What's in It for Me? (17 page)

“Just kidding you, Mr. Yazdabian. No, I just want to give them a drink or two and let them see where I hang my hat these days, that's all. I don't even want any dresses in the showroom today.” I looked around the room and watched Eric place the last partition against the wall. “In fact, this is such a nice-looking room, Mr. Yazdabian, I've got a few ideas on improving it. See that stretch of wall there, the left side? It's blank now. What I think is, if we had a couple of couches in purple, to match the rest of the stuff, and we just ran them along that wall there, it would be a knockout. And over here, on this side. See this? The whole wall is a sheet of smooth white. What it needs is a single touch. And I've got it, too. A panel of purple glass running along here, about this high from the ground, and about two inches off the wall, with a couple of small lights behind it. Some idea, eh? We could get it this way, here, with the end running—”

Yazdabian nodded and pursed his lips.

“Yes, Mr. Bogen, I see what you mean. But I think what we will do is make some money first. If we have a good season, then we will put money into the showroom.”

“That's kind of old-fashioned, Mr. Yazdabian, isn't it?” I said with a forced laugh. “I mean, if you want to have a good season, it seems to me that the thing to do is to lay out the money first and then—”

“It may be old-fashioned,” he said, “but I am an old-fashioned man, Mr. Bogen.”

“Suit yourself,” I said casually. “I just thought it was a good idea.”

“It is an excellent idea. But not for now.” He turned to the shipping clerk. “Eric.”

“Yes, sir?”

“I'm ready to sort those returns now.”

“All right, sir.”

“Oh, by the way, Mr. Bogen.”

“Yes, Mr. Yazdabian?”

He smiled gently.

“This little gathering you are giving, Mr. Bogen. I don't like parties very much myself and I have a lot of work to do. Would you mind very much if I remained in the back and didn't join you?”

“Not at all. These people aren't much to talk to, anyway.” I grinned at him. “They're far from amusing. They just buy I dresses.”

“I hope they don't bore you too much.”

“They can bore me stiff,” I said. “As long as they sign big enough orders, I recover in no time.”

He bowed slightly.

“You have the constitution of a young man, Mr. Bogen.”

“I'm not as young as I look,” I said, “but I feel pretty chipper.”

I took a last glance around the showroom and then went into the office.

“Good-morning, Miss Eckveldt.”

“Good-morning, Mr. Bogen,” she said, without looking up.

Or rather, that was a free translation of the disagreeable mumbling that served her for a greeting. Her age was anybody's guess, but I was positive she was over forty from the way she disliked me.

“Will you draw a check to the order of cash for a hundred dollars, Miss Eckveldt?”

She looked up with an irritated frown.

“You'll have to get Mr. Yazdabian's okay on that first, Mr. Bogen.”

“That's all right, Miss Eckveldt. Perhaps Mr. Yazdabian hasn't told you yet, but I'm his partner now. Will you please draw that—”

“I'm sorry, Mr. Bogen. Those are my orders from Mr. Yazdabian.”

I walked into the back. I tapped Yazdabian on the shoulder and he looked up.

“Yes, Mr. Bogen.”

“I'd like to see you for a moment.”

“What is it?” he asked.

“Nothing much,” I said evenly, “except that everybody around here seems to be impressed with the fact that I'm a partner except Miss Eckveldt. I think it would be a good idea if you told her, too.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“But I did, Mr. Bogen!”

“Well, she doesn't seem to know it. I asked her to draw me a small check for—”

“Oh, that!” he said with a quick smile. “I told her that all checks were to—”

“Well, tell her differently. I need some money for some necessary entertaining expenses and I don't intend to be answering questionnaires for bookkeepers every time I want it.”

“I can understand how you feel,” he said calmly, “but we had better understand each other on the matter of checks, Mr. Bogen.”

“What about them?” I demanded.

“I think it would be better,” he continued easily, “if we both signed
all
checks. Not that I don't trust you, Mr. Bogen, and not, I'm sure, that you don't trust me. But—”

I hauled in a little sail and set the course again.

