The Hole

& Retrospective thirteen

___________________________________________________________

Looking at her. “Mrs. Young, we thought the government would pay ‘much’ more than they did. As a matter of fact, we thought they would pay the whole thing; I mean for the delivery and the normal time she would have spent here, and because she was due and Doctor Greenblatt told her to stay, we were hoping they would pay for the days before we had the baby also. But that other stuff—the operation and private room, and for all those extra days after her surgery for her and the baby—I’m not prepared to…” Sighing, Mitchell’s eyes meeting those of Mrs. Young, “I just don’t have that kind of money.”

“What can you pay, Mister Lipensky?”

“I can give you two hundred now and about…” expecting an argument, “$25.00 a month.” He was surprised when…

“That’ll be fine, Mister Lipensky.” Reaching into her desk, removing a form and spinning it into the typewriter. “If you’ll just sign this lien authorisation...” Mrs. Young said as she typed, “...you’ll be able to take your wife and baby home.”

___________________________________________________________

Walter, Mitchell and Michael

Walter never had patience with his eldest son.

As a child and throughout puberty, Mitchell felt as though he were a bother to his father. As though unloved by his father. As though he and his father were strangers living in the same house.

True, Mitchell was what in later years become known as ‘hyperactive’ and, living on the third floor his running and jumping and slamming of doors had made the downstairs neighbours, the ‘Kaplins’, crazy, and the Kaplins’ complaints about Mitchell along with their pounding on the ceiling below the Lipensky apartment with a broomstick was a near constant occurrence.

In retrospect, Mitchell could well understand how his hyperactivity had caused a problem between his overly impatient father and himself.

One time only…

The one time the father and son had done anything together as father and son was on a Sunday in 1944 when Mitchell was nine years old when, after being harangued by his wife, to prove to his wife that he could be as good a father as any man, Walter had taken his son to….

The Circus: Retrospect Thirteen

Chicago, Illinois

June 14, 1944

The sun shined warmly through light, wispy clouds and a gentle westerly breeze blew over Lake Michigan cooling the city. The man and boy stood on the safety island waiting for the eastbound streetcar that would take them to the ‘Chicago Stadium’ and the ‘Ringling Brothers, Barnum and Baily Circus’.

Looking at the two, anyone passing by could easily see that they were father and son. Both were dark complected with straight, dark brown hair and their faces—giving for their twenty-nine year difference—were noticeably alike, except the man had dark brown eyes while the boy’s were light green.

The man is six feet tall and with the exception of a slight bulge around his waist signifying the beginning of a paunch, Walter was well built, handsome and for his age, youthful.

Inches taller than any of his friends, looking older than his actual age, at almost five-eight he was about four inches short of his lifetime maximum height. Though near fifteen pounds overweight, Mitchell’s bone structure carried the weight well, giving him a robust appearance.

Women, both younger and older, turned their heads discreetly— or sometimes not so discreetly to look at both, father and son.

Dressed in white cotton slacks and a dark blue blazer, the man’s white sport shirt open at the neck revealed an abundance of chest hair.

The boy wearing dark blue cotton slacks and a light blue, short-sleeved polo shirt.

Well aware of his appearance, Walter basked in the glances he knew he was receiving. He was not aware, though, that the looks of passersby were as much for his son as himself—maybe even more so, because the boy radiated not only beauty but the healthful glow of youth.

Looking upon his son as a noisy, in his opinion, ‘not too smart kid’, the argument with Myra the night before over his attitude towards Mitchell had left him feeling— for the first time in his life, older and, Maybe she’s right, he’d thought. It won’t hurt to spend some time with the kid, to try to get to know him better.

When Mitchell was younger the father did feel love for him. But then? Try as hard as he might— rather than the warmth one would think a father would feel for his son, Walter felt a void.

This day was the first time in their lives they’d been together without the company of others and Walter, ‘quite honestly’, would rather have been home reading the Sunday newspaper.

As for Mitchell? As for the boy there was no place in the world that he’d rather be than right there, at the side of his father.

The streetcar’s steel wheels squealed to a stop.

Taking Walter’s two dimes, the conductor handed him four cents in change, pulled the rope to the counting device twice and stamped on the steel button beneath his foot twice and the streetcar lurched forward.

As it traveled northeast, the streetcar filled with people. When it reached Madison Street, Walter discovered that they were not the only ones going to the circus as better than half of the car emptied and the adults and children began the two-block walk west to the ‘Chicago Stadium’.

