Florence Adler Swims Forever(66)

Mrs. Simons took the account statement and pretended not to study it as she turned to go.

“Oh, there’s one more thing,” she said from the doorway. “Eli Hirsch wants to know if you’ll consider cochairing the fall campaign.”

Joseph had known it was only a matter of time before Hirsch asked him for something. A request for a big donation, Joseph had been expecting. Cochairing the campaign was something else altogether.

“Shall I tell him it’s a bad time?” Mrs. Simons asked.

Joseph thought of the two reference letters—the American Jewish Committee’s and Ike Bacharach’s—which Hirsch had executed in record time. “No, you’d better not.”

Mrs. Simons raised her eyebrows before making another notation on the pad.

It was all well and good for the members of Beth Kehillah and Rodef Shalom to give their spare change to the American Jewish Committee, but lately, and particularly today, Joseph felt weary of all the altruism. Hirsch’s organization had raised nearly a million dollars in the past year, ostensibly to help people just like Inez and her husband, but Hirsch hadn’t offered up a dime of it when Joseph and Anna had explained the couple’s predicament over lunch. Where was all the money going?

Joseph’s real worry was that no amount of money would cut through the bureaucratic red tape, much of which had been imposed by the American government and not the Nazis. He thought it very telling that, when push came to shove, Inez had not placed her faith in the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society or the German Relief Fund or the American Jewish Committee but in a man she hadn’t seen in more than thirty years.



* * *



Joseph tapped lightly on the door of Isaac’s office.

“Yes?”

“I’m going home for dinner. Why don’t you come?”

“There’s so much to do here,” said Isaac. “I might stay for a while.”

There was perhaps nothing that annoyed Joseph more than his son-in-law pretending to be busy. Isaac was supposed to be running the sales team but everyone—including the driver-salesmen—knew that Mrs. Simons was really in charge. In the mornings, the drivers went over their orders and tweaked their routes, reporting any discrepancies to Mrs. Simons before they got on the road. And in the late afternoons, when they returned to the office to work the phones and follow up on the next day’s orders, it was Mrs. Simons who got peppered with questions about inventory and pricing. If a big order came through or a new customer came on board, the drivers celebrated with Mrs. Simons, not Isaac, who spent most of his day just trying to keep up. When she eventually retired, Joseph had no idea what he and Isaac would do.

“The work will be here tomorrow,” Joseph said to Isaac. “Come.”

Isaac stood, nodded a few times, as if he were trying to collect his thoughts, and began shuffling the papers on his desk, in search of something. Eventually he located a thin manila folder and put it in his satchel.

“Did you see Fannie yesterday?” Joseph asked when they were on the street.

“Unfortunately, I didn’t get over there.”

“Esther says Dr. Rosenthal has Fannie on a new regimen. To get her blood pressure down.”

“That’s good.”

Joseph wondered at his son-in-law. Did he not want to know what the regimen was? He seemed completely distracted.

“Did I see Stuart this morning, in front of the plant?” Isaac asked. If he was asking, then of course he had. When Joseph had invited Stuart to get in the car, Isaac had undoubtedly seen the whole thing from his office window.

“I took a drive up to Highlands. Asked him to go. Stuart was too polite to turn an old man down.”

“You’re not old.”

“No?”

“I would have been happy to drive you.”

“Next time?”

They crossed Atlantic Avenue and made their way north.

“You seem distracted, Isaac,” said Joseph. “Is it Fannie or something else?”

“Hmm?”

“I said that you seem distracted.”

Isaac shifted his satchel to his other shoulder. “I guess I am.”

“Want to talk about it?”

Isaac hesitated for a moment, then released a torrent. “There’s a good opportunity for me in Florida. A guy I know is selling a parcel of land, outside of Lake Okeechobee, for thirty dollars an acre. If I can get together three thousand dollars, it’s mine.”

“That’s a lot of money.”

“I’ve been shopping it around to investors. All I need is a few more people to buy in, and then it’s a win for everyone.”

“A lot of men in this town lost their shirts on Florida land deals in ’26.”

“Sure, I know,” said Isaac. “It’s part of the reason I’m getting this parcel so cheap. Playing the long game.”

They passed City Hall. “Did you hear the Commodore is sick?” Joseph asked, eager for a distraction. The city commissioner, Louis Kuehnle, was an Atlantic City legend.

Isaac couldn’t be deterred. “I thought it might be a good opportunity for you. A chance to diversify your investments. If you agreed to buy fifty acres, I’d have enough commitments to close the deal.”

“Have you talked to Fannie about any of this?”