore the day after tomorrow.”

“Singapore? That sounds far. And how long will we be on the ship?”

“The voyage back will be about a month,” the Commodore said.

Mitzi looked at the Commodore. “But who's going to help you with your Toe Hang?”

“His what?” Mrs. Tannenbaume said.

The Commodore patted Mitzi's shoulder. “My Toe Hang will be just fine.”

“You got a hangnail or something?” Mrs. Tannenbaume said.

“Oh gawd.” Mitzi slapped her hand against her thigh. “You see what I mean? How am I going to spend a month on a boat—”

“It's a ship,” Mrs. Tannenbaume pointed out.

Mitzi turned her back on Mrs. Tannenbaume. She lowered her voice when she spoke to the Commodore. “She don't even know what a Toe Hang is. She's like—what was that word you used the other day, the one about people that got no culture?”

“Philistine?” the Commodore said.

“Yeah. She's like a Philipine. How am I gonna hang around with a Philipine for the next month?”

“The word is philistine, Ms. Paultz.”

“Isn't that what I said?”

The Commodore had to get Mitzi on that plane to Singapore. His very sanity hung in the balance. He pulled Mitzi aside.

“My dear Ms. Paultz, you must recognize that every person of great erudition has a responsibility to pass on his or her knowledge. We—you and I—have a
great many things to impart. Now, I grant you, many of the philosophical tenets we embrace will simply be beyond Mrs. Tannenbaume's ken, but, nevertheless, we do feel a certain
noblesse oblige
to pass things down, do we not?”

Mitzi stared at the Commodore. “Who's ken?”

“Pardon me, Ms. Paultz?”

“You mentioned Mrs. Tannenbaume's ken. Who's he? I don't even know him and I'm supposed to embrace him?”

The Commodore did not—could not—respond.

“Is there going to be a waiter on this freighter?” Mitzi said.

“My sonny boy gets waited on in the officers' mess,” Mrs. Tannenbaume said. “But then, he's the captain. And I'm sure the supernumerary gets waited on. I don't know about the cadet.”

Mitzi pointed at Mrs. Tannenbaume. “If she gets waited on, I better get waited on!”

The Commodore held up his hands.

“Ms. Paultz, you will be joining the ship as a cadet from the Merchant Marine Academy. A cadet is an Officer in Training. Cadets are afforded the same privileges as officers aboard ship. The crew will treat you as a lady, I assure you.”

Mitzi did not respond.

“You are right to think of it as a cruise, Ms. Paultz—a cruise to a better day.”

The Commodore swept Mitzi and Mrs. Tannenbaume out of his office. “You two have some packing to do.”

The Commodore walked them to the entrance of Wiley Hall. “Don't forget to pack your suntan lotion, Ms. Paultz. And give my regards to Captain Tannenbaume, the next superintendent of the United States Merchant Marine Academy. How does that sound, Mrs. Tannenbaume?”

Mrs. Tannenbaume let Mitzi walk on ahead of her. When she saw Mitzi head toward her car parked in the MOD parking lot, she spoke to the Commodore.

“Are you sure about this plan of yours, Commodore?”

“My dear Mrs. Tannenbaume, the plan is flawless. It is the execution of the plan that is at stake. You work hard at turning Sylvia into a nice Great Neck wife. Leave everything else to me.”

“Well, okay,” Mrs. Tannenbaume said. “I must say, I have to pinch myself every time I think about my sonny boy the admiral. I take back everything I thought about you, Commodore. You seem like a real
mentsch
.”

The Commodore clicked his heels and bowed at the waist. “Well, with a mother like you, one might say that Captain Tannenbaume was born to be the superintendent of the United States Merchant Marine Academy. One can almost sense an element of destiny in it.”

“Yes. I know what you mean. I know that my sailor boy would have been so proud.”

“Your sailor boy?”

“One of Captain Tannenbaume's fathers.”

“Yes, of course. Very well, Mrs. Tannenbaume. Bon voyage.”

The Commodore watched Mrs. Tannenbaume walk down the oval toward the Vickery Gate. The last thing he wanted was to be drawn into a conversation about one of Captain Tannenbaume's fathers. The Commodore was not interested in Mrs. Tannenbaume's lurid past. He only cared about his own future. His future as superintendent of the academy.

Tomorrow he would meet with the Board of Governors to submit Johnson's letter of resignation and seal old Johnson's Johnson's fate.

BONA FIDE BOARD
MEMBERS

M
iss Lambright pulled the LeBaron to a stop at the foot of Mallory Pier. The Commodore sat in the passenger seat in his service dress blues and held the door handle in a tight grip. The dress blues were such a dark navy that they contrasted sharply with his white knuckles. September had snuffed out the last of the summer humidity, which was a relief, but even so, the Commodore wore his hat in the car to hide the bead of sweat that appeared, despite the coolness, on his forehead. He had woken up that morning feeling a little nervous and had asked Miss Lambright to drive him the short distance down to the pier. It would give him time to gather his thoughts, he told her.

“It's really blowing today, Miss Lambright.” The Commodore's voice was small.

Miss Lambright peered out from under the visor at the American flag on the mast of the MV
Kings Pointer
. “The flag is hardly moving.”

“But look at the white caps.”

Miss Lambright looked at the water. “I don't see any white caps.”

The Commodore did not care for Miss Lambright's brazenness, but he did not have any fight in him this morning. He felt as if he had a pallet of bricks on his chest. “Look at that pier, Miss Lambright. It is a disgrace.”