William Kienzle - Requiem for Moses

Cameron kept stealing glances at Margie. In the three full years since he had seen her in person, Margie had been photographed regularly at benefits and other social events. In society columns that featured celebrities’ names in boldface type, Moe and Margie were mentioned more often than not.

It was through such columns that Cameron had learned of the birth of Margie’s children. Two in the first two years of her marriage, a girl, then a boy. She hadn’t called to tell him about her babies … or anything else, for that matter.

He dared not attempt to contact her. Green had made it clear that if Margie became his woman Cameron was completely out of the picture.

And she surely had become Green’s woman.

When Cameron had explained to Margie the deal he’d been offered, he had expected hesitancy or downright refusal. It didn’t happen. Instantly, Margie had seen herself in a no-lose situation. If she chose Green it would be on her terms. Otherwise, she would return to the situation she’d left. After all, Cameron wasn’t so bad.

It now appeared to Cameron that these three years had not been kind to Margie. A few furrows and wrinkles questioned a hitherto flawless complexion. They seemed to denote disagreements, hostility, perhaps even pain. Maybe her relationship with Green was a lot less than loving. But it seemed she had decided to stay with the money.

Dinner conversation had been, for the most part, awkward. The only common denominator for this group was the loan, which would not be an issue for another two years.

Coffee and sherbet were served.

When the servers left, Cameron rose as if to give a speech, which, considering there was an audience of three, would have been somewhat absurd.

But there was no speech. He simply handed Green a cashier’s check for the balance of the loan, including interest.

Green was unable to mask his surprise. Wordlessly, he handed the check to Margie. For the first time this evening she gave Cameron her full attention. Her smile bespoke congratulations and a shared pride.

“So,” Green said, “you did it. You paid off a five-year loan in three. I must admit, when we first negotiated this deal, I didn’t think you’d make it. I figured in a few years I’d be the owner of a topless bar and I’d really make it move. And here you are, you son-of-a-bitch: You did it in three.”

“Yup, this wraps it up.”

Green worked his unlit cigar from one side of his mouth to the other. “Makes me think,” he said, “I didn’t play this as smart as I thought. I shoulda got to know you better … much better. I shoulda become your partner.”

Cameron snorted as he sat down.

“Never too late, though,” Green said. “How about it, Jake? We could be partners.”

Cameron thought for several moments. “Across the board, Moe? Partners in the ghetto housing, the real estate, the car dealerships, the works?”

“Very funny, Jake,” Green said. “This place. Virago. With my money, you could expand. With my influence with our state lawmakers, we could be the very first to get a permit for legalized gambling. I don’t know, you’re probably into hookers and drugs. Here, again, I could open some doors, shut some eyes. You could make it really big, Jake.”

“Turn it around, Moe. My success with Virago could spread into your businesses. You aren’t getting anywhere near what you could realize with my hands-on managing. And as far as the Congress and the cops, I may not have as many as you’ve got in your pocket, but I’m not doing so bad. And the hookers and the dope … well, it’s here. But well under the surface.”

He looked at Moe with total self-confidence. “This is a serious offer, Moe. Partnership across the board.”

Green hesitated. But not because he was giving any serious thought to Cameron’s proposition. Finally, he spoke. “It’ll never happen, Jake. I’m traveling a faster track than you’re ever going to run on. You’re not in my league. But, no hard feelings. And I haven’t changed my mind. I never change my mind. I want a partnership in this place. Don’t ever forget: Without me this place would be just your dream. It would exist only in your mind.”

“And that’s a partnership that’ll never be, Moe. This here is my dream house. You’re never gonna get in here.”

“If I had a last buck, I’d cover that bet.”

“You’d lose.”

“You should know me better. Then, again, you never had a chance to. And you never will. But I promise: I’ll be back.”

“Come as often as you want, Moe. During business hours, of course. We always welcome a big spender like you.

“Oh, and Moe …” It was said as if in afterthought. “In a little while you’ll be able to have a choice. Next month we’re starting construction on Virago II.”

“Come on, Margie. Thanks for an interesting evening, Jake. We must do this-and more-sometime.”

Dr. and Mrs. Green made their exit, leaving Cameron with a sense of accomplishment. Green was out of his life. Not that the doctor had been an intrusive presence since the loan. But the indebtedness had gnawed at Cameron. In the intervening years, he had learned more about Green’s m.o. from a series of disgruntled and hapless victims. Green wheeled and dealed and generally stripped his associates like a vulture.

Right now, Green was probably experiencing spasms because he’d failed to make the right move three years ago.

Tough.

As recently as the middle ’60s, some potent adversaries of dancers and waitresses in topless establishments were fulminating against this new phenomenon. Legislators promised constituents that this new art form would never be legitimized in Michigan.

Cameron had taken the simplest approach. Since Adam, men had delighted in looking at women. The more of women men could see, the better men liked it. Laws forbidding toplessness were foredoomed.

An earlier generation had thought it best that everyone stop drinking alcohol. That generation had learned that people liked to drink alcohol. So Prohibition was repealed.

Threats against the displaying of minimally clothed women held the same chance for success.

Cameron had put all his chips on the right number and won … big. Now he had no need nor any inclination to take on a partner. Especially not Dr. Moses Green.

THE PRESENT

Jake Cameron had finished his narration some moments before Father Koesler realized it was ended. “You mean,” Koesler said, “that Mrs. Green, that sophisticated woman I spent practically this whole afternoon with, once worked as a cashier in a topless bar?”

“Well,” Cameron hedged, “she was a cashier. She was also treasurer and …well … just about everything except dancer or bouncer. It was just plain fool’s luck that I found Joe Blinstraub. He isn’t as multitalented as Margie-but … almost.”

“And she was your … what are they calling this relationship nowadays … significant other?”

Cameron nodded.

“But she just left you and went with Dr. Green?”

Again Cameron nodded. “He had more money and power than either of us figured we’d see in our lifetimes. I don’t blame her. I’d have done the same.”

“Even with the difference in their ages?”

“When I met Moe in ’74, he was thirty-six. Margie was nineteen. Now he’s fifty-eight, she’s forty-one. What can I say? She made a commitment and kept it.”

“You know her much better than I,” Koesler said. “But this afternoon, believe me, she was no passive person. I got the clear impression that no one- no one -was going to push her around, or dominate her.”

“Oh, I see what you mean …” Cameron needed a cigarette. He promised himself one after finishing with Koesler-even if it was chilly outside. “You’re right. Ordinarily, Margie is in charge-oh, I’d say 90 percent of the time. But she came close to meeting her match in Green.