Thursday the Rabbi Walked Out (4 page)

“Unusual? No, sir.”

“Well, that’s the best way. I guess, the regular routine. Oh, case I forget, tomorrow when you go in, would you look up Johnny Cunningham’s account and let me know how it stands.”

“Oh, Ben, I love it. I simply love it.” Mimi Segal whirled around like a ballerina pirouetting, her arms outstretched, her head lifted, her blond hair flowing in the crisp autumn breeze, she squinted against the reflection of the sun on the dancing wavelets. “There’s a sign there on the beach that says Private. Does that mean it’s a private beach?”

“I should think so,” said her husband. “The lot goes down to the beach so the beach must be part of it. Those houses on either side, they each have paths leading to those little landing docks, so I guess these lots include the adjoining part of the beach.”

“How did you find it? And how do you know it’s for sale?”

He smiled fondly at her. “While you’ve been going in to Boston shopping, I’ve been wandering around the area.” He was a good bit older than she, fifty to her thirty-eight, so there was a touch of the avuncular in his affection for her. “I saw this place when I walked out to the lighthouse yesterday.”

“But how do you know it’s for sale?” she persisted.

“Anything is for sale if the price is right.” He turned to where the car was parked and called out to the chauffeur. “Hey; you know who owns this land?”

The chauffeur, who had been provided along with the car by the Rohrbough Corporation, shook his head. “I don’t know, sir.”

“Well, they’ll know in town.” Segal said to Mimi. “Let’s walk along the beach and see what it’s like.” He put his arm around her waist, and because she was taller than he and was always worried that he might be self-conscious about it, she bent her head to rest on his shoulder, he was of average height, but she was tall for a woman, like a fashion model. It was her second marriage, and she had met him shortly after she had managed to free herself of an alcoholic husband, she had had doubts when he had indicated that he wanted to marry her, mostly because at forty-seven, he was still a bachelor. What was wrong with him? Why hadn’t some woman grabbed him up long ago? He was not bad-looking. In fact, she decided she liked his sharp, intense face, with its sensitive mouth and long thin nose, with his shock of iron-gray hair, she thought he was even distinguished-looking. So she had agreed – and had no regrets.

“Are you sure this is what you want. Ben?” she asked anxiously.

“About building a house here?”

“About that, and well, everything, leaving Chicago, giving up finance to go into production –”

He halted in his stride, the better to explain. “You plan and you maneuver and you finally bring it off and make a lot of money. But even more, there’s tremendous satisfaction in it, the second time, there’s satisfaction, but it’s not such a big deal, and then after a while, it becomes just another business. Because, you see, you know how to do it now. It becomes routine. Sure, there’s a lot of money to be made, but that’s all.”

“Most people would say that’s enough.”

He nodded. “Sure. But if you use it just to make more money, there’s no sense to it. I couldn’t spend it; I never learned how, not the kind of money I was making. So I used it for leverage to make more deals –”

“But what do other businessmen do?” she asked.

“Some of them make things, or transport them, or distribute them so people have access to them, that seems more worthwhile.”

“You do the same thing Bert Richardson does, and you’ve always admired him tremendously.”

“You bet, and do you know what he told me? That he felt the same way. But what keeps him going, he told me, is that he’s got three sons, and he hopes maybe they’ll be able to make better use of his money than he has, then I began thinking, there’s one thing I could buy with my money. I could buy a new lifestyle, a lot of men have that idea when they get to my age. Doctors want to become businessmen, lawyers want to become college professors, businessmen want to become artists or actors. Not many of them do. Most of them feel they can’t afford it, or they’re afraid to take the chance. But here I am with plenty of money and sick of just putting deals together. Why shouldn’t I try something else? So I started to look around, and when this Rohrbough proposition came up, I thought I’d like to try operating it.”

“I’m glad you told me. Ben,” she said. “I was afraid you were doing it for me because of what I said once about wanting to live a normal life and be a part of a community.”

“Then you don’t mind?” he asked.

“Mind? I love it Ben.”

“And you don’t miss your friends in Chicago?”

“We have no friends in Chicago. Ben. Just business associates. You can’t make friends when you live in a hotel, not even in a big suite in a residential hotel. You’re always just a transient. Oh, Ben. I’m so happy. Let’s celebrate.”

