• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 1116 0

should he be trusted, no matter what he said or did or suggested. He had stepped suddenly out of nowhere, wanting something, because that was the sort he was. He thought himself urbane and thought he had stepped away from his heritage as nimbly as he had skipped out of a doorway; whereas in fact everything he did, everything he wore or carried, and each affectation, revealed his nature, his background, and his ideals. His manner and his education had been picked up like pennies on the sidewalk. This was a man who had not seen the inside of a university because his parents lacked the means, and he had neither forgotten this nor forgiven his parents their poverty. Possibly he had made money, but he was not nouveau, no matter how many diamonds he had collected; this man’s goal in life was to emulate the newly rich.

So, without a smile, Mr. Bridge inspected him.

And the ingratiating voice responded: “Rheingold is the name, Mr. Bridge. Avrum Rheingold.” He was offering his card. MIMM, ZACK & RHEINGOLD. Stocks and bonds. Then he was offering to shake hands.

Mr. Bridge was about to return the card and decline the extended hand, but Avrum Rheingold was alert.

“We have a mutual acquaintance, Mr. Bridge, the great psychiatrist Dr. Alexis Sauer. Am I wrong to think you are joining him for lunch today at the Hotel Muehlebach?”

As a courtesy Mr. Bridge slipped the card into his pocket. And because the hand was still there like an object in a dream he accepted that, too. The hand was moist and fleshy, as he expected. It curled affectionately around his own. He could hardly restrain a shudder. It occurred to him that Rheingold’s hand felt like the tongue of a cow, and again he had to control a shudder. The hand was almost licking him. He heard the broker praising Alex Sauer in the most egregious terms. The flattery was intolerable. He withdrew his hand, which came away stickily. He wanted to wash it. His hand felt moist and unhealthy, as if during those few seconds it had become infected.

“What this man has done for my wife you would not believe. You would not believe a word, Mr. Bridge, I’m telling the truth. He is a genius. A marvel. A wonder-worker. My wife is not the same woman. Such skill. It’s my great privilege to counsel him on financial matters.”

Mr. Bridge glanced at his watch.

“I know how busy you are,” said Avrum Rheingold. “To a man like yourself minutes are jewels. I could not resist the opportunity to shake hands. You have been pointed out to me, Mr. Bridge. I noticed you at once. Everybody does. Who wouldn’t? In a crowd you are the first person everybody sees. Why is that? It’s a gift, Mr. Bridge. A gift of the gods. Plus hard work. It shows. You are a man among men, like your dear friend Dr. Sauer. I have observed you together and said to myself sincerely ‘Avrum, this is a rare and beautiful sight. A great legal mind, a great psychiatrist.’ I don’t hesitate to say this, because everybody knows it’s the truth. I’m detaining you. I know how a man like yourself extracts life from each minute. It’s my good fortune to make your acquaintance. Please call me Avrum. It’s noon. You are on your way to the Muehlebach. I have a small favor to ask. Be kind enough to offer my respects to Dr. Sauer, the savior of my wife. Such a man. Believe me, you should have seen my wife two years ago.”

Mr. Bridge nodded, wondering if the sweetish odor came from Rheingold or from something in the street.

“Good-by. Good-by.” He almost bowed.

Mr. Bridge continued to the Muehlebach. There was nothing about Rheingold which could be considered attractive, and after descending the steps to the Terrace Grill he stopped at the men’s room to wash his hands before going in to lunch.

Alex Sauer was at the table with Simon Lutweiler, Russell Arlen, and a friend of Arlen’s. Sauer evidently had arrived early and was in a hurry, because he had begun eating.

“Alex,” he said, “I was stopped on the street by someone who is a great admirer of yours. A person named Rheingold.”

At this moment the great psychiatrist was gnawing a turkey leg. He paused, wiped