Read Online A Commodore of Errors by John Jacobson - Free Book Online

by-laws.”
    â€œWe’ll keep looking, babe. But ya know, if we don’t find one, making the Commodore the admiral wouldn’t be such a bad thing. He don’t care about the gelt, ya know. All that fruitcake’s interested in is the glory.”
    â€œThat’s what scares me. He’s got no Yiddisher kop , see what I mean? No Saichel .”
    â€œSo what? You’ve got enough business sense for the both of you.”
    Mogie didn’t respond. For all of his multitasking abilities, whenever a naked woman was around—not to mention one ten years his junior—he lost his train of thought. And this was especially true of Mitzi. Her flaming red hair. Her long legs—sticks, Mogie called them. He was a sucker for a great pair of sticks.
    â€œYou’re driving me foolish, Mitz.” Mogie stroked Mitzi’s long, silky thigh. “You’ve got some pair of sticks, baby. World-class.” Mogie slapped her on the side of her rump. “Come on, baby, do your stretching routine for me.”
    Mitzi pushed herself up off the couch, walked over to the dining table, and standing with her back to Mogie, lifted her left foot up onto the table and pressed her nose down to her ankle.
    Mogie groaned.
    â€œStretch, baby,” Mogie said. “Stretch yourself for Mogie.”
    Mitzi switched legs and stretched some more. Then she spread her legs out wide and bent over so that she looked directly at Mogie through her legs, upside down.
    â€œOh, baby,” Mogie said. “You’re driving me foolish. You drive me so foolish when you stretch.” Mogie jumped up off the couch. “Hold that stretch, baby, while I get my stool.”
    Mogie ran into the bedroom and grabbed what he called his “stool.” It was one of those plastic steps that Mitzi used in her aerobics class. Mogie placed it behind Mitzi and climbed on top then he grabbed hold of Mitzi’s hips and lined himself up. Mitzi liked it from behind but she just couldn’t do it on all fours—she had a bum knee from an old gymnastics injury. She’d told Mogie she wanted Putzie to handle her from behind but he was too short—with Mitzi’s sticks, he just couldn’t reach, not even on his tiptoes. It would never occur to Putzie to use a stool. Mogie, on the other hand, had the ingenuity—that’s why he was the mayor. He loved climbing up on his stool to service Mitzi, and Mitzi, bless her, didn’t seem to care that he needed her aerobic stepper to do it.
    Mogie had long ago stopped trying to get Mitzi to leave Putzie because, deep down, he knew why she stayed, no matter what she said about Mogie leaving his wife first. It all had to do with her father. Mitzi’s father went broke when she was in high school. The sucker reached too far. He had made a small fortune selling life insurance and then risked it all on a real estate deal. The building he built in Little Neck stood empty for years. He tried selling insurance again but he was never the same. That’s why she married Putzie. His dry cleaning business was safe. People would always need a pressed suit of clothes. Mitzi knew Putzie played it safe and that’s why she stayed with him. And that’s also why Mogie kept his ever-present money troubles to himself. If Mitzi ever found about his bad debts, she’d drop him in a New York minute. Mogie was always shooting for the moon, even though Mitzi told him he didn’t have to own the moon, he just had to take her there once in a while. Hence the stool.
    Mitzi was a screamer. She and Mogie only did it when the Martinizing machines were going full bore. Otherwise, Putzie would certainly hear her from downstairs. Mogie, who prided himself on his control, made it a point to hold off as long as he was able. As soon as Mogie heard the Martinizing machines begin to wind down, he told Mitzi to get ready.
    â€œGet ready for Mogie, baby,” Mogie said, gasping for