5

Duddy had to wait a half hour before Max turned up at Eddy’s, but he was no calmer when his father entered the store with a smile.

“Hi, Duddy. How’d you make out?”

“You lousy liar. Afraid I’d embarrass you, you?”

The other taxi drivers began to file out. Only Walsh stayed. He had three free games coming to him on the pinball machine.

“An intimate of the Boy Wonder? Hah! He doesn’t know you from a hole in the ground.”

“Duddy, please. Not here. The other guys —”

“All those stories. Ever since I was a kid. How could you let me build on it when I need a stake so badly right now?”

“Easy. Easy, kid.”

“Couldn’t you have told me the truth? Do you think I would have cared? It’s the time wasted and the hopes. It’s — How could you do this to me?”

“Do what? You talk so fast I can’t keep up with you. You ask me to get an appointment and you got one. Right? Right. think any shtunk walk in off the street and see the Wonder just like that?”

“Aw, forget it. Skip it.”

“Oh, no. No sir. Not just like that. You said some dirty things to me.”

“Yeah,” Duddy said in a small voice.

“Take them back.”

“I take them back.”

“There. Isn’t that better than yelling at the old man?”

But Duddy stiffened when Max tried to ruffle his hair. “I’m a big boy now,” he said.

“O.K. Sure.”

A car stopped outside and Shub opened the door for Jerry Dingleman. “Max Kravitz,” Dingleman said, smiling his freshest smile, “how are you?”

“Mr. Dingleman!” Max grinned broadly and gave Duddy a poke. “Hey, Eddy. Eddy quick! Would you like a drink?”

“No thanks. Hullo, Duddy.”

“A sandwich maybe?”

“I’m on a diet.”

“A coffee?”

“Stop begging him.”

“You shettup. I’m your father and you shettup. Mr. Dingleman and I are old pals. Isn’t that right?”

Dingleman nodded. “Here,” he said, handing Duddy his clippings. “That’s an intriguing idea you have there. I’d like to talk to you about it.”

“You don’t say?”

“Be polite,” Max said, gritting his teeth. “Talk nice.”

“I have to go to New York tonight. We can talk on the train.”

“Wha’?”

“You heard what the man said.”

“We’ll only be gone three days. I’ll handle your fare and expenses and something more. Mr. Shub can’t come with me. Can you drive a car?”

“Sure he can, Mr. Dingleman.”

“I don’t get it.”

Max stepped in front of Duddy. “What time do you want him at the station, Mr. Dingleman?”

“Ten.”

“He’ll be there.”

“One minute.” That would mean leaving Mr. Friar on his own for a few days. He could do plenty of damage.

“He’ll be there with bells on,” Max said.

Dingleman left and the other taxi drivers hurried back into the store.

“No questions,” Max said, making a sweeping gesture with his arm. “I’m not free to talk.”

Debrofsky ordered a lean on rye.

“Jerry’s taking Duddy to New York tonight. More I can’t say.”

Shub missed two traffic lights running.

“What’s wrong, Mickey?”

“Nuttin’.”

But Shub was concerned. It was true that Mr. Dingleman’s hunches had always worked out right before, but —“Don’t worry,” Dingleman said. “The boy is innocent. He’s perfect.”

Dingleman didn’t turn up at Central Station until a minute before departure time. He smiled absently at Duddy and led him into the club car. “Here,” he said, handing him a one-hundred-dollar bill. “Order anything you want. I’m going to sleep. We can talk tomorrow.” But the next morning at breakfast in the hotel Dingleman did not say a word to Duddy. He read the market reports in the Times.

“It’s nice here,” Duddy said. “I’ve never been to New York before like.”

Dingleman lowered his newspaper. “I’m going to be tied up all day,” he said. “Why don’t you see the sights?”

“Didn’t you want me to drive you around or something?”

“Not today.”

Duddy bit his lip. “What do you want me here for?” he asked.

“Meet me in the lobby at seven-thirty. We’re going to a play together tonight. Afterwards I’d like to talk to you about your film company. It sounds fascinating.”

Duddy went to see the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall. He visited the planetarium, he sent postcards to his father, Lennie, and Yvette, and he wandered up and down Broadway until his legs ached. He got back to the hotel on time but Dingleman was more than three quarters of an hour late. “Did you enjoy yourself today?” he asked.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Good.”

There were some new books lying on the taxi seat beside Dingleman. One was by somebody called Waugh and two others, Duddy observed gleefully, were in French with plain covers.

“Have you ever read God’s Little Acre?” asked.

Dingleman laughed. He squeezed Duddy’s knee. “Here we are,” he said. “I hope you’ll like the play. It was very difficult for me to get tickets.”

