102

Chapter Ten
Stones 2

New York City
5/3/15
5:12 PM

Not knowing if it was proper to shake hands with a lady when meeting her in New York City, nonetheless,“Hello, Agnes...” clasping the lady’s hand “...nice to know you.”

Smiling, liking the feel of this man’s hand. “Nice to know you, too, Morris.” Releasing his hand. “Aunt Bertha’s house is only a few blocks from here, so if it’s okay, we can walk.

Grabbing the two suitcase handles, Morris followed Agnes through the glass doors of National City Bank onto Seventh Avenue where they turned left.

“Here…” Agnes said “...let me take one of those from you.”

Walking on the outside, the larger of the two suite cases between them. “No. Thank you, but I’ve been dragging them around all afternoon, so I feel kind of balanced carrying them.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” She pretended scolding. “We’ve almost a half mile to walk, so let me help!”

Actually glad for the offer. Trading the large for the smaller case.

Taking hold of the smaller case, without giving it thought, Agnes moved it from her right to her left, leaving her free hand alongside Morris’ free hand.

“Your passport said you were from Germany, but your accent…” giggling “...at least here in America sure sounds British.”

Easily picking up on Agnes’ New York accent. “Now I haven’t even seen your passport, Agnes, but sure can tell you’re American.”

“Yeah…” glancing to her right, enjoying the look of this man “...you Brits speak English and us Americans, we speak ‘American’.”

“Never thought about it…” Glancing to his left, enjoying the look of this woman “...but have to admit, for what’s supposed to be the same language we sure sound different.”

“So long as we understand each other, though.”

“Yes, and that’s a good thing… Anyway, you wanted to know why a person sounding like me has a German passport?”

“Nah, Morris, it’s none of my business.”

“No, Agnes, it’s okay. Father and mother came to Germany when I was ten, so I pretty much knew how to talk, uh…” smiling “...British by that time.” All true to this point. Not so true now. “They had a small business, and when mother passed away, father, he, well, went off the deep end…”

Alarmed. “ ‘Deep end’? What do you mean by deep end?”

“He went kind of… Like you Yanks might say, ‘nuts’.”

Possibly looking for an excuse to take hold. “My God…” clasping his hand “...that’s terrible!”

“Yes…” sensing the warm sensation of his hand held within hers “... Well, anyway I ran the business till he joined mother…”

“Your Dad, he died?”

“Yes…” all untrue “...about three months ago…” realizing there very well might be an ongoing relationship with Agnes, and needing a reason for his apparent wealth “...I advertised our little business for sale, and when it sold about three weeks ago; having no reason to stay in Germany, and because I’d always wanted to, figured I’d come here, to the colonies to make a new start.”

“Planning on remaining here, in New York?”

“No. Don’t like crowded cities much any more. Been thinking of maybe heading inland, to see what I can find.”

“You?” Agnes asked as primly as possible “What do you do?”

‘Oh, what a tangled web we weave’! The not yet tangled web becoming a bit more entangled.

“I’m an engineer, you see. Worked on structural…” moving his free hand in an upward gesture, giving the impression of maybe bridges, or buildings “...construction.”

Morris had spent two years dozing through classes at oxford that his wealthy, German-Jewish parents had paid for, and when he dropped out of the university and had no future plans, or a penchants for work of any type, his indifferent parents thinking their son a ne’er-do-well, more or less gave up on him, and in time Morris found his way to Germany where he was offered a job at ‘Flischner’s Fin Jewelry’ due to the fact that Fleischer was in desperate need of a personable, intelligent sounding sales assistant that could speak fluent English and German, which Morris Pinowskiz certainly was all four: a personable, intelligent young man that spoke fluent English and German that for some reason — larceny at that time not a part of his future plans— Morris found the business of knowing fine jewellery and selling fine jewellery to wealthy people very much to his liking.

5:18 PM

Rather impressed, although having no idea what kind of... “You’re an engineer!” Agnes proclaimed. “You going to be looking for a job as an engineer then?”

“No…” glancing at Agnes, lies and truth becoming further entangled and wanting to change this entire line of conversation “… too many of then, uh, engineers looking for work.”

Hoping she was not overstepping her fragile bounds. “What then…” Agnes asked “...if it’s any of my business, are you interested in?”

