Free A Commodore of Errors by John Jacobson Page B

that he was not yet free from the bonds of his stifling habits, stoodup once again. “No, Mrs. Tannenbaume. I don’t think the Commodore is having an affair with my wife. He’s not her type.”
    â€œSit down, Mr. Paultz, while I handle this. I mean, look at the long legs on this one. Of course he’s your wife’s lover.”
    The Commodore remained calm. “Mrs. Tannenbaume, I assure you, I’m no one’s paramour. I am perfectly chaste.”
    â€œWell, if you aren’t servicing Mitzi, who is?”
    â€œIf my guess is right, I believe I know exactly who is liaising with Mitzi,” the Commodore said.
    Putzie came alive once again. “Who’s the yellow belly? I’ll have no adulterers in this outfit!”
    â€œI am afraid the man is no yellow belly, Mr. Paultz,” the Commodore said, “but a formidable opponent. A lothario of the highest caliber—your very own mayor of Great Neck.”
    Putzie’s head jerked up. “Mogie? But he’s only a quarter of an inch taller than me! How can that be?”
    The Commodore shook his head in wonder at the audacity of his adversary. “Mogie Mogelefsky always finds a way. The man always finds a way.”

FETISHISMS

    W hen Putzie pushed through the curtain separating the front of the shop from the Martinizing machines and slumped onto a stool by the cash register, the Commodore, Raymond, and Mrs. Tannenbaume were waiting for him. They stared at the black patch on his left eye.
    â€œHe uses a stool,” Putzie said.
    â€œHe hit you with a stool?” Mrs. Tannenbaume said.
    â€œNo,” Putzie said. “He uses a stool to service Mitzi standing up from behind.”
    â€œHow . . . clever,” Raymond said.
    â€œThe man is an ingenious adversary,” the Commodore said.
    â€œWhat’s with the eye patch?” Mrs. Tannenbaume asked.
    â€œWe wrestled right there on the floor in his office.”
    â€œDid the lout poke you in the eye?”
    â€œNo,” Putzie said. “He held me in a headlock on the floor and drooled in my eye. His secretary was nice enough to give me this eye patch.”
    â€œMy dear man,” the Commodore said. “I am sorry for your troubles, but what about our well-conceived plan? Were you not instructed to lure your nemesis into the safe bosom of the Merchant Marine Academy gymnasium for your wrestling match?”
    â€œI tried,” Putzie said. “It’s that damn chair of his.”
    â€œAh,” the Commodore said. “I know the chair. It does place one at a decided disadvantage.”
    â€œStools. Chairs,” Mrs. Tannenbaume said. “This loon sounds like some sort of fetishist.”
    The Commodore did not have time for Mrs. Tannenbaume’s crackpot theories. He was too busy thinking of a way to get out of the business deal he had unwittingly made with Mogie. He desperately wanted to lure Mogie into a wrestling match with Putzie at the academy. He figured if Mogie were to lose to Putzie in a highly public way, Mogie would lose face and back off from his demands to replace Admiral Johnson with a Jew. The Commodore fumed at his egregious misstep. He should never have gotten into bed with the likes of Mogie. He could have found his own Miss Conrad to trap Johnson’s Johnson.
    However, what’s done was done. He needed to focus on a way to isolate Mogie so that Mogie’s photo of Johnson’s Johnson’s johnson would be of no value as blackmail.
    â€œAnyway,” Putzie said to the Commodore, “in the end, I did lure him into a public rematch. I think he felt sorry for me after Maven put the patch on my eye.”
    â€œSo then he did agree to a rematch at the academy?” the Commodore said, his pulse quickening.
    â€œWell, I never mentioned the academy,” Putzie said, “but Mogie did agree to wrestle anytime, anywhere.”
    This was good news. Good news indeed. The Commodore felt