Standing in line to buy tickets, Walter was amazed to see that this many adults would spend a Sunday afternoon here, waiting in line to buy tickets to the circus with their children at two dollars for adults and a dollar, twenty-five for…

“How old’s the kid?” the man behind the window asked.

“Not even ten,” Walter replied.

“Yeah, sure!” Looking from Walter to Mitchell, “How old are ya, kid?”

“Almost ten.”

“Yeah, sure. When’s your birthday, kid?”

“In August.”

“The year, kid. The year!”

“Uh, ‘34. 1934.”

“Okay, mister.” Looking at Walter, “You sure feed that kid good… That’ll be three, twenty-five.””

Entering the building, consulting the tickets, ‘J-F-17, J-F-18.’ They walked up three flights of concrete steps and turned right to section J, went down a half flight of steps to aisle ‘F’, then midway through the row to seats 17 and 18 and sat down with fifteen minutes left to show time.

Motes of dust reflecting from within seemingly semi-solid gelatinous beams, the three rings were lit with dozens of spotlights that shined from around the circumference of the stadium. Clowns sauntered about the sawdust-strewn floor. In the center ring a clown was dressed in a brown, overly spangled uniform bedecked with medals. He was white-faced and had the telltale features of ‘Adolph Hitler’: a triangle of black hair over his left eye and a short, stubby mustache beneath his nose. As he goose-stepped to the accompaniment of boos and hisses from the audience, he about-faced, showing a huge behind over which was the word ‘HINNIE’. Another white-faced clown ran behind him and swatted him on the HINNIE with a large paddle, causing a flash of light, a puff of smoke and a loud explosion that made Hitler jump three feet into the air, do a somersault and run away.

Mitchell laughed hysterically.

Walter watched with a look of near boredom on his face.

Vendors in white jackets carrying trays of peanuts, cotton-candy, soda pop, balloons on sticks and circus souvenirs walked up and down the steps calling their wares then, when purchased, sending the peanuts, cotton-candy, soda pop, balloons on sticks or circus souvenirs down the aisle as, passing the quarter or dollar bill as it traveled from hand to hand back to him.

Pointing to a vendor at the head of their aisle waving a package of peanuts in the air, “Hey, Dad, look. There’s Mister Parminter!”

Not recognizing him, “Who’s ‘Mister Parminter’?”

“You know, Normie’s dad… Mister Parminter.” Mitchell yelled, “Mister Parminter!”

Looking, Frank Parminter searched for the voice calling his name. Spotting him, “Hi, Mitchell!” he called. “Here, pass these down, please,” sending two packages of peanuts down the aisle. “For you and your dad!” Standing, Walter started to dig into his pocket. “No, it’s on me! Have a good time!” Frank turned to a young girl sitting in the aisle seat on the opposite side that was tugging on his sleeve.

The spotlights lowered, then darkened completely leaving only the embe dded stair-lights glowing.

A loud drum roll… One brilliant light knifed through the darkness shining on the center ring where the ringmaster stood resplendent in red jacket, white jodhpurs, shining patent-leather boots and a black top hat.

“Boys and girls of all ages!” His voice booming over a hundred loudspeakers. “Ringling Brothers, Barnum and Bailey are proud to present their year ‘nineteen-forty-four’ edition of ‘The Greatest Show on Earth’!”

A dozen lights dancing across the three sawdust-covered rings; the parade began.

Lions and tigers growled as their trainers walked alongside the rolling cages snapping their whips in the dust. Acrobats on elephants. Clowns tumbled and fell. Beautiful women in glimmering, scanty costumes danced upon the backs of snow-white or pitch-black horses.

“Boy and girls! ‘Clyde Beatty’ and friends!” Three sharp reports of a pistol and the cracking of a whip— that sounded as sharp as the pistol and Clyde Beatty stepped into the cage along with four snarling lions and two white tigers.

“Dad, can I have some popcorn?”

The midget car sputtered, backfired and belched clouds of black smoke. As it puttered around the ring it lost all four fenders, and when it came to a stop the small car collapsed onto its axles. The passenger door fell off and a red-faced clown tumbled out, followed impossibly by eleven more clowns.

“Dad, I’m thirsty. Can I have some pop?”

Waving to a vendor, Walter passed another quarter along.

Elephants danced in a circle, each tail held in the trunk of the elephant behind.

