Seventh Avenue by Norman Bogner Page A

you ten thousand dollars for your body?”
    “No, nothing like that, and in any case I’m spoken for” - she gave Jay’s sleeve a little yank – “and we’re here to do some buying.”
    “Where’s the showroom?” Jay asked.
    “You’re in it. Actually, it’s not exactly a showroom . . . sort of a closet that made good. But don’t let that bother you. I’ve got goods . . . goods, the likes of which you’ve never seen. Now I’ll show you what no human eyes have ever before beheld.” He wheeled out a rack of dresses, removed a dust sheet.
    “These look like they’ve given birth to hundreds.”
    “The latest Paris knock-offs.”
    “These were knocked off two years ago; I’ve been selling them for the last three weeks.”
    “You must be a genius.”
    “He is,” Rhoda agreed.
    “Now look, Mr. Cass . . .”
    “Marty.”
    “Fine, Marty, I’m Jay Blackman. Now listen, if we want to see ancient clothing that was worn by the Romans, they got museums for it. We want some hot numbers” - he fished in his pocket, took out a wad of notes, the outside one was a fifty and the others were singles – “not this olddreck.”
    Marty studied the roll of notes.
    “I got a better idea. Want to come in with me as a partner?” He wheeled another rack out and showed Jay his new line, “Here, my dear, the blood of my heart.”
    “That’s better,” Jay said. “The other crap’s good to use in a fire. The insurance company’d give you fifty percent on them.”
    “We’re from Modes Dress Shoppe,” Rhoda said.
    “Where?”
    “Modes! From Borough Park. Fourteenth Avenue.”
    “Sorry, we don’t ship goods overseas.”
    “Didn’t you ever meet my boss, Mr. Finkelstein?” Rhoda asked.
    Marty thought for a few minutes and tugged his mustache gently.
    “How long’ve you been with him?”
    “Seven years. I started with him after he’d been open a month.”
    “I’m just trying to remember. Let’s see . . . did he ever have a dog?”
    “That’s right, he did. But it died, oh, about a year ago,” Rhoda said.
    “Yeah, I do recall. This mashugunah came up to my father-in-law’s showroom with this dog. Yeah, that’s way before I got married. How could I forget? He let the dog pick out all the dresses. Whatever the dog smelled, he bought. Oh, my God. What a day that was. He was barred from the showroom after that. In the middle of placing the order, he asks to go to the bathroom and vanishes for the rest of the day. And this dog, big sonovabitch, collie or something like that with long hair, was racing all over the building looking for him. We had to call the A.S.P.C.A. to get rid of it. Then the next morning, the janitor found Finkelstein in the toilet. He’d locked himself in and couldn’t get out and said he didn’t want to make any noise because he was afraid it would disturb us. And you work for him?”
    “We both do,” Jay said. “I’m about to start up my own business in a couple of months and we don’t want to leave him high and dry.”
    “I’m amazed that he’s still in business.”
    “Yeah, well, Rhoda’s running it for him.”
    “And you thought of me. Well, every new account’s like money in the bank. I try not to run my business on one-shot deals. Long-term thinking. And as this is our first transaction, it has to be a successful one so I won’t stick you with any garbage. All our future business is based on the first order. Now, would you like me to tell you what I think you ought to buy?”
    “Oh, c’mon Marty. We’re both cute. Rhoda and me didn’t bring our seeing-eye dog with us ‘cause we don’t need one. Save the buildups for the Finkelsteins. We’re gonna go into business in a . . .”
    “Little shop,” Rhoda interjected.
    “Big way. No half-assed operation.”
    “Big way . . . small shop? You lie, and she swears for you, that the arrangement? You got your signals crossed, children.”
    “Small at first, then as big as the biggest.”
    “Jay, my dear, you