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Authors: Judith Arnold
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infomercials about exercise balls, they can show infomercials about Bloom’s.”
“Do they show infomercials about exercise balls? What the hell’s an exercise ball, anyway?”
“It’s this ball that you roll around on for exercise, I think,” Rick answered, honestly not sure. “The thing is, I bet there’d be a market for a Bloom’s infomercial. Or a series of infomercials. I mean, we’re talking about Bloom’s . The most famous delicatessen in America.”
His father’s frown deepened. “I don’t know, Rick.”
“What don’t you know?” The concept was so damn brilliant! And he’d get paid to bring that concept to life. Real money. And his father would win kudos, too, because he was supposedly in charge of nontraditional marketing for the store, and an infomercial would qualify as nontraditional marketing.
“I don’t know how you came up with such an idea.”
“I’m a filmmaker, Dad. It’s my career.” Career might be a stretch, but if his father was going to sneer at him anyway, what difference did it make if he puffed himself up a little?
“What about your film? The one with the car chase and the guy disconnected from life?”
“The infomercial would be a credit. It’ll open doors for me. I’d do it dramatically, artistically.”
His father’s eyes narrowed. “How dramatically and artistically?”
“How dramatic is a bagel? I’m trained in this stuff, Dad. I could pull it off.”
His father shook his head. “What I can’t get past, Rick, is that it seems like such a good idea. I know there’s got to be something wrong with it.”
Rick laughed. “It’s a good idea, Dad. Give me a green light. I’ll win Bloom’s an Oscar.”
His father shook his head again, regarding Rick with an expression that could imply either astonishment or pride. “I’ve got to think about it. I probably have to run it past Julia, too.”
Julia would say yes. Rick would get Susie to get Julia to say yes. If she said yes, his father would say yes. He’d be so proud one of his sons was doing something important for the store.
Rick was going to make his Bloom’s show. He was going to direct it. Produce it. Cast it. Film it. Rack up credits left and right. Build his name. Prepare his Oscar speech.
“Ten minutes!” Wendy sang out from the other end of the hall. “They said dinner’ll be here in ten minutes. I hope you’re in the mood for hot-and-sour soup, because I ordered a lot!”
“I hate hot-and-sour soup,” Rick’s father muttered, then smiled. “But for Wendy, I’ll eat it.”
“So will I,” Rick promised. If he ate the soup he’d make Wendy happy, and if Wendy was happy his father would be happy. And if his father was happy, Rick would be that much closer to making a Bloom’s movie.
Four
“I need a rhyme for pastrami,” Susie announced. She already had one rhyme, salami , but she needed another. Limericks made such demands on a poet.
She sat at the desk Julia had set up for her on the third floor of the Bloom Building, directly above the store. All the Bloom’s offices were there, accessible by both the store’s back stairway and the apartment building’s elevators. To avoid entering the store, Susie had ridden up on the elevator. If she’d gone through the store, she might have run into Casey, and she wasn’t ready to see him yet.
Monday mornings were awful under the best of circumstances, and today’s circumstances most assuredly didn’t qualify as best. The weekend had been hectic enough: watching Adam graduate, snapping so many photos with the digital camera her mother had bought for just this purpose that if she ever downloaded them all, her computer would crash from the overload, soothing her mother when she began blubbering about her little birds flying the nest, explaining the ceremony to Grandma Ida when she decided she couldn’t hear the speakers—which Susie would have considered a blessing, given that their speeches were about as stimulating as a
“Do they show infomercials about exercise balls? What the hell’s an exercise ball, anyway?”
“It’s this ball that you roll around on for exercise, I think,” Rick answered, honestly not sure. “The thing is, I bet there’d be a market for a Bloom’s infomercial. Or a series of infomercials. I mean, we’re talking about Bloom’s . The most famous delicatessen in America.”
His father’s frown deepened. “I don’t know, Rick.”
“What don’t you know?” The concept was so damn brilliant! And he’d get paid to bring that concept to life. Real money. And his father would win kudos, too, because he was supposedly in charge of nontraditional marketing for the store, and an infomercial would qualify as nontraditional marketing.
“I don’t know how you came up with such an idea.”
“I’m a filmmaker, Dad. It’s my career.” Career might be a stretch, but if his father was going to sneer at him anyway, what difference did it make if he puffed himself up a little?
“What about your film? The one with the car chase and the guy disconnected from life?”
“The infomercial would be a credit. It’ll open doors for me. I’d do it dramatically, artistically.”
His father’s eyes narrowed. “How dramatically and artistically?”
“How dramatic is a bagel? I’m trained in this stuff, Dad. I could pull it off.”
His father shook his head. “What I can’t get past, Rick, is that it seems like such a good idea. I know there’s got to be something wrong with it.”
Rick laughed. “It’s a good idea, Dad. Give me a green light. I’ll win Bloom’s an Oscar.”
His father shook his head again, regarding Rick with an expression that could imply either astonishment or pride. “I’ve got to think about it. I probably have to run it past Julia, too.”
Julia would say yes. Rick would get Susie to get Julia to say yes. If she said yes, his father would say yes. He’d be so proud one of his sons was doing something important for the store.
Rick was going to make his Bloom’s show. He was going to direct it. Produce it. Cast it. Film it. Rack up credits left and right. Build his name. Prepare his Oscar speech.
“Ten minutes!” Wendy sang out from the other end of the hall. “They said dinner’ll be here in ten minutes. I hope you’re in the mood for hot-and-sour soup, because I ordered a lot!”
“I hate hot-and-sour soup,” Rick’s father muttered, then smiled. “But for Wendy, I’ll eat it.”
“So will I,” Rick promised. If he ate the soup he’d make Wendy happy, and if Wendy was happy his father would be happy. And if his father was happy, Rick would be that much closer to making a Bloom’s movie.
Four
“I need a rhyme for pastrami,” Susie announced. She already had one rhyme, salami , but she needed another. Limericks made such demands on a poet.
She sat at the desk Julia had set up for her on the third floor of the Bloom Building, directly above the store. All the Bloom’s offices were there, accessible by both the store’s back stairway and the apartment building’s elevators. To avoid entering the store, Susie had ridden up on the elevator. If she’d gone through the store, she might have run into Casey, and she wasn’t ready to see him yet.
Monday mornings were awful under the best of circumstances, and today’s circumstances most assuredly didn’t qualify as best. The weekend had been hectic enough: watching Adam graduate, snapping so many photos with the digital camera her mother had bought for just this purpose that if she ever downloaded them all, her computer would crash from the overload, soothing her mother when she began blubbering about her little birds flying the nest, explaining the ceremony to Grandma Ida when she decided she couldn’t hear the speakers—which Susie would have considered a blessing, given that their speeches were about as stimulating as a
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