Tell Them I'll Be There (7 page)

Dan raised a hand above his head as he turned the corner. So this is it, he told himself a little surprised. You're on your own.

T
HE NEW YORK
businessman had given Dan his card. When you get settled give me a call, son. I might be able to use you. Use me? Dan thought. As what? He had no
qualifications
, no experience of working in a big city. But Joe Baker had seemed serious and genuine. His last words as he and his wife, Barbara, left the ship were, ‘Give me a call, why don't ya?'

Dan fished the card and an old envelope from his pocket. This was where he kept what little money he had left, eight dollars and forty cents.
Joe Baker Associates
, he read,
339 Madison Avenue
. Maybe he should telephone for an
appointment
. But could he afford to and what would it cost? He stopped to look at the men's suits and shirts in one of the wide windows of Manhattan's newest and biggest store, Saks Fifth Avenue. He had to find some decent clothes. Nobody was going to give him a job the way he looked. Flat cap, frayed jacket, collarless shirt. Except maybe a labouring job. There were no price tickets on the suits but they were well out of his reach anyway. Maybe he could hire a suit. But what the hell? Joe Baker knew more or less all there was to know about him. Maybe he should try him first.

He had worked out the layout of the city. It was pretty good really, made a lot of sense. Avenues going down, streets going across with the odd exception. Broadway seemed to go its own way, cutting across the rest. Maybe Madison did the same. Or why didn't it have a number? Best to ask the way. Excuse me, he said apologetically as a smart-looking young man approached. But the young man walked straight on, didn't even 
glance at him. Welcome to New York, Dan muttered to himself. He stared at his reflection in a shop window. He looked like a tramp. The young fellow probably thought he was going to tap him for a hand-out. I've never begged in my life, Dan told himself indignantly.

He walked on along the shabby sunless street and out to another bustling thoroughfare. Must be Fourth Avenue, he guessed. Then he saw the sign: Madison Ave. Number 339 turned out to be an office block with an open street door. Vertical blinds obscured the ground floor windows. Dan
hesitated
briefly but then he decided he might as well try his luck.

Through the door was a small vestibule. On the wall was a list of five or six companies followed by an invitation to ‘Ring for attention'. He pressed the button next to Joe Baker Associates. Nothing. He pressed it again and eventually a girl of about his own age came primly down the narrow stairway with a fixed business smile. But when she saw Dan the smile
evaporated
.

‘Yes?' she said archly.

Dan snatched his cap off. ‘I'm here to see Mr Baker.'

‘Do you have an appointment?'

‘Er … no,' he said. ‘Not exactly.'

The girl frowned and shook her head as if what he asked was out of the question. ‘I'm sorry …'

‘Look,' he said. ‘Just tell him Dan Dolan is here, off the ship.'

Still she hesitated but then she looked relieved as Barbara Baker, laden with several expensive-looking shopping bags, came in from the street. ‘Mrs Baker,' she said ‘This man …'

Barbara's face lit up when she saw Dan. ‘Hey, Danny! How are you? How nice to see you.'

‘I'm fine, thank you,' Dan said. ‘I was in town and I thought …'

‘Here,' she said. She handed him a couple of the shopping bags and the girl took another. ‘Come on upstairs. There's no lift in this goddam place. Thank you, Janet. I'll take care of Mr Dolan.'

The girl glanced sheepishly at Dan and he winked at her, 
adding to her embarrassment, as she turned to lead the way up the stairs.

Janet had her desk in a small outer office. There was a much bigger office where an older man and a stenographer looked busy. Partitioned off in one corner was another office with a glazed door, the name Paul Merrick stencilled in gold letters on the glass. Facing them a closed door made up the suite.

Barbara left her shopping bags with Janet and signalled that Dan should follow. She tapped lightly on the closed door and looked in. Joe Baker was, as usual, holding a telephone. He beckoned her inside and when he saw Dan he nodded and smiled and indicated the chairs by his large desk.

‘Danny boy!' he exclaimed, when he put the telephone down. ‘Good to see you.' He shook Dan by the hand, kissed Barbara lightly on the cheek and asked, ‘Where did you find him?'

‘He was downstairs, trying to convince Janet he was on the level,' Barbara said with a laugh.

Baker opened a drawer in his desk. ‘A drink?'

Dan shook his head. ‘Not during the day, Mr Baker. In fact, I don't drink much at all.'

