I always get a lump in my throat when we sweep in over New York. This great city with its colourful, and sometimes violent past, is where I was born and spent most of my life.
Maryanne was dozing with her head resting on my right shoulder. Josh, on my left, was engrossed in his laptop studying Arabic and Middle Eastern affairs. He was entirely focused on finding out more about his mom and her disappearance. His pop had been reported missing, believed killed, so I guess he had come to terms with this and thought there was little point in trying to dig up information in that direction. Since I had learned about the fate of his parents I had kept off the subject. I felt that when he was ready he’d talk about it.
Earlier in the day when Maryanne and I arrived at Jim’s apartment to collect Josh, he and Jim were both standing in the doorway waiting for us. For the hundredth time, I wondered if I was doing the right thing in depriving Jim of his company. Maryanne, reading my mind, nudged me. “Jack,” she said, “stop worrying, lots of kids go away on vacation and leave someone behind.” She was right of course, and her intervention into my thoughts helped me to relax a little.
“Well, Bubba, how about that?” I said nudging him and pointing out of the aeroplane window.
He looked at me sideways, brushed his hair back with his hand and smiled. “Wow,” he said.
The plane, with the grace of a supersonic, touched down without incident. Our journey had taken a little over 6 hours.
Maryanne had arranged for her pop to meet us at JFK airport, and there he was standing all alone with the Stars and Stripes in one hand, a Union Jack in the other and with a smile on his craggy face that made him look like he’d been stepped on by a horse.
Maryanne ran to the old guy and gave him a hug. “Pop,” she said, “where’s Mom?”
“Right over there baby, sittin’on a bench. You know she’s a bit wobbly if she stands too long.” His eyes fell on me and, after giving me a hug, he turned to Josh. “And this must be the young man Maryanne’s been tellin’ me about.”
“It is,” I said, “and I’m sure you two are going to get along just fine. He may even have a few surprises in store for you.” They shook hands.
“Uh, do you mind if I make a call to Jim?” Josh said. “I promised him I’d ring as soon as we landed.”
“Sure kid,” Bill said offering him his mobile. “Use this.”
“No, I have a phone thanks,” Josh said, holding his mobile for Bill to see.
“Go and have a seat over there,” Bill said, nodding at the chairs near the window. “We won’t be movin’ too far.” Despite being over 70 years of age, Bill still moved like a supremely fit boxer with all the characteristics associated with the profession, his movements quick and decisive.
We left the kid to it and went over to Martha Berg, who was sitting quietly on a bench reading the Wall Street Journal. She was too engrossed to notice us arriving. In the past, she had always been a handful when it came to business and it seemed that now, even in her twilight years, she was still keeping in touch. “Hi Martha,” I said. She looked up, and sprang to her feet like a Jackrabbit. I remember her being taller but apart from that and her now white hair which she still tied back, she looked the same as she did when I’d first met her.
“Jack,” she said flinging her arms around my neck. “When are you going to marry Maryanne so that I can call you ‘son’?” This was the kind of greeting I always got from Martha.
“Mom,” said Maryanne who had now joined us, “I’ve already spent over a week pestering and offering him all sorts of incentives without any positive results but I think I’m winning.” She smiled, glancing in my direction.
“Women!” said Bill. “They’re never happy ‘til they’ve ensnared another otherwise happy guy and turned him into a shoppin’ trolley.” Bill and Martha were inseparable, but he always tried his best to discourage romance in his fighters. Due to the lure of sex he’d seen too many fail in their potential. But in my case, I knew he’d love me to be his son-in-law.
Martha chuckled and, after she had hugged and kissed her daughter, started to look around.
“And where’s Josh?” she asked.
“Phonin’ Jim, over there,” said Bill with a nod.
“I love him already.” said Martha. “A boy who thinks about his responsibilities is on the right road.”
A few moments later the kid finished his call and strolled over to us. Bill, putting his hand on his shoulder said abruptly. “Call me Bill.” Josh looked thoughtful for a moment but said nothing. “And this is Martha, my ‘manager’,” he added with a shrug.
Josh put out his hand but, much to his surprise, Martha grabbed hold of him and held him close, her diminutive figure making him look like a middleweight. “I’m pleased you rang Jim,” she said, after releasing him. “How is he?”
“He’s OK, thank you.” Josh said politely, but blushing a little from Martha’s enthusiastic embrace.
“Now,” she said, slapping her hands on her thighs and changing the subject, “I think Bill has a plan for you. In fact, I think he has a plan for all of us.”
“Pop,” said Maryanne, “could we first of all go to the gym to show Josh the set up? I’m sure he’s anxious to see it.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re anxious you mean. But perhaps Josh’s tired?” he said looking at Josh questioningly.
“No, no, I’m fine, thank you Bill”.
“Therefore, by popular demand, we will call in on the way home, it’s not far. And how’s Jim looking these days? It’s been a long time since I saw the son-of-a-bitch.”
“He’s fine and he asked me to say ‘hello’.”
“He phoned last night to express, in the strongest of terms, what would happen to me if I didn’t take care of you. You’re lucky having a guy like him looking out for you. D’you know that?”
“Yes. I know,” Josh said quietly.
With a gesture and an “OK, let’s go,” from Bill we made our way to the exit and picked up a Limo. The thing about Jewish New Yorkers is that they all like to talk, which is great if you’re a good listener but hell if you want to get a word in. Luckily Josh doesn’t waste time on useless talk and I’m not the greatest conversationalist in the world, so it looked like we’d all get along fine.