The others were taken aback by her vehemence and looked at the rabbi to see his reaction, he had colored but he managed a smile. "I don't see how you can object to that particular blessing, since it is in such complete agreement with the thinking of your movement."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, your Women's Lib movement maintains that life is easier for the man than it is for the woman, doesn't it?" he asked.
"Well sure, but—"
"So why shouldn't men thank God for it? And is it wrong for them to try to equalize the differences a little by according women special privileges?"
8
LAURA MALTZMAN WAS NOT A PRETTY WOMAN; IN FACT, she was plain, she was tall and angular with square shoulders, she had a long face with a square chin, which seemed a little off center, as though she had just been struck a blow, or was on the point of turning her head. But her eyes were large and kindly and understanding, as her husband, rubbing his hands in satisfaction, came into the living room from the hallway, where he had been on the phone, she looked up inquiringly.
"Just got word,” he said, "that the loan is going through, pretty sure anyway."
"Oh? Who called?"
"Molly Mandell, she spoke to Gore about it, and she thinks he'll go along, she thought I'd like to know." He strode up and down the room and then stopped in front of her. "Look, this dinner you're having, how about calling the Mandells and inviting them?"
"But they're so much younger than the others,” she objected.
"So what? I want her—them—to know that I'm appreciative—"
"You appointed Herb Mandell to the board last week."
"Yeah, but he's active in the Brotherhood, so she might think it was for that. I want her to know I'm appreciative. See? She's got a lot of influence in the bank, and she's been friendly to me, like this phone call tonight, that can be pretty important, having someone you can count on right there in the bank. So I want her to know—"
Laura dropped her eyes to the knitting in her lap. "You think she's pretty?" she asked.
Instantly he was wary. "Well now, she's no cover girl, but yeah, I think she's kind of cute, she's eager and alive and fresh—"
"I guess she's fresh all right. Lillian Allen was telling me that she was with the group that went to see the rabbi, and she was pretty fresh to him."
"Oh, Lillian Allen! What did she say?"
"She said that Molly said the whole Jewish religion was sexist and she practically called the rabbi a male chauvinist pig."
"Did she?" He chuckled. "Well now, that's not what I would’vecalled him. I figure him for more the namby-pamby type. I mean, a real he-man wouldn't become a rabbi and spend his life praying. I know these guys. You'd think butter wouldn't melt in their mouths, but in their own quiet way, they screw up the works. So don't expect me to get uptight because Molly Mandell told him off. I intend to do a little of it myself if he gets in the way, the temple belongs to the members, and I and the board of directors are the people they elected to run it for them, the rabbi is just somebody we hire to do a job, and the sooner he realizes it, the better. Now, will you call up Molly Mandell and invite her?"
"If you insist."
His face got red and his eyes protruded. "Yes. Goddammit. I insist."
9
ELLSWORTH JORDON PACED THE LIVING ROOM OF HIS OLD Victorian house, glowering at the clock on the mantelpiece each time he passed it. Billy was late getting home from work, and he was worried, and annoyed with himself for being worried. By the time he caught sight of him hurrying up the long driveway, his annoyance with himself had turned into anger at the young man.
"Where have you been?" he demanded. "You're late."
Billy was contrite. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I missed the bus and I decided to walk instead of waiting for the next one. It was so nice out."
"Don't you know Martha has an engagement for tonight and has to leave early? She mentioned it this morning."
"Gee, I forgot."
"And I am due at the Agathon."
"Gee. I'm sorry. But Martha can leave the dishes and I'll do them."
"Well, we'll see. Wash up now and let's not keep Martha waiting any longer."
They ate in silence. Normally, Billy would have prattled about his day at the bank, but having been reprimanded, he was reluctant to speak. Jordon occasionally shot furtive glances at the boy and wondered at his sullenness, he had reproved him for coming home late, which was his right and duty. But when he had told him to go and wash up, Billy should have realized that in effect his explanation and apology had been accepted. So why didn't he speak? Did he expect him, so much his senior, to make the overture?
Though he continued to glower over his plate, after a while. Jordon reflected philosophically that young people naturally lacked subtlety, that in the few months that Billy had been with him, he had adjusted quite well, that in the evenings and on weekends when they were together, the boy had even proved companionable, albeit in the gauche, awkward way to be expected in the young. To be sure, the boy was graceless and uncertain, but he presumed all young people of that age were, he didn't look you in the eve, and he slouched and was slovenlv in his dress. His glasses kept sliding forward on his nose, and one of the bows was attached by a bit of wire. On the other hand, ha was obedient, even docile, and thank God, his face was not pimpled, and, a positive plus—he seemed to enjoy his work at the bank, where he worked as a teller. Gore had even reported that the customers seemed to like him.
It had been no problem getting him the job. "I’ve got a young fellow coming to stay with me for a while, Larry. I’ve known his family for a long time. I'd appreciate it if you'd give him a job in the bank while he's here."
"How long is he going to stay?"
"Months, maybe a year, maybe longer. For some time I’ve thought I ought to have someone sleeping in."
Lawrence Gore smiled knowingly and nodded.
Jordon frowned, he had a reputation as a pinchpenny, and he knew what Gore was thinking—that rather than hire a companion, he was having Billy come for just the cost of his keep. But he didn't feel it necessary to explain. "And I'd consider it a personal favor. Larry," he went on. "for any kindness you can show him. I don't mean for you to grant him any special privileges that the other employees don't have, but you know, a friendly word of encouragement now and then. I guess he's something of a mama's boy and doesn't have the confidence—"
"Sure, I understand. Ellsworth. Tell you what. I'm starting a class of pistol shooting, he can join and I'll teach him how to shoot."
"Goddammit. Larry, this isn't the Wild West. Use some common sense. Learning to shoot a pistol isn't going to help make a man of him—"
"That's where you're wrong." said Gore earnestly. "I was the runt in my class in high school. Most of the girls were taller than me. Once at a party they rigged it so I had to dance with this big, tall girl, Florence Richardson. My eyes were just about level with her breasts. God, it was embarrassing."
The older man grinned lewdly. "Your face right up against her tits, eh? That might not have been so bad."
Gore grinned back. "Yeah, nowadays it wouldn't bother me, but it sure did then." He shook his head in reminiscent reflection. "It wasn't just with girls, you understand. Being short makes some men assertive, but most people become shy and cautious and withdrawn, well, in college you had to go out for some sport, and I chose the pistol team, figuring it was something where my being short wouldn't matter, and you know, as I learned to handle the weapon. I began to grow."