Agnes Longstead, being a bit of a stubborn free thinker and a standing member in the ‘Woman’s Suffrage Movement’ had escaped her Amish life style, literally running from the community homestead in Pennsylvania
at age fifteen, finding her way to her aunt, on her mothers side, in lower Manhattan where— living and helping with needed hotel like chores — Agnes had attended public school and upon graduation, while attending a public city college, had enrolled in a course in bookkeeping and accounting, which eventually brought her to the esteemed position—especially in this male dominated period of time— as a teller in National City Bank at age twenty giving Agnes the responsibilities of day-to-day financial transactions of the bank’s customers along with an understanding of the National City Bank’s systems, policies, and services.

Never having what she would consider as a real boy or man friend. For those three times throughout her life when she had dated young or older men, they all had wanted more than she was remotely willing to give, and had never been attracted to any man in a sexual sense.

As for Morris: Girls and women had never been a pressing factor in his life; so much so that at times he’d thought he might even be somewhat of a homosexual, however Morris had never ‘remotely’ been attracted to any man in a sexual sense.

5:19 PM

Looking ahead, beyond the six, three story wooden structures, to the white picket fence leading to her Aunt Bertha’s boarding house.

Once again hoping she was not probing too much into the life of this man she had known but for an hour or so. “What then…” being the consummate career woman, Agnes asked “...if it’s any of my business, what type of work are you interested in?”

“Not sure…” Morris said, looking at the woman to his left “… but I’m a pretty good salesman, so thought I’d look for some kind of retail business.”

“Like a shoe or apparel store?”

“Don’t know...Yes, maybe. Maybe even a manufacturing company of sort. Not sure yet, but pretty sure I’ll know it when I see it.”

“Don’t know...” she said, doing her best not to sound too snippy “...might be because I’m so business oriented, hope you see it soon.” Thinking, Why am I even thinking this? He’s just passing through and will probably be out of my life tomorrow, or the day after.

She’s right! Recalling his years of wandering from country to country; drifting from job to job. Until, he thought, I became a thief. Maybe that’s what I’m best at: stealing.

Holding the suitcase an inch above the three, dark brown painted steps leading onto a like painted veranda with a swing, two gliders, a number of outdoor wicker chairs along with a card table to match.

Through a frosted-glass, white painted door into the house by means of brightly coloured, floral pattern linoleum flooring. Off to the right is a large living room with two sofas, three scattered easy chairs, a card table with six folded chairs leaning alongside, and a console radio.

“Leave your bags there.” Pointing to an out of the way place along the hallway wall.

To the right there is a huge dining room with a table large enough for twelve people, set for four people… “Auntie, we’ve a new guest!” Agnes called, motioning for Morris to follow into the room off the dining room.

Standing at the stove stirring the contents of a large pot, the old woman was tall and, giving the appearance of age, beautiful; her long, pure white hair gathered into a tight ball atop her head.

“Morris, this is my Aunt Bertha.”

Turning from her stirring chore, “Morris….” the lady said “...how nice to meet you…” offering her flour dusty hand, which he accepted “...my niece says you’re to be our guest for…?”

All within the time of two heart beats:

Agnes and Morris’ eyes touching. Her eyes projecting, ‘stay’! His eyes thinking her eyes were telling him to, ‘stay’.

However...

Anxious to leave New York City before questions concerning the where-about’s of a German jewel thief found there way to America.

However not in the least bit anxious to say goodbye to— never meeting a woman like— this rather outspoken lady that Morris Pinowskiz had formed a very unusual, maybe even a sensual attachment to.

And they’re certainly not looking for a fictitious ‘Solomon Berkowitz’. And other than the bank and Agnes, no one has seen my real passport.

“...my niece says you’re to be our guest for…?” Bertha questioned.

“At the least, for a few days, maybe even a week.” Morris replied.

Agnes— of course unknown to Morris — released her pent up breath.

Giving the simmering beef stew in the pot one more stir, wiping her flour dusty hands on a kitchen towel. “Might as well get the business stuff out of our way, then...

“Our…” glancing at her niece “...daily rate is a dollar-fifty. If you stay a week, we’ll deduct fifteen cents a day from the weekly rate, so that’ll be ‘nine-forty-five’ for the week. I serve one full meal a day, but ‘only’ if you’re here in time to eat! And during the week, after my niece Agnes gets home from the bank, we eat sharply at six pm. Weekends, we’ll let you know. And if you’re up and here in time; time being when Agnes has breakfast, I’ll throw that in for free.”

“So I am in time, and invited for dinner tonight?”’

“Only If you’re back here in…” looking at the hanging clock above the stove reading: 5:32 “...twenty-eight minutes.”

“Hmm?” Holding his chin, pretending to think. “What’s for dinner?”

