Part 2

So we played the bar mitzvah. It turned out that Joe could have known from horas, but he faked it pretty good. By the time we got to it, the grownups had enough of the kosher wine Joe had asked about inside 'em that they really didn?t give a damn.

True to Nellie?s word, there was all the chopped liver, matzoh, and also gefilte fish we could eat. I knew Joe had flim flammed Nellie when he called the gefilte fish 'dumplings'. I even wrapped up some noodle kugel in my handkerchief and slipped it in my pant's pocket to take home. It had lots of raisins in it. With my diet like it had been lately, I could use all the iron in my diet I could get.

The kid's parents kicked in another five bucks each tip, which would NOT be reported to Sig. That got a hearty 'mazel tov' from me, I can tell you. I was looking forward to eating steady for at least the next couple of days. I'd done a few diets of complementary crackers from the diner and ketchup soup made with free hot water, and the prospect of eating cheese sandwiches instead was pretty appealing.

So, I really should have said no to Joe, but... Well... you gotta know Joe to understand. I really never had a chance. Very few people do.

For example: his landlords. After the gig, we went to his rooming house to get his stuff. He was living in a third floor walk up. We were headed for the stairs in the dim first floor hall when the door to the front apartment opened, and a fluttery voice called out, "Oh, Joe."

Joe froze, and I saw him wince. But when he turned around he had a smile brighter than the sun coming up over the Great Lakes. "Irma! Baby!"

Irma was a blowsy woman in her mid forties: lots of lipstick and rouge, and a permanent wave set so tight it wouldn't have been blown out of place by the Galveston hurricane. She might have been a marginally attractive woman, except that she was (shudder) simpering.

On hand rested on a haunch that would have done justice to a Clydesdale. I was glad there weren?t any babies around to be alarmed when she pouted. "You didn't show up last night. I told you Max was bowling. The pot roast got cold. And I had to explain to him when he got home why he had to eat cold cuts before he went out, but there was pot roast when he got home."

"Sweetheart, I'm so sorry, but it wasn't my fault.? He put an arm around my shoulder. My mouth went dry. Boy, he smelled good. Or was that just the kugel in my pocket? Well, something warm seemed to be in my pocket right now, but it sure wasn?t soft enough to be noodle pudding.

"I had to sit up with Jerry here. He was awful sick." He gave my shoulder a significant squeeze, and I groaned. Actually, I would have groaned anyway, even if I wasn't supposed to be deathly ill, after that squeeze.

Irma's eyes flicked over me, and dismissed me. I get that reaction a lot from women. Yeah, I like guys, but it?s still kinda insulting. I mean, it's like the dame at the bar who turns around and smacks the guy who's just been peacefully drinking next to her all evening, and the bartender says, "What did ya do that for? He didn't say a word to you, and I know you wouldn't have been interested if he had." and she says, "Yeah, but a lady likes to be asked." She said shortly, "Sorry ya were feelin' bad. What about t'night, Joe? He's goin' ta play poker."

"Tonight for sure, Irma, baby." He gave her a kiss. She was wearing open toes mules, and I swear her toes curled.

He started for the stairs again, and actually got his foot on the first one when again we heard, "Oh, Joe." This time he looked like he was sucking on a lemon, but once again the smile was pure sunshine when he turned around.

Irma looked embarrassed. "Joe, about the rent. You know I know you're good for it, but it has been six weeks now. Goodness knows, it's not me, but Max..."

"Sure, baby, sure. I understand. Tomorrow for sure. Got a big gig.?

?Oh, good. Well...? She twiddled her fingers coyly. ?Tonight. I?m making knishes."

As we finally started up the stairs, Joe muttered, "Not exactly what I'd choose for my last meal."

"What big gig do you have lined up, Joe? Do they need a bass?" He gave me a mildly disgusted, pitying look. "Oh. Gotcha."

We tramped up the stairs, turned at the landing, and started up the second flight. Above us, I heard heavy footsteps coming down the corridor. Joe?s blue eyes widened, and he said, "Crap!" and turned to hurry back down.

Unfortunately, it's a little hard to get past a bass fiddle case in a narrow stairwell. Before he could slither past me, a voice overhead boomed. "Joe!"

Boy, Joe could give the best imitation of a statue I?ve ever seen. And he can change expressions in a split second. If you thought the switch when he saw Irma was impressive, the one he did now was downright awe inspiring. From "Crap!" to 'Hallelujah!' in the blink of an eye. "Max! Buddy!"

"Don't 'buddy' me, you cock tease." An animated brick wall came down the staircase to meet us. Oh, all right, it wasn't a brick wall, it was a man. But a lot of 'brick' analogies came to mind when you saw Max. 'Brick wall', 'thick as a brick', 'a few bricks short of a full hod'... You get the idea. In other words, he was big, dumb, and not too tightly wrapped. Not a good combination.

"I waited t'ree hours at dat damn bar for youse. Da o'ny fuckin' good of it was dat I got a good meal when I got home. Sometin' inspired Irma ta get off her duff and act'lly cook."

Again my shoulder was squeezed. Max narrowed his eyes, and I felt that perhaps this was not the best tactic Joe could have chosen. "Max, I'm so sorry. But my friend got into town last night, and he wasn't feeling so good. I had to sit up with him."

Max's eyes flicked over me, as Irma's had.

Uh oh. No, they didn't. They didn't 'flick'. They 'stroked'. He smiled, showing maybe an ounce of gold on his teeth. "Well." He thumped down a few more steps. "Dat's too bad." He reached out and patted me on the cheek. "Youse feelin' better now, little buddy?"

Well, maybe I hadn't been ill the night before, like Joe said, but I know the smile I managed right then was sick. "Uhhhhhh..."

"Dat's good. Joe, youse comin' to da bar t'night." There wasn't the lift at the end of the sentence to indicate that it was a question.

?"ure, Max."

Max straightened my tie. "Bring yer little friend, eh?" "Ummmmm..." "I like 'im. He's a smooth talker." Max squeezed between us, headed downstairs. I somehow got groped in passing. Man had a hand like a baseball mitt: big and leathery. I went up on tiptoe like Pavlova. When he got past us he said, "Joe? About da rent. Irma's gettin' kinda antsy..."

"I understand. Tonight."

He stared at me, smiling. "Well, maybe you, 'n me, 'n yer friend here can figure somethin' out, hey?" Then he thumped down.

Joe blew out a breath, and started back up the stairs. I stared after Max, making sure he wasn?t going to be coming back up. I did not want that man behind me, for many different reasons.

"Jerry, c'mon." Joe called from above, and I followed him.

"Precisely what the heck was all that about?"

"Max, the landlord. He's, er, not as easy to put off as Irma."

"Was he hinting at what I think he was hinting at?"

Joe was unlocking a door. "Yeah, probably so. Don't worry, I know what bar, and we won't go anywhere near it."

"I should hope not." We went into the room. "I'll tell ya, Joe. That was almost one of those three F situations: fight, flight, or... you know. I'm no good at fighting, I was ready for flight, and I'm pretty sure what he was thinking of."

"Actually, Max is more of a catcher than a pitcher, if ya know what I mean." Joe had a cardboard suitcase open on a rickety cot and was dumping clothes into it. He snapped it shut, "But when he does, man! Talk about a Louisville slugger. All right, let's go." I turned toward the door. "Where ya goin'?"

"Well, you said let's go."

"Not that way." He opened the window. "You wanna run into Max again downstairs?"

"Let me think. No."

"Then come on." He stepped out onto the fire escape.

"You expect me to hump a bull fiddle down a fire escape?"

"That, or risk having Max hump..."

"Out of the way." I managed.