FRIENDS

‘Hey, Zimmy, wait up!’ The harsh voice comes from the back of the bus.’The person inches forward. I’m not Zimmy. I can’t go anywhere and watch him grin at me. My exit will be the next block. I reach over a young lady absorbed in the beautiful ladies’ wear in Vogue. The car vibrates and I miss the cord, almost fall in the lady’s lap. No big deal. My apology is accepted with a wide smile, showing gleaming white teeth behind pale pink lips. As my feet touch the tar street, Voice is right behind me. ‘Zimmy, wait up.’ I head west to 39th street to breakfast in Lindy’s. We six guys have been kibbutzing and laughing almost daily forever.

The Voice, the Interloper on my thoughts, touches my shoulder. ‘Zimmy, Zimmy. Where have you been for 20 years? I hardly know you. But those ears, how could I not know you?’ I look at this person, carefully look, and I see a blank face. I don’t know him from Tom Mix. ‘So, Zim. Are you married? I heard you had a couple of kids. Did you -marry the girl you shacked up with at the beach party? Oh, my god- what was her name? Ada, right?’ ‘I didn’t marry an Ada, never knew an Ada and I don’t know you! My name is not Zimmy. Please go away.’ His face grows long. He looks sad. ‘Are you maybe under the Witness Protection Act? Never mind. Don’t tell me because the gang will surely find you.’ ‘I told you to go away, Mister. I’m going to call the next cop I see.’ ‘But, Zimmy, I’ve missed your friendship too long. What the hell, I can live without it.’

While I have no pity for him I do see he is crestfallen as he heads towards 39th street. I cross at the light and he jay walks over. I keep a steady pace and open Lindy’s door. The dishes clatter, the waiters white aprons are strung around their waists, my group is sitting at a round table in the corner, give me comfort. They stand to greet me. ‘You’re late Zimmy. Where have you been?’ Maybe I turned gray, maybe white, I can’t imagine but feel sick to my stomach.

‘What’s with the Zimmy? I’m Izzy, your’e Adolph, you’re Benny. See that guy sitting by himself? Well, either he is nuts, you are or I need a shrink fast!’ Joey, my favorite waiter, fat and fast and sunny as a week in June, brings me my regular matzoh brie and an urn of decaf. ‘How ya doin’, Mr. Zimmy? Knew you’d be here soon. How’s the brie this morning? ‘ ’Joey, you want your tip today? The next time you call me Zimmy will be your last time.’ He holds his laughing belly and moves on.

‘That’s enough now. What’s this Zimmy thing?’ My friends turn into children and giggle, roll their eyes around. ‘Izzy, you are in big trouble but we’ll take care of you. When we leave here, we’ll surround you. Nobody is going to get you with us protecting you.’ ‘I’ve had it. Tell me now what is going on or I’ll put my matzoh brie in a doggie bag and leave you with no gin game. ‘

‘OK, OK,’ Benny says. ‘Don’t be mad.’ From under his seat he pulls out the New York Times, folds it carefully so the front page is visible and hands it to Zimmy. ‘See, Zim, there you are right under the banner headline, ‘Zimmie Zoras, the Brooklyn serial killer has been captured.’ I grab the paper and see my face on that front page. Do I have a duplicate? My six friends rush around me and sing in harmony, ‘Happy Birthday to You,’ Zimmy. We got you good, didn’t we?’ ‘Oh, you did but who is the man who was on the bus with me and followed me here?

‘No expense was spared. He’s the printer of the fake Times and for a few bucks more, he became an actor.

I sit down at our table, thank them all and smile to Joey approaching my table with a new, hot plate of matzoh brie with a small lit candle stuck in the middle.