A New York Dance Read online

  As he was doing now, calmly, soberly, judiciously nodding, saying, "You have your own life to live, darling, I've always told you that, and I mean it."

  A flower arrangement in a heavy milk glass bowl was within arm's reach. Bobbi reached for it, but before she could complete her intention (whatever that might have been), she and Chuck and everyone else at the table were distracted by the tinkling of a spoon rapped against the side of a teacup. A tall and muscularly built black man had got to his feet at the centre of the table, and was calling for quiet.

  This was Oscar Russell Green, leader of this group of sixteen and Bobbi's latest alleged lover. With his bushy moustache, modest Afro, and easygoing smile he looked much younger than his forty-three years, and he'd been active in politics and Civil Rights activities for nearly a quarter of a century. He was also no stranger to public speaking, and now he stood in silence, smiling at his audience, until he was sure he had the attention of everyone in the room. Then, with a nod and a grin, he suddenly said, "Well, we did it." And in an abrupt loud voice, fist punching the air, "We made the system function?"

  And the audience burst into cheers of delight, yelling and clapping their hands and grinning huge grins at one another. Even Bobbi gave off her feud with Chuck, and smiled happily around the table.

  Oscar Russell Green nodded and smiled, and when the reaction had tapered off he said, quietly, "They didn't take us seriously, gang. Crazies and weirdos, that's what they thought we were. And they thought we couldn't work together for the common good. White and black, men and women, they thought we'd spend all our time fighting one another and no time at all fighting City Hall. Well, they were wrong!"

  More cheering, more applause.

  But now Oscar Russell Green became serious. "I think we can be very proud of ourselves," he said. "And I think we all learned and grew and became richer, better human beings as a result of this experience. We learned that we can work together. We can make the system work — for us."

  Applause again. Her hands beating together, Bobbi became aware of Chuck's indulgent smile, and she immediately stopped clapping. Then, outraged that he should keep her from joining a general applause by his hypocrisy, she started fiercely clapping again just as everybody else stopped. She yanked her hands down under the table, and began muttering into her throat.

  "Well," Oscar Russell Green was saying, "we've had a delicious lunch here today, and I might say we well deserved it. And at the end we got our fortune cookies, and I looked at mine, and it seemed somehow very appropriate, and I'd like to read it to you all." He opened the little twist of paper and read, "He who hesitates is second."

  The audience laughed at that, nodding and making joking remarks at one another.

  Green went on, "Well, I guess we've all learned that much through this experience, haven't we? Not to hesitate, not to allow ourselves to be second. Not ever."

  Green put the twist of paper down. "Like the Lone Ranger, our work is finished here now, and we can all ride off into the sunset. But we're leaving behind us a tangible reminder of what we have done. Last Monday construction began, and within a year the Stokely Carmichael Memorial Squash Court and Snack Bar will be complete and open and functioning in Morningside Park, bringing the availability of the healthful and upwardly mobile sport of squash to the residents of Harlem of all races."

  Which produced a standing ovation. This was what these people had in common. Young and old, rich and poor, yin and yang, they came together eight years ago, ignited by the purpose of bringing squash to the disadvantaged. Wealthy matrons, determined political activists, passionate college students, liberally committed advertising men, they were united by a goal, and now that goal had been achieved, they were applauding themselves and their own accomplishment, and why not? They deserved it.

  The standing ovation, like all good things, came at last to an end, and the flushed and happy members of the group reseated themselves laughing and talking together, until Green raised his voice again, saying, "Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your indulgence for just one minute more?"

  He could. He was the one who'd brought them all together in the beginning, who'd led them through the years of fund-raising, public relations, lobbying, and general struggle that had brought them to this moment of triumph, and he could have their indulgence just as long as he wanted it.

  "Thank you. I have one more thing to say. Our real reward, our true reward, is being constructed right now up there in Morningside Park, but I thought we all ought to have a little something to take home with us, some little memorial of what we went through together. Like the movie people giving out an Oscar." Grinning, he added, "Well, I'm Oscar, but I can't give you me. I can give you my love and my gratitude, but I can't give you me."

  Bobbi ignored Chuck's smirk.

  Green was saying, "So I talked it over with Bud Beemiss and Chuck Harwood, and we decided we all ought to have something like an Oscar, because we all performed magnificently!"

  Laughter, applause.

  "So here it is!" And up from the floor beside his chair Green lifted a tall package wrapped in brown paper. The paper was ripped off and a Dancing Aztec Priest emerged, glittering, to be placed on the table in front of Green's dish of melting ice cream.

  The statue was greeted with a combination of laughter and bewilderment. Smiling at it, Green said, "Now, Chuck found this little fella, and Bud arranged to have him shipped here, and Chuck told me his history, and the fact is, this little man doesn't have one thing to do with squash."

  Nobody knew if that was supposed to be a joke or not, so there was a brief hiccup of laughter, soon over, which Green mostly ignored. "This is a copy," he said, "of a very ancient Aztec statue, and it's an Aztec priest doing some sort of dance. At least, that's what he used to be. What he is now is the Other Oscar, our award to ourselves. This is the Rain Dance Oscar, jumping around like we did that day at the Board of Estimate, you all remember that?"

