The Boss's Son

"You want to bring some coffee to my office, Kitty?" Dave Birnbaum asked his father's secretary.

"I've got to type this letter right away," she said. "Why not grab a cup and take the coffee yourself?"

Dave gave Kitty his bad eye, but, hunched over her electric typewriter, she ignored him. Gritting his teeth, Dave thought, "If the old man wasn't banging you every other night, gee, I'd paste you in the teeth."

From the neighboring office, Dave could hear his father, Louis Birnbaum, carving up a slow-paying customer over the phone. What, for Christ's sake, did the old man--a live wire, if ever there was one--see in a surly type like Kitty? Twice Dave had tried to put the knock on her, but the last time, his father told him to cut out the hatchet job. "When you're running this place, you'll fire the help. But I'm still number one. Which means, only when I don't like them they get the ax."

Muttering under his breath now, Dave walked away from Kitty's desk without even bothering going through the motions of pouring coffee for himself. "Kitty, sweetheart," he thought, "you just better be married or out of here before the old man either croaks or retires."

Dave walked down the hall to his own office. His father kept him at some distance, as if Dave, too close, might get notions of crowding L. B.'s style. Peering into the offices as he passed, Dave checked to see who was at the old grindstone and who hadn't yet showed. A clumsy walker, he almost bowled over one of the bookkeepers, who was on her way to the ladies' room.

"Good morning, Dave," the bookkeeper said, dancing out of harm's way.

"Hello, Rose," Dave muttered without apologizing.

When he reached his office, Dave began sifting through the day's mail. Under the glass on his desk was a colored photograph of his wife, Ruth, and their three-year-old daughter. Ruth was slim, sunburned and very pretty. She was nuzzling the child, whose laughter was so apparent, even now Dave swore he could hear the kid giggling. His father had hoped for a grandson and, for that reason, Dave had badly wanted his first child to be a daughter. When the obstetrician told him Ruth had given birth to a girl, Dave's initial reaction was, "Tough shit, L. B."

One of the letters Dave opened was from a friend, Milt Zeigler, with whom he grew up on Long Island but who now lived in Miami and was running his father's business. Dave had tried to get his friend special prices, but the old man had turned down the last order, saying, "For the prices they're willing to pay, they'd have to buy triple the volume."

"But Milt's (continued on page 193)The Boss's Son(continued from page109) a buddy of mine. Can't you make an exception?" Dave had asked.

"What am I running, a fraternity house or a business?"

Dave had grinned sheepishly. "I sort of promised the order to him on the lower terms. You're going to make me look bad, Dad, Milt doesn't get it."

"Well, then, that'll be a good lesson for you," his father had said. "I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times--don't promise any son of a bitch a special price without asking me first."

Dave had made one last try. "Maybe we give him these goods at a lower price, it'll encourage him to give us a larger volume of business."

"Listen," his father had said, growing impatient, "I wrote the rulebook on who to give specials to and why. Do us both a favor, pisher. Learn how to read before you write."

Dave glanced at his friend's letter. Naturally, first thing, Milt reminded him of the promise Dave had made about the lower price; wrote that he was counting on it; wrote that if he didn't get it, this would put him in a terrible money bind.

"Can I help it," Dave sighed, "the old man doesn't listen to reason?" And feeling like a bastard, he shredded Milt's letter. Then he made a mental note to tell Miss Switchboard that, should buddy Milt call during the next year and a half, she was to say Dave was out on the road.

Rubbing one eye, he saw Kitty standing in the doorway of his office. He wondered how long she'd been giving him the pleasure of her company and whether she saw him dumping Milt's letter into his trusty wastebasket. "Yeah, Kitty?" he said.

She sounded like the voice of doom: "Your father wants to see you."

"What about?" he snapped. He hoped his abruptness didn't betray jumpy nerves.

Kitty shrugged, but he suspected that she recognized his anxiety and enjoyed watching him squirm. Everyone squirmed when L. B. beckoned.

