When they had finished dinner, Rosa looked at her watch. "You'll have to excuse me for a little while," she said. "I have to run over to the hospital to see a patient."
David looked at her. "I’ll drive you over, if you like."
She smiled. "You don't have to do that. I have my own car."
"It's no bother," David said politely. "At least, let me keep you company."
Irving got to his feet. "I have to be going, too," he said. He turned to Mrs. Woolf. "Thank you for a delicious dinner. It made me homesick."
David's mother smiled. "So be a good boy, Yitzchak," she said, "and you can come again."
Rosa smiled at David's mother. "We won't be long."
"Go," Mrs. Woolf said. "Don't you children rush." She glanced beamingly at Rosa's parents. "We older ones have a lot to talk about."
"I'm sorry, Irving," David said as they came out of the apartment house. "We didn't have much of a chance to talk. Maybe we can make it tomorrow?"
"We can talk right now," Irving said quietly. "I’m sure we can trust Rosa. Can't we, Doc?"
Rosa made a gesture. "I can wait in the car," she said quickly.
David stopped her. "No, that's all right." He turned back to Irving. "I must have seemed stupid when you called yesterday. But Dan Pierce mostly handles our labor relations."
"That's O.K., Davy," Irving said. "I figured something like that."
"Dan tells me we're looking down the throat of a strike. I suppose you know we can't afford one. It'll bust us."
"I know," Irving answered. "And I'm trying to help. But I’m in a spot unless we can work out some kind of a deal."
"What kind of a spot can you be in? Nobody's pressing you to go out on strike. Your members are just getting over the effects of the depression layoffs."
"Yeah." Irving nodded. "They don't want to strike but the commies are moving in. And they're stirring up a lot of trouble about how the picture companies are keeping all the gravy for themselves. A lot of people are listening. They hear about the high salaries stars and executives get and it looks good to them. Why shouldn't they get a little of it? And the commies keep them stirred up."
"What about Bioff and Brown?"
"They were pigs," Irving said contemptuously. "One side wasn't enough for them. They were trying to take it from both. That's why we dumped them."
"You dumped them?" David asked skeptically. "I thought they got caught."
Irving stared at him. "Where do you think the government got its documentation to build a case? They didn't find it layin' around in the street."
"It seems to me you're trying to use us to put out a fire your own people started," David said. "You're using the commies as an excuse."
Irving smiled. "Maybe we are, a little. But the communists are very active in the guilds. And the entire industry just signed new agreements with the Screen Directors Guild and Screen Writers Guild calling for the biggest increase they ever got. The commies are taking all the credit. Now they're starting to move in on the craft unions. And you know how the crafts are. They'll figure that if the commies can do it for the guilds, they can do it for them. The craft-union elections are coming up soon. The commies are putting up a big fight and if we don't come up with something soon, we're going to be on the outside looking in. If that happens, you'll find they're a lot harder to deal with than we were."
David looked at him. "What you're suggesting, then, is for us to decide who we want to deal with – you or the communists. How do the members feel about it? Haven't they got anything to say?"
Irving's voice was matter-of-fact. "Most of them are jerks," he said contemptuously. "All they care about is their pay envelope and who promises them the most." He took out a package of cigarettes. "Right now, the commies are beginning to look real good to them."
David was silent while his friend lit a cigarette. The gold lighter glowed briefly, then went back into Irving's pocket. His jacket opened slightly and David saw the black butt of a gun in a shoulder holster.
Gold lighters and guns. And two kids from the East Side of New York standing in a warm spring night under the California stars talking about money and power and communism. He wondered what Irving got out of it but he knew better than to ask. There were some things that were none of his business.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked.
Irving flicked the cigarette into the gutter. "The commies are asking an increase of twenty-five cents an hour and a thirty-five-hour week. We'll settle for five cents an hour now, another nickel next year and a thirty-seven-and-a-half-hour work week." He looked into David's eyes. "Dan Pierce says he hasn't the authority to do anything about it. He says he can't get to Cord. I been waiting three months. I can't wait any longer. You sit on your can, the strike is on. You lose and we lose. Only you lose more. Your whole company goes down the drain. We'll still get lots of action other places. The only real winners are the commies."
David hesitated. He had no more authority than Dan to make this kind of deal. Still, there wasn't time to wait for Jonas. Whether Jonas liked it or not, he'd have to back him up.
He drew in his breath. "It's a deal."
Irving's white teeth flashed in a grin. He punched David lightly on the shoulder. "Good boy," he said. "I didn't think I'd have any trouble making you see the light. The negotiating committee has a meeting with Pierce tomorrow morning. We'll let them make the announcement."
He turned to Rosa. "Sorry to bust in on your party like this, Doc," he said. "But it was good seeing you again."
"That's all right, Mr. Schwartz."
They watched Irving walk over to the curb and get into his car, a Cadillac convertible. He started the motor and looked up at them. "Hey, you two. Yuh know what?"
"What?" David asked.
Irving grinned. "Like your Mama would say, yon make a nice-looking couple."
