SS-Eli

Every time that I go see Eli, my stomach gets knotty before I arrive. He is such a fast talker that I have a hard time
keeping up with his schemes and I always come away from the session feeling like he got the better of me, like he
somehow figured out a way to con me out of some money. Take, for example, last week: after a long drive and lots
of traffic on the George Washington Bridge, I eventually got off at the Webster Avenue exit, made a right on East
Tremont, a left on Third Avenue, a right on 180th Street, and finally a left onto Bathgate.

There it was, Majestic Plastic Extruders, the last remaining hula hoop factory in the United States, found smack in
the middle of the Bronx. I double parked my car and, on foot, made my way across Hoffman Street and through the
alleyway into the subterranean factory beneath the tenements. I began to notice the telltale odor of melting plastic
wafting out of the factory before even I reached the graffiti-covered, roll-up garage door. After going under it, I
walked past plastic extrusion machines and stacks of neon hula hoops, eventually reaching a cramped, sunless,
mole-hole of an office, where Eli was sitting behind a desk with a Marlboro hanging out of his mouth, screaming in
Yiddish to someone on the other end of the phone. He saw me and rolled his eyes back.

“Oh, you won’t believe who just walked in,” he tells Peter, his boss –who, it turns out, was the person on the other
end - and calls me “the Gonif” (which I think means “crook” in Hebrew). The set-up is beginning early this time, I
thought to myself, but I tried, as usual, to start off on a friendly note with a great big “Good morning, Eli!” (No
response) “Good morning, Eli!,” I tried again, and this time I finally managed to receive a “Good morning, Michael” in
return, but I could tell that Eli was secretly eyeing the samples. He quickly tossed them to one side, declaring “No!
No! This one’s no good. Nope! No! Can’t use this one either.”

After a moment’s pause, I said, “I know you can use this stuff, so what is this ‘No, No, No’ garbage? Now, come on,
Eli, give me a price that makes sense.”

“Makes sense?!,” Eli shouted, as his forehead turned a deep red and a vein in his neck started to pop out. I began
to question whether his charade had ended and Eli was about to get seriously angry and kick me out of his office,
like he did once before. That time, I came back after having lunch on Arthur Avenue, acting like nothing had
happened between us when I returned.

“You don’t make sense, coming up here every week, charging us five cents a pound more than every other guy. I
won’t let you get away with it anymore!”

“Eli, I want to do business with you, so I’ll drop the price two cents per pound.”

“You are unbelievable with your prices! Now, you go down four cents a pound and maybe I’ll buy from you, but first I’
ll have to check with Peter. I know you and you love money just like Peter, so you try to take advantage of me all the
time.” He knew that the last thing in the world I would want him to do was call Peter; then I would be double-teamed. I
decided to drop the price by three cents per pound and this was actually fine, because in my mind I was already
prepared to go down by five cents per pound if Eli was in an extra bad mood. In reality, this was normal for business
in the Bronx and, as usual, I got the order. Afterwards, as I was leaving his office, I called Eli my “best friend” and
“buddy” and he told me that he thought I was a very nice guy, but I push too much. But, he also said that we had
good material and that he never has a problem running it, and seriously he loves me like a brother. He gave me a
hug and I went back through the dimly lit factory, where people are speaking five different languages, and the
sunlight blinded me as I emerged onto Hoffman Street, where I found my car still parked. This time, the windows
weren’t broken, at least. I snaked my way out of the Bronx, through the crowded street toward Interstate 95 and back
over the G.W. Bridge to New Jersey.

Eli

by Michael Domino

Short Stories Page 1