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"Dear Mrs. Small, I'm not disagreeing with you. But we live in the world. This is what the world wants now in a rabbi, so this is what a rabbi has to be."
"David will change the world, Mr. Wasserman, before the world will change my David."
7
When Joe Serafino arrived at the club, he found a new hatcheck girl. He strolled over to the headwaiter, who acted as manager in his absence.
"Who's the new broad, Le
"Oh, I was going to tell you, Joe. Nellie's kid is sick again so I got this girl to stand in for her."
"What's her name?"
"Stella."
Joe looked her over. "She sure fills out that uniform," he admitted. "Okay, when things settle down, send her into the office."
"No fu
"Take it easy, Le
He heard the doorknob turn ineffectually and then, smiling, he got up from his chair and turned back the night latch. He motioned the girl to the couch. "Siddown, kid," he said. "I'll be with you in a minute." Casually he pushed the door closed and returned to the swivel chair at the desk and frowned at the books in front of him. For a minute or two he appeared very busy, making little marks on paper and checking against the pages of his ledgers. Then he swung around and looked at her, letting his gaze wander slowly over her. "What's your name?"
"Stella, Stella Masfrangelo." "How do you spell it? Never mind; here, write it down on this piece of paper."
She came to the desk and bent over to write. She was young and fresh, with a smooth olive skin and dark provocative eyes. His hand itched to pat her bottom, so enticingly encased in the black satin shorts of her uniform. But he had to play it cool, so in the same businesslike voice he said, "Put down your address and your Social Security. And you better put down your telephone number too, in case we want to get in touch with you in a hurry."
She finished writing and straightened up, but she did not immediately return to the couch. Instead, she leaned against the edge of the desk, facing him. "Is that all you want, Mr. Serafino?" she asked.
"Yeah." He studied the paper. "You know, we might be able to use you from time to time. Nellie was hinting she'd like an extra night off. It'd give her more time with her kid."
"Oh, Mr. Serafino, I'd appreciate that."
"Yeah, well, we'll see about it. Say, you got your car here?"
"No, I came on the bus."
"Then how were you pla
"Mr. Leonard said I could leave just before midnight. That way I could catch the last bus."
"Aren't you afraid to go home that late at night alone? That's a hell of an arrangement. Tell you what, I'll drive you home tonight, and you can make some better arrangement next time. Pat, in the parking lot, can usually work out something for you with one of the cabbies."
"Oh, I couldn't have you do that, Mr. Serafino."
"Why not?"
"Well, Mr. Leonard said-"
He held up a hand. "Nobody has to know," he said, and his voice was easy and coaxing. "This door here leads right to the parking lot. You leave at quarter of twelve and walk down to the bus stop and wait for me there. I'll get my car and pick you up."
"But Mr. Leonard-"
"Le
She nodded her head and fluttered her eyelashes at him.
"Okay, run along, kid, and I'll see you later." He patted her in dismissal, in a fatherly sort of way.
The Ship's Cabin served sandwiches, doughnuts, and coffee during the day. In the evening they offered hot dishes-spaghetti and meatballs, fried clams and french fried potatoes, baked beans and frankforts-which were described on greasy, flyspecked cards and inserted in the frame of the bar mirror. Each dish was numbered and regulars like Stanley would order by number, presumably to speed up the operation.
There was no heavy drinking either during the day or in the early evening. The patrons who dropped in at midday usually took ale or beer to wash down their sandwich. Those who came later might have a shot of whiskey before supper. But the regular customers, like Stanley, usually returned around nine. That was when the Ship's Cabin really came alive.
After leaving the rabbi's house, Stanley drove his yellow jalopy to the Ship's Cabin, had his regular evening meal, one of the three specials, together with a few glasses of ale. He sat at the bar eating stolidly, his jaws moving rhythmically like a machine. He focused on his plate just long enough to load his fork and then turned his head to watch the television screen set high in one corner of the room, as he chewed away. Every now and then, he reached for his glass and took a long draught, his eyes remaining fixed on the screen.
Except for exchanging a remark about the weather with the bartender when he first set his plate before him, Stanley spoke to no one. The program ended, and he drained the remains of his second glass, wiped his mouth with the paper napkin that had lain folded all through supper, and ambled over to the cashier to pay his tab.
He left the tavern with a wave to the bartender, and drove the few blocks to Mama Schofield's. No point in hanging around; there would be nothing doing for another hour or two.
Mrs. Schofield was sitting in her parlor when he stuck his head in to say good evening. Upstairs in his room he took off his shoes, his denim work pants and shirt, and lay down on the bed, his hands clasped under his head, staring up at the ceiling. There were no pictures like those he had on the wall in the temple basement; Mama Schofield would not have stood for them. The only decoration was a calendar showing a picture of a little boy and a puppy that was somehow supposed to induce fond feelings for the Barnard's Crossing Coal Company. Usually he napped for an hour or so, but tonight for some reason he was restless. He realized he was undergoing one of his frequent attacks of loneliness. In his circle of acquaintances, his bachelorhood was regarded as proof that he was too smart to have got himself caught. He wondered uneasily if he hadn't outsmarted himself. What sort of life did he have? Supper, a greasy meal eaten at a counter stool; then back to a furnished room, with the boozy good fellowship of the Ship's Cabin afterward the only thing to look forward to. If he were married now-and his mind slipped into a pleasant daydream of married life. Soon he dozed off.