Free The Global War on Morris by Steve Israel Page B

would have time . . . here in the office.”
    â€œSure. Maybe another time then.”
    â€œWhere?” she asked. Last chance, buddy .
    â€œWherever you want. Here is fine. If it’s not any trouble.”
    Now she banged the pen hard against her desk. “Okay, then. I’ll see if the doctor is available.” She noticed that her words sounded harsh, even angry. She tried to quell them with a sigh.
    â€œThanks. I’ll just wait on the couch,” Morris offered.
    And as Morris reached for his briefcase, Victoria couldn’t control the words that escaped from her lips. “I was just wondering, was all. I was just wondering why you never invite me to breakfast or lunch. The other sales reps, they always invite me out. And it’s not just dinner, by the way! I just thought . . . I thought you and I were kind of friends. That it wouldn’t be that big a deal to go have a hamburger at the diner. Just a hamburger at the diner with the rest of Roslyn. You know?”
    Morris Feldstein was not particularly adept at nuance. But he had reached a conclusion: Gottenyu! Victoria D’Amico just asked me out. On a date!
    If Morris Feldstein ever wanted to learn the therapeutic benefits of the entire Celfex product line, he was about to have a crash course. He felt his blood pressure plunge and then surge. He felt his temples begin to throb, his mouth dry up, his knees weaken, and his lungssink into his stomach. Dr. Kirleski’s lobby began a slow spin. When he and Rona used to take the kids to the amusement park, his job was to stand on the ground, guarding the pocketbooks, backpacks, and souvenir bags while the family rode the roller coaster and the Tilt-A-Whirl. Morris wasn’t a big fan of motion, especially in places that weren’t supposed to be moving, like Dr. Kirleski’s lobby, which was now moving pretty fast.
    Gottenyu!
    Okay. Stop panicking, Morris. Take deep breaths. Inhale . . . exhale . . . inhale  . . . exhale. Why is my throat closing up? My tongue is swelling! I’m going to choke on my own tongue. I need a relaxant. They must have some Celaquel in the back. Just ask Victoria for two Celaquel and a glass of water and—Why is it so hot in here? I’m sweating. My face feels like it’s on fire! Could you plotz? I’m having a heart attack, a stroke, and I’m dehydrating—right in front of Victoria! And all she wanted was a bite to eat!
    He began a soft wheeze.
    You know what? On the way to the emergency room Victoria can grab a little nosh in the hospital cafeteria. While they’re trying to revive me. That’ll be some date. She’ll have a nice hamburger, and I’ll be on my deathbed.
    Stop. I’m not dying. I ain’t dead yet. Who said that? I know. Glen Campbell. In True Grit . On Turner Classic Movies last weekend. I’ll miss that channel when I’m dead. Oh-oh. I think I forgot to TiVo Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo last night. Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo . Nineteen forty-four. Directed by Mervyn LeRoy. With Van Johnson, Spencer Tracy, and Robert Walker. Guess it doesn’t matter now. Now that I’m dying. Gottenyu!
    â€œMorris, are you okay?” he heard Victoria ask.
    â€œFine—I, just—”
    â€œOh my God, I came on too strong! I always do that! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—I mean—I was just asking about lunch. That’s all. Oh God, I’m so sorry. I’m such a schmuck sometimes!”
    â€œNo. You’re not,” Morris mumbled.
    â€œI am!” she insisted.
    â€œShikse.”
    â€œWhat did you say, Morris?”
    â€œYou’re a shikse. A gentile woman. Shikse.”
    She laughed, which made him chuckle. And Morris began feeling better.

RUSH HOUR
    THURSDAY, AUGUST 12, 2004
    T hat evening, Ricardo Montoyez drove over the Whitestone Bridge. Following the signs to THE BRONX & NEW ENGLAND , going nowhere in