Ready or not

ALIBI  IKE 

 

Ike is dressed perfectly. His dark suit with a very pale, narrow stripe, is pressed. A light grey oxford shirt, silk burgundy tie and he is almost ready. Bending to tie his shoes, he double checks that the loops are even. His hair seems a bit quarrelsome but he will fix it when he gets to Calvin K's, before he sees Calvin, the man himself. Men's wear, the smartest, most fashionable, has been Ike's field since he graduated from Chicago U. ten years ago. He is proud of himself as he started at Ross's as a stock boy and here he is, the soon-to -be Manager with Calvin.

 

I watch him from my front window as he struts towards his car,  inhale sharply when Ike trips on his own broken sidewalk. His yowl could wake the dead. In my house coat and slippers, I run to help him, cussing a blue streak as I do. First thing out of my mouth is a reprimand. 'Why the heck haven't you had your broken sidewalk repaired? You already had two notices from the city. You're ripe for a penalty and maybe this fall is it. 'I meant to call, already wrote a check and then I got this golden opportunity.' Ike is holding his left foot, rubbing it, trying to stand. 'Josie,' he says to me. 'I think I broke my big toe. Do me a favor and call this number. Ask for Mr. Calvin, or Mr. Traub. Tell whoever, I'll call and re-set my appointment. Will you do that for me NOW?  Fool, maybe jerk, that I am, I let Ike hold on to me while he hops home, but hold my tongue, about making his call for him.

 

Plopping down on his sofa, he smiles and tells me he doesn't think he broke anything, then asks me again to call Calvin. 'I ask him why I should do it and his glib tongue explains,' 'I can't go for that job with my shoes messed up, maybe a swollen ankle. Look at me, I look like a dirt ball. Tell Traub I broke my leg and I'll call for an appointment when I'm off my crutches. 'I'm steaming and let Ike know it. 'I hand him the phone and wave so long.

 

His bedroom lamp is on all night, at least the times I struggle with my own dreams, and like to watch the moon move cross the black sky. Fortunately, or unfortunately, I am sound asleep, living a powerful exotic dream, when my darn phone jangles me awake. Without as much as a 'Hello, Josie,' with a pleasant tone to his voice, Ike asks me if he can borrow my car for the morning. His excuse is, 'My battery seems dead and I have an 8:30 appointment with my attorney to sign some very important papers. Bristles run up and down my spine. They get strong and tough enough for me to tell Ike to call a garage, get towed, call a cab,  his attorney, do something without making excuses.. I believe I am totally in control until, until, Ike makes up a cock and bull story and tells me his mom is meeting him at the attorney's to sign her will. Aha! I feel great. 'Ike, I need my car. You call your Mom and let her pick you up.' I add a nasty note, 'Be sure all of you, including your attorney, sign the will or it'll mean nothing.' He slams down the phone and is out of my hair until?

 

I watch out of the living room for a full half hour and finally see a cab stop at Ike's. As soon as it drives away, his mom arrives , honks a dozen times, storms to the door, and paces. I can't help it, I'm a patsy, a do-gooder, walk across the street and tell Ike's mom he drove away in a cab. Smoke rises from her hair. She is boiling mad. 'Why didn't he wait for me?' she asks.

 

I reply, 'I'm sorry, Mrs. Finklestein, your son must have somehow run out of excuses. Don't be concerned, he'll have one ready for you when you find him.'