Standing with all four legs on a small box, as the trainer signaled, the elephant raised one leg and the trainer, to the fearful “Ohhhh’s!” of the vast audience, laid his head beneath.

“Boys and girls, the ‘Great Gambinos’ on the high wire of death!”

The stadium went dark… A spotlight pointed high in the air to two men and one woman on a suspended platform. The men, so handsome, the woman, so beautiful—at least from that distance.

The knife thrower rapidly flinging needle-pointed knives and sharp-bladed axes at a lady spinning on a wheel.

“Dad, can I have some cotton candy?”

He looked at his son, but the boy was so enthralled that he didn’t notice the dark look on his father’s face as he signaled the vendor, removed a dollar from his pocket, passed it along and waited for his change.

More clowns. More acts… until The Greatest Show on Earth ended and the thousands of people made their way down the flights of steps into the tightly packed vestibules where they squeezed through the doors, and onto the sidewalk to scatter in all directions going to whatever transportation would take them home.

Walking along Madison Street, going to Ogden Avenue where they’d catch the south-bound streetcar.

“The show was ‘really’ great, wasn’t it, Dad!?”

Walter didn’t answer.

Thinking he hadn’t heard. “It was really great...” Mitchell repeated. “… wasn’t it, Dad?”

After a long moment... “Yeah...” looking straight forward, “...it was ‘just’ great!”

Noticing the sarcastic inflection in his father’s voice, but passing it off. “Wow, that guy they shot out of the canon! J’see how torn and dirty his clothes were? An’ all the smoke that came outta his mouth!” Mitchell looked up but, staring straight ahead, once again Walter did not respond.

“Dad...” trying again, “...what’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?”

And was met with stone-cold silence.

They waited for the streetcar in silence. The long ride home was in silence.

**** 

“Hi, guys! You have a good time? Dinner’s almost…?” Myra had been waiting, hoping that this day would bring a new-found understanding between Walter and his son and she’d prepared one of their favorite meals, spaghetti and meatballs…

...But her husband marched through the door stone-faced and her son followed with tears running down his cheeks.

Muttering a weak, “Hello,” Mitchell went into his bedroom shutting the door behind him.

Following Walter to their bedroom. “What’s wrong?” Myra asked.

Hanging his jacket onto a hanger. “Nothing! ‘Nothing’s’ wrong!”

“Oh, yes, something is wrong!” Grasping her husband by the shoulder, turning him so he’s facing her. “ ‘Tell me’!”

“That kid of yours! He didn’t stop asking for things!”

“What ‘things’ did ‘my kid’ ask for, Walter?”

Shrugging her hand off. “Peanuts, popcorn, cotton candy, pop… You name it, he wanted it! He was more interested in what he could shove in his mouth than in the damn circus!”

“Walter...” trying to… Desperately wanting to salvage the day, speaking softly, “...he’s just a kid. Those are things all kids want when they go to the circus…” Receiving no reply, “...Walt, ‘please’!”

“The last time!”

“Huh?” Fighting to hold her anger down. “What did you say?”

“This is the last time I’ll ever take your son ‘anyplace’!”

**** 

Knocking softly... “Mitchie,” Myra opened his door.

He’d been lying face down on the pillow. Sitting up he rubbed his eyes and running nose with the back of his hand.

Going to his dresser. Opening the top drawer andtaking a handkerchief. “Here, blow,” Myra handed it to him.

Taking the handkerchief. Wiping his eyes and blowing his nose. “I didn’t do nothin’, Mom!” His words coming from between sobs. “I d’know why dad’s so mad at me. I asked him why an’ he wouldn’t tell me.”

Sitting on the bed next to the sobbing boy. “Shh...” rubbing his back. “...your father’s, uh…” Trying to find an excuse for her husband. “Your father’s feelings were hurt because he thinks all you were interested in were peanuts and popcorn and all the other things you asked for.” Unknowingly turning Walter’s irrational behavior into her son’s guilt.

Thinking that he had hurt his father’s feelings…“ ‘Mommy’...” the word he thought only babies used slipped out, “...’no’! I ‘loved’ it! Normie’s dad was there an’ he gave dad’n’me bags of peanuts, an’ all else I asked for was popcorn’n’cotton candy’n’pop! I’m really sorry if I made dad think I didn’t like it, ‘cause I did! I ‘loved’ it!”

