American Dreams by John Jakes
Authors: John Jakes
Tags: Fiction, General, Romance, Historical, Sagas, Family, Motion Picture Actors and Actresses, Chicago (Ill.), German Americans
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'You've committed a serious offense, Fritzi.
We have to work things out.' He stroked the sleeve of her black bombazine dress. 'Are you willing to work things out?'
'Mr Merkle, please take your hand away.'
Blowing his boozy breath in her face, he closed his fingers on her sleeve; the pain almost buckled her knees.
'Mr. Merkle, let go.'
'I'm giving you a chance. You'd better take it.' Holding her forearms, he thrust against her. His pop eyes fluttered shut. Fritzi felt something stiff poking her apron.
She had no hat pin for defense, only her athletic strength. She yanked her arms down and lunged backward. When her right hand came free, she swung her open palm into his face. It rocked him, giving her time to speed to the door, unlock it with a twist of the key.
'Goddamn you, change your clothes and get out. You're fired! You take so much as a rag out of this hotel, I'll have you arrested.'
White and shaking, she wanted to run. Something compelled her to face him and say, 'Mr Merkle, do you know your nickname in the hotel?'
Page 71
His pop eyes appeared to vibrate in his head. 'Do I want to hear this?'
, 'Everyone calls you OIlie the Octopus. I'd say that's an insult to octopuses.
Octopi.'
'Get out of my sight!' he screamed. 'Try to find another job good as this one. You won't. You'll be humping for pennies like your fat friend.'
She couldn't think of another retort, so she shot her head forward and dry-washed her hands in a perfect imitation of him. Merkle turned red and made gobbling sounds. 'You you--'
Fritzi fled, caroming off the night clerk rushing down the hall in response to the noise. Lord, what have I done?
She left the Bleecker House bedeviled by thoughts of a small rectangular box, tin, hidden in a drawer in her room. Originally the box had 62
Striving
contained lemon drops. Now it held all the money she had left - four dol lars
and change.
In the morning, as she went out to buy a newspaper, Mrs. Perella was waiting by the newel post. The landlady murmured softly about 7a pigione.1 The rent. Fritzi promised a partial payment, two dollars, by
nightfall. Mrs. Perella murmured, LBello, bravo.' Beautiful, excellent. 'All my tenants should be as good as you.'
Fritzi searched the columns and that day answered ads for three positions.
Dishwasher - she was too well educated. Typewriter m an insurance office -- her typing speed was too slow. 'Artist's model.' The grubby room overlooking the Bowery was obviously a front for something else, probably unsavory. The 'agent' had pimples and the eyes of a ferret. Merkle and now this; she fled.
That night she paid Mrs. Perella, reducing the content of the tin box by half. Next day she walked to a shop on Second Avenue to pawn her tennis racket. She had surrendered it to the gnomish owner once before.
'One dollar,' the pawnbroker said, starting to write her ticket.
'Mr. Isidor, it was a dollar-fifty last time.'
'I know, Fritzi, but that was a year ago. Things depreciate.'
'I surely hope you won't sell it. I intend to redeem it as soon as I can.'
Page 72
He patted her hand. 'I believe you. One dollar.'
'I'll take it.'
She went up to Forty-seventh and peered through the lobby window of the Bleecker House. The dreaded Merkle being nowhere visible, she went in. The day clerk, a friend, told her that within an hour of Fritzi's dismissal Maisie had likewise gotten sacked. She hadn't take it well, had in fact bashed Merkle with an iron skillet from the kitchen.
'The night cook was cleaning up when she asked for it. Soon as he found out why she wanted it, he took it back and gave her a heavier one.
Coppers from the precinct came around, but Maisie had already left town to visit relatives in Wyoming.' He winked. 'That's what we told 'em, anyway. Merkle can't help them. He's in a Yonkers hospital for an indefinite stay.'