“But what?” I asked calmly.

“I simply think it would be best.” He dropped the beads into his pocket and pulled out some cards and papers. “In fact, I was going to speak to you about it earlier this morning, but it slipped my mind.” We were in his private office and he placed the cards and the papers on the dirty table. “I spoke to the bank about it and they provided me with these signature cards. If you will sign here, and here, and here, on this paper also, I will sign right under you and I will send them to the bank.”

He handed me his fountain pen. I hesitated for a moment, but there was nothing I could do. Maybe it was better this way. If I couldn't sign checks alone, neither could he. How did I know he didn't have some fancy ideas of his own? I signed the cards and handed back the pen.

“Thank you,” he said and signed his name under mine. He straightened up and took the papers. “Now, how much of a check did you say you wanted?”

“A hundred dollars.”

He looked surprised.

“A hundred dollars? That's a lot of money, Mr. Bogen.”

“No, it isn't. I want to get some good liquor and some sandwiches and cheese and stuff like that for these buyers that are coming in and—”

“A hundred dollars is too much,” he repeated.

“What would you consider enough?” I asked.

He waved his hand at the smoke before he replied.

“I wish you wouldn't smoke, Mr. Bogen. I am very sensitive to—”

“I'm sorry, Mr. Yazdabian, but all this haggling over a few dollars makes me very nervous. I have to smoke. How much would you consider enough?”

He shrugged and scowled.

“Fifty dollars I should think would be—”

“All right, let it be fifty. But let's get started. I expect these people and I don't want to—”

“Let's go into the office, Mr. Bogen.” We went into the office and Miss Eckveldt took her nose out of the accounts receivable ledger at once. “Do this right away, will you, Miss Eckveldt,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Send these signature cards down to the bank immediately. From now on all checks will be signed by both Mr. Bogen and myself. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now draw a check to the order of cash for fifty dollars and I will sign it.” While she was drawing the check he turned to me. “This check, of course, I will sign alone. That is, the signature cards won't go into effect until they get down to the bank and—”

“Of course, of course. I've had bank accounts before, Mr. Yazdabian.”

“Will you please send Eric in here when you go into the bank?”

He looked at me curiously.

“What do you want with Eric?”

“I want to send him down for this stuff.”

He scowled and waved his hand.

“Couldn't you call up for it? We have only one shipping clerk, you know, and I need Eric right now to help me check those returns.”

“I didn't think you wanted me to waste a phone call,” I snapped.

“Since this is a sort of special occasion,” he said innocently, “it's perfectly all right.”

“Thanks,” I said. “And by the way.”

“Yes?”

“I hung my hat and coat in your private office. I did it because I couldn't find any other place for it. I hope you won't charge me rent for it and take it off my drawing account.”

He started to wind himself up into his toothless milk and honey smile, but I know when to make an exit. I flung out of the office into the showroom and called up for the liquor and food on the showroom phone. I was boiling all during the time that it took for the stuff to arrive, but in the excitement of paying for it and arranging it and walking around to make sure that everything looked right, I managed to work off steam and calm down a bit. In fact, by the time Bash of Givens-Goetzler arrived, I was in such a cheerful frame of mind that his ugly puss seemed pleasant

“Hello, Bash,” I cried, “come on in!”

He looked around slowly and whistled.

“In the money again, eh, Harry?”

Yeah, except that I couldn't spend more than fifty dollars for liquor because teacher didn't like.

“Hey, now, is that a nice thing to say? When was I ever out of it?”

He laughed and took a drink.

“What the hell is this?” he said. “Me the first guy here?”

“This isn't going to be much of a crowd. Just six or seven of the—”

“The hell with them. I see enough of those marbleheads. But where's this delicious little baby that you introduced me in the Beaux Arts? That Martha Mills that you promised was gonna be here?”

“She's on her way,” I said quickly. “Give her a few minutes. Take yourself another drink, Bash, will you, while I go in and make a phone call.”

I hurried into the office and called the apartment.