Thinking, He was so nice to take me to the circus! A deep sense of remorse overtook the boy and he further thought, An’ now he feels bad ‘cause he thinks I didn’t like it.

Tears coming again. “Mom, tell dad I’m real sorry if I made him think I didn’t like it. ‘Please’, tell him I loved it!”

Realizing what she’d done. Wishing she had a way to retract her words. “Okay, sweetie, I’ll tell him. You get washed now. It’s almost time for dinner and I made spaghetti.” Standing. Ruffling his hair and closing the door behind her, Myra left the room.

Sitting in the living room, smoking a cigarette and reading the Sunday paper. Not looking up “Dinner almost ready?” Walter asked coldly.

“Walt...” sitting on the edge of the sofa, “...Mitchell’s in his room crying because he thinks you think he didn’t like it today because he asked for those things. ‘Please’, baby, go to your son and tell him everything’s okay and that you’re not mad at him anymore.”

Angrily slapping the newspaper seam straight. “No!”

“Walt, please...” putting her hand on his knee, “...if not for him, if nothing more, do it for me, please.”

Starring at his wife a long moment before speaking. “I knew it, Myra! I ‘knew’ you’d take his side on this!”

“What ‘side,’ Walt? No! I’m not taking sides on this,” she lied. “But he’s so unhappy! Please go in to him!”

“Yes, you ‘are’! And I’m not going to go to him and tell him I’m not angry when I am! He made a pig of himself today and that’s that!” Glaring at Myra a moment longer, Walter brought his attention back to the paper.

“Oy, Walt. Someday, my honey, someday you’ll remember how you treat him, only then it’ll be too late….” Knowing her husband’s obstinate, unbending nature, giving up. “Dinner’s ready,” Myra said flatly.

“Mitchie...” attempting to sound cheerful, “...dinner!”

Still red-eyed from crying. Coming into the kitchen Mitchell sat down.

Coming into the kitchen, Walter sat down.

The family ate in silence, and...

April 6,1957

The young man remembered and...

As an adult with his own son, Mitchell Lipensky vowed to ‘never’ be as his father! To ‘always’ be close to his son! To ‘always’ be there for his son! And most of all… Above ‘all’ else to ‘always’ let Mikey know that he loved him… ‘Always’!

April 8,1957

Two days after returning home with his wife and baby, Mitchell discovered the thing he loved to do was to lie on his back on the bed or on the floor with Mikey nude on his stomach, lying upon his daddy’s chest…

At these peaceful times Mitchell Lipensky loved to hold both soft cheeks of his baby’s ‘tushie’ in his hands, or to feel the fuzzy down of his hair and to listen to him gurgle and to smell the scent of baby powder and baby oil. And Mitchell ‘loved’ to look at Mikey’s face and his green eyes—Mitchell’s green eyes—then his heart filled with all the love it could hold and even at those times when his baby ‘made’ upon his chest or spit up on his face, Mitchell really didn’t care.

The Hole

April 15 through April 25, 1957

“Mitch, we got bills today.” Sounding perplexed, “One from Silverman…”—they’d expected that bill—“and one from Greenblatt.”

He’d been canvassing and when he returned to the studio Troy told him Marsha had called.

“How much is Silverman’s?”

“Four--fifty.”

“Okay, that’s about what we’d expected.” Putting the coffee cup down, “Give me his number and I’ll call and make arrangements.”

Knowing the government had paid what it deemed proper for the hospital, they hoped it would pay the pre and post-natal bill in full. “What’s Greenbelt’s?” he asked hopefully. “A paid statement?”

“No, Mitch. I said we got ‘two’ bills.” Re-reading the 5x7 slip of paper. “They paid him in full for the delivery and the pre and post-natal care…”

“Okay, that’s great!”

“But he charged us another four hundred dollars.”

“Huh? What the ‘hell’ for?”

“It says, ‘Consultation’.”

“ ‘Four hundred bucks for a consultation’? What the hell’s he mean by a ‘consultation’?”

“I have no idea. Why don’t you call and find out!”

“Yeah! Bet your ass I’ll call. Give me both numbers.”

Calling Silverman’s office first, the bookkeeper settled for fifteen dollars a month till the bill was paid or the lawsuit settled—whichever came first.

****

“Hello, is Doctor Greenblatt available?”

“No, sir. May I take a message”?

“Uh, can I talk to your bookkeeper?”

“That’ll be Mrs. Greenblatt. Who’s calling?”