He laughed. ‘I'm not asking you to get plastered, for God's sake. Just a little celebration. You'll have one, Barbara?'

‘Sure,' Barbara said. ‘Why not?'

He set three small glasses on his desk and poured three shots of Jack Daniel's. Dan felt he ought to explain why he had come but he didn't know how. He looked at Baker uncomfortably.

‘You want a job.' Baker laughed, sensing his discomfort. ‘Sure you do. Why else would you come here?'

Dan was twisting his cap as if it was wet and he was wringing it out. He felt as though he was in a court of law and he was the accused. ‘I just stopped by to say hello, Mr Baker. I shouldn't have come. I mean, I expect you're pretty busy right now.'

Baker turned to Barbara. ‘Will you listen to him?' he said in exasperation. ‘Talking himself out of a job before it's offered.'

Barbara leaned over, took Dan's cap and threw it in the waste bin. ‘You are not going to need that old thing no more.' 

‘So what can you do, son?' Baker asked.

‘Not much,' Dan admitted. ‘But I'm willing to learn.'

‘Good,' Baker said. ‘That's what I want. Someone who knows nothing, but ain't dumb.'

Dan had imagined Joe Baker Associates had a finger in all kinds of pies and he might be offered a small job somewhere in Baker's empire. But it wasn't like that. Joe Baker Associates seemed to do all their business from this small office.

‘I want a young man I can trust totally, someone who will do all the running around and in my best interests. Not his own. This is my business, OK? Loyalty is number one.' He was watching Dan intently. ‘You seen
Julius Caesar
?'

‘No, sir,' Dan said. ‘But I will.'

Baker nodded in approval. ‘What I want is a Mark Antony, not a Brutus.'

‘What would I have to do, Mr Baker? I mean, where would I work and what kind of work would it be?'

‘You wouldn't do much at all at first. You would just listen and learn. Where would you be? You'd be here with me. A gofer, a Man Friday, a kind of personal assistant.'

‘A gofer?' Dan queried. First time he had heard the word.

‘You go for this, you go for that. When I need something, anything, from coffee or milk to the very latest Dow Jones, you go get it. You keep my diary, tell me where I'm supposed to be, who I'm supposed to ring, who I'm supposed to meet.'

Dan smiled. ‘When do I start?'

Dan hadn't asked about pay or for the loan he looked as though he needed and Baker liked that. ‘How about right now?' he said. ‘I'll pay you twenty-five a week for three months and we'll see how it goes. After that we do things right. We set up a contract or, if you're no good, you're out.'

It was more than he could have hoped for. The talk on the boat was that a man could expect to earn around fifteen, maybe twenty working weekends. Girls could earn about ten in the sweatshops, fifteen with overtime. He stood up, hand extended. ‘You won't be sorry, Mr Baker. I promise.'

Joe Baker nodded approvingly and shook his hand. To 
Barbara he said, ‘Take him to Polly's. Kit him out.' To Dan he said, ‘See you in the morning, son. Nine o'clock.'

A colourful float was gliding slowly down Madison Avenue. Six shapely girls in striped swimsuits with beach balls and sunshades and a phoney fountain that kept sputtering out were advertising holidays in the ‘Sun State of the USA'.

‘Come on,' Barbara said. ‘We'll not get a cab here.'

‘Where is this Polly? She far away? Too far to walk?'

‘This Polly is a he not a she and he's on Eighth Avenue with the rest of the rag trade. And I ain't walking nowhere. I've been on my feet all morning.'

Polly Berger was a small fat Austrian gentleman, long time friend and business associate of Joe Baker. A lovely man, Barbara said as she led the way through the humming stop-start sound of sewing machines backed up by Viennese waltzes from a phonograph. She tapped lightly on the open door to Polly's chaotic glass cage of an office. ‘Ah, my best girl,' Polly cried. ‘Come in, come in.'

He gave Barbara a hug and a kiss and peered at Dan through his thick-lensed glasses. ‘Always,' he said, ‘she brings her boyfriends to Polly for Polly to fix 'em up, make 'em look good when they take her out. But she never lets Polly take her out.'

‘You never ask,' Barbara said mildly. ‘And anyway, I don't think Mrs Polly would approve.'