They watched him turn the corner, then David looked at Rosa. It seemed to him that her face was slightly flushed. He took her arm. "My car is across tike street."
She was silent almost the whole way to the hospital. 'Something bothering you, Doc?" he asked.
"Now you're doing it," she said. "Everybody calls me Doc. I liked it better when you called me Rosa."
He smiled. "What's on your mind, Rosa?"
She looked down at the dashboard of the car. "We came all the way to America to get away from them."
"Them?" David asked.
"The same as in Germany," she said tersely. "The Nazis. The gangsters. They're the same, really. They both say the same things. Take us or you'll get the communists. And we'll be easier to get along with, you can deal with us." She looked up at him. "But what do you say when you find they've taken everything away from you? That was the gimmick they used to take over Germany. To save it from the communists."
"You're intimating my friend Irving Schwartz is a Nazi?"
She stared at him. "No, your friend is not a Nazi," she said seriously. "But the same insanity for power motivates him. Your friend is a very dangerous man. He carries a gun, did you know that?"
David nodded. "I saw it."
"I wonder what he would have done it you'd refused him," she said softly.
"Nothing. Needlenose wouldn't harm me."
Again her gray eyes flashed at him. "No, not with a gun," she said quickly. "Against you, he has other weapons. Economic weapons that could bankrupt your business. But a man does not carry a gun if he does not intend to use it, sooner or later."
David stopped the car in front of the hospital. "What do you think I should have done? Refuse to make a deal with Irving and let everything I've worked for all these years go to pot? Ruin every lousy investor who has put his faith and money in the company? Put our employees out on the streets looking for jobs? Is that what I should have done? Is it my fault that my employees haven't brains enough to choose decent representatives and see to it that they have an honest union?" Without realizing it, his voice had risen in anger.
Suddenly, she leaned over and put her hand on his where it rested on the wheel. Her hand was warm and firm. "No, of course it's not your fault," she said quickly. "You did what you thought was right."
A doorman came down the long steps and opened the car door. "Good evening, Dr. Strassmer."
"Good evening, Porter," she said. She straightened up and looked at David. "Would you like to come in and see where I work?"
"I don't want to get in your way. I don't mind waiting here if you'd rather."
She smiled and pressed his hand suddenly. "Please come," she said. "It would make me feel happier. Then, at least, I’d know you weren't angry at me for putting my – how do you say it – two cents into your business."
He laughed, and still holding his hand, she got out of the car and led him up the steps to the hospital.
He stood in the doorway and watched as she gently lifted the bandage from the child's face. She held out her hand silently and the nurse took a swab from a bottle and handed it to her. "This may hurt a little, Mary," she said. "But you won't move or talk, will you?"
The girl shook her head.
"All right, then," Rosa said. "Now we’ll be still, very still." Her voice murmured, low and soothing, as her hand quickly traced the edge of the girl's lips with the swab. David saw the child's eyes fill with sudden tears. For a moment, he thought she was going to move her head but she didn't.
"That's fine," Rosa said softly as the nurse took the swab from her hand. "You're a brave girl." The nurse efficiently replaced the bandage across the girl's mouth. "Tomorrow morning, we'll take off the bandage and you'll be able to go home."
The girl reached for a pad and pencil on the table next to her bed. She scribbled quickly for a moment, then handed it to Rosa. She looked down at the paper and smiled. "Tomorrow morning, after the bandage comes off."
David saw the sudden smile that leaped into the child's eyes. Rosa turned to him as they walked down the corridor. "We can go back to your mother's now."
"That was a pretty little girl," he said as they waited for the elevator.
"Yes."
"What was the matter with her?"
She looked at him. "Harelip," she said. "The child was born with it." A note of quiet pride came into her voice. "Now she'll be just like anyone else. No one will stare at her or laugh when she talks."
The door opened and they stepped into the elevator. David pressed the button and the door closed. He noticed the note the girl had given Rosa still in her hand. He took it from her. It was in a childish scrawl. "When will I be able to talk?"
He looked at Rosa. "It must make you feel good."
She nodded. "Plastic surgery isn't all nose jobs, or double-chin corrections for movie stars. The important part is helping people so they can live normal lives. Like Mary up there. You've no idea how a deformity like that can affect a child's life."
A new respect for her grew in him as they crossed the lobby toward the front door. The doorman touched his cap. "I'll get your car, sir."
As he ran down the steps and crossed over to the parking lot, a big limousine came to a stop in front of them. David glanced at it casually, then turned toward Rosa. He pulled a package of cigarettes from his pocket. "Cigarette, Rosa?"
He heard the limousine door open behind him as Rosa took the cigarette. He put one in his own mouth and held a light for her. "You wanted to see me, David?"
David spun around, almost dropping his lighter. He saw the white blur of a shirt, then a head and shoulders appeared in the open doorway of the limousine. It was Jonas Cord. David stared at him silently.
Involuntarily David glanced at Rosa. There was a strange look in her eyes. He thought she might be frightened and his hand reached out for her.
Jonas' voice was a quiet chuckle behind him. "It's all right, David," he said. "You can bring Rosa with you."