The Carpetbaggers (62 page)

"The same man?"

"Yes." Mr. Strassmer nodded. "Jonas Cord. You work for him in the movie business. I work for him in the plastics business. We met your mother at
shul
last year when we went there for the High Holy Day services." Mr. Strassmer smiled. "We got to talking and found that my wife, Frieda, was a second cousin to your father. Both families came originally from Silesia."

He swallowed the whisky in his glass. Again he coughed, and looked up at David through teary eyes. "A small world, isn't it?"

"A small world," David agreed.

His mother's voice came from behind him. "So,
nu
, it's time to sit down to supper already and where's this friend?"

"He should be here any minute, Mama."

"Seven o'clock you told him?" his mother asked suspiciously.

David nodded.

"So why isn't he here? Don't he know when it's time to eat, you should eat or everything gets spoiled?"

Just then the doorbell rang and David heaved a sigh of relief. "Here he is now, Mama," he said, starting for the door.

The fall, good-looking young man who stood in the doorway was nothing like the thin, intense, dark-eyed boy he remembered. In place of the sharp, beaklike proboscis that had earned him his nickname was a fine, almost aquiline nose that contrasted handsomely with his wide mouth and lantern-like jaw. He smiled when he saw David's startled expression. "I went to a face factory and had it fixed. It wouldn't look good I should walk around Beverly Hills with an East Side nose." He held out his hand. "It's good to see you, Davy."

David took his hand. The grip was firm and warm. "Come on in," he said. "Mama's ready to bust. Dinner's ready."

They went into the living room. Mr. Strassmer got to his feet and his mother looked at Needlenose suspiciously. David glanced around quickly. Rosa was not in the room. "Mama," he said. "You remember Irving Schwartz?"

"Hello, Mrs. Woolf."

"Yitzchak Schwartz," she said. "Sure I remember. What happened to your nose?"

"Mama," David protested.

Needlenose smiled. "That's all right, David. I had it fixed, Mrs. Woolf."

"A
mishegass
. With such a small nose, it's a wonder you can breathe. You got a job, Yitzchak?" she demanded belligerently. "Or are you still hanging around with the bums by Shocky's garage?"

"Mama!" David said quickly. "Irving lives out here now."

"So it's Irving now." His mother's voice was angry. "Fixing his nose is not enough. His name, too, he's got to fix. What's wrong with the name your parents gave you — Isidore — hah?"

Needlenose began to laugh. He looked at David. "I see what you mean," he said. "Nothing's changed. Nothing's wrong with it, Mrs. Woolf. Irving's easier to spell."

"You'd finish school like my son, David," she retorted, "it shouldn't be so hard to spell."

"Come on, Mrs. Woolf. David promised me
knaidlach
. I couldn't wait; all day I was so hungry thinking about it."

Mrs. Woolf stared at him suspiciously. "You be a good boy, now," she said, somewhat mollified, "and every Friday you come for
knaidlach
.''

"I will, Mrs. Woolf."

"All right," she said. "So now I'll go see if the soup is hot."

Rosa came into the room just as David was about to introduce Needlenose to the Strassmers. She stopped in the doorway, a look of surprise on her face. Then she smiled and came into the room. "Why, Mr. Schwartz," she said. "How nice to see you."

Irving looked up. He held out his hand. "Hey, Doc," he said. "I didn't know you knew my friend David."

She took his hand. "We just met this evening."

Irving looked at David. "Doc Strassmer did my nose retread. She's really great, David. Did you know she did that job on Linda Davis last year?"

David looked at Rosa curiously. No one had ever said anything about her being a doctor. And the Linda Davis operation had been a big one. The actress's face had been cut to ribbons in an automobile accident, yet when she went before the cameras a year later, there wasn't the slightest visible trace of disfigurement.

He was suddenly aware that Mr. and Mrs. Strassmer were staring at him nervously. He smiled at Rosa. "Doctor, you're just the one I wanted to talk to. What do you think I ought to do about the terribly empty feeling I suddenly got in my stomach?"

She looked at him gratefully. The nervousness was gone from her eyes now and they glinted mischievously. "I think a few of your mother's
knaidlach
might fix that."