He hated asking her but couldn't help himself: "Is my father in a good mood?"

Kitty smiled maliciously. "He growled at me three times already, and that's one more than par for the course this early in the morning."

Groaning, Dave dismissed her with a wave of his hand. "I'll be in in a sec," he said.

As soon as Kitty left, he began to think of all the things his father might be angry about. But the truth was, his father was so unpredictable, Dave knew he was wasting his time trying to anticipate.

"Maybe the grouch just wants to pass the time of day with his sonny boy," Dave tried to tell himself. "Sure, sure, and some sweet morning, airplanes'll fly flapping their wings."

Trying to look extra-relaxed, he walked down the hall to his father's office. He took it for a good sign when he saw that the old man was dressed for golf. L. B. wore white loafers, robin's-egg-blue trousers and a pink cotton shirt with a soft collar open at the throat. He was almost 60 and had a paunch, but the flesh around his face was taut and when he wanted to turn on the charm, he seemed a much younger man.

Arthur Goldfarb, his administrative right hand, was sitting in the old man's office.

"Come on in, Dave," his father said softly, making himself comfortable behind the large mahogany desk.

Dave expected Arthur to excuse himself and leave father and son alone. But Arthur remained where he was sitting, though he looked as if he wished he were elsewhere.

"Did you want to see me for something, Dad?" Dave asked brightly.

"All right, Arthur, tell big shot here what you just told me," Louis Birnbaum said, gritting his teeth.

Arthur grimaced. A drop of sweat had popped off his forehead. "Louis, please--

"Tell him!" Louis ordered.

Arthur took a deep breath. "Well, we have this buyer from Houston," he began. "He's flying to New York today and I wanted to set him up with a girl for tonight."

"That goddamn callgirll!" flashed through Dave's mind.

"Anyway," Arthur continued, "I just spoke to this girl we usually use for out-of-town buyers and she refused to have any part of the deal. And when I asked her why, she said the guy I sent her last week wouldn't give her the hundred she asked for but left only a fifty-dollar bill."

Though he was still on his feet, Dave felt as if he'd just had his legs knocked out from under him.

He heard Arthur saying, "I never sent her any guy last week, so I didn't have the faintest idea who she was talking about. 'Describe him,' I said to her. 'He's young, less than thirty,' she said, 'only he looks older, 'cause he's almost bald and has a paunch.' "

"Could I speak to you alone, Dad?" Dave said barely above a whisper.

"Well, Artie, my flesh and blood wants to speak to me alone," Louis said with a tight smile.

Arthur gave L. B. his best there-was-nothing-else-I-could-do-but-tell-you expression. Then he stood up and started for the door.

"But remember what I told you," Louis called out after him. "I want you to put a lock on your desk drawer where you keep the black book. And I don't want just any son-of-a-bitch pisher to have a key to that lock, just you and me." He nodded. "Close the door after you, Arthur. Didn't you hear, sonny boy wants a private chat with his poppa."

Sitting down, Dave heard the door close softly behind him. "That tramp," he thought. "Fifty was more than enough for what she had to give away." When the girl had asked for $100, Dave thought sure she was trying to take him for double her usual price. How the hell was he to figure she was telling the truth?

Trying to look sincere, Dave said, "I didn't want to have to tell you this, Dad, but I've been having bad bedroom troubles with Ruthie."

"You're a liar, and that's bad enough!" his father shouted. "But what's worse is, you're not even a good liar!"

"No matter what I did, you didn't have to tell Arthur to pull the switch on me!" Dave shouted back. "You sure could have done it yourself, damn it!"

"You had it coming to you, sneaking into his office and getting caught going through his drawer."

"All right, so I cheated a little on Ruthie," Dave admitted. "What's so terrible?"

"I don't care you cheated on your wife!" the old man exploded again.

Dave was confused. "So what are you mad about, then?"

"I'm mad that you got caught sneaking into Arthur's drawer simply because you wouldn't pay what the girl asked."

"I thought she was trying to con me out of an extra fifty."