“You’re on,” he said. “But look. I was planning to drop in at one of the local banks, they do the payroll for Rohrbough, and I wanted to size the place up. I’ll have the driver drop me off there, and you’ll go on to the hotel, we’ll get together around noon.”

“How are you going to find out who owns it?”

“No problem there. I’ll ask at one of the local realty offices, they’d know. Or I could ask at the bank. Look, baby; I’ll pick you up afterward, and we’ll drive up the coast and have lunch at some restaurant where they specialize in fish and seafood. I’ve been hankering for it since we came. How about it, baby?”

“Swell. But the car will be parked at the hotel, so why don’t I plan on picking you up?”

“I’ll give you a call.”

Lawrence Gore, President of the Barnard’s Crossing Trust Company., smiled appreciatively as Molly Mandell, his secretary, his executive secretary he would say, entered his office, a sheaf of papers in her hand, she was so brisk and efficient, so interested and willing, so sympathetic and understanding, that it was a pleasure to have her around.

An attractive woman of thirty, she was neat and tidy in her navy blue suit, her wavy brown hair was cut short and brushed back from her wide forehead, she had large dark eyes that were eager and alive, she had a no-nonsense mouth and a rounded chin which emphasized the oval of her face, and she was small, he liked small women because he himself was so cruelly short. Sitting behind his desk, his body visible only from the waist up, he seemed a large man, the long, narrow head with its thick blond hair and keen blue eyes was supported by a muscular neck rising from wide shoulders. It was something of a surprise when he rose and one saw that he was only a couple of inches more than five feet tall.

His eyes focused on the large plastic button pinned to her blouse. On it, in bold letters, was printed Women’s Lib.

“Something new in costume jewelry; Molly?”

A sidelong glance at her bosom. “Oh, the state legislature is debating the Equal Rights amendment, the girls are wearing these to remind them where the votes are.” She placed the papers on the desk before him, and then taking the visitor’s chair, she watched him read the letters she had composed and typed for his signature.

Teetering gently in his swivel chair, he read each in turn carefully, and then as he reached for his pen, he said. “These are exactly right, Molly. You got just the tone I wanted.”

“You mean the ones about the silver? Well, I don’t have the same appreciation for Peter Archer silver that you have, of course, but I think the idea of the exhibition at the Boston Art Museum is wonderful, and I think it’s doing the bank a lot of good, too.”

“Think so? How about the display out front?” he asked. “Are people taking notice?”

“Oh sure. It’s been getting a lot of attention.” She flipped pages in her notebook. “A Mr. Dalrymple asked me if you’d be interested in looking at a vinegar cruet he has.

He’s not a depositor, he just came in because he heard you had some pieces on exhibit in the bank.”

“A vinegar cruet, eh? Yeah, We’ve got about half a dozen so far, but if he has a real good one, I’d like to see it.”

“I’ll get in touch with him, and Mrs. Gore called, she asked if she could have her check earlier this month, she’s going down to Florida to visit her brother. I said it would probably be all right.”

He nodded curtly.

“Nancy asked if she could have Friday off. I told her we’d be shorthanded because Pauline wasn’t due back until Monday.”

“Quite right.”

“She was a little put out.”

“She’ll get over it, I expect.”

She closed her notebook. “Henry Maltzman was in to make a deposit, and he asked me what action we were taking on his request for a loan.”

“What did you tell him?” he asked quickly. “Just that I’d mention it to you.”

He tapped the desktop with his fingers. “Graham says it’s out of line with his statement.”

“Graham is a Scotchman,” she said scornfully. “He always says the loans are too big. If it depended entirely on him, we’d never make any.”

He chuckled. “You’ve got a point there.”

“And Henry Maltzman has been a good friend of the bank, he’s touted a lot of business our way;” she went on.

“You’re right,” he said. “One hand washes the other. If he should come in again today, tell him you think it’s all right. Don’t tell him I said so, because I don’t want him to think it’s official just in case the loan committee takes the bit in its teeth and decides to overrule me. But you can kind of hint – well, you’ll know what to tell him.”

