Chapter 22 twenty one

------------------ twenty one Faced with more serious crises, outright failures, and other misfortunes (too many to list) this morning, I got a strange phone call from Bernie Kaufman - Then his mysterious smile finally revealed the answer: Bernie had been evaluating my personality.Now, with a freshly typewritten manuscript at hand and a contract from a publisher on the way (the editor-in-chief talks enthusiastically about H&H's plans for a whole new set of novels, tragicomedy), he has Good news to tell me that the manuscripts of "Heart and Hymen" are arriving in batches, and there is already a whole box.They are all mine. "A job," Bernie said aloud, trying to make me understand.

The brief conversation was over and I hung up and sat there... a job?work.do.Work?This time I am cautious.Maybe too cautious.But there was no sign of it.Don't be fooled by the good omens. How can bad luck bring miracles... yet another intrigue.Maybe it's true? "We're going to have a strong team," Bernie said, implying that I would be part of the Kaufman Associates crew.His words hit the mark.I've spent my life fighting like a fool to get my book published, and yet half-drunk to make his work work.Am I fighting too hard for myself? work, will this be true?But it is true.Bernie wants me to go to New York.He promised to pay me by the week.He had arranged for me a nice and comfortable office next to his—closer to him, he said, so I could give him “art direction” at all times.

Yes.Work.paid work.Get checks regularly.Eat by meal.I still don't believe it's true - although Bernie did promise that all the details will be spelled out in the letter... yes, a position... oh, how am I supposed to work to repay Mr. Kaufman's trust.Come on, Bernie, with all the work that hasn't been published yet.Don't be shy.Don't feel sorry for me.I am always ready to do your bidding, and I come to work every morning at dawn.Lock myself at the shiny desk you prepared for me.I will change.Bernie.To wear a suit, rent a small but comfortable apartment for my family in the Bronx or Queens, buy a briefcase, and take the subway to work every morning.Thank you, Mr. Kao, I will become a person with a title, a salary, a status, and even, more importantly, a goal again.I will enjoy life.I will have something to do.I have finally had the good fortune to find my purpose while wasting my time for you.Bernie, I'm going to race against the clock until the end of the day.Even if the earth gapes open and swallows the whole building, I swear I'll still sit in my seat and edit your shit.Let tuberculosis, syphilis, and warts spread throughout the country, and I'm still yours, Bernie, at your bidding.Just give me money.Give me a lot of money!

"Find a job?" Viveka said, squinting at me.Her face was pale, "In New York?" "Why do you look at me like that?" "You won't last long." "Of course I'll do it long." "You've never had a long job. This one will end up being the same as the previous job." "I'll do it long, I will. I've got to do it. This time it's different." "What's the difference?" "I've matured. I've been through so much. We've suffered so much. Time is running out. See, years of getting nothing done. I'm tired of fantasizing about being rich. The script is so well written that even if There's no room left for inspiration. Viveka, listen to me," I begged her as she walked away. "Listen!" I yelled after her. "We have no foreign money. Don't forget that. No inheritance. No gambling money. Nothing. But we need money!"

"What's money?" she said disgustedly. "Money is shit. It's poison." "Hey, that's what I said." "If you don't have money, don't spend it. Life is more than money and coins." "It's hell." I laughed.How funny, the two of us suddenly switched roles. It's been two weeks since Bernie called and promised me a job.During this period, while carefully considering his proposal, I anxiously waited for the rewriting fee of "Heart and Hymen". This afternoon I strolled to the letter box as usual to wait for the postman's jeep, convinced that my most recent and thoughtful letter to Mr. Kaufman would be answered satisfactorily.That letter was mailed eight days ago—minus the two days it took the letter on both ends of the road, minus the weekend, and one or two days for his accountant to go through the formalities, this afternoon's long-awaited and difficult bill is no matter what. It's time to arrive with the rest of the mail.

