Free Gentleman's Agreement by Laura Z. Hobson Page B

so were a hell of a lot of guys who were Jewish. He had no accent or mannerisms that were Jewish—neither did lots of Jews, and antisemitism was hitting at them just the same. His nose was straight—so was Dave’s, so were a lot of other guys’. He had dark eyes, dark hair, a kind of sensitive look—“the Toledo, ” Kathy had said. Brother, it was a cinch.
    In California, no, he couldn’t get away with it anywhere on the Coast. Too many people knew him there; he’d keep running into them, spoiling things. But here—for once he was delighted with his shyness, with his inability to make friends. He’d meant to hang around the office and meet people, writers, editors, but he hadn’t gone in even once. He didn’t know a soul in this whole damn city, except Minify and Kathy—they’d see it, they’d be as excited as he, they’d keep his secret.
    He couldn’t wait for morning to tell her, to tell Minify. He’d phone them right now. No, this was no thing for phoning.
    “Phil.” From the bedroom, his mother’s voice sounded strong, ordinary. He went in. She looked better; her color was good.
    “You don’t have to stay in,” she said. “I feel all right.”
    “Don’t crowd things.” He looked at her inquiringly, “Feel like talking?”
    She sat forward from the bunched pillows. “Of course.”
    “I’ve got it. I’ve got the way to get that series. This isn’t like any of the other ideas I told you.”
    “It must be right,” she said. “It always is when you’re this sure.”
    “I’m going to be Jewish, that’s all. Just tell people I am and see what happens. See what I feel like. For a while, for however long it takes to feel it.”
    “Oh, Phil. It’s brilliant.”
    “It won’t be the same, sure it won’t, but it ought to come damn close.” He was almost shouting but he couldn’t decrease his voice. “It’s worth a try—just put myself into every situation I can think of where being Jewish might mean something. It’s so simple. See?”
    “Of course. It’s wonderful, really.”
    “ Then I’ll write stuff they’ll read.” He rubbed his thigh. He looked down at her as if she had done him a favor. She’d got it; he’d known she would.
    “If we do have a maid tomorrow,” he said, “I’ll go tell Minify. And that girl I told you suggested the series, I want to tell her about it.”
    “Can’t you invite them down here now? I’m not going to need anything.”
    He looked at his watch. It was only nine-twenty. Had all this thing happened to him in less than twenty minutes? After two weeks of sweating it out day and night? Where did ideas come from, anyway? This one had leaped at him when he’d been exhausted, AWOL from his search. Sometime he’d have to try to trace back every step he’d taken. Not now; he had no time now.
    “That’s an idea.” He started for the door. “Will you keep my secret if you meet any new people? It’d have to be without exceptions, you know, to work at all.”
    “If you’re Jewish, I am too, I guess.” She waved him out of the room.
    He went to the telephone, dialed Kathy’s number.
    “It’s me, Phil. I never thought you’d be in.”
    “How’s your mother? You sound as if she were better.”
    “She is, lots. Kathy, you haven’t a date?”
    “I got stood up.” She laughed. “I’m just wrapping presents. Why?”
    “I can’t leave her alone here. I’d be afraid to. But I’ve got it at last, and I thought, I mean, I’d give a lot to tell you about it.”
    “The angle? What is it?”
    “You wouldn’t—have you any feeling about getting in a cab and coming over for a bit?” It was awkward, saying it. He didn’t care. “It’s just I’d hate to go into it on a phone and I’m pretty set up.”
    “I’ll be there in half an hour. What’s your address again?
    He went to the kitchen for ice cubes. He went to his room, changed his shirt, looked in the mirror, and remembered he hadn’t shaved till afternoon, anyway. Then he