There were no movie stars in it. Some bit players. Duddy recognized Lee J. Cobb from the movie with William Holden about the boxer and the violin. He thought he had seen the Kennedy guy before too, but he couldn’t remember in what movie. The play went on and on with people shouting and using dirty language. The jokes were from hunger and there was only one sexy scene, but the broad in it was old and not much to look at. A big deal, he thought.

“Did you like it?”

“It had a lot to say about life,” Duddy said.

At supper Duddy began to talk uneasily about his film company, and gathering courage with the wine, he gave away more than he had intended. Dingleman asked him more and more questions, and at first Duddy took this for genuine interest, but each reply made the Wonder laugh harder, and when Duddy told him about Mr. Friar, Dingleman slapped the table again and again and said, “That’s too much. Too much.”

“What I’m really looking for is a silent partner. An investor.”

“I’m sure you’ll find one. Let’s get out of here. We’re invited to a party.”

The party started off to be a bore for Duddy. There was lots to drink, it’s true, the view of the river from the window was A-1, and three or four of the broads there he wouldn’t have tossed out of bed on a cold night, but for a long time nobody spoke to him. He could have been a piece of wood for all they seemed to care. Two o’clock came, soon it was after three, and nobody even bothered to turn the lights out. New guests were still arriving, in fact. Then, all at once, Dingleman summoned Duddy to his crowded corner and he became the center of attention. “Tell them what you thought of the play,” Dingleman said.

He did.

“Isn’t he the end,” a girl said.

She was, Duddy noticed, as flat as a board. The jerk with her was introduced to him as a painter and Duddy, winking at Dingleman, asked, “Inside or outside?”

Dingleman explained that Duddy was a movie producer. A vital new Canadian talent. “Tell them about Mr. Friar,” he said.

Duddy’s imitation of Mr. Friar went over bigger than anything Cuckoo Kaplan had ever done. Dingleman laughed so hard he had to keep wiping his neck.

“Jerry,” a woman said, approaching timidly. “Don’t be angry. They told me you’d be here, Jerry.”

Dingleman’s smile shut like a purse. “Get me my coat, Duddy.”

“Jerry, I’ve got to have some. Please.”

An embarrassed man tried to lead the woman away but she wouldn’t be pushed. “Jerry,” she said. “I’ll go crazy. Please, Jerry.”

“You’re a tramp,” he said so that nobody else could hear. And puffing, his face red and shiny, he started for the door where Duddy waited with his coat. From behind he heard her empty, foolish laughter. “It’s like a scissors,” he heard her tell somebody. “When he walks on those four legs it’s just like a scissors.”

Duddy hailed a taxi.

“We’re not going to the hotel,” Dingleman said. “Tell him to take us to Harry’s on Seventh Avenue.”

Dingleman consumed one cup of coffee after another.

“Shouldn’t we get back to the hotel? Aren’t you sleepy?”

“Why are you so crazy to make money?”

Duddy was startled. He stiffened. “I want to get me some land,” he said. “A man without land is nobody.”

Dingleman grasped that the boy was repeating somebody else’s platitude, and he laughed in his face.

“I wish you’d stop laughing at me. I’m not that stupid. And while we’re at it, why did you lug me all the way down to New York? For a joke?”

“I know your uncle. Benjamin Kravitz. He’s a childish man. I don’t like him.”

“Maybe he doesn’t like you either.”

“Maybe. But you like me.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“There’s something wrong. A mistake somewhere when a boy your age is already pursuing money like he had a hot poker up his ass.”

“Look, do I stick my nose into your business?”

“Come. Let’s go for a walk.”

“Wha’?”

“I can walk further than most men. Don’t worry. Come on.”

He could not only walk further but he walked faster. Duddy was half asleep. He yawned again and again. “How’s about a little rest?” he asked.

“This bench here?”

Duddy slumped on the bench, holding his head in his hands. “Couldn’t we go back to the hotel now?”

“Quiet.”

When Duddy looked up again he caught Dingleman unaware. Something had happened to him. His neck had contracted. The massive head had rolled uselessly to one side and the piercing eyes were shut. I don’t have to stay here with him, Duddy thought. There’s no law that says I can’t go back to the hotel.

“Sit down.”

“I wasn’t going anywhere,” Duddy said.

“Come. We’re going to sleep.”

But in the taxi Dingleman had some instructions for Duddy. “Remember that woman at the party? I want you to go into the lobby and see if she’s there.”

She wasn’t there. Duddy also walked ahead to Dingleman’s room, but she wasn’t waiting outside there either.

“Come in and have a drink with me.”

“I’m tired.”

“You can sleep in tomorrow.”

Duddy accepted a straight Scotch. The phone rang. It rang and rang. “Aren’t you going to answer it?”

