The older man looked down at him and said. "Not noticeably."
"Yes, noticeably. I didn't get taller, but feeling comfortable with a handgun gave me confidence in everything. It gives you a sense of power, and that makes you sure of yourself. When I won the intercollegiate Regional Championship, I was a giant. You leave the boy to me, Ellsworth. I'll make a man out of him."
Not until Martha came in to serve the main course did Jordon break the silence, and then it was to address her. "Big date tonight, Martha? Somebody special?" he asked jocosely.
"No, just a date," she said.
"Anybody I know?"
"I don't guess so. It's a feller from Lynn I met the othea night when I went bowling."
"Well, don't worry. You'll get out in good time. Just leave the dishes and Billy will do them." There, he thought. I’ve called him by name, that should let him know that I'm not angry any longer. But the young man did not take the hint and kept his eyes on his plate and remained silent.
When Martha came in to serve the coffee, she was already in street clothes. "I'll be going now,” she said. "I’ve stacked the dishes, and the soap powder and towels are on the drain-board."
"Okay, Martha, have a good time." Moodily Jordon sipped his coffee, his eyes abstracted. When he finished, he left the table without a word and went into the living room. Presently Billy joined him there, and Jordon looked up from his paper and asked, "Dishes all done?"
"Yes, sir."
"And put away?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, that's good, that's fine. You written to your mother yet?"
"I thought I'd do that tomorrow."
Jordon's face darkened. "I promised your mother that she'd get a letter from you every week. I want you to do that right now."
"But I told Mr. Gore I'd be over to help him with the photos of the silver collection."
The answer infuriated the old man. "Well, your mother comes first. You go to your room right now and do that letter."
"Oh fish!" Billy muttered, but he went to his room and closed the door behind him.
Jordon followed him to the door. "And I'm locking you in till you finish,” he called after him and turned the key in the lock.
Through the door he called. "And you'll stay in there until you've written that letter. I'm going to have my regular meditation now, so I'll thank you not to disturb me for the next twenty minutes, after that you can knock if you'va finished and I'll let you out. But I'm telling you that if it's not done by then. I'm going to the club and you'll wait in there until I get back."
He listened for a moment, his ear to the door, but Billy did not reply, he sat down on his recliner for the Transcendental Meditation he was convinced was good for his heart. When the twenty minutes he allowed himself were up, he got out of his chair and tiptoed over to the door of the boy's room, he listened, his ear pressed to the door, but he heard nothing.
So be it, he thought. If this is going to be a test of willpower, we'll see who's the stronger, he went to the front door, opened it and then banged it behind him, then opened it carefully once again and listened, hearing no response, he eased the door closed silently and got into his car parked in the driveway.
10
THE CALL CAME LATE IN THE AFTERNOON. "MR. MALTZMAN? Ben Segal speaking. I'm interested in buying some land. Mr. Gore at the bank suggested I call you. I wonder if we could meet with you—"
Ben Segal? Did he know a Ben Segal? Then it came to him. It must be the Ben Segal of Chicago, there were rumors that he was in town, he breathed deeply. "Where are you calling from, Mr. Segal?" he asked calmly.
"I'm calling from your local hotel, the Arlington Arms, we're staying here."
For a moment he debated whether to appear busy and then decided against it.
"If you're free now,” he said. "I can come right over."
They sat in the gaudy, overfumished sitting room of the only suite that the Arlington Arms afforded and which was intended primarily for business conferences, the Segals sat on a heavily brocaded sofa. Maltzman on the edge of a leather lounge chair, uneasily balancing a coffee cup and the petit fours that Mrs. Segal had rung for when ha arrived.
"I'm interested in buying a piece of land." Segal explained, he fished in his coat pocket and found the match cover on which he had scribbled the name of the street. "It's out on the Point. I think you call it, on Crossland Avenue, just beyond Porter Street."
"Yeah, I know it." said Maltzman frowning. "But that's all residential land out there and our zoning laws are pretty strict."
"Of course. I understand." He smiled. "I wasn't planning on building a factory there, or a warehouse."
"I mean it has to be a single family residence. You can't just have a house that's used mostly for executive meetings and dinners and maybe as a place to put up visiting firemen. It has to be used by a family as a regular residence. See what I mean?"
"Oh yes. I understand." said Segal. "This is going to be just an ordinary house—"
"We're planning to live in it ourselves. Mr. Maltzman." Mrs. Segal explained. "We're planning to settle here."
"That's right,” her husband added. "I'm going to operate Rohrbough Corporation personally."
Mimi leaned forward eagerly. "You see, Mr. Maltzman, we've lived in cities all our lives, both of us, and in hotels at that, we have a large apartment in Chicago, to be sure, but it's still in a hotel, and we're fed up with the city, with the noise and the dirt and the crime—being afraid to go out for a walk in the evening. So we're planning to settle here. It means changing our whole lifestyle, becoming part of a community, that's what we want. It's that, I expect, as much as anything that decided Ben on operating Rohrbough personally."
"That's right." said her husband. "At lunch today, Gore was telling us about your town meeting that everybody goes to, well, we'd like to go to that, and to the Fourth of July bonfire, and to the arts festival you hold in the town hall."
Maltzman nodded slowly, an idea was beginning to take shape in his mind, he directed his eyes to Ben Segal. "Are you still Jewish? I mean, you haven't converted or anything?"
Segal shrugged. "I don't practice it, but I've never denied it."
Mimi said. "His brother changed his name to Sears and wanted Ben to, but Ben wouldn't consider it."
"That's fine." said Maltzman. "but in a small town like Barnard's Crossing, people want to know where you stand. If you want to be respected and accepted, you got to be part of the group they associate you with, and here, that means joining the temple. You got to show that you're willing to stand up and be counted."
"But I'm not the least bit religious." Segal protested.
"So what? Most of our members aren't, we only get about a hundred at a Friday evening service. I always go because I'm president of the congregation. Joining the temple is not a matter of religion, so much as a way of showing you feel you belong."
"But it's different with me." said Segal. "I honestly don't think I have a right to be a member of a synagogue. You see. I was never Bar Mitzvah. My folks were terribly poor when I was a kid, and they just couldn't afford it at the time."
"Oh Ben, dear, you never told me." Mimi was all sympathy. "But about Bar Mitzvah. I imagine you can hava it anytime. Can't he, Mr. Maltzman? Seems to me I saw something on TV about a seventy-year-old man in California who just had one. His folks couldn't afford it either when he was a youngster."
"Say, I remember that." said Maltzman. "And in the Hadassah Journal there was a story about a whole bunch of men, a club, or from the same synagogue, mature men, who went to Israel and had a group Bar Mitzvah at the Wall. Look here. Mr. Segal, if you're interested. I'll see the rabbi and arrange it." Then it came to him—the gimmick. "Tell you what. I'll put it up to the board, and if they see things my way, we'll have the temple sponsor it."