"So what, even if she was?" Louis answered. "You didn't want it to get back to Arthur or me you sneaked into his drawer, but by antagonizing the girl, you practically begged her to below the whistle on you. Jesus Christ, is that so hard to figure out?"

"She wasn't worth a hundred," Dave insisted.

"You want to play and get away with it, you pay, you pay," Louis said. "What the hell makes you think you're so different you don't have to pay?"

What made him think he was different? A good question.

Looking for it, Dave spotted the photograph of his brother, Leo, on his father's desk. Leo was a physicist who lived on the West Coast, or as far away as he could get from Louis, yet the old man loved and respected Leo more than anyone else in the world.

"All right, so I can't figure out everything in advance," Dave said after a while. "All right, so I don't have a big brain like Leo."

"Leo? Leo?" Louis repeated. And it was obvious that he resented Dave's even daring to compare himself with his older brother.

Stung by his father's tone, Dave couldn't contain himself. "What the hell does Leo ever do for you? Does he write you? Call you? Does he know you're living, for God's sake?"

"And what do you do for me?" Louis asked with a sigh.

"I at least try to please you; only, the harder I try, the more you seem to resent me."

The old man winced, and Dave felt good knowing he'd struck a sore spot.

"Look," Louis said, after glancing at his watch, "we'll talk more about this tomorrow. But I'm supposed to meet Freddy Plesser over at the club this afternoon and, if I'm to get there on time, I have to dictate some letters to Kitty now."

It was his father's habit to cut conversations short whenever the going got a little rough--for Louis. In this way, L. B. won all the arguments, or, rather, never lost any. It was, Dave recognized, a sweet ploy; and he looked forward to the day he could pull that same stunt on his hired help.

Dave stood up. He figured he was lucky that his father had a golfing date that afternoon. "Just let the old bastard have a good round," Dave thought, "and life tomorrow'll be easier on both of us."

"I'll see you in the morning, then, Dad," Dave said, grateful he was getting off this cheap.

But his old man just nodded, as if saying goodbye to Dave now was asking a bit much.

Walking out of his father's office, Dave saw Kitty watching him from her desk. He wondered if she'd heard them and prayed that his father's voice didn't carry through the walls separating their offices. It was bad enough that Arthur Goldfarb knew all the dirty details. Would Artie keep them to himself? "He'd better," Dave thought. There was, however, the possibility Artie no longer knew how to protect his interests. What was the sense, when you came down to it, in his reporting Dave's misadventures to the old man? Didn't Artie realize that one day soon Dave would, in fact, take over the business? "And come that day, Artie, baby," Dave decided, "come that day, you get the ax even before I fire Kitty."

The prospect of bouncing Kitty and Artie Goldfarb cheered Dave up immeasurably; but still, when he reached his own office, he found that his legs were quivering, and he had to sit down quickly or risk falling to the floor. Two salesmen walked past his door, sharing a joke. Their pleasure seemed so genuine and innocent, Dave almost envied them. Almost.

The rest of the morning dragged. Dave kept to his office. Above all, he wanted to avoid bumping into Arthur Goldfarb. He thought about calling his wife and/or his mother, but nothing they could tell him would make him feel as good as knowing that one day he'd be able to fire any son of a bitch he felt like getting rid of.

After a while, he heard some of the help leaving for lunch. Though he didn't have much of an appetite, Dave ordered up some coffee and a sandwich from a delicatessen around the corner.

Putting the phone down, he spotted Rose, the bookkeeper, passing his office. She was carrying a box from Altman's. Dave guessed she was returning a dress that was either too expensive or didn't fit well. Gee, for as long as he could remember, Rose had been working for his father.

Suddenly, Dave's phone rang. It was Milt Zeigler, his buddy from Miami. "Damn it," Dave thought, after saying hello. He'd forgotten to tell Miss Switchboard he wasn't in to Milt for the duration.

"Did you get my letter?" Milt was asking.

"Sure, it's sitting in front of me right now."