“Tell her Mitchell Lipensky.”

“Hold on, Mister Lipensky, I’ll transfer you.”

Put on hold for almost three minutes. “Mister Lipensky, this is Mrs. Greenblatt.”

Eunice and Manny Greenblatt had discussed this—as a matter of fact, it had been her idea and she’d been expecting this call.

“How may I help you?”

“Mrs. Greenblatt, we got a bill from you today that my wife and I don’t understand.”

“Oh...” said sugar-sweetly, “...your wife and you do not understand ‘what’, Mister Lipensky?”

“The doctor said our bill would be four hundred dollars for ‘everything’ and the government paid it, but we still got a bill for…”

“ ‘Unless’...” her voice hardening, “...something ‘unforeseen’ occurs! The doctor said it would be four hundred dollars unless something unforeseen occurs! And something unforeseen ‘did’ occur, ‘didn’t’ it, Mister Lipensky?”

****

Eunice Greenblatt hated Rhea Goldman!

Both women were about the same age.

Looking sexy and beautiful—‘much’ sexier and ‘much’ more beautiful than Euinice Greenblatt —once during her daughter-in-law’s pregnancy, Rhea had accompanied Brenda to the office.

As if being sexy and beautiful wasn’t enough, Rhea had worn a mink coat—a ‘much’ finer mink coat than her own.

As if being more sexy and more beautiful and wearing a ‘much’ finer mink coat than hers wasn’t enough, Rhea Goldman had, in Eunice Greenblatt’s opinion, a ‘holier than thou’ attitude.

As if all ‘that’ wasn’t enough, she’d flirted with Manny Greenblatt—actually flirted with her husband right before her eyes! Of course, Rhea may not have been aware that Eunice was Manny’s wife because Manny did not introduce Eunice as such.

After all, Eunice was a ‘few’ years older than her husband.

But still! To try to make out with your daughter-in-law’s obstetrician?

And above all…

‘Yes’ even above Rhea’s flirting with her husband was the fact that this…

This wife of a hot dog peddler had a better mink coat than hers!

Eunice Greenblatt hated Rhea Goldman. And though there was no way to get back at Rhea, there ‘was’ a way for Eunice to vent her angry jealousy on Rhea’s daughter.

****

“Well, yes, Mrs. Greenblatt, we were in an automobile accident and Marsha was admitted to the hospital a few days before the baby was born. But keeping her in the hospital was Doctor Greenblatt’s idea and to double your bill because of that just isn’t fair!” *

“Oh, it’s not ‘just’ that, Mister Lipensky. In coming up with our added charges, of course we took that into consideration. But mainly, when your wife became ill, after the baby was born, she ‘should’ have called her doctor, not…”

“If Marsha or I had anything to do with that, we would have! But when her mother found out that Marsha was sick, ‘she’ called doctor Schaffer and because he happened to be in the hospital at that time he came in and looked at my wife and because your husband wasn’t around and there wasn’t time to wait for him, he called Silverman!”

“Doctor Greenblatt happened to be in ‘Delivery’ at that time! But are you aware that he went directly to Surgery from Delivery and was at your wife’s side throughout the entire procedure?”

Actually Greenblatt was not there at all.

“No, ma’am. Until now I didn’t know he was there at all.”

“Of ‘course’ you didn’t!”

“Okay, so he was there! But we don’t have insurance and thought the government would pay all the original bill. And now, to double your price just because he came into the operating room…”

“ ‘Mister Lipensky’! My husband didn’t ‘just’ come into the operating room! Because your wife had delivered ‘only’ the day before, he was consulted...”—that was true . “...and he ‘did’ assist in the surgery!” — that was not true .

“But to charge about the same as Doctor Silverman isn’t fair, Mrs. Greenblatt. We ‘don’t’ have the money to pay this bill!”

“ ‘Mister Lipensky’, if you can afford to keep your wife in a private room, then I’m ‘sure’ you can afford to pay this bill!”

“My mother-in-law ordered the private room, not us! We didn’t even know she ordered a private room! As a matter of fact Marsha said she missed not having company, and I didn’t even think about it being a private room.”

****

On their way home from the hospital they’d spoken of this and, “Mitchie...” Marsha had said, “...let me handle it, I’ll talk to mother about the room.”

When asked to pay the difference between a semi and a private room, ‘What’s the matter’?” had been Rhea’s reply. “The bastard’s too cheap to make sure his wife had some privacy, at least!”