"
Knaidlach
? Who said something about my
knaidlach
?" his mother said from the doorway. She bustled into the room importantly. "So everybody sit down," she said. "The soup's on the table and already it's getting cold."

When they had finished dinner, Rosa looked at her watch. "You'll have to excuse me for a little while," she said. "I have to run over to the hospital to see a patient."

David looked at her. "I’ll drive you over, if you like."

She smiled. "You don't have to do that. I have my own car."

"It's no bother," David said politely. "At least, let me keep you company."

Irving got to his feet. "I have to be going, too," he said. He turned to Mrs. Woolf. "Thank you for a delicious dinner. It made me homesick."

David's mother smiled. "So be a good boy, Yitzchak," she said, "and you can come again."

Rosa smiled at David's mother. "We won't be long."

"Go," Mrs. Woolf said. "Don't you children rush." She glanced beamingly at Rosa's parents. "We older ones have a lot to talk about."

"I'm sorry, Irving," David said as they came out of the apartment house. "We didn't have much of a chance to talk. Maybe we can make it tomorrow?"

"We can talk right now," Irving said quietly. "I’m sure we can trust Rosa. Can't we, Doc?"

Rosa made a gesture. "I can wait in the car," she said quickly.

David stopped her. "No, that's all right." He turned back to Irving. "I must have seemed stupid when you called yesterday. But Dan Pierce mostly handles our labor relations."

"That's O.K., Davy," Irving said. "I figured something like that."

"Dan tells me we're looking down the throat of a strike. I suppose you know we can't afford one. It'll bust us."

"I know," Irving answered. "And I'm trying to help. But I’m in a spot unless we can work out some kind of a deal."

"What kind of a spot can you be in? Nobody's pressing you to go out on strike. Your members are just getting over the effects of the depression layoffs."

"Yeah." Irving nodded. "They don't want to strike but the commies are moving in. And they're stirring up a lot of trouble about how the picture companies are keeping all the gravy for themselves. A lot of people are listening. They hear about the high salaries stars and executives get and it looks good to them. Why shouldn't they get a little of it? And the commies keep them stirred up."

"What about Bioff and Brown?"

"They were pigs," Irving said contemptuously. "One side wasn't enough for them. They were trying to take it from both. That's why we dumped them."

"You dumped them?" David asked skeptically. "I thought they got caught."

Irving stared at him. "Where do you think the government got its documentation to build a case? They didn't find it layin' around in the street."

"It seems to me you're trying to use us to put out a fire your own people started," David said. "You're using the commies as an excuse."

Irving smiled. "Maybe we are, a little. But the communists are very active in the guilds. And the entire industry just signed new agreements with the Screen Directors Guild and Screen Writers Guild calling for the biggest increase they ever got. The commies are taking all the credit. Now they're starting to move in on the craft unions. And you know how the crafts are. They'll figure that if the commies can do it for the guilds, they can do it for them. The craft-union elections are coming up soon. The commies are putting up a big fight and if we don't come up with something soon, we're going to be on the outside looking in. If that happens, you'll find they're a lot harder to deal with than we were."

David looked at him. "What you're suggesting, then, is for us to decide who we want to deal with — you or the communists. How do the members feel about it? Haven't they got anything to say?"

Irving's voice was matter-of-fact. "Most of them are jerks," he said contemptuously. "All they care about is their pay envelope and who promises them the most." He took out a package of cigarettes. "Right now, the commies are beginning to look real good to them."

David was silent while his friend lit a cigarette. The gold lighter glowed briefly, then went back into Irving's pocket. His jacket opened slightly and David saw the black butt of a gun in a shoulder holster.

Gold lighters and guns. And two kids from the East Side of New York standing in a warm spring night under the California stars talking about money and power and communism. He wondered what Irving got out of it but he knew better than to ask. There were some things that were none of his business.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked.

