As tired as they are, three salesmen on each of the wide glass doors, slowly, carefully bring them together. The lock grabs. Every employee, plus the tailor, the janitor and my wife, Bernice, applaud. A few late comers knock on the door. I am tempted but don’t give in. I dim the store lights. They leave.
One by one I call my three most productive salesmen to the cubicle I call my office. The room smells like a sweaty cigarette orgy. I empty my over-flowing ashtray into the trash can, place several liquor bottles, ice and plastic cups on top of the safe. ‘Help yourself, Bill.’ His efforts deserve more than a thank you. I hand him a brown envelope holding a pretty good bonus. His surprised face buoys my heart. Bill sends in Harold. Everything is the same except his bonus is a bit better than Bill’s. Why didn’t I consider my men might discuss what they received? There may be jealousy, anger. Did I make an error? ‘Too late, Shmagaygee,’ I mumble. Dragging his feet, in comes Paul, top man. He plumps down on the only other chair, a cheap folding one. We drink to the success and future of this new store and to each other. I praise him, his ability to handle problems, assist fledgling, temporary help, and how he can sell with his eyes closed. We belt down a Jack Daniels, soon put our arms around each other and start a chorus of Jungle Bells.
About 9, I had started to prepare the night deposit. ‘Paul, would you mind walking me and Bernice to the bank vault? ‘Sure thing, Sir.’ I turn to the safe and start to dial the combination. I see Paul turn his back to me. That cements our relationship.
Bernice has given me private time with the ‘bhoys’. While she waits in the partially dimmed store, she must be aligning the heavy men’s slacks, straightening the gift department, filling out the tie and sock racks. I know her well. Most likely she has emptied the trash cans too.
I do appreciate her and love her to death.
The deposit is made and Paul heads home, just about 2 miles from the store. Bernice and I have a twenty mile ride which should be easy tonight. The roads will be quiet. We turn on the heater and radio just in time to learn that part of the Taney Mall is on fire. I jam on the brakes, make a U turn and head back. We are still two miles away and see the black sky is bright red. Smoke is curling upwards. Fire engines, hoses, ladders are hideous sights. Bernice starts to cry. ‘Stop that sniveling, Wifey. Let’s see what is happening before we call ourselves out.’ The smell of smoke comes in the car vents. There is no place to stop, no parking allowed. ‘Turn right. Park on somebody’s lawn,’ Smart Bernice says. I do it and if I have a fine or have to re-sod a lawn, I’ll do it. Bernice pulls off her high heel shoes that have already blistered he feet and tosses them in the car. The ground is freezing cold but she doesn’t feel it. We run.
A policeman waves his arms At us. ‘Get back there. Where do you think you’re going?’ Our explanation of being owners of the men’s shop doesn’t faze him. I watch the flames go higher and higher, can see firemen on the long roofs. He explains the situation as if he were handing Moses the commandments. The section of the mall that is blazing, is in a crossing. The drugstore on that corner is soon going to decide your fate, Mr. If H.P. Gallager’s walls implode, they should smother the flames. If they explode, the fire will surely jump the crossing and your section will be cinders in no time.’ I thank him for his information and poor thinking.
I beg him, plead with him to let me run into my store to just get out the most important papers. ‘Give me five minutes, that’s all I’ll need.’
Reluctantly, very reluctantly, he gives us the go sign. Bernice’s feet are sore, cold. The wind suddenly changes. Smoke flip flops, goes the opposite direction. Breathing is easier. We make it inside our store. I work like a wild man, grabbing everything I can from files, bills, new charge accounts, orders. While I’m grabbing, I’m hollering, ‘Quick, quick, Bernice! Grab anything you can! She starts to pull suits off their hangers. ‘Not suits, Dumbhead!’ Poor, tired woman, has lost her mind. Firemen are on our roof. ‘ Let’s get out of here, Now!’ Whatever we saved has to be better than nothing. Bernice hobbles to our car. I see no ticket.
‘What did you take out of the store. Bernice. I don’t see anything.’She tells me but I think she is joking. ‘I grabbed two of the best scissors the tailor uses and a roll of red ribbon.’ We are safe in the car when we hear a tremendous roar that seems to roll right over us. Whichever way H.P.’s walls fell, he is done for. They fell inward and we are saved.That entire block has burned to the ground. The bank vault has fallen thru the floor and lays submerged in water. The cause of the fire is not known.
In the morning I straighten my messy brief case and Bernice puts the two scissors she managed to save in a small shopping bag and tells me to give them back to Limey, our tailor. With an entire block of stores burned out and the stench of fire burning lungs, after Christmas shopping is so far below our expectations that are future is in doubt.
Bernice smiles, reminds me to return the scissors, kisses me and says,
‘It could have been worse. Couldn’t it?'
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