Robert Tanenbaum - No Lesser Plea

“Yeah, there’s practically nobody left up at the house. What you been doing, Goom?”

“Oh, you know, mingling with the great and the near-great. Ate some burgers. Had a few brews. Got into a chug-a-lug contest with your guy, Butch, what’s-his-name, the actor.”

“Richie Krier?”

“Yeah. I should modestly add that I took both the quantity and the velocity crown.” He slapped his gut. “The kid was fighting well above his weight.”

“What happened to Richie, you child-molester?”

“Well, he got a little green toward the end there. Couple of guys and me helped him into the house and stuck him in a bedroom to relax.”

“Maybe I better go check him out.”

“Why? You’re not his daddy. Besides, you and V.T. got to figure out how to present my house gift.”

“You bought a house gift for Bloom?” asked V.T. incredulously. “On top of the seven bucks? Mad Dog, you shame us all. What did you get him?”

Guma chuckled. “Yeah, well, I might be from Bath Beach, but that don’t mean I don’t know from class. The man has everything, right? So, I wrack my brains. Then, the other day I’m walking on Fourteenth and I pass that joint that sells all that tourist crap. And right there in the window I see …”

“Plastic doggie vomit. The perfect choice!” V.T. exclaimed.

“Hey, they had that too, but I figure, everybody gives plastic doggie vomit, rubber chocolates, the ice cube with the fly in it. No, I wanted something really special. So I got this.”

Guma reached into his shopping bag and pulled out a large package wrapped in clear vinyl.

Karp said, “A life-sized inflatable sex doll! Way to go Goom!”

“Yeah, it’s pretty snazzy. All the orifices work and it comes with a tube of lubricant. Your rubber nipples. It’s got the real acrylic crotch hair too. I hope he likes blondes.”

“Mad Dog, this is a princely gift. I’ll never criticize your taste again.”

“Well, thanks V.T. Come on in the house, you can help me blow it up.”

“Honored. Where are you going to put it?”

“I don’t know. We’ll think of something. You coming, Butch?”

“No, I think I’ll hang around here. I want to talk to Marlene.”

V.T. and Guma took off and Karp wandered through the crowd. He heard angry noises from the direction of the stone gazebo, and saw Bloom, now dressed in a lime-green jumpsuit, berating his son. Karp couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Bloom was obviously very angry. He actually stamped his foot in rage. The boy said something and Bloom shoved him hard. The boy, his face screwed up and pale with anger, cursed shrilly and went crashing off into the woods.

Bloom began to do his har-har-har-these-kids-today routine, smiling a political travesty of a smile, trying to jolly his not-quite guests into believing that they had not seen what they had in fact seen, which was a man brutalizing a child for no particular reason. The crowd around the gazebo began to break up. Karp spotted Marlene and headed toward her. Her brow was furrowed and she puffed aggressively on a cigarette.

“What was that all about?” Karp asked.

“Ah shit, I don’t know. We were just sitting here strumming and passing a jug around and having a good time, when Bloom bursts out of the bushes and starts bracing the kid. It’s his kid, by the way, poor little bastard. I gather he was bent out of shape because the kid was smoking and drinking, and generally having a good time with adults, which according to the kid was a first. Apparently, Bloom keeps him hidden most of the time.”

She looked around. “Looks like the songfest is over. Let’s find the guys and go home, Butch. This place sucks. And I drank too much wine.”

“OK by me. I think they’re back by the house.”

Marlene hoisted the Gibson and they joined the stream of people moving back toward the terrace. “You know something, baby?” said Marlene. “I think the real reason Bloom was mad was because a bunch of people at his party were doing something spontaneous-I mean not under his gaze, or his control. He just took it out on the kid. Some shit, huh?”

“Yeah, you could be right. It’s a real happy family. Denise is half in the bag most of the time. She spilled her guts to me and V.T. Apparently Bloom hates this place; it reminds him of his old man, the senator or the secretary of whatever the hell he was. But he won’t sell it and keeps pretending it’s his beloved country seat. We got the grand tour. The place is fucking crumbling. Half the rooms are closed up. The only things still in their original condition are the tennis courts and the fish pond. And the beehives.”

“Beehives?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s got dozens of them in the meadow on the other side of the fish pond. The great man won’t have any store-bought honey on his toast. His big thing is giving quarts away at Christmas. He’s famous for it. It’s the only thing he ever gives away. Also the fish are not just ordinary goldfish, which they look like, but imperial carp or some shit like that. Very valuable and brought back at great expense by his grandfather when he went to China for FDR. Each one comes with a price tag.”

“Fascinating.”

“Yeah, right. I can’t figure him. He practically wouldn’t leave me alone. ‘Have a pickle, Butch. More beans, Butch?’ Old Corncob was all smiles, too. I can’t figure it.”

“You can’t? It’s plain as day to me. The office is suffering from terminal morale problems. More people are leaving than coming in. He spotted you as the natural leader of the younger ADAs, besides which you were closer to Garrahy than most. He figures he’s got to co-opt you to complete his control of the office. He can fire the old farts, but …”

“He needs young farts like me, huh?”

“Right. Which is why you’re going to be bureau chief when Gelb leaves. Then I’ll love you even more.”

She slipped her hand down the back of his cutoffs and goosed him.

The terrace was once again full of people. The servants were clearing away the rest of the food. Marlene grabbed the last hot dog off the grill, suddenly ravenous and light-headed from having eaten nothing and drunk a good deal all afternoon. The hot dog was too hot and she blew on it to cool it off. She was too engrossed to notice the arrival of V.T., who said, “Suck, Champ, blow is just a figure of speech.”

“Oh, hi, V.T. Where’s Goom? We want to get out of here.”

“Wandering around somewhere. He’ll turn up. Oh, oh. It looks like we’re going to have a speech.”

Bloom had climbed up on a wooden folding chair. Somebody tapped a spoon against a bottle and the crowd fell silent. The only sounds were those made by insects, and the hum of the motor that aerated the fish pond.

“Friends, I just wanted to tell you how much Denise”-here he glanced around for his wife, who was not to be seen-“um, and I have enjoyed having you here. I want our office to be like a family, and you know I’m always ready to help you out whatever your problems are. I want to get to know you as people and I want you to know me the same way.”

Marlene whispered to Karp. “How unbelievably pompous! Why is he doing this?”

Karp whispered back, “You were right. He’s reestablishing control over the fun.”

“You all seem to be having a good time. I hope everybody had enough to eat and drink?” Murmurs of assent. No one was crude enough to mention the seven dollars.

“Good, good. But no party is complete without entertainment and I …”

At that moment, Bloom was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of someone passing gas. But what a passer! The sound went on for what seemed like an impossibly long time, changing in tone and pitch from a high bagpipelike skirl to a profound popping bass. Scattered applause and laughter ran through the crowd.