As the difference between a private and semi private room seemed a ‘drop in the bucket’ in comparison to all their other bills and not wanting to spoil her and Michael’s homecoming by getting into an argument with her mother, Marsha, at least temporarily, let the matter drop.

****

Feeling greatly gratified! “Nonetheless, Mister Lipensky...” Eunice Greenblatt said, “...that is our statement!” Rubbing on a small hangnail alongside a polished fingernail. “Do you intend to pay it? And until your insurance settles, how?”

Sighing, “Yes, Mrs. Greenblatt. How’s about ten dollars a month?”

“Make it fifteen!”

“I’ll try.” But knew he would pay ten.

****’

Hating to ask—for among other reasons, because of the ‘mom’ thing—but knowing the decision would ultimately come from her. Thinking, I might as well, so to speak, go directly to the horse’s mouth.

Waiting until she got off the phone, “Mom...” he said, “...I’ve got to talk to you.”

At her desk, looking up, Myra waited for her son to speak.

“I don’t know how to say this…” forming his thoughts, “...I know I’m not up to my draw…”

“You’re not even ‘close’ to your draw!”

“Okay, yeah...”— the words stinging because he had really tried— “... ‘I’m not even close to my draw’, but…” taking a deep breath, “...I’ve ‘got’ to have more money!”

“Mitchell, we’re paying you about as much as we can afford now.”

“Mom, I know, but we just got two more bills and, yes, we did count on the surgeon and even though his bill is a little higher than we expected, okay, but we thought the government would pay all of Greenblatt’s bill and they did... for the delivery and stuff, but we still owe him another four hundred…”

“ ‘Four hundred’? For what?”

“Because he says he was there, in the operating room when they took out Marsha’s appendix.”

“That ‘shtunk’ (stinker)! How much is it all costing you?”

“Each month...” ticking it off with his fingers, “...we’re supposed to pay the hospital twenty-five, Silverman fifteen and Greenblatt wants fifteen, too! But the hell with him, I’m only going to give him ten. Then twenty-one a month for the furniture and stuff, and it comes to about…”

Jotting down the figures, “Seventy-one dollars a month, plus rent.”

“Yeah. And I take home, from here, sixty-two-fifty a week and clear, from my other job, if it’s a good week, twenty bucks, and the rent’s one-fifteen and then there’s food and the telephone and gas for the car and insurance. And now, with the baby, there’s formula and all the other stuff a baby needs, and…

“Okay...” Surprising him. Remembering ‘all’ the other stuff a baby needs. “...I’ll talk to your father and see if we can give you… say another, uh, five dollars a week.”

He’d hoped for ten but, “Yeah, Mom...” knowing his mother always had the last word and though, in the face of things another twenty dollars a month was not a lot, but it would help. “...thanks,” he said gratefully. “That’ll help, a lot!”

Deeper Yet

April 25, 1957

Traffic the entire month had been light. On that Thursday evening it had been unusually light and even those few customers had been demanding and all but impossible to please, or sell.

**** 

Having to do this the part of the job he hated the most. Reluctant to do it he’d put it off for almost a week but had been pressured that afternoon, again.

Standing above, looking over the top of the tie case at the hunched figure on the other side. “Lipensky...” he said, “...will you come to my office when you’re through here? I’d like to talk to you.”

Straightening. “Yes, sir. I’m just about through here.” Hunching again, pretending to align a row of paisley ties. Stalling. Wondering, What did I do now? Mitchell watched Bornstein through the showcase glass as he walked across the floor.

*** 

Motioning to a chair on the opposite side of his desk… Hesitating. Waiting until the young man settled himself.

Looking at the ceiling and clearing his throat, the older man brought his attention back to Mitchell. “You do know we usually let the part-timers go after New Year’s. But this year business went on, at least until now and I was able to justify to them…” jerking his head upward, he glanced at the ceiling, “a part-time staff. But now…” hesitating again, “...I’ve got to let you go.”

“ ‘Mister Bornstein’…”

“Please, Mitchell...” holding his hand in a halting gesture, “...let me finish. ‘Believe me’, knowing you’ve just had a baby I ‘know ‘how badly you must need this job and I feel ‘terrible’ having to do this, and also you’re a good salesman and I ‘hate’ to lose you, but…”

 The next FBOW excerpt in sequence: “Big Bucks”