“I’ll manage,” she said confidently.

“I’m sure you will, and now is there anything else?”

“You asked me to remind you of the Jordon report,” she said coldly.

He noted the abrupt change in her manner and thought he knew the reason for it and was sympathetic. “Has he said anything – uh – nasty to you?”

“Oh, it’s not what he says. It’s just that – he’s a dirty old man.”

He was shocked. “You mean he – uh – made a pass at you?”

“I mean he brushes up against me, touches me – accidentally on purpose. Is he very important to the bank?”

“Just our biggest account and a director.”

“Well, one day you’re going to lose him – or me.”

“Maybe if I talked to him –”

She laughed. “Don’t bother. I can take care of him. I stood for much worse when I was working in Boston and riding the subway every day.”

He grinned. “I can imagine, well, try to stay out of his way, and now, how about the Cavendish report?”

“I was planning on working on it all day tomorrow.”

“Hm.” He drummed a rapid tattoo on the desktop with his fingertips. “He called earlier and said he was coming in around noon tomorrow and asked if he could go over it with me at lunch.”

“I could take it home and work on it tonight,” she suggested.

“Could you? Gee, that would be swell, You’re sure your husband wouldn’t mind? How is he, by the way?”

“Herb’s fine, he won’t mind, he’s going to a meeting of the executive of the temple Brotherhood tonight anyway.” She laughed. “It’s my mother-in-law who might object.”

“Really? Why should she object?”

“Oh, she objects to anything I do,” she said lightly. “From her point of view, all my time outside of work belongs to her precious son, even if he’s not there.” She sat back and went on conversationally, “What really burns her up is seeing Herb setting the table and starting dinner. But he gets home from school at three o’clock, and I don’t get home until a couple of hours later, he doesn’t mind, but it burns her up.”

“I suppose he has papers to correct, lessons to prepare?”

“He does it all in his free periods and study periods. It will be all right.”

“Well, I sure appreciate it, and look, you can take time off in exchange.”

“Oh; there’s no need, really.” She hesitated. “But next Wednesday there is a meeting and –”

“And you’d like to go. Plan on it. Take the afternoon off. Take the whole day off if you like.”

There was a timid knock on the door.

“Come in,” he called out, and the receptionist, a young girl with a ponytail and wide innocent eyes, sidled in, shutting the door firmly behind her.

“Oh, Mr. Gore, there’s a man out there who’s just hanging around. I asked him if I could help him, and he said, no, that he just wanted to look around. I mean there’s nothing to see in a bank –”

“Maybe he came in to look at the Peter Archer silver.” Gore suggested.

“No, he just glanced at it.”

“He may be a dealer. Elsie, they don’t like to appear interested.”

“Well, I thought where there was that bank robbery over in Scoville –”

“You thought he might be casing the joint?” He laughed. “What’s he look like?”

“Well, he’s an older man. I mean his hair is like gray – .”

Molly had risen and opening the door had craned forward, the better to see into the lobby, she came back and with suppressed excitement said. “I think I know who it is. Larry, there was a picture of him the other day in the Boston Jewish News that my mother-in-law subscribes to. It’s Ben Segal of the Segal Group of Chicago, the ones that are taking over the Rohrbough Corporation.”

“You think so?” He got out from behind his desk and went to the door. Over his shoulder, he said. “There was a picture of him in Business Week a month or a month and a half ago. See if you can find it in that pile on the table.”

Molly began flipping through the magazines and almost immediately called out: “Here it is.”

He came back and studied the picture for a moment. “It’s him all right.” He said to the receptionist. “You’re a good girl. Elsie.” Then he strode through the office to where Segal was standing and said. “Welcome to Barnard’s Crossing. Mr. Segal.”

Segal turned and stared. “You know me?”

“Only from your picture in Business Week.” He held out his hand.

“But that was a month ago.” said Segal.

“Sure, but it spoke of your interest in the Rohrbough Corporation, and anything to do with Rohrbough concerns us. I’m Lawrence Gore, the president of the bank, we do the Rohrbough payroll, you know.”

“I know.”

“I’d like to talk to you about it if you’ve got some time. Look, it’s about noon. How about discussing it over lunch.”