Irving flicked the cigarette into the gutter. "The commies are asking an increase of twenty-five cents an hour and a thirty-five-hour week. We'll settle for five cents an hour now, another nickel next year and a thirty-seven-and-a-half-hour work week." He looked into David's eyes. "Dan Pierce says he hasn't the authority to do anything about it. He says he can't get to Cord. I been waiting three months. I can't wait any longer. You sit on your can, the strike is on. You lose and we lose. Only you lose more. Your whole company goes down the drain. We'll still get lots of action other places. The only real winners are the commies."

David hesitated. He had no more authority than Dan to make this kind of deal. Still, there wasn't time to wait for Jonas. Whether Jonas liked it or not, he'd have to back him up.

He drew in his breath. "It's a deal."

Irving's white teeth flashed in a grin. He punched David lightly on the shoulder. "Good boy," he said. "I didn't think I'd have any trouble making you see the light. The negotiating committee has a meeting with Pierce tomorrow morning. We'll let them make the announcement."

He turned to Rosa. "Sorry to bust in on your party like this, Doc," he said. "But it was good seeing you again."

"That's all right, Mr. Schwartz."

They watched Irving walk over to the curb and get into his car, a Cadillac convertible. He started the motor and looked up at them. "Hey, you two. Yuh know what?"

"What?" David asked.

Irving grinned. "Like your Mama would say, yon make a nice-looking couple."

They watched him turn the corner, then David looked at Rosa. It seemed to him that her face was slightly flushed. He took her arm. "My car is across tike street."

She was silent almost the whole way to the hospital. 'Something bothering you, Doc?" he asked.

"Now you're doing it," she said. "Everybody calls me Doc. I liked it better when you called me Rosa."

He smiled. "What's on your mind, Rosa?"

She looked down at the dashboard of the car. "We came all the way to America to get away from them."

"Them?" David asked.

"The same as in Germany," she said tersely. "The Nazis. The gangsters. They're the same, really. They both say the same things. Take us or you'll get the communists. And we'll be easier to get along with, you can deal with us." She looked up at him. "But what do you say when you find they've taken everything away from you? That was the gimmick they used to take over Germany. To save it from the communists."

"You're intimating my friend Irving Schwartz is a Nazi?"

She stared at him. "No, your friend is not a Nazi," she said seriously. "But the same insanity for power motivates him. Your friend is a very dangerous man. He carries a gun, did you know that?"

David nodded. "I saw it."

"I wonder what he would have done it you'd refused him," she said softly.

"Nothing. Needlenose wouldn't harm me."

Again her gray eyes flashed at him. "No, not with a gun," she said quickly. "Against you, he has other weapons. Economic weapons that could bankrupt your business. But a man does not carry a gun if he does not intend to use it, sooner or later."

David stopped the car in front of the hospital. "What do you think I should have done? Refuse to make a deal with Irving and let everything I've worked for all these years go to pot? Ruin every lousy investor who has put his faith and money in the company? Put our employees out on the streets looking for jobs? Is that what I should have done? Is it my fault that my employees haven't brains enough to choose decent representatives and see to it that they have an honest union?" Without realizing it, his voice had risen in anger.

Suddenly, she leaned over and put her hand on his where it rested on the wheel. Her hand was warm and firm. "No, of course it's not your fault," she said quickly. "You did what you thought was right."

A doorman came down the long steps and opened the car door. "Good evening, Dr. Strassmer."

"Good evening, Porter," she said. She straightened up and looked at David. "Would you like to come in and see where I work?"

"I don't want to get in your way. I don't mind waiting here if you'd rather."

She smiled and pressed his hand suddenly. "Please come," she said. "It would make me feel happier. Then, at least, I’d know you weren't angry at me for putting my — how do you say it — two cents into your business."

He laughed, and still holding his hand, she got out of the car and led him up the steps to the hospital.

* * *

He stood in the doorway and watched as she gently lifted the bandage from the child's face. She held out her hand silently and the nurse took a swab from a bottle and handed it to her. "This may hurt a little, Mary," she said. "But you won't move or talk, will you?"

The girl shook her head.

"All right, then," Rosa said. "Now we’ll be still, very still." Her voice murmured, low and soothing, as her hand quickly traced the edge of the girl's lips with the swab. David saw the child's eyes fill with sudden tears. For a moment, he thought she was going to move her head but she didn't.