  They did. And now they all got it, the similarity between this contorted figure and a photograph that had appeared in the Daily News, showing Green hopping around in oratorical frenzy during the group's appearance before the city's Board of Estimate. They saw the resemblance, and they loved it, and they all laughed and applauded and pointed at the statue, and then they redoubled the applause when all at once the waiters came in, carrying more golden-skinned green-eyed Dancing Aztec Priests in their arms, distributing them around like after-dinner drinks, one at each and every place.

  How sweet, Bobbi thought. How dear Oscar is. (Not that she'd ever been to bed with him, nor even that he'd ever offered.) But he was just a dear sweet human being, that's all (unlike some she could mention), and this funny crooked yellow statue was just one more example of it. She picked it up, held it in her hands, feeling the cold of it against her fingers, looking at its strained and twisted body, its green eyes throwing off sparks of light in its devil-mask face. She smiled at the statue, loving it, loving Oscar in that moment, and then she became aware of Chuck watching her, his patronizing smile, his bland eyes, and she turned her head, saying, "Don't spoil this one, Harwood. I mean it."

  "My darling, you can do whatever you want. I only hope you'll come back to me when it's all over."

  There was no beating him, and no dealing with him. The only way to survive at all was to let him have the last word, try not to let it rankle too much, try to concentrate on other things.

  Brandy was brought out then, which helped, in tiny gold-encrusted glasses. The group toasted itself, toasted Oscar Russell Green, toasted the Other Oscars, toasted the Stokely Carmichael Memorial Squash Court and Snack Bar, and then at last it was all over. People got up from the table, moved here and there around the room, shook hands with one another, promised to keep in touch, showed one another their Other Oscars, and finally they began to depart, going down the stairs in groups of two and three, the laughter and good fellowship continuing down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk, where smaller and smaller groups clustered, separate
d, regrouped, and finally moved away.

  And now, after all these years, Oscar Russell Green actually did make a pass! Bobbi couldn't believe it. For years they'd been together, Oscar had been in their apartment, Oscar and Bobbi had been alone together a thousand times, and not once had he ever made a move. But now all at once, on the sidewalk in front of the Goddess of Heaven, he was coming on as though he meant it. "Bobbi, you're holding the wrong Oscar to your breast," he said, gesturing at the statue she held in both arms. And when she merely laughed that one away, he said something else. And then something else. And constantly with a bright-eyed intensity in his smile, standing a bit too close, staring at her in a meaningful way, while Chuck stood next to a nearby fireplug, pipe in gently smiling mouth, expression avuncular and indulgent. Until finally Bobbi had to place her hand on Oscar's forearm, to say, "I want us to go on being friends, Oscar."

  "Good friends, I hope," Oscar said. What was wrong with the man?

  And Chuck joined in, saying, "Bobbi, I have to go up to the campus for a few hours. Why don't you and Oscar amuse yourselves?"

  Which was the last straw. "And why don't you," Bobbi said, "stick your prick in an electric pencil sharpener? It'll fit."

  "See you soon," Oscar said, a big smile on his face, back-pedalling down the block, waving like a song-and-dance man going offstage.

  The others all were gone. Bobbi and Chuck were left alone on the sidewalk. "Call a cab, you asshole," Bobbi said. "I've had enough for one day."

  Shrugging, amiable, unruffled, Chuck stepped off the curb and hailed a cab. Getting into it, Bobbi barely noticed the little white van that squealed to a halt just to the right, nor the worried-looking young man in white coveralls who hopped out of it and dashed into the restaurant.

  Which meant that…

  VICTOR KRASSMEIER * ANNUAL REPORT

  The Current Situation

  While the fluctuations in domestic and international money markets have remained as unpredictable as was forecast in last year's Annual Report, the general trend has remained down, which was also predicted. To the extent possible this trend has been allowed for in the planning that has taken place within the higher cortical regions of the Victor Krassmeier mind.

  Liquidity

  Unfortunately, the depressed nature of the economy, both domestically and on the international front, has made short-term liquidity measures more than usually difficult to sustain or initiate. Although Victor Krassmeier remains a sound and stable structure, with assets (in property, stocks, partnerships and other interests in various business operations) in the realm of one point six million dollars (see Appendix 1), this problem of short-term liquidity remains a knotty one, and in fact has become increasingly serious.

  Cash Flow

  The cash flow situation is briefly stated. (See Chart 1.) In the fiscal year just ended, cash intake has failed to keep pace with cash outgo ten of the twelve months. This negative cash flow has created a situation in which various recurrent obligations, such as chauffeur's salary and the apartment on West 5th Street with occupant (see Appendix 2), are in very real risk of default before the end of the current calendar year.

  Alternatives

  Quite simply, there are two alternatives open

  to Victor Krassmeier at this juncture.

  (1) He can cut back some of these out-of-pocket expenses.

  (2) He can find an additional alternate source of cash income to close the budgetary gap.