“Hello, Charlie. This is Mr. Bogen. Ring Miss Mills for me, will you?”

There was a pause.

“She doesn't answer, Mr. Bogen.”

“Did you see her go out?”

“I don't remember, Mr. Bogen. I—”

“Well, try!” I barked. “Can't you even remember if—?”

“Yes, Mr. Bogen,” he said finally. “Now that I think of it, I did see her go out about ten or fifteen minutes ago.”

Thank God she was on her way.

“All right, dope,” I snapped. “Try to keep your eyes open next time.”

I hung up and hurried into the showroom. Most of the gang had arrived.

“Hey, Harry! Where's that tomato of yours? Ooops, sorry! I mean the girl friend!”

“She's on her way down. She wants to give you boys a thrill, so she's wearing an extra tight dress and it took her a little longer to get into it than usual. Shoe horn and all that sort of stuff. You know?”

“Personally, I'd rather see her in that get-up she wears in
Smile Out Loud.”

“Hey, Harry. No kidding, is it as good as it looks?”

“If it wasn't, would I be wasting my time with it?”

“And I go ahead and have to be a buyer,” Bash said mournfully. “The buyers, they get paid off in models. But the salesmen, they get babies like that! That's a world for you! I ask you, Harry, that's fair?”

“You be a good boy and treat me right on orders, Bash, and I'll see what I can do for you.”

“It's a deal!” he yelled promptly and the others gathered around.

“Okay, okay, okay,” I said, holding up my hands and laughing. “One at a time, fellas. Bash here asked first, so he—”

They piled on Bash and tried to buy his claim to priority, but he wasn't selling.

“Nothing doing, boys,” he said, grinning widely, “I know when I got something.”

In the middle of the noise someone said, “Say, Harry, where's the boss of the joint?”

“What boss?”

“Yazdabian.”

I laughed and looked around the room.

“He don't like noise. And he thinks boffing is undignified or against the Armenian religion or something like that. So he lets me handle that end of it.”

“Oh, boy, what a job to have!”

“What do you mean, job? You think I'd—?”

“It said in the
News Record
you connected up here as a salesman, didn't it?”

I laughed and shoved a drink at him.

“Mac,” I said, “Tipp-Ortmann should only hear you talk like that, they'd go run get themselves a new buyer right away. You think I'd go into any business as a salesman only? What's the matter with you guys? You know I don't work for anybody but myself.”

“Then what—?”

“You better have another drink, too, Bash,” I laughed. I dropped my voice and looked around the room. “Don't let this go any further, but I'm a silent partner in this dump.” Mac laughed and shook his head.

“You little conniver! I kinda figured you weren't going around working for anybody.”

There was a lull while glasses were re-filled.

“Say, Harry, who's doing your designing here?”

“Yazdabian himself,” I said and winked. “The old fart can't get the rhubarb up any more, but you ought to see the dresses he turns out.”

“I've seen them. They're not bad.”

“Not bad!” I cried. “Say, they're the best—”

“The hell with the dresses,” Bash yelled. “How about the girl friend?”

“All right,” I said, “you guys keep the party going and I'll go in and call up again.”

I hurried into the office and called the Montevideo.

“Hello, Charlie,” I said quickly. “This is Mr. Bogen again.”

“Yes sir?”

“Has Miss Mills come in or gone out or called up or anything since—” I stopped and pulled myself together. “Listen, Charlie,” I said more calmly, “when did you say you remembered her going out?”

“Let's see now. You called me about, uh, about twelve-thirty, I guess, Mr. Bogen. Yes, that's right, you called me about twelve-thirty, and I said then that she went out about fifteen minutes ago, I think I said, yeah, well, that means she must've gone out about a quarter after twelve, Mr. Bogen. About a quarter after twelve.”

I glanced at my wrist watch. It was ten after one. It shouldn't take her more than twenty minutes to get down from the Montevideo. Where the hell was she?

“All right, Charlie. Thanks.”

I hurried out into the showroom with a grin.