Tapping the large pot with her spoon. “Beef-stew, beets and a fresh salad.” The white haired woman said.

Looking Bertha in the eye.“Oh, my goodness!” Morris exclaimed in as sincere a tone as he could muster. “Would you believe, that’s exactly what I dreamt of last night: ‘Beef stew, beets and a fresh salad’!”

Looking at her niece. “This one’s a funny one, isn’t he? Go!” Bertha said. “Show him to his room.”

5:58 PM

Returning to the dining-room, Morris saw the four settings of silverware glasses and napkins had been changed with one full setting at the head of the table which he rightly assumed would be Bertha’s place. Along side Bertha’s place, on one side of the table there was one chair and setting, and to the other side, two side by side chairs and settings which Morris also rightly assumed would be for himself and Agnes.

Leaving the chair closest to Bertha vacant; taking the other, Morris reached to the pitcher of water centered within reach for all four filling his glass.

6:00 PM

“Hello!” This days apparently only other tenant, entering room, pulling the chair out, but before sitting, reaching across the table, extending his hand. “Name’s Charlie… Charlie Tenner.”

Standing, extending his hand also, “Morris…” during the two seconds of formal greeting, a thought coming to him, and for the first time ever, simplifying his name, “...Pink.” he said.

Both simply dressed: slacks, white shirt, tie and jacket except, Charlie’s clothing obviously a more expensive cut.

Seated now as Agnes and Bertha entered the room carrying over-loaded dishes of beef stew and vegetables that were placed before both men.

Going back to the kitchen, within seconds the women returning with their own dishes, seating themselves as Morris had expected with Bertha at the head of the table and Agnes alongside Morris.

Picking a bit of beef, chewing, “So where you hail from, Morrie?” Although rather assuming from England due to the British accent.

He’d never been referred to as ‘Morrie’, that had been stated, so Morris thought, with kind of an anti-Semitic undertone. Spearing a small chunk of potato, vaguely answering, “Came in on the Lusitania this afternoon.”

“From Europe, uh!”

“Yes.” Hoping he wouldn’t ask ‘from where’? Chewing the potato, then spearing a piece of meat and bringing it to his mouth. “This is delicious, Bertha!” Anxious to take the conversation from Tenner — whom Morris decided he disliked —Glancing about. “Things kind of slow here for now?”

“Yeah…” Bertha answered “...once a ship berths, it usually takes a day or so till people find their way here. Then, ‘cause I’m cheaper than the hotels…”

Interrupting, “And make really good chow!” Tenner said.

Continuing, “...tourists will usually stay until they’ve seen what they want of the city, then go on to where-ever, so we should be packed tomorrow.”

My aunt Berth’s great…” Agnes said, patting her aunts arm “… she’s made this place a fantastic business! And, I’m ‘so’ proud she’s going to be in the big parade in October, where they’re saying there’ll be over twenty-five thousand women marching up Fifth Avenue in New York City.”

Chewing his mouthful, taking a drink of water, “Parade?” Tenner questioned.“You say there’ll ‘twenty-five thousand women marching,’ for what?” Tenner questioned sarcastically. “To take jobs from Men that need them to support their families?”

“If we’re more qualified than men, why not?” Agnes answered.

“What makes women more qualified than men?” Filling his mouth with a fork full of food. “Women: they cook, they stay home and have babies, ‘that’ makes them more qualified to do ‘what’?”

Considering these two women ‘opinionated bitches’, but whenever his work beings him to Manhattan, he stays here at Bertha’s place because the price and food are so much better than other boarding hotels.

Answering Tenner’s sarcastic question. “For one thing…” Agnes angrily said “...we’re marching for women’s right to vote!”

Knowing it would be best to back off, to let it go, but obviously a sore spot  with Charlie Tenner. “Oh, yeah!” he said, covering his mouth with the napkin as bits of food spit out. “Making a baby! That takes intelligence? Having a kid qualifies a woman to vote? Hell! I hear they’ve been doing it for centuries.”

Remaining quiet, Bertha now stoically pointing a finger at Tenner. “You’ve been an on and off resident here, at this ‘woman’s’ business for years, and if you’d rather not be welcomed here, you’d just better calm yourself down!”

“I’ve been coming here, whenever I’m in town for years.” Angrily shaking a fist. “And now you have the nerve to threaten me!”

Feeling Morris about to rise, putting her arm across his chest urging to sit.