"I'm sorry to bother you, Dave, but I'm really desperate for those goods at the price you promised. I'm counting on you."

"Milt, I don't forget a promise to a friend," Dave said soothingly. "Of course, the old man is being a little rough about granting special prices these last few days, but I'll keep after him. And he'll come around, don't worry. Now, listen, old buddy, I'll get back to you on this either at the end of the week or, very latest, beginning of next week."

"Dave, I got a last chance to get these goods at a slightly higher price from someone else," Milt said. "You sure I can count on you to swing it with your father?"

"Absolutely, Milt," Dave said. He was goddamned if he was going to let himself get conned into admitting he couldn't deliver on a promise. "Don't give the other guy's price a second thought."

As soon as he hung up, Dave hustled out to the switchboard. "Sally," he told the redhead wearing the earphone, "Sally, don't ever put that bastard Zeigler through to me again. Ever. I'm always out to him. Always. You screw up on this, Sally, love, it's your neck. And I mean that. You better make a note to the girls who fill in for you during lunchtime, too, 'cause if anyone connects me to him. I'm holding you responsible."

Sally started to say how much she liked and needed her job, but Dave, spotting Arthur Goldfarb at the other end of the hall, broke away from the switchboard and hustled back to the privileged sanctuary of his office.

His sandwich and coffee arrived ten minutes later. He ate, looking out the second-story window and watching the pretty girls in their miniskirts. A blonde with long hair, who seemed as if she were carrying a pair of frightened mice inside her blouse, crossed the street, and Dave licked his lips. He even began to eat with an appetite; and though the coffee tasted like iodine, he savored every last drop.

After lunch, he finished going through his mail. He made a couple of unimportant business calls. More than an hour passed. Knowing that the odds were that Arthur Goldfarb was out to lunch, he risked going into the hall for a drink of water. That's when he spotted Rose, carrying a shopping bag from Altman's, on her way back to bookkeeping.

Frowning, he said, "You got a sec, Rose? I'd like to talk to you in my office."

Rose had curly hair that was dyed blonde. Though she couldn't have been more than in her early 30s, she was already beginning to put on some weight. She wore a wedding ring. Did she have children? Dave didn't know.

"Listen, Rose," he said, facing her in his office. "We give our people an hour for lunch. We don't ask you to sign any time sheet or punch any timecard. Which means we trust you. Don't abuse that trust, Rose."

"I'm sorry, Dave," she said. "It won't happen again." She looked as if she'd just eaten something disagreeable.

"It's painful for me to tell you something like this. But, Rose, one hour, that's it."

"It's just that I had to return something at Altman's and the lines were exceptionally long."

"OK, OK," he said. "Just wanted you to know how my father and I feel about it, Rose."

"Fine, Dave," Rose said, backing out of his office. "I can assure you, it won't happen again."

Chewing Rose out picked up Dave's spirits even more than seeing the pretty girls on the street. And contented with himself, he stayed behind his desk for the rest of the afternoon. He tried to keep busy. At three o'clock, he called his wife. At four o'clock, he called his mother. He would have slipped out and headed for home early, except there was always the possibility the old man would call and ask to speak to him.

Five o'clock took its own sweet time showing up. Even then, Dave couldn't make a fast getaway. He still didn't want to bang into Arthur Goldfarb, so he pressed his nose against his office window and waited till he saw Arthur leaving the building. Behind him, he could hear some of the help rushing for the door, as if they were escaping from the hot coals of hell.

Some surprise he had when he spotted Goldfarb on the street, walking next to Kitty. "The sneaky bastard," Dave muttered. Wide-eyed, he watched them cross the avenue together and then disappear inside the bar on the opposite corner.

"Louis takes an afternoon off, Artie goes after the old man's girl," flashed through Dave's mind. He tried to remember how long Goldfarb had been employed by his father; he knew it was more than 20 years, closer to 25. "That's loyalty for you," he said to himself. "Some gratitude."