The postman's jeep drove up, and he didn't even say hello.I grabbed his arm as he dropped the mail in the mailbox.I can't wait to open the bundle of letters, most of them are familiar things.Expired phone bills and disconnection notifications.Electricity charges and warnings.A collection note from Virginia Long Distance.Cold threats from a company I've never heard of in Rodgers.Oh shit!None of the envelopes had the pretty Kaufman Associates logo on them. As I climbed slowly up the hill, I decided in my mind that while the phone was still on, I'd better make a long-distance call to New York to clarify the matter—tactfully, of course.I dialed the number as I went over in my head what I had said about his little oversight.The bell on the other end of the phone rang and died, and then another sound.The operator spoke.

"What's the number you want?" she asked. I gave her Bernie's phone number.pause. "Sorry," she said, "this number has been discontinued." "What? Are you sure?" I asked.Just to be on the safe side, I reiterated Bernie's phone number, and we went through the process all over again. "Yes, sir, this number has been discontinued." I hung up, puzzled, and called New York City Long Distance again. "I looked, sir," said the consultant, "but Kaufman Associates isn't listed. Are you sure you spelled it right?"

"Of course. He's in the phone book. I saw it in New York two weeks ago," I said, already beating the drums in my head, wondering if the vigilante was messing with me again. "Do you want to speak to my boss?" she asked. "Good. Good. Please." After a long pause, another woman's voice appeared. "gentlemen?" "Hello? Hello?" "It has been verified that there used to be a Kaufman Associates at 475 Madison Street. But the phone there has been cut off at the client's request." "Oh..." I said with a sigh, "they didn't leave another phone number?"

"Not as far as we know." "Perhaps a number not in the phone book?" "If there was such a number, we would know it, although we may not know what the number is." "Oh... I see." I put down the phone, my heart was in a mess.I scratched my scalp and thought, what should I do now?Gotta give Mr. Z a call to sort this out. "Okay, Nudelman," Mr. Z said bitingly, "what's the matter?" "It's a weird thing. I called Bernie Kaufman, but I couldn't get through. His number changed, maybe he got pinched—" "Haven't you heard?"

"I heard? What did you hear?" "Didn't anyone tell you? He's dead." "Dead?" I yelled at the top of my lungs. "Almost two weeks ago. Heart attack. Fifty-four! They found him in a hotel room in St. Louis." "St. Louis? What about my check?" I said anxiously. "He didn't pay you?" silence. "Listen, Nudelman. There's worse news. He died penniless." "Penniless? Bernie? Bernie Kaufman?" "He just filed for bankruptcy two days before he died." "I—I—I don't understand," I stammered, dazed, the world spinning beneath my feet. "I mean, that book he wrote, 'How I Became a Millionaire'—whatever the title is."

"Listen, don't be so downcast," said Mr. Z hoarsely, "he's scammed us all. He still owes me thousands of commissions. I mean. He's never been a millionaire .It was just a book. He had nothing. Nothing. He died poor." "Poverty?" I repeated mechanically.I put down the microphone and sat down beside the phone, staring at the icicles hanging from the eaves outside the window and dripping water.Tap-tap-tap, the water dripped continuously.I turned to the silent phone and suddenly realized that I was crying, big tears falling down my cheeks and onto my thighs.I finally understood the true meaning of Bernie's last mysterious smile. "Neil. For God's sake. What's the matter?" Vivica asked me. I looked up at her and tried to speak, to explain all this to her, but my voice was too hoarse to speak.I took a deep breath and tried again, still unable to speak.I couldn't find the words because I didn't know how to speak or what to say.I don't even know if I'm crying because Bernie died suddenly in a faraway hotel, or because I lost my $800 check, or because his death is somehow a reflection of my own fate... maybe three There are reasons.I cry maybe because I take life too seriously, and this Bernie Kaufman is smooth-skinned, open-hearted, with diamond rings and trinkets on his little fingers.Look at his tuxedo and his confident look, this Bernie Kaufman, whom I almost admire, even see him as my saviour, turned out to be just a pompous, well-dressed, well-decorated, penniless hypocrite ...I cry maybe because Bernie Kaufman looks carefree even though he's struggling on the edge of life like me, and because his last smile is a confession of his reality, and I'm an elm-head , I couldn't understand it at all.