THE MIDNIGHT SKULKER 31
Saturday, March 3, 1974
8:22 a.m. Central Standard Time
“Well, you bought the house on Wednesday and we opened escrow and got the loan docs started on Thursday and the bank called your boss, uh…” consulting her notes, “Mr. Plankow Friday morning and he… Plankow gave you a glowing earnings report. So we got loan approval late yesterday afternoon, but I was tied up till about nine-thirty, so thought I’d give you the good news to brighten your day today.”
“That’s great, Sophie. That’s just great!”
“You hear anything on you end? You talk to Alice?”
“No. we were caught in traffic and got home late yesterday evening then we had to tell everyone about the trip and the new house and by the time we were through with dinner and talking it was getting late and we were tired so Marcie and I figured that if there’s anything we should know, or any problems, Alice would let us know. But if we don’t hear from her by Monday, we’ll call anyway.”
“Okay. Keep me advised, will you?”
“Of course we will… ‘Bye, Sophie.”
“’Bye, Mitch. Try to stay warm, will you?”
“You bet, Sophie. You stay warm, too… Bye.”
Coming from the family room, “Hey, Mom, we eating this morning, or what?”
“Yes, Sammy it’s cooking.”
“Fried motzie and pork sausage.”
“What’s for breakfast?” Ellie yelled from the family-room.”
“Fried Nazi!” Sammy yelled back.
“Huh?” Ellie said.
“I don’t want no fried Nazi!” Sherrie said.
Coming into the family-room, “Ain’t Nazi, it’s motzie! ” Mitchell said, sitting on the floor next to hischildren, where he was attacked and knocked onto his back and crawled upon by three laughing children and a gloppy kissing Great Dane.
“Come on you kids!” Marsha called from the kitchen. “Your fried Nazis’ almost ready. Go get washed!”
Roughhousing on the floor with Elli, Sherry and Sammy, with Sabra butting her snout into the melee, Mitchell was laughing so hard he hadn’t the strength to lift himself from the floor.
The phone rang.
In the process of stirring a large batch of water softened, egg battered frying matzo in one large frying pan and turning a pound and a half of pork sausage in another, “Mitchell, get the phone!”
“Yeah!” Trying to untangle himself, “Come on, guys, let me up… Sabra, pffft.” Pretending to spit as Sabra’s tongue caught him in the mouth.
Grabbing the phone on the fifth ring, “Yeah, hello.”
“Mitchell, it’s me again.”
“Sophie? What’s wrong?”
Alarmed, turning the fire off beneath both frying pans, Marsha turned from the stove.
“I didn’t want to wait till Monday. I like to know what’s happening now, so I called Alice.”
“ ‘You called Alice’, what’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” Marsha repeated.
“Nothing,” Sophie said. “I wanted to let you know that I spoke to Alice and everything’s going just great on your end.”
“Hold on, Sophie.” Looking at his wife, “No worry, Sophie says everything’s okay. She talked to Alice and everything’s okay.”
“Thank God!” Turning back to the stove, Marsha re-lit the two burners.
Speaking to Sophie again, “So we have no problems with our buyer?”
“ ‘Problems’? No! None! The Limbergers have loan approval and the people that bought their house were pre-qualified and approved so all three deals are going like, uh, shit through a goose.”
Thinking this funny coming from Sophie, laughing, “Like, ‘Shit through a goose, huh’?” Mitchell repeated.
Turning the burners off again, looking at Mitchell, “What did you say?”
“I said that Sophie said that all three deals are going like ‘shit through a goose’.”
“That’s great, I think.” Marsha said, dumping the fried matzos into a large bowl and placing it on the table.
“Oh, daddy,” Sherry said, “you said a bad word.”
“What did she say?” Sophie asked.
“My daughter said that you said a bad word.”
“Tell her ‘I’m sorry and that I’ll buy her an ice cream cone when you get here. Gotta run now, Mitch.”
“Okay, Sophie. Thanks’ for calling with the good news… Bye.”
Carrying a platter with the sausage to the table, “Come on, kids, breakfasts’ on.”
As usual, Sabra was the first to the table.
Seated now, all scooping fried matzos, spearing pork sausage and pouring maple syrup over the matzos.
“I was thinking that you ought to give Plankow a call to tell him everything’s set for us to move in thirty days.” Marsha suggested. “And to see what mover to call.”
“Yeah, I was thinking that, too… Ed’s usually in the office on Saturday mornings…”
“If the streets are plowed.”
“Yeah, Marcie, but the big streets are always the first to get plowed, so I’ll try to call him soon as we’re done eating.”
©November 7, 2011 / Mark M. Lichterman