Seventh Avenue (10 page)

“What is?”

“That we’re gonna make it, what else? I’ve got another idea.”

“To rob the old man?”

“That’s the wrong attitude. We’re helping him and ourselves. What’s he losing on the deal? If not for us he’d be out on his ass, starving, or in some goddamned home for nut cases. As it is, he’s going to Lakewood without a care in the world, and can play pinochle till he’s blue in the face. Live and let live.”

“All of a sudden you’ve got so hard.”

“Not all of a sudden. I just never had the right chance before. Now listen, when Ruthie and Mary come in, make them wait on the tough customers, the ones who would walk even if we had them, and you sell our stuff to the ones who want to buy.”

“We’re out of practically everything.”

“Do I have to draw you pictures? Sell what we’ve got, till I get back with more
schmatas.”

“What about tonight?”

“Well, what about it?”

“Howie’s wife is making an engagement dinner for us at the house.”

“Uch!”

“You don’t even know them, so how can you . . . ?”

“I met them once.”

“Jay, listen to me. They’re gonna be your family, whether you like it or not, so make an effort to get along with them. You never know when you need family.”

“I’ve got my own, and that’s enough.”

“Howie likes you.”

“He doesn’t even know me.”

“Give him a chance.”

“Myrna gonna be there?”

“Naturally.”

“Then count me out.”

“Jay, I promise you. I swear to God, if you don’t come, you can forget about your little scheme here. I’ll pack it in. She’s my sister, and I love her.”

“She can
plotz
in hell for all I care . . . but I’ll make an effort.”

“You’ll be back what time?”

“Late this afternoon . . . I’m off.”

“Jay, kiss me.”

He went over and gave her a peck on the cheek and then flew out the door, leaving her standing in the middle of the shop, her arms open, like a statue, expectant, hopeful, and grasping nothing. She picked up a broom and started to sweep the floor before opening the door to the morning’s trade. Disconsolately, she got out the dustpan and gathered the bits of material, wondering what had happened, what had gone wrong with her and Jay. Never once in all the time that she was pregnant - and she was now entering the fifth month - had he asked how she felt, whether she was tired, what the doctor had said, how the marriage arrangements were going; he had always been difficult to pin down, but she had never before noticed how impersonal their relationship had become. It seemed to have gone from genesis to death without any of the intervening life-action that would have filled it out, and made her sense of loss something tangible, a slice of life with substance and meaning. Loss she was experiencing, for sure, but it was of a kind she could not pinpoint because they had not created anything that functioned. Since she had assumed the role of confidante and accomplice the intimacy they had possessed for a fleeting moment had vanished like a ghost, so that all she retained was the memory of it. She attempted to reassure herself by examining it every now and then, as one did a school diploma, in an effort to recapture a moment in time that she had lived through and which ultimately belonged to her. She loved him, and she recognized that this was her weakness, for Jay’s strength lay in utilizing weakness. He was like an animal that can attack only when it is certain that defense, let alone retaliation, is impossible.

“Oh,
he’s
here,” Marty said to an attractive redhead whose arm he had taken while they waited for the elevator in the little hallway outside his showroom. “The Rudolph Valentino of Borough Park - the scourge of every happily married man. Just look at that serious, beautiful face, would you believe he’d steal your handbag the moment he had your dress off?”

“Where’re you going?”

“To lunch if it’s okay by you. I’m interviewing for a showroom girl. Eva Meyers, this is Jay Blackman - an alias if I ever heard one.”

“Forget about lunch,” Jay said, taking Marty’s free hand and ushering him back inside. “I want some dresses and quick.”

“Where’s the fire? I’m conducting an interview.”

“Look, spare me the act and give this young lady a boff some other time.”

“Hey, just a minute. Who the hell do you think you’re talking to? You ought to get your mouth washed with soap,” the young woman said.

“I want to buy a thousand dollars’ worth of merchandise. If you’re too busy to sec me, I can go elsewhere.”

“Eva, my child, sit down in my office for a minute and have a drink, while I get rich.”

“Oh, all right, but I don’t like him.”

“But I like you,” Jay said. “Only I haven’t got time now, but I’ll get around to you, and that’s a promise.”