Dave wondered how the old man would react if he ratted on Arthur. Probably, L. B. would figure Dave was just getting back at Goldfarb for blowing the whistle on him earlier that day. Ratting wasn't the answer, then. Doing something was the answer. Doing something! What?

He knew Goldfarb had the upper hand between them and was in good enough with the old man to risk humiliating Dave if he either wanted or had to; yet Dave also knew that Artie was stepping way out of line by entertaining Kitty, for it was common knowledge in the office that Louis was having an affair with her. The question still was, what could Dave do about it? What would his father do in his shoes?

Ten minutes later, Dave left the office. He crossed the avenue and stood in front of the bar on the corner. Dave didn't relish the prospect of being humiliated, but blood is thicker than water, and the possibility that his old man was getting shafted infuriated him. If the old man could take a knife in the back, no one was safe. It was scary to think about.

Taking a deep breath, Dave walked into the bar. He spotted the table where Kitty and Goldfarb were sitting and headed over in their direction.

"Looking for someone, Dave?" Goldfarb asked when he stood not a foot away from their table. Artie, who had a crewcut and red cheeks, liked his liquor and women. But he seemed neither guilty nor nervous that Dave had caught him with Kitty. Well, Artie Goldfarb hadn't managed to stick it out with the old man for close to 25 years without knowing how to handle himself when the going got a little tight.

"Actually, I was looking for Kitty," Dave said.

The girl stared at him. She had huge brown eyes and, though she liked to come on cool and tough, right now she looked frightened and vulnerable.

Dave said to her, "I need to buy a present for my wife tonight and could use a little feminine advice. So when I saw you and Artie dropping into the bar from my window, I thought I might impose and ask you to hop over to Altman's with me."

Kitty looked over at Goldfarb. Obviously, she wanted him to tell her what to do.

Dave kept watching the girl while Goldfarb weighed the alternatives. It amazed Dave that he hadn't noticed Kitty's extraordinary eyes before this afternoon.

Though it seemed much longer, it didn't take ten seconds before Goldfarb said, with an easy laugh, "We were just having a quick one, and Dave does look like he needs a little help, Kitty. Why not go with him now? We'll have another drink some other time."

Kitty smiled. She seemed relieved at the clever way Goldfarb had made their having a drink together seem so casual.

"You're a good guy, Artie," Dave said. "Maybe sometime when you forget your wife's birthday, I'll be able to return the favor." He winked.

"It's been a hell of an interesting day," Artie grinned, reminding Dave, if he needed any reminding, that Artie knew all about the callgirl.

"Well, so long, Artie," Kitty said, getting up from the table.

"Peace, children," Artie said, reaching for his glass.

"It's swell of you to help me out like this," Dave told the girl.

"Glad to be of service," she said.

But when they arrived at Altman's, it turned out that that afternoon, the store had closed at 5:30, so the doors were already locked.

"I must have gotten the goddamn days confused," Dave said, apologizing for dragging Kitty away from the bar.

"Maybe Artie's still in the bar. Why don't we go back?" Kitty said.

Despite his father's high opinion of Kitty's intelligence, Dave never did think she was very bright. Or maybe by suggesting they return to the bar, she was saying, "I wouldn't dare tell you I want to go back there if Artie and me were really fooling around."

Not taking any chances, Dave said, "Let me treat you to a cab home, instead."

"That's not necessary," Kitty said.

"My pleasure."

Dave headed for the curb. There, he raised his right hand, flagging down a taxi that was about to swing up Fifth Avenue.

"Thanks for the help, anyway," he told Kitty. Then he closed the cab door behind her and slipped the driver a five-dollar bill.

"See you tomorrow," she said. Was she worried he'd tell his father he'd caught her having a drink with Artie? Dave couldn't tell.

Watching the cab drive away, Dave grinned. He felt pretty good about ending an almost disastrous working day on a positive note.

"Louis, baby. Louis, baby," he mused. "You think your precious Leo would have turned pimp for you like I just did?"