barked “Grossman.” Gordon pictured him sitting at the breakfast table with a cup of coffee, a toasted bagel with cream cheese and the sports page. “Grossman,” he said in reply. “How did the Knicks do?”
“Won by eleven,” said the old man happily. “Beat the spread by three, which is how I went. I think I’ll use the dough to plant some trees for Max in Israel.” He laughed, and Gordon could almost smell the stale cigars and cream cheese on his breath.
“You’re getting sentimental in your old age, Pop.”
“Nah, Max would have done the same for me,” he said. “What’s a brother for, after all? Whataya want, Velvel, I’m in the middle of something here.”
“You know about Uncle Max’s will, Pop?”
“Yeah, I know,” he said. Gordon waited for more, but there was only silence.
“ ‘Yeah, I know’? Your only son inherits half a—”
“Shut up, Velvel!” Grossman exploded. “What the hell’s wrong with you, for crying out loud?”
“Pop, what’s the matter—”
“The telephone, you shmendrick. You got something to say to me, meet me where we had lunch last time. You remember? Twelve o’clock, sharp. All right?”
The phone rang while Gordon was in the shower. Hoping it was Jupiter, he stumbled out, wrapped in a towel, and caught it on the sixth ring. It was Flanagan.
“Top of the morning to you, boychik,” he said in a carefree tone. It was too early for him to sound like that, Gordon thought; he must be just getting home.
“What’s on your mind, chief?” he asked.
“Thought we might go over together, later on,” Flanagan said,
“Go over together where?” asked Gordon.
“To Ida’s. The shivah. Its a weeklong period of mourning in case you didn’t know,” he said.
“Ida’s probably on her way to Vegas.”
“Vegas! She wouldn’t do that; Max isn’t even cold yet,” he protested. He seemed genuinely shocked.
“Listen, Flanagan, do you fuck with a rubber?”
“Yeah, when need be. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Catholics aren’t supposed to fuck with a rubber. Jews aren’t supposed to go to Vegas after their husband’s funeral. But nobody’s perfect. It’s an irreverent world.”
“OK, so Ida’s in Vegas. Why don’t you come by the paper, we can go around the corner for a drink and talk.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“Are you kidding?” asked Flanagan. “I want to hear what Nathan Belzer told you.”
“How do you know what he told me?”
“I don’t. But I saw your face when you came out yesterday, boychik. You know what you reminded me of? Of the way you looked in Saigon when you got the cables.”
Until that moment Gordon hadn’t decided whether or not to tell Flanagan about his uncle’s will, but now he realized that he would. He had to tell someone besides Jupiter; it was too good a story to keep. “OK, I’ll meet you at three,” he said. “How will I recognize you?”
Flanagan laughed at their old gag. “I’ll be the Catholic wearing the rubber,” he said.
CHAPTER 4
G ordon spotted the top of his father’s head as soon as he walked into the Emerald Isle. Grossman was sitting in a rear booth, wearing a gray tweed sport coat over a black turtleneck, bending over the
Sporting News
.
The small restaurant was crowded with the usual mix of workmen in flannel shirts and jeans drinking lunch at the bar and junior TV types from nearby ABC kibbitzing in the booths. On the way to the table he heard the name Reggie twice, and Peter three times.
Gordon had never met Reggie Jackson, but he vividly recalled his last encounter with Peter Jennings. They had been having dinner together at the American Colony Hotel in Jerusalem when Jennings was summoned to the phone. It was New York calling to inform him that he had just been voted one of America’s ten best-dressed men.
“It’s like a Pulitzer for your wardrobe, Peter,” Gordon had told him.
Gordon slid into the seat opposite his father, who looked
“Won by eleven,” said the old man happily. “Beat the spread by three, which is how I went. I think I’ll use the dough to plant some trees for Max in Israel.” He laughed, and Gordon could almost smell the stale cigars and cream cheese on his breath.
“You’re getting sentimental in your old age, Pop.”
“Nah, Max would have done the same for me,” he said. “What’s a brother for, after all? Whataya want, Velvel, I’m in the middle of something here.”
“You know about Uncle Max’s will, Pop?”
“Yeah, I know,” he said. Gordon waited for more, but there was only silence.
“ ‘Yeah, I know’? Your only son inherits half a—”
“Shut up, Velvel!” Grossman exploded. “What the hell’s wrong with you, for crying out loud?”
“Pop, what’s the matter—”
“The telephone, you shmendrick. You got something to say to me, meet me where we had lunch last time. You remember? Twelve o’clock, sharp. All right?”
The phone rang while Gordon was in the shower. Hoping it was Jupiter, he stumbled out, wrapped in a towel, and caught it on the sixth ring. It was Flanagan.
“Top of the morning to you, boychik,” he said in a carefree tone. It was too early for him to sound like that, Gordon thought; he must be just getting home.
“What’s on your mind, chief?” he asked.
“Thought we might go over together, later on,” Flanagan said,
“Go over together where?” asked Gordon.
“To Ida’s. The shivah. Its a weeklong period of mourning in case you didn’t know,” he said.
“Ida’s probably on her way to Vegas.”
“Vegas! She wouldn’t do that; Max isn’t even cold yet,” he protested. He seemed genuinely shocked.
“Listen, Flanagan, do you fuck with a rubber?”
“Yeah, when need be. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Catholics aren’t supposed to fuck with a rubber. Jews aren’t supposed to go to Vegas after their husband’s funeral. But nobody’s perfect. It’s an irreverent world.”
“OK, so Ida’s in Vegas. Why don’t you come by the paper, we can go around the corner for a drink and talk.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“Are you kidding?” asked Flanagan. “I want to hear what Nathan Belzer told you.”
“How do you know what he told me?”
“I don’t. But I saw your face when you came out yesterday, boychik. You know what you reminded me of? Of the way you looked in Saigon when you got the cables.”
Until that moment Gordon hadn’t decided whether or not to tell Flanagan about his uncle’s will, but now he realized that he would. He had to tell someone besides Jupiter; it was too good a story to keep. “OK, I’ll meet you at three,” he said. “How will I recognize you?”
Flanagan laughed at their old gag. “I’ll be the Catholic wearing the rubber,” he said.
CHAPTER 4
G ordon spotted the top of his father’s head as soon as he walked into the Emerald Isle. Grossman was sitting in a rear booth, wearing a gray tweed sport coat over a black turtleneck, bending over the
Sporting News
.
The small restaurant was crowded with the usual mix of workmen in flannel shirts and jeans drinking lunch at the bar and junior TV types from nearby ABC kibbitzing in the booths. On the way to the table he heard the name Reggie twice, and Peter three times.
Gordon had never met Reggie Jackson, but he vividly recalled his last encounter with Peter Jennings. They had been having dinner together at the American Colony Hotel in Jerusalem when Jennings was summoned to the phone. It was New York calling to inform him that he had just been voted one of America’s ten best-dressed men.
“It’s like a Pulitzer for your wardrobe, Peter,” Gordon had told him.
Gordon slid into the seat opposite his father, who looked
Similar Books