  The difficulty with (1) is that every suggested economy measure produces great complications in the Victor Krassmeier life-style. (Firing the chauffeur, for instance, would force Victor Krassmeier either to learn to drive at his age, or spend time vying with the masses for taxis.) The difficulty with (2) is that additional alternate sources of cash income don't grow on trees.

  Management Decision

  Having rejected the first option listed above after much soul-searching, Victor Krassmeier has put considerable effort into an exploration of the viability of the second, and has at last emerged with a potentially useful onetime source of income. This has necessitated a brief business relationship — an unofficial partnership, in fact — with a not entirely savoury individual named August Corella.

  The New Partner

  August Corella is not the usual business partner. He does not, for instance, appear in Who's Who. Although he has some sort of administrative post with a bakers' union in New Jersey, his actual interests appear to be much more wide-ranging.

  Previous Relationship

  Through his tax-deductible charitable connection with various local museums (see Appendix 3), Victor Krassmeier has become aware of the trade in antique art and artifacts of dubious pedigree. That is to say, items that American museums and the American government see as free trade items that can be bought and sold without question of legality, but items that certain foreign governments, such as Mexico and Italy, see as their own property and therefore "stolen" merchandise. While himself partaking in the negotiations for some of these pieces representing the museum side, Victor Krassmeier first came to have dealings with August Corella, who on occasion appeared as a representative of the seller or dealer or "thief" side.

  The Current Relationship August Corella initially brought to Victor Krassmeier's attention the potential acquisition by the Museum of the Arts of the Americas of the Dancing Aztec Priest of Descalzo. When Victor Krassmeier conveyed to August Corella the positive early response of the museum officials involved, August Corella proceeded to arrange for the transfer of the object from its present location to the museum. When there arose a question of financing this transfer, Victor Krassmeier suggested an equal partnership, with which August Corella happily agreed.

  Responsibility of the Partners Each partner provided an equal amount of seed money for the project. August Corella's responsibility has been to effect the transfer of the object from its present location to the museum. Victor Krassmeier's responsibility has been to arrange with the museum the details of the sale.

  Advantage of the Partnership Since the museum remained unaware that Victor Krassmeier had himself become one of the principals in the sale, he was able in effect to negotiate with himself and thus to push the museum to a far higher figure than had originally been contemplated.

  Anticipated Return

  The Dancing Aztec Priest of Descalzo is made entirely of gold, except for its green eyes, which are matched emeralds. In addition to its intrinsic value in terms of precious metal and precious stones, it has an added value as an art object and a pre-Columbian artifact, in that it is unique. Once the statue has been delivered to the museum, therefore, in good condition, and once it has been authenticated by two waiting experts in pre-Columbian art, a check will be turned over to Victor Krassmeier in the amount of one million two hundred forty thousand dollars. After the partnership has been dissolved and all the other expenses of the transaction have been paid, Victor Krassmeier can anticipate a clear profit for himself of between one hundred seventy thousand and two hundred thousand dollars. In cash.

  The Future

  Victor Krassmeier's physical plant remains active and capable, with only slight depreciation, except for a continuing problem with the prostate gland, which should not prove to be a serious factor in future business activity. On the national and international economic scene, over the long haul, Victor Krassmeier remains optimistic. The system continues to suffer one of its periodic dislocations and adjustments, but he anticipates— along with most of the rest of the financial community (see Graph I and Chart 2) — that the long-awaited upturn will begin to make itself at last evident in the second or third quarter of the next calendar year. His portfolio and other holdings remain basically sound. The "South America matter" should solve the negative cash flow problem, at least until the expected turnaround. Should that turnaround take longer than anticipated to emerge, further partnerships with August Corella or others could certainly be considered. On balance, Victor Krassmeier considers his current posture to be nerve-
racking but positive.

  Victor Krassmeier (senior partner, Winkle, Krassmeier, Stone and Sledge, Members of the New York and American Stock Exchanges; Member of the Board of Directors, Ohio & Indiana Railroad; Trustee, Museum of the Arts of the Americas; Member of the Governing Board, Metropolitan Ballet) gazed bleakly across his desk at August Corella (date unknown), and said, "Another delay? Another?"

  "Not exactly a delay," Corella told him. "There's problems."

  The office containing these two men was of such hushed opulence that it seemed as though their words were borne to one another on small plush pillows. Krassmeier's desk, of rubbed mahogany with gold fittings, was the kidney-bean shape of in-ground swimming pools, and its smooth glowing surface featured a complex telephone console, an onyx and gold desk set, and a memo pad blank of memos. The semiabstract cityscape hanging on the side wall over the long low corduroy sofa seemed a fog-drenched reflection of the actual sunny city through the broad windows across the room, but without the stutter of the World Trade Centre. Here in this private office on the top floor of the Benchmark Building, surrounded by the symbols and implements of his power, Victor Krassmeier was wont to sit, a big balding man whose meaty shoulders and heavy waist were almost completely disguised by first-rate tailoring, and bask in the pleasant sensations of comfortable self-esteem. He was not at all used to this sudden panicky roiling of the stomach. Blinking sullenly at his crude partner, he said, "Problems? What do you mean, problems?"