20
They scattered, and Ben joined Sid at the Curtis Hotel at his behest. There was nothing in the world that Ben would rather do than spin tales about his glory days at the U of M in Ann Arbor. Sid had tasted that championship fever with the Gophers during Bud Grant’s, John McNamara and the first black All-American quarterback-Sandy Stevens was in the mix this year-1960. Sid was predicting Rose Bowl victory this year, but since he was a homer, Sid was always writing in his daily column that nugget.
“How beautiful!” Carolyn said without hesitation.
Rami’s house overlooked Lake of the Isles, and it was more of a reflecting pond for the Italian- style mansions reflected more than just architecture, but social standing as well. Since Rami came across as a modest, gentle soul when they met him the first time, now it made sense.
Rami could afford to be anything he wanted, and now he was playing that role to suit his surroundings. Mags looked around and was flooded with cynicism.
“What do you do to…” Carolyn almost blurted.
One was modest about class, and the less said the better. It was the illusion that was to be strived for, not the brutal deeds needed that never showed up on the accountant’s handiwork.
“Oh, I do very well as a sponsor my friends,” he said immodestly.
Jim was taken aback by Rami’s confession and let it slide, since that was Jim, a consummate slider. The current term was lumper, but when you are over six feet tall and look like Cary Grant, that term never applies. The past and current label was-cad. Jim was too relaxed for that to apply, so he continued being a mannequin.
Then the real eye-opener came. As they went through the majestic entryway, smoke from the multitude of lit cigarettes had created a cloud that reminded them of a groovy nightclub. Laughter and gayety to match the smokey environment reminiscent of New Years Eve permeated the brick mausoleum. This wasn’t a haunt for the down and out, but it appeared to be where the upper crust held a holding pattern while their real plans unfolded without effort. The dresses were Oval Room- types, and the men’s shoes shined in the bright lights cascading down by the huge chandelier.
“Oh my,” Carolyn the observer of all things tasteful commented. “My oh my.”
Mags quickly concluded that Rami was a con. At first glance, it appeared to her jaded eye that he had some sort of scam in play, and she couldn’t put her itchy finger on it. Maybe Ben’s gruff interrogation of Rami was a signal? Mags thought Ben had to have had some internal device from his years of being alive. Mags wished she had that too. She turned to look at Rami, and he had that smile that confirmed her suspicions.
“Come in and sit. The help, I mean Genevieve with show you to your rooms,” he said.
They looked around at the others intense interactions and wondered what the set-up was. They were all familiar with hornswogglers who paraded as upstanding citizens, and this one was fitting that pattern, with Carolyn duly impressed.
“So?”
Rami dropped down on the couch and looked around with that same self-satisfied smile.
Mags was the first to interrogate the suspect.
“What is this Rami? I see stylish people dressed for a ball smoking and…” she stopped.
“Drinking? That is the unusual thing, right Mags?”
Then they all searched the ‘partiers’ for the offending bottles, and none appeared.
“No way. You mean to tell me this is a gathering of tea tollers?” Mags said wide eyed.
They kept looking to see if they could win the challenge by identifying someone drinking alcohol. They couldn’t.
“Don’t tell me-you sponsor them all?”
Rami leaned back and let out a laugh. Jim, Carolyn and Mags looked at each other with a shrug of their shoulders. He was good! Carolyn felt a wave of electricity as she gave him downcast-heavy lidded look.
“Guess who is on his way?”
Still trying to take in the crowd (about fifty) revelers, guessing anything else was not possible.
“I pick up Bill Wilson at the train station tomorrow morning. He agreed to come and officiate Bill’s service at the Washburn Mansion. Most call it the Pillsbury Mansion, but really that is not correct,” he said combing that small, irrelevant detail.
Not knowing who Bill Wilson was, Rami made extra effort to go into his founding of the organization with friend, Doctor Bob Smith. He explained how the Rockefeller Foundation was going to give them money but backed out fearing that Alcoholics Anonymous would lose their independence. So, it was incumbent on people like Rami to fill that cash flow’s need.
“So, you are Robin Hood,” Mags said with derision.
Normally anyone with a healthy ego would be stung, but not Rami. He just put in higher wattage lightbulbs, and his smile illuminated the bright room further.
“Mags, why would you infer that? Look around, don’t you see happy people? My mission, my goal is to spread this around wherever I go! Is that wrong?”
Rami was selling, and hard. He knew that these three were more adept at peeking around the corner and under rugs-expensive rugs. It seemed to Mags that Rami was trying to convince himself, and that never ended well.
“I do Rami. Whatever it is, you are doing a good job. The question I have for you, what are you charging? This can’t be free now, can it?”
Rami’s smile disappeared.
“Charging? Isn’t that a little crass? These people are”-Rami leaned forward and whispered- “loaded. Just like you three.”
Mags didn’t know whether to be outraged, or not. When you are rich, it was always a choice, since you could pick and choose. That was a peculiar hallmark of wealth, the older the money, the more tasteful the indignation.
Since Carolyn was never shy about her ‘our people’ mantra, she looked around with approval. These were definitely ‘her people’, and she was in her element. The Curtis Hotel was nice, but the guests could be a little crude. Sid’s friends, or as he referred to them as ‘pals’, were a little too course for her tastes. She preferred elegance, and from her perch, Rami’s house overflowed with it.
Rami knew his job was to convince Mags, since no one else mattered. She was the gatekeeper of the new way. He was at Yale for seven years and was quite certain that they were all alike-except Mags. Right away Rami could sense something different about her, and difference was a narcotic in his eyes. Surrounded by sameness in Minneapolis, which had virulent anti-Semitism, he could tell she wasn’t bogged down by differences. Rami looked upon Mags as someone who left that behind, and it was probably Bill’s legacy. Mags was always looking behind the curtain like Dorothy. He had to win her over, because he saw himself as her twin.
“Come on admit it Mags, you are impressed, right?”
That comment piqued her interest, something that rarely happened. She glanced at Jim, who was looking around without purpose.
Rami knew that going toe to toe with Ben was something only a woman like Mags could do-and did. He leaned back and marveled, while Carolyn and Jim didn’t. Rami concluded right then and there that she was someone to know much better.
“Rami, what do you want from me? You keep looking at me like I am a trendsetter, I’m not. What I see if I may be blunt, is someone trying awfully hard to impress someone who doesn’t need or deserve to be impressed. I am just a mousy housewife who is trying to push her extremely handsome husband up the political ladder, Kapish?”
Rami loved her deprecating humor. How many women had he met who could talk like that? There was one at Yale, and Rami was so smitten, unfortunately his proposal of marriage was laughed at by Louise. Louise Carpenter was a New Haven beauty who was his vision of perfection, and her crassness would drive him wild. Not one to whisper in the background, Louise (Louie) would yell into the void without care in the world. Never one to back down, her confrontational attitude almost got his teeth loosened on a few occasions. Rami smiled at the memories. Mags reached in her purse and retrieved a cigarette. She passed the pack to Rami, who helped himself. Their eyes met as the cigarettes ignited together. Rami knew he had her.
