and halt on the edge of her
Persian carpet. "The big man from the Big Party wants to talk with
you."
"He wants to talk politics," she lamented, at
the moment uneasy about talking with him. "Can we say I'm in
conference? That's what business people say when they don't want to
be interrupted."
"Say whatever you want. I tried taking a
message, but was told the subject is confidential."
"All right then, patch Lyle through."
A moment later, the Southern drawl of the
Director of the Democratic National Committee echoed in her phone.
"Enjoyed your service at the Greenbrier, Raaab-bi ," his delivery lazy with familiarity. "Kye
Naah liked it too. Koreans take their religion very seriously, ya
know."
"He got me out of two scrapes in one day. I
guess he told you about our encounter jogging earlier that
morning."
"No, he didn't. But that's not unusual. Kye's
a private individual. Many think he's eccentric and don't take him
seriously. In the vote-procuring business I've learned you can't
afford to ignore him, which brings me to the business between us.
If I don't put a credible candidate into the Maryland race next
year, I'll be peddling frankfurters on the corner of K and
Connecticut Streets."
She knew he'd eventually get around to
asking. "Sorry, one of our kids just died from the fire; the other
will require a reconstructed face and lots of skin grafting. I
haven't given your matter much thought."
A moment of disappointment elapsed before he
said, "Well, Raaab-bi, I can understand that. Why sure I can, but I
didn't call to apply pressure. You made a good impression on Kye. I
took the liberty of giving him your phone number."
"Could have fooled me. I was sure I flunked
several tests at the Greenbrier. What's he want to talk about?"
"He's active in the Korean Baptist community
and expressed interest in learning more about Judaism. But knowing
him, he wants to talk about the Internet."
"If we meet, will you be present?"
"Absolutely not. I'm in the doggy condo for
inviting him to the Greenbrier. Many in this palace of rectitude
don't trust him. They'd love to delete the both of us, to use a
current metaphor. Until things settle down, Kye and I must keep our
distance. I'm sure you can appreciate the situation."
"He must have stepped on some tender
toes."
"Every prima donna thinks he can run the
Democratic Party. Kye poses a threat to the way my people run
elections. I can't afford to forget this is their bread and butter.
The quickest way to make a snarling enemy is to attack his means of
making a living."
'Wanta bet you haven't got all the prima donnas?" she responded, not intending
humor. "I've got a few lulus on my synagogue board."
"Now that you mention it, I can imagine you
have your hands full. Someday we should swap war stories."
"Not stories, Lyle. If you're real nice to
me, I'll show you my battle scars."
As soon the conversation ended, she buzzed
Chuck who avoided the intercom whenever possible and poked his head
through her door.
She was in the act of bending over a
cardboard beer carton beside her desk. With a push from her foot,
it slid into Chuck's view. "The photographic memory of my tenure at
Ohav. When I started, I put every picture into an album, but they
multiplied like bacteria and I gave up. Buried in here somewhere is
a shot I took of Asa sitting behind his new desk. I'd like you to
find it."
"Sure," he said, stepping forward. "And may I
ask what's so important about this particular photo. I don't think
he looks a day older than when he was installed."
"I'm interested in what's on his bookshelf. I
recall the ugly Chanukah menorah he lent to the Morgenstern girls.
It was thickly crusted in old wax, looking as if it had been used
by the Maccabees themselves when they entered the Temple grounds in
Jerusalem. I kept thinking, 'why the devil doesn't he clean it?' It
was my first glimpse into his temperament. Asa's sensitive to
things most of us aren't, but yet sometimes quite oblivious to
objects around
Persian carpet. "The big man from the Big Party wants to talk with
you."
"He wants to talk politics," she lamented, at
the moment uneasy about talking with him. "Can we say I'm in
conference? That's what business people say when they don't want to
be interrupted."
"Say whatever you want. I tried taking a
message, but was told the subject is confidential."
"All right then, patch Lyle through."
A moment later, the Southern drawl of the
Director of the Democratic National Committee echoed in her phone.
"Enjoyed your service at the Greenbrier, Raaab-bi ," his delivery lazy with familiarity. "Kye
Naah liked it too. Koreans take their religion very seriously, ya
know."
"He got me out of two scrapes in one day. I
guess he told you about our encounter jogging earlier that
morning."
"No, he didn't. But that's not unusual. Kye's
a private individual. Many think he's eccentric and don't take him
seriously. In the vote-procuring business I've learned you can't
afford to ignore him, which brings me to the business between us.
If I don't put a credible candidate into the Maryland race next
year, I'll be peddling frankfurters on the corner of K and
Connecticut Streets."
She knew he'd eventually get around to
asking. "Sorry, one of our kids just died from the fire; the other
will require a reconstructed face and lots of skin grafting. I
haven't given your matter much thought."
A moment of disappointment elapsed before he
said, "Well, Raaab-bi, I can understand that. Why sure I can, but I
didn't call to apply pressure. You made a good impression on Kye. I
took the liberty of giving him your phone number."
"Could have fooled me. I was sure I flunked
several tests at the Greenbrier. What's he want to talk about?"
"He's active in the Korean Baptist community
and expressed interest in learning more about Judaism. But knowing
him, he wants to talk about the Internet."
"If we meet, will you be present?"
"Absolutely not. I'm in the doggy condo for
inviting him to the Greenbrier. Many in this palace of rectitude
don't trust him. They'd love to delete the both of us, to use a
current metaphor. Until things settle down, Kye and I must keep our
distance. I'm sure you can appreciate the situation."
"He must have stepped on some tender
toes."
"Every prima donna thinks he can run the
Democratic Party. Kye poses a threat to the way my people run
elections. I can't afford to forget this is their bread and butter.
The quickest way to make a snarling enemy is to attack his means of
making a living."
'Wanta bet you haven't got all the prima donnas?" she responded, not intending
humor. "I've got a few lulus on my synagogue board."
"Now that you mention it, I can imagine you
have your hands full. Someday we should swap war stories."
"Not stories, Lyle. If you're real nice to
me, I'll show you my battle scars."
As soon the conversation ended, she buzzed
Chuck who avoided the intercom whenever possible and poked his head
through her door.
She was in the act of bending over a
cardboard beer carton beside her desk. With a push from her foot,
it slid into Chuck's view. "The photographic memory of my tenure at
Ohav. When I started, I put every picture into an album, but they
multiplied like bacteria and I gave up. Buried in here somewhere is
a shot I took of Asa sitting behind his new desk. I'd like you to
find it."
"Sure," he said, stepping forward. "And may I
ask what's so important about this particular photo. I don't think
he looks a day older than when he was installed."
"I'm interested in what's on his bookshelf. I
recall the ugly Chanukah menorah he lent to the Morgenstern girls.
It was thickly crusted in old wax, looking as if it had been used
by the Maccabees themselves when they entered the Temple grounds in
Jerusalem. I kept thinking, 'why the devil doesn't he clean it?' It
was my first glimpse into his temperament. Asa's sensitive to
things most of us aren't, but yet sometimes quite oblivious to
objects around
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