“Mister Tenner I’m a woman, and also a teller at National City Bank…”

Sternly looking at her. “Oh, yeah!” Tenner said. “How you…” pointing a finger “...got that kind of position over a man, I’ll ‘never’ know!”

Riled, looking for an argument. “How did I get my job, you ask? I got my job because I was smarter than any of ‘your kind’ that applied! Because this ‘woman’...” jabbing her thumb onto her chest “… ‘is’ more qualified than any man that came to National City Bank looking for the job!”

Thinking about it… Never giving it a thought before hearing Agnes’ tirade, he did know! Working at the store, selling jewellery, so often! More often than not it was the woman standing beside the man that asked the most intelligent questions about the cut, the grade, and in the end, did the most efficient bargaining over the price.

Charlie Tenner staring at this haughty bitch sitting across from him on the other side of the table, is unable to shake the — come on! I’ll fight you! — unblinking stare of this stupid ‘Suffrage’ woman. Taking a deep breath. Sitting back in the chair, eating anther fork full of beef stew, aware there would be no winning of this argument with these two bitches. Knowing there would be no ‘last word’, at least with these two. “So, Morrie…” completely changing the subject “...what’s your line?

“My name is…” strongly stated “... ‘Morris’. And what do you mean?”

“Your work!” Asked brashly. “What do you do for a living?”

“Right now, at this time, I’m…”

His hand atop the table, placing her hand possessively atop his. “He’s an engineer!” Agnes proudly announced.

“An engineer, huh? You here in the U.S. looking for work?”

“No. At least not now. I’ll be heading…” nodding his head in what he thought was a westerly direction “...inland, And when I find what I’m looking for…?”

Once again coming to Morris’ aid. “He’s money enough to buy any business he wants.”

Appreciatively glancing at Agnes as spooning some soupy stew into his mouth. “And you…” Morris asked, “ ‘what’s your line’?”

“Me?” Laughing. “I spend most of my life riding from town to town, across this entire country sitting or sleeping on trains. Hell! A couple’a months ago, heading to this new place just outside of Los Angeles called ‘Hollywood’, that’s supposed to be— so they say— ‘The Moving Picture Capital of the world’, I spent near an entire hour jawing with Tom Mix…

“ ‘Tom Mix’?” Morris questioned.”

“You know, ‘Tom Mix’, the moving pictures cowboy star.”

“Don’t get to moving pictures much.”

“Well maybe you should, ‘cause Tom told me one’a your countrymen, name of, uh, Charlie Chaplin will be making moving pictures in Hollywood come this year. Tom told me he even was friends with Wyatt Earp.”

“Who’s he?”

“You never heard of Wyatt Earp and his famous gunfight at the O.K. Corral in 1881?” Tenner asked. “Was in all our newspapers for months.

“No...” Morris said “...never have.”

Clearing the table. “It was ‘infamous’, if asking me..” Agnes said.

“Dessert coming!” Bertha said, asking, “You two want coffee?”

“Yes.” Both Charlie and Morris replied.

Within minutes steaming cups of coffee and thick slices of Bertha’s cherry pie all around.

Sipping hot coffee. “You never did say what you’re line is?” Morris asked.

“Ah, yeah...” cutting into his slice of pie “...sometimes I do tend to get off my thoughts. I work for ‘Niagara Hammer and Tool Company’, out of Buffalo, N-Y.”

All about the table quit enjoying Bertha’s home made cherry pie and coffee, when…“Wait a minute!” Charlie exclaimed. “You said you were going inland looking for some sort of work or a business to get into?”

Finishing the last of the pie. “Yes.”

“But don’t know where you’re heading or what kind of business, huh?”

“That’s about my plan.” Morris agreed.

“Well I’ve a customer who’s business has been going downhill ever since he ‘kicked the bucket’ about six months or so ago, that could be for sale, or, hell, might even be in bankruptcy by now.”

“ ‘Kicked the bucket’?” Morris questioned.

“Died.” Tenner said. “Ken Proctor ran a really good business for years and when he, uh, passed on, his wife took over and she don’t know…” hesitating, looking from Bertha to Agnes to Morris “...shit from shineola and let it run into the ground.”

Looking across the table from over the rim of the coffee cup, not really interested in anything Charlie Tenner had to say.

“Hardware! You think you’d be interested in running a hardware store?”

A hardware store? Never thought of it. “Yes!” His interest definitely tweaked. “I am! Where is it?”

“ In Ohio.” Charlie said. “Nice little city name of ‘Loveland’.”

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                                            Chapter Eleven
                                                 Stones 3