So she wouldn't be seeing Maisie again. Fritzi was sorry; she liked the fat girl.
Fritzi and Oh-Oh
63
She sat in Union Square in the
We have to work things out.' He stroked the sleeve of her black bombazine dress. 'Are you willing to work things out?'
'Mr Merkle, please take your hand away.'
Blowing his boozy breath in her face, he closed his fingers on her sleeve; the pain almost buckled her knees.
'Mr. Merkle, let go.'
'I'm giving you a chance. You'd better take it.' Holding her forearms, he thrust against her. His pop eyes fluttered shut. Fritzi felt something stiff poking her apron.
She had no hat pin for defense, only her athletic strength. She yanked her arms down and lunged backward. When her right hand came free, she swung her open palm into his face. It rocked him, giving her time to speed to the door, unlock it with a twist of the key.
'Goddamn you, change your clothes and get out. You're fired! You take so much as a rag out of this hotel, I'll have you arrested.'
White and shaking, she wanted to run. Something compelled her to face him and say, 'Mr Merkle, do you know your nickname in the hotel?'
Page 71
His pop eyes appeared to vibrate in his head. 'Do I want to hear this?'
, 'Everyone calls you OIlie the Octopus. I'd say that's an insult to octopuses.
Octopi.'
'Get out of my sight!' he screamed. 'Try to find another job good as this one. You won't. You'll be humping for pennies like your fat friend.'
She couldn't think of another retort, so she shot her head forward and dry-washed her hands in a perfect imitation of him. Merkle turned red and made gobbling sounds. 'You you--'
Fritzi fled, caroming off the night clerk rushing down the hall in response to the noise. Lord, what have I done?
She left the Bleecker House bedeviled by thoughts of a small rectangular box, tin, hidden in a drawer in her room. Originally the box had 62
Striving
contained lemon drops. Now it held all the money she had left - four dol lars
and change.
In the morning, as she went out to buy a newspaper, Mrs. Perella was waiting by the newel post. The landlady murmured softly about 7a pigione.1 The rent. Fritzi promised a partial payment, two dollars, by
nightfall. Mrs. Perella murmured, LBello, bravo.' Beautiful, excellent. 'All my tenants should be as good as you.'
Fritzi searched the columns and that day answered ads for three positions.
Dishwasher - she was too well educated. Typewriter m an insurance office -- her typing speed was too slow. 'Artist's model.' The grubby room overlooking the Bowery was obviously a front for something else, probably unsavory. The 'agent' had pimples and the eyes of a ferret. Merkle and now this; she fled.
That night she paid Mrs. Perella, reducing the content of the tin box by half. Next day she walked to a shop on Second Avenue to pawn her tennis racket. She had surrendered it to the gnomish owner once before.
'One dollar,' the pawnbroker said, starting to write her ticket.
'Mr. Isidor, it was a dollar-fifty last time.'
'I know, Fritzi, but that was a year ago. Things depreciate.'
'I surely hope you won't sell it. I intend to redeem it as soon as I can.'
Page 72
He patted her hand. 'I believe you. One dollar.'
'I'll take it.'
She went up to Forty-seventh and peered through the lobby window of the Bleecker House. The dreaded Merkle being nowhere visible, she went in. The day clerk, a friend, told her that within an hour of Fritzi's dismissal Maisie had likewise gotten sacked. She hadn't take it well, had in fact bashed Merkle with an iron skillet from the kitchen.
'The night cook was cleaning up when she asked for it. Soon as he found out why she wanted it, he took it back and gave her a heavier one.
Coppers from the precinct came around, but Maisie had already left town to visit relatives in Wyoming.' He winked. 'That's what we told 'em, anyway. Merkle can't help them. He's in a Yonkers hospital for an indefinite stay.'
So she wouldn't be seeing Maisie again. Fritzi was sorry; she liked the fat girl.
Fritzi and Oh-Oh
63
She sat in Union Square in the
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