Bill Jacobs, who had been a camp counselor for the last two years, took command automatically. “Someone, put the beer and Cokes in the water to chill. You guys get some of these bigger rocks for a fireplace, and the chicks can gather the wood.”
“Hey,” said Adam Sussman, “remember when we had a cookout here some years ago—the Sea Scouts? Were you in that, Stu?”
“Yeah, I remember. There was some kind of stink about the fire. The beach isn’t public; it belongs to the Hillson estate. We didn’t have a permit, that was it. Say, Didi, did you get a permit for a fire for tonight?”
“We don’t need one,” said Didi, suddenly apprehensive. “I’m sure we don’t. That’s only during the summer.”
“Well, all they can do is kick us off, I suppose.” said Stu philosophically. And then he laughed, and Didi saw she was being ribbed and chucked a handful of sand at him. “You really had me going there—permit for a fire!”
“Well, let’s at least wait until it gets dark,” said Sue Arons. “That’s when a fire is fun.”
Everyone scattered to carry out his assigned task. Bill arranged the large rocks in a circle for the fireplace, and after the boys had finished, they helped the girls gather wood. After a while there was a big enough pile for Bill to call a halt. “Okay, you guys, I think we’ve got enough.”
“I could use a beer right now,” said Adam.
“Yeah, me too,” said Stu. He looked at his watch. “Damn, I’ve got to cut out around six thirty to drive my folks over to Lynn.”
“But we’ll be doing our cooking around then.” protested Didi. “You’ll miss all the food.”
“It was the only way I could get the car.” he said. “But I’ll be back in no time. Say, who’s got the beer?”
“When are you going to light the fire. Bill?”
“I don’t know. After it gets dark and we start getting hungry. Anyone in a hurry?”
“No, let’s wait a little while.”
The sea was calm, almost unnaturally so. They could hear the gentle swish of the waves as they struck against the sea wall. From the distance came the screeching of sea gulls. Otherwise the air was still, and there was something about the quiet that tended to restrict conversation. They had paired off now, and what talk there was tended to be between couples, and they kept their voices low. They sipped their drinks reflectively and waited for it to grow dark.
Adam Sussman rested his head on his girl’s lap; encouraged by his example, the others began to maneuver into more intimate positions. Suddenly Sussman sat up and exclaimed in disgust. “Jee-sus.”
“What’s the matter?”
“We got company.” He pointed at a lone figure coming toward them.
“Hey, it’s Moose Carter,” said Stu.
“God’s gift to women,” said Didi.
“Hiya, Moose.” Bill Jacobs waved lazily at him.
“Hi, kids. H’lo Bill, Stuie. And Didi and little Sue. Betty baby, where you been?” Then he saw Jenkins. “Why shut my mouf if we haven’t got us a genuwine integrated cookout.”
“Take a can of beer and cool it,” said Bill Jacobs shortly. “Sho, sho, as we say down in Alabam. Don’t mind if I do.”
He ripped open the top of a beer can and said, “Any of you ever seen this before?” He threw his head back and let the beer gurgle down his throat without a ripple of his Adam’s apple.
“Alan Jenkins. Moose Carter.”
Neither man offered his hand, but both said “Hi.”
“Have another.” suggested Jacobs.
“I guess I can use one. Maybe I’ll sit down for this one.” As he saw Stu move over to make room for him near Jenkins, he said. “I’ll just sit over here with my old sweetheart Betty—in the front of the bus, if you don’t mind. Stu.”
Didi felt Stu’s hand clench under hers. She peered at her watch. “It’s half past six. If you have to go for your folks, you’d better leave now.”
“Maybe I better stick around for a while.” he muttered. “No. go now,” she whispered back. “It’ll be all right.”
It was only after Stu had been gone for some minutes that they felt the first drops of rain.
Chapter Twenty-Two
When it was his turn to lecture the executive trainees on personnel management. Ben Gorfinkle always ended with a short disquisition on the recalcitrant subordinate.
In dealing with a subordinate who has got out of line, even if you hold all the trumps and can fire him like that—a snap of the fingers—it’s better to first give him a chance to shape up. Because if he’s a good man and shapes up, then you’re all set. But if you fire him, you have to get a replacement. And how do you know he won’t be just as bad? It’s a good idea to arrange for a conference.
As soon as he got home from the plant Monday, he called the rabbi. “I’d like to get together with you, Rabbi, for a little conference. We really haven’t talked face to face since I became president, and I think there are a lot of things we ought to iron out.”
“Any time at all.”
Sometimes it’s a good idea to arrange for the conference well in advance so that he can stew for a while. Other times, you may find it better to hold it right away, with no prior notice, so that he’s kind of taken by surprise and is unprepared. It depends on the circumstances.
“How about this evening?”
“I go to the minyan at seven.”
“I’ve got a dinner engagement at that time, but if we could get together a little before—”
“That would be all right.”
“Stu has my car—”
“I can come over to your house.” said the rabbi.
As the rabbi shook hands with Gorfinkle he could not help thinking that with each of the presidents of the temple, his relations had been different. With Jacob Wasserman, the first president who had originally selected him, there had been not only mutual respect, but a true friendship. In spite of the difference in their ages, they liked each other as people, and that first year at Barnard’s Crossing the Wassermans had had them to dinner on any number of occasions, and the Smalls felt themselves free to drop in on them on a Sunday afternoon for a cup of tea and talk. He had needed a friend in the president then. Looking back, he realized that he had been incredibly young and inexperienced and that only the strong friendship of Wasserman and the respect with which the old man was held by the entire community had saved him from countless embarrassments, including the ultimate embarrassment of not having his contract renewed after his trial year.
With Al Becker, who had taken over after Wasserman, his relations were quite different. Originally Becker had been the leader of the opposition, and only by the sheer luck of being able to help him in a personal matter had the rabbi been able to win him over. Becker had felt guilty about his original opposition and became not only respectful but at times almost obsequious. Now he had no stauncher champion than Becker, but he never felt quite at ease with him.
Morton Schwarz, the third president and Gorfinkle’s predecessor, had no such attitude toward the rabbi. He was friendly and sometimes even unbent enough to josh him about his little shortcomings, such as his chronic tardiness and his tendency to forget appointments that he didn’t care to keep in the first place. But in Schwarz’s mind, at least, this was strictly a one-way street, and when the rabbi occasionally answered in kind, he was sure he was considered presumptuous. However, he had grown in the years that he had been at Barnard’s Crossing, and he had found the president’s attitude amusing rather than annoying. The fact that he had been given a five-year contract may have had something to do with it.