“No, I don’t mean that. Did he say anything to you?”
“Nothing. Is this an attack of your old weakness — worrying whether people like you?”
“I wanted to sound him out about something… To see what he’d say. If he’d help me out with someone.”
“Who’s the favor for?”
“It doesn’t matter who, does it?” Leventhal said.
“No, it doesn’t. You don’t have to tell me.” There was already a ring of exasperation in his voice.
“It doesn’t make any difference who.”
“I asked to be helpful. But I won’t play button-button with you. Especially since you have an edge on. I saw you drinking.”
“Ah, you could have had a lot of opportunities to be helpful,” said Leventhal.
“Why, it must be that what”s-his-name that’s been bothering you,” said Harkavy with a sudden nicker of amused discovery. “That’s who, isn’t it?”
Leventhal dumbly nodded.
“Then what’s the mystery?”
“No mystery,” Leventhal muttered.
“Why do you need help with him? What does he want? I don’t understand how Shifcart comes into the picture.”
“Well, Dan, this Allbee is interested in scenario work and since he once got me an introduction at Dill’s he wants me to do the same for him with Shifcart, seeing he’s in the movie line. It’s mostly for the record that I’m doing it.”
“You know Shifcart has nothing to do with scenario. He deals with actors, talent.”
“Allbee thought he might have a connection somewhere. I didn’t think so, but he asked me, and I thought… Well, to tell you the truth, Dan, I didn’t know what to think. I had my doubts. But he did get me the interview with Rudiger. So I thought, ‘Well, let him go and see Shifcart. Why should I answer for Shifcart? I’ll show my good intentions and return the favor,’ and so on. That’s the story.”
“I don’t believe it. It seems to me that he’s got you on the merry-go-round.”
One of Mrs Harkavy’s plants stood behind Leventhal. He felt a leaf graze his hair as he shut his eyes and leaned backwards.
“How did he ever sell you such a bill of goods?” said Harkavy. “Where did he hear of Shifcart?”
“He happened to be at the house and saw a card of Shifcart’s.”
“So he keeps coming around. You must be encouraging him. I thought we came to the conclusion he was off his nut.”
“You did!” Blindly roused, Leventhal flung out his arm. “You were the one. That was what you said. You compared him to your aunt.”
“Well, you’re impetuous tonight. Both of us came to the same conclusion.”
“No, no!” Leventhal refused to hear him. “I absolutely deny it. Absolutely!”
“Where did I get it from, if you didn’t say it? I can’t understand you. I haven’t seen the man. Anyhow, what’s the odds? Why should that be an issue? I can see you’re losing your bearings. Of course, you’ve got quite a little wine in your system; maybe that partly accounts for your funny behavior. Yes, it is very funny. I always thought you didn’t know how to take care of yourself. I can see this man has you eating out of his hand. He cornes around, you get excited when you talk about him, you’re going to send him to Shif cart…”
“I’d send him anywhere to get rid of him,” said Leventhal.
“There, you wouldn’t say anything like that unless you were in pretty deep. I can tell that you’re keeping back information; don’t have to be much of a mindreader to see that. I can’t help you any more than to remind you that you’re playing for keeps. You’re not a boy, any more.”
“Dan, you know Shifcart. This has to be done. Tell me…” He caught Harkavy’s hand.
“Take it up with him yourself.”
“Yes, I will, but I want to ask you…”
“We’d better go in. They must be waiting for us. We’ll discuss this tomorrow when your head is clearer and if you want to be open with me.”
The guests, all men, had taken off their jackets and were sitting in the high-backed chairs. In the kitchen door, talking with Mrs Harkavy, was Mr Schlossberg who had just arrived and was still wearing his brown topcoat. Leventhal said good evening to him and Schlossberg answered, “How are you?” He did not seem, however, to remember him. “Fourteenth Street a couple of weeks ago,” said Leventhal.
“His memory is bad,” Harkavy whispered. He drew Leven-thal into the row of chairs along the buffet.
Across the table, Leventhal recognized the possessor of the red hands he had watched during the card game. His name was Kaplan and his face, like his hands, was red and creased. He had a sharp blue squint, as though — Leventhal thought — he had made an effort to pierce heaven and distorted his eyes. Just now he was holding up a glass of brandy and saying, “Here’s to all.”
“Drink up,” someone said. “Next year in Jerusalem.”
Leventhal heard Julia say, “We had a children’s party last year. It was too nerve racking. This time we decided we would have older people.”
“Shall we begin eating?” asked Goldstone.
“We ought to have the cake brought in first,” Mrs Harkavy said. She explained to the company, “They weren’t very careful with it at the bakery. Some of the frosting came off with the wax paper. We did our best to repair it.”
Julia put the cake with its seven candles on the table. Libbie stood staring into the flames. Her eyes were much like her grandmother’s and her uncle’s.
“Blow, kiddie,” said Harkavy. “Once, that’s luckiest.”
But Libbie reached out and tried to capture a drop of the melting wax.
“Libbie, dear…” her father urged.
“People are waiting,” Julia cried impatiently. “Would you rather be hanging upside down in the closet?”
The child lowered her face to the clear ring of candles. Leventhal saw the liquid image of them in her eyes and on her white forehead. She blew, and the whitish, odorous wax smoke drifted over the table. The guests clapped and cried out.
“Sweet little kid,” said Harkavy to Leventhal, who nodded and still gazed heavy eyed at the candles. Julia and her grandmother kissed the girl.
The supper began. Leventhal’s clothing, especially his shirt, bound and chafed him, and he opened his collar, grumbling to Harkavy, “It’s cutting my neck.” But Harkavy had resumed an argument begun earlier in the evening with a Mr Benjamin who sat between Goldstone and Julia. Leventhal had noticed him in the hall before, clumping on a specially built shoe. He had the complexion of a Hindu, a head of grizzled short curls, and scornful brown-freckled lips; there was a drop of yellow in his wide-set black eyes. Benjamin sold life insurance, and Harkavy had assailed the insurance companies. “It’s all in the Cardozo investigation. Does any more have to be said? The same money that’s taken from the customers is used against them.” “I don’t see, Harkavy,” said Mr Benjamin, “why one business has to be run down more than another. You ought to be against them all. And against government. You’re an amateur, Harkavy, an amateur. I’ve heard your argument from experts. You have to pay for regulation and for order. It’s one kind of harness or another. Men need a harness. This is light harness compared to some.” “Oh, my dear man, you’re as reactionary as they come,” said Harkavy. “Are you against all banks and business?” asked Benjamin. “Damn it, certainly I am.” Harkavy’s voice rose. “ Let’s hear what kind of a system you’re thinking about?” Mr Benjamin’s acerbity almost wiped out his smile.
“Stop the wrangling, Dan, for God’s sake,” said Goldstone.
“I’ll make it easier for you,” said Benjamin. “Don’t you want to provide for the people you love? Let’s not argue about the best system. This one is standing yet.”