A woman of about fifty with a tape measure round her neck made notes as Polly with another tape took Dan's
measurements
. ‘I think we can do this from stock,' he said. ‘We can fix you up now, today, and by the end of the week we'll have a real nice outfit for you.'

He looked at the lady with a tape and she nodded confidently and led Dan away. ‘Should scrub up well this one,' he said, when they'd gone. ‘Where did he get him?'

‘Off the boat,' Barbara said.

‘Will he last?'

Barbara shrugged. ‘I dunno. He might do. He's no mug.'

Polly smiled. ‘Poor old Joe. Will he ever find what he's looking for?' 

‘I don't think so. He asks too much.'

Dan came back transformed. He was wearing dark trousers, a light coloured jacket, a white shirt and an Italian silk, patterned tie. Polly laughed. ‘You look like a bandleader.'

‘He looks fine,' Barbara said. ‘For now.'

‘Couple of days or so we'll have a great suit for you,' Polly promised.

‘This feels good, sir,' Dan said gratefully. ‘And I think it looks good.'

‘It will when we get you some decent shoes,' Barbara said. ‘You can't go around dressed like that in those boots.'

‘And get a nice haircut, son,' Polly said. ‘Y'know, I feel sorry for you guys with all that thick black hair. I mean me, I just wash my head in the morning. Don't have to pay these Wop barbers every five minutes.' He lowered his voice
conspiratorially
. ‘If I was you, I'd get one of those slick-back jobs. Parted in the middle. Y'know. like Valentino. You'll knock 'em dead. Girls be falling at your feet.'

It was after six when Barbara hailed a cab.

‘Thanks,' he said, as she climbed in. ‘See you tomorrow then.'

‘You may do and you may not,' she said, looking back at him over her shoulder. ‘I ain't on the payroll.'

Dan strolled down 42
^nd
Street, all the way to Fifth Avenue, glancing in windows to catch his reflection. He felt great, like a new man. New shirt, new jacket, new pants, new shoes, even a new haircut. He had never had so much new stuff. In fact, he couldn't remember having anything that was actually
new
. And best of all, he had a job. He had no idea what he would have to do but he was going to do it and do it well – though something he had overheard had stayed with him. What did Polly mean:
Should scrub up well this one
? Had there been others?

The nice-looking building on his right with the two lions caught his attention. The New York Public Library. He was going to have to find out more about Julius Caesar but not now. There was time yet. He had just been walking until now, getting the feel of the city and the noise and the crowded sidewalks, and 
the sense that there was something in the air. In his head he could hear Michael.
Tell all the gang at 42
^nd
Street that I will soon be there
. And now he knew he was going down to 28
^th
Street to see if Michael and Nathan were still there. He wanted to show off the new Dan and whether he admitted it or not he had been heading there all along.

There was a small crowd outside Levi's Music Shop and Dan couldn't see what was going on. Then as he drew near he heard Michael's voice in mid-song and Nathan's hit or miss piano playing. The crowd was made up mainly of shop and office girls and they were enjoying Michael's banter. ‘Hey!' he called to one. ‘Did you like that, sweetheart? Bet your mother came from Ireland.'

‘Sure she did,' the girl called back. ‘Place called Naples.'

Undeterred Michael simply laughed, half singing, half selling.
‘I'll be lovin' you
,' he sang. Then, ‘Come on, girls. Lovely song. Only a dime. Learn the words. Thank you, darling. Thank you, sweetheart. Come back and sing it for me.' He was handing out sheets, taking the money, handing out sheets, taking the money. Then he saw Dan.

He stopped and stared, handed the sheets of music to Nathan and went through the little throng of onlookers. ‘Look at you!' he cried. ‘What did you do? Rob a bank?'

‘Come on,' Dan said. ‘Let me buy you some grub. Tell Nathan.'

Together Michael and Nathan wheeled the piano indoors and Mr Levi followed them outside, not happy as their audience dispersed.

‘That's it, Mr Levi,' Michael said. ‘See you tomorrow.'

‘Sorry about that,' Dan said. ‘You were doing pretty well.'

‘Oh sure,' Michael said. ‘All afternoon for one dollar. One dollar we made. Between two of us.'

‘Fifty sheets at two cents a throw,' Nathan said. ‘Fifty-two actually.'

There was a coffee shop on one corner and an Italian
restaurant
on the other. Dan steered them towards the restaurant. ‘My treat.'