Chapter Forty-Eight

FORTY-EIGHT

JUNE 1926

Solomon Stern looked concerned. “Irving, I need you to hold down the fort. Augusta has the day off to study for finals and Bess’s doctor wants her to take it easy until the baby comes. It’s just you and me in the store today and I have a customer coming at four. I need to speak with her privately when she arrives. I’ll meet with her in the prescription room, but I’ll need you to handle the register.”

“Of course, Mr. Stern. No problem,” said Irving. Though Mr. Stern did not name the customer, Irving was all but certain the meeting was with Mitzi Diamond. She’d been at the store two days in a row—at first to discuss Lois’s appetite, and now, Irving assumed, the pregnancy. At four on the dot, Mrs. Diamond appeared, dressed more for dancing or dinner out than for visiting a drugstore. This time, Lois was nowhere in sight—in her place was a mountainous man named Hank whom Irving recognized from the Diamonds’ home. Lately, Hank had been accompanying Mrs. Diamond on most of her “business” errands. Irving did not think his presence at the pharmacy was a particularly good sign. What kind of business could Mrs. Diamond possibly have with Mr. Stern?

Luckily, there was a lull in customers, which allowed Irving to position himself near the door of the prescription room. Irving couldn’t make out every word that was said, but he heard more than enough.

Mrs. Diamond began the conversation. “You heard about the fire, I assume? At Finkel’s Drugstore in Williamsburg?”

Irving heard Mr. Stern gasp in alarm. “No! When did it happen? Was anyone hurt?”

“It happened last night. Mr. Finkel is fine, but his wife and son are in the hospital, recovering. They lived over their store, like you. The firefighters got them out just in time, but the store is burned to bits.”

“My god, that’s terrible! Do they know what caused it?”

“At this point, there are only rumors. In any event, the loss of Finkel’s has left me with a problem I’m hoping you can solve. Before the unfortunate conflagration, Mr. Finkel had been filling prescriptions for me.”

Irving could hear Mr. Stern’s fitful cough. “What kind of prescriptions?”

“Whiskey—for medicinal purposes, of course. He filled one hundred prescriptions each week. I had asked for an increase to one hundred and fifty, but unfortunately, Mr. Finkel refused. I’m hoping you can be more accommodating.”

Mr. Stern coughed again. “One hundred and fifty does seem excessive. Those prescriptions are being carefully monitored. I could lose my license—or the store.”

“I don’t need an answer now,” cooed Mrs. Diamond. “Why don’t you take some time to think it over? I like you, Sol. You’re an excellent pharmacist. I would hate for you to face the same problems as poor Mr. Finkel.”

Irving couldn’t hear Mr. Stern’s reply.

“Decisions like this require focus,” said Mrs. Diamond. “And I know what a busy time this is. In a few days, both of our daughters are graduating from high school. I think we should talk next week, once the festivities are behind us. I’m sure that once you think it over, you’ll see how beneficial our arrangement can be.”

As the conversation came to a close, Irving scooted away from the door and pretended to rearrange the Sloan’s Liniment bottles on the other side of the cash register. By the time Mrs. Diamond and Hank left the prescription room, Irving was busy helping a customer. Mrs. Diamond nodded at him and made her way out of the store.

Mr. Stern emerged ten minutes later, his eyes bleak, his face ashen. Irving would not bring up the marriage proposal today. Once again, that discussion would have to wait.