Eva gave him the “sign,” and he smiled at her.

“Jay, what’s wrong with you? I don’t mind you wrecking my business, but my love life not even my wife interferes with.”

“I want five hundred dresses at two bucks a throw.”

“This isn’t a whorehouse.”

“Same difference.”

“I said credit up to five hundred dollars. I’m not running a mission here.”

“You’ll get paid in two weeks’ time and I’ll give you twenty percent down in cash right now. So you’re only going three hundred over your limit.”

“What’s the excitement? Finkelstein drop dead?”

“He went to Lakewood for two weeks.”

“You know, if anyone found out we’d all wind up in the can.”

“You’re safe. You’re just a supplier - a businessman taking a risk - nothing else.”

“You’re a hard man. Hey, you still looking for a store?”

“Of course I am.”

“Well, I heard the other day that a little jewelry shop on Fourteenth Street is going out of business. It’s a small place, regular asshole, you got to slide into it sideways. And if a woman’s got big tits, you’ll have to wait on her in the street.”

“You know what rent they’re asking?

“I only like just heard. Why don’t you go down there and find out who the landlord is. Good location near the department stores.”

“Not interested really, but thanks just the same.”

Jay picked out everything he wanted and was about to leave when Marty grabbed his arm.

“You gotta slow down or you’ll have a heart attack. Look, why don’t you have lunch then come back up, and we’ll kill a bottle and have a few laughs? We’ll interview together.”

“Till what time will you be here?”

“About five or so?”

“Maybe I’ll see you then, but now I’ve got to meet someone.”

In the street, Jay rushed into a taxi waiting at the curb. It was some moments before he realized that this was the first time he had ever been in a taxi.

“Fourteenth Street, Mister,” the driver said, pulling up by the square.

Jay walked down the long street, trying to take in everything at once; the number of shoppers, the types of stores, what the competition might be like, whether it would be possible to buck the big chains by combining personal attention with good value. His mind seethed with inchoate ideas - special bargains, sales, and then it occurred to him - the gimmick that would make his business different. The simplicity of it astonished him, but it was something that no one else had thought of. The department stores were too large and had to carry too many different types of dresses - catering to everyone’s tastes - to try anything so radical. If he couldn’t make a big profit on every dress he sold, and he knew instinctively that this wasn’t possible, he had to make a small profit and sell in volume. It would limit the range of dresses he could buy, but that hardly mattered so long as the profit at the end of the year was reasonable. A one-price store: EVERY DRESS $2! No alterations or fittings because that was a headache, and one had to pay dressmakers good money.

He located the jewelry shop. The small window contained hundreds of rings, watches, bracelets, cufflinks, earrings and clocks of all sizes. It was as though someone had robbed a customs shed, filled up a suitcase with contraband and dumped it into the window. It was all so chaotic that he became dizzy as he tried to take it in. No one in his right mind would possibly buy anything in there, he reasoned, so the owner had to rely on niggling watch repairs in order to keep his head above water; and this had no doubt also failed because people would be reluctant to trust their watches to a man who ran a junkyard.

Jay entered the shop and saw a tall, thin man with a receding hairline and the dandruff of a lifetime on his jacket. The man seemed surprised to see him and looked at him queerly as though the notion of someone who wanted to make a purchase was not only singular but also unnatural. He gasped and came towards Jay, still staring vacantly.

“Er, can I
help
you?”

“I think you can.”

“You want to buy something?”

“Not exactly.”

The man sighed with relief.

“Then what . . . ?”

“I’ve heard that you plan to give the shop up.”

“Plan to?” The man wondered if Jay were insane. “I already have! Wouldn’t have it another minute if it were up to me.”

“That’s pretty definite.”

“It should be. I’ve sweated it out for three years, and I’ll be relieved to get out. Going back to my old job with Ingersoll. I must have been crazy to leave in the first place. Why, are you interested in the shop?”

“I might be,” he said cagily.

“Well, I’ll tell you something - something for nothing. If you were to put up a sign in the window that said one dollar given for every penny, you wouldn’t have five pennies at the end of the day. You couldn’t give money away in this store.”