“You’re right for once. If not I’ll never get any sleep.” He picked up the receiver and without waiting to hear who was on the other end said, “I’m sorry. I’m not giving you any more.” There was a pause. “That’s right. I brought him down from Montreal with me. I’ve picked up with boys now… No. Absolutely no more.” Dingleman turned to Duddy, intending to ask for his drink, but Duddy was already by his side with it. “My,” Dingleman said, “aren’t you ambitious?”

Duddy retreated.

“Look,” Dingleman said into the phone, “no more. And don’t try to phone me here again because I’m telling them not to put any more calls through. Good night.” He hung up. “O.K. You can go to sleep now.”

By morning Dingleman’s mood had altered again. He was very businesslike. “Be packed and ready by eight. We’re leaving tonight.”

“I thought we were staying three days?”

“There’s been a change in plans. Look, I’m sorry, I thought I’d really need you down here, but things didn’t work out that way. I’m going to pay you for the trip anyway. Oh, one minute. There is you can do for me. I want you to take this suitcase with your luggage.”

Duddy wandered in and out of Broadway restaurants all afternoon and shortly after four he made a business contact. He met a young man who had been in the pinball machine business. Recently, however, the mayor had come down hard on machines — they were illegal, in fact — and he was stuck with ten of them in his basement. They cost three-fifty each new, he said. Duddy was in a giddy mood. He’d wasted two days on a crazy trip. Probably Dingleman would give him fifty bucks for his trouble. No more. “I’ll tell you what,” Duddy told the young man, “if you can get those machines across the border, I don’t care how and I don’t care when, I’ll give you a hundred bucks apiece for them.” The smiling young man’s name was Virgil. Duddy left him his card.

Dingleman was waiting for him at the station. “I’m not going to sit with you on the train, Duddy. As a matter of fact when I leave you here you don’t know me until we get to Montreal. I may have to get off at the border on some business. If that’s the case don’t worry. You don’t even know me. Understand?” Dingleman dug into his pocket. “Here’s five hundred and fifty dollars. The fifty is for all the little things you did for me here and the five is a loan. I wish it could be more, but… Oh, I almost forgot. Here are the keys to the suitcase and a list of what’s in it. Just in case they ask you to open it at Customs. If I’m not on the train when we get to Montreal, Mr. Shub will be waiting for you at the station. You can give him the case.”

Duddy counted the money, put it away, and read the list for the suitcase. “Two shirts, two boxes of chocolate, a tin of imported cookies, and a pound of coffee. There are no other items to declare.”

Jeez, Duddy thought. What in the hell’s going on here?

He was scared, but it was too late. He couldn’t return the suitcase to Dingleman now. I could throw it out of the window, he thought as the train started. I can pretend it’s not mine. Aw, he thought, there’s probably nothing in it. He’s a funny guy and this is his idea of a joke. Duddy closed his eyes and tried to think about his land. He’d saved fifty of the first hundred Dingleman had given him and so that made six altogether for two days’ work. Another fourteen and he’d own Brault’s land. Another fourteen, Jeez. There was less than three weeks left. Maybe he could squeeze two-fifty out of Cohen? A fat chance.

“Anything to declare, son?”

“A couple of shirts, that’s all. Oh, and a tin of imported cookies for my Auntie Ida and a carton of cigarettes.”

The inspector didn’t even bother to look inside the suitcase. Duddy, relieved, looked outside and saw Dingleman standing on the platform. Two men were talking to him. One of them wore a policeman’s uniform. The train started up again, but Duddy didn’t wave. He waited another ten minutes and locked himself in the toilet with the suitcase. But Dingleman had told the truth. Aside from the items mentioned on the list there was nothing in the suitcase but soiled laundry. Duddy felt in all the side pockets, he tried the case for a false bottom, he slipped his hand between all the shirts and shook out each soiled sock carefully. Jeez, he thought, and he went through the suitcase again. This time he noticed that although the cookie and chocolate boxes were all secured with gift wrappings the coffee tin was not sealed. He opened it. But what he was looking for —”hot” gems — he didn’t find. There was no coffee in the tin, but the white sweet-smelling dust inside meant nothing to him. He salted away some of it in an envelope, though, just in case. Probably, he thought, the jewels or diamonds are individually wrapped inside each chocolate. Boy, he thought, that would be something. But he didn’t dare open either of the boxes for fear he’d never get the wrappings on right again.

Shub met him at the station.

“Jerry got off at the border. He told me to give you this suitcase.”

“Thanks. You’re a good kid.”

When Dingleman got into town that night Shub was waiting for him in his apartment. “The coffee tin was open,” he said.

“It’s O.K. I opened it.”

“I thought you weren’t going to let her have any more?”

“Get me Kennedy on the phone, please. I want to speak to him right away.”