“Why’s that?”

“The location. Wrong end of Fourteenth Street. People go to Hearns, Ohrbach’s or Klein’s. They don’t want to know about the little guy. Save your money, Mister. Rockefeller couldn’t make a go of this.”

“When are you leaving?”

“In exactly ten more days, I wish it was tomorrow. My God, it’s been like being trapped underground in a coal mine for three years.”

“I wonder if you can tell me - if I’m not getting too personal - what the rent is here?”

“Fifty a month too much.”

“Fifty a month.”

“That’s right. And it’s not worth a goddamned penny. The landlord couldn’t give it away, ‘cause it’s a jinx store. Nobody’s ever made a living here. Two people have gone bust before me, and I’m getting out just in time.” He wrote something down on a piece of paper and handed it to Jay. “Here’s the landlord’s address and phone number if you want to get in touch, but do yourself a favor and look elsewhere. You look like a nice boy, and it’d be a pity to ruin yourself.”

Jay took the piece of paper and studied it for a moment.

“Thanks for your help.”

“Help? What I’ve done is a public service.”

Jay went at once to a phone booth in a cigar store on the corner and made an appointment with the landlord. Then he rang Marty to say he could not come back.

“Say, please, I’m begging you to come. I’ve got three dolls here all waiting to get screwed, and I haven’t got three
petzels.
Everybody wants to work for me.”

“You should go into a different business,” Jay said.

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“Ass. Then you don’t have to worry about sizes and colors.”

“Listen, comedian. You made a hit with Eva. Amazing . . . she’s the only one I haven’t banged. I had it all set up until you loused me up. I think she wants to make it with you.”

“I’m thrilled.”

“No, no kidding, she’s the real thing. Brains and cash, but she’s playing hard to get.”

“Yeah, I know,
it
wouldn’t melt in her mouth. See you, Marty. We’ll get together next time I’m in town.”

“Don’t forget to bring money.”

Jay hung up and lit a cigarette to control his excitement. It was going his way - he’d have everything - money, women, good clothes. Then in the midst of his fantasy he saw Rhoda’s sad face, pleading with him, her long fingers pulling at him, her mouth on his, the hurt victimized look in her eyes, the whine in her voice, and he understood why his memory broke down - disintegrated into a thousand confused, warring factions - when he tried to think about her. It was so unbelievably crystal clear that he felt himself go chill: He hated her.

The shop was closed when Jay returned, so he went straight to Chez Gold. Supper preparations were in progress: Howie’s wife, a matronly twenty-four-year-old blonde with carefully plucked eyebrows and two extra front teeth that crowded all the others, giving her an overbite and emphasizing her evolutionary connection to a lower, less prehensile form of life, greeted Jay with a horsy giggle and wrestler’s bearhug.

“Hello, Jay.”

“Hello, Janet.” Jay sniffed the air. “What are you wearing, onions?”

“Oh, ‘scuse me, I was just in the middle . . .”

“That’s the story of my life.”

A potential size forty if ever he saw one: had her breasts never been firm and supple? He didn’t envy Howie his love life.

“Where’s everybody?”

“Poppa’s not home yet; Miriam’s in the kitchen; Howie went to the delicatessen; Rhoda’s having a bath; Momma’s in bed as usual, and Myrna’s listening to the radio.”

“Fine, I’d like to eat by myself in any case.”

“Oh, you . . .” she gave him a playful shove against the wall . . .”such a sense of humor. Howie thinks you’re a scream.”

“Gently with the lapels, the suit’s not paid for yet.”

“I hear you’re taking over the whole dress trade.”

“You ought to join the police force with those muscles.”

“Oh, you . . . Be back as soon as I’ve finished with dinner.”

“Don’t hurry.”

He fell into a chair, draped his legs over the side and waited for the others to come home. He was tired, hungry, and wished he had stayed in Manhattan and had an evening out with Marty and the redhead. Family dinners bored him, and the prospect of an evening - an entire evening - with them all dancing round him like flies, filled him with particular dread.

“Hi, bigshot.”

Jay looked up from the floor - he always looked at the floor when thinking. Myrna. His gaze returned to the floor.

“I said, hi.”