Chapter 7 – George – Cincinnati
"George! Get in here!" shouted Isidore Levinson.
George Ackerman, his efficient and prompt secretary, responded quickly by practically flying into the walnut paneled office in the company headquarters on Fifth Street in downtown Cincinnati.
"Boss?" asked the man, his mustache quivering as he braked to a halt in front of the massive desk that Isidore sat behind in a sumptuous leather covered swivel chair.
"I want you to speak to Mrs. Levinson. She has some travel to plan and I want you to work with her on it. Can you do that?" Isidore looked sharply at his secretary, a tall skinny kid, with slicked back blonde hair and muddy-blue eyes. He was not much of kid, Isidore knew, as his secretary was almost 28 years- old, but he still thought of him that way.
"Of course. When?"
"Right now. She has some crazy idea to take the girl to Europe."
"Cora?" George said and his eyes flew open wide. "What sort of a trip is this?"
"Oh, Martha's got it in her head that our daughter needs dresses – dresses from Paris, for God's sake!" Richard chuckled. "Anything to make her happy I suppose."
"I'll get right on it. I'll take the streetcar to your house; right away."
"You do that George. Now I warn you, Mrs. Levinson is strong headed, but you know that, so try not to get on her bad side. It won't do if you get her all flustered and then I'll have to hear about it!" Isidore rose, walked around the desk and took Ackerman by the elbow, walking him to the door. "The missus wants to leave as quickly as possible. Perhaps even before Cora's birthday. I would hate to miss her nineteen year bash. So…"
Ackerman immediately nodded. "Yes, Mr. Levinson. I understand."
"After all," said Isidore, "it might be very hard to buy tickets on such short notice especially considering the train connections you'll have to make."
"Perfectly, boss. Perfectly." George looked at the calendar on the wall. "Her birthday is the 18th of July, so…"
Isidore finished for his secretary. "Yes, I think it won't be possible until the end of July, right?"
George grinned at his boss and then wiped it from his face. "It shall be done as you wish, sir."
"Fine. Fine." Isidore left the man at the door. "Get to work on it. And I've got some word on that suit and shoe deal I was working on. Balfour telegraphed me that he might me able to work the deal at our terms."
"Wonderful! Anything else boss?"
Isidore sat down. "No. See you later, George." Isidore went back to looking at the quarterly receipt numbers and they did look encouraging. He was beating Mabel & Carew in the last sale, but those two kept waging special discount after discount. He sighed as business, like all business, was hard. He watched Ackerman leave and he knew he'd never be able to run the business without him. The kid was fantastically smart and a lightning calculator. Isidore wondered that perhaps he should give him a raise, again?
Ackerman went to his cubical, slipped into his coat, brushed back his hair in the restroom down the hall, carefully set his bowler on his head and went down to the street.
000
The Cincinnati Street Railway Company ran line eastward on Sixth Street so George hiked uptown, stepping over the normal refuse and litter of the city's cobblestone streets. He dodged many horse drawn delivery wagons, a hearse, and a fire engine making its way back to the firehouse, the crew looking tired and hot.
He heard the bell of the approaching streetcar and ran twenty yards to get to the stop in time. The brand new electric car slowed to a stop and people got on and off quickly. George hopped aboard, dropped a token into the coin box and the car started to move after a stop of less than a minute. The traction motor underneath the car smoothly pulled the long wooden coach along steel rails imbedded in the street, while a roof apparatus connected the car to overhead power lines.
The smell of ozone and electrical contacts popping had replaced the familiar, but slow, smell of horses and their clip-clopping hooves pulling the coach. Yet the car was ever so much faster than the horse drawn versions and the movement of the car through the humid and hot summer air gave some relief from the usual heat of the day.
In a few minutes, the car had turned north, and went further uptown to the foot of Mt. Auburn at Main Street. There he pulled a transfer ticket from the dispenser and alighted to catch the incline plane car. Cincinnati being built with so many hills abounding, the incline plane railway was a practical solution to getting from downtown to the surrounding communities.
A traction motor pulled an endless cable through pulleys and hoisted a horizontal carriage with a street car on it 800 feet from the base of Mt. Auburn to the summit. There George walked half a block, and caught the Mt. Auburn street car, which followed Auburn Avenue past row houses and stately brick homes.
Bit by bit he made his way to the boss's home, a large brick and frame structure with a large porch spanning the entire front, turreted outgrowths on the second floor, and a steep roof covered in slate.
George took off his hat, slicked his hair back using his reflection in the etched leaded-glass door panels and rang the bell. He heard a muffled voice, some footsteps and the door opened.
000
Cora had just come downstairs after a long session with her sewing box. She was making a counted cross-stitch sampler for her cousin, and her fingers were sore from pushing and pulling the needle through the material. She was using a pattern, emblazoned with the words 'Queen City of the West' extolling the many virtues of the city that was her home, when she heard the front bell ring.
"I'll get it!" she called and opened the door. "Why George! Hello! What brings you here?" Cora was well acquainted with her father's secretary since he had worked for her father almost ten years.
"I… I'm… uhmmm…" he cleared his throat. "Your… father sent… me to see your mother." He managed to get out the rest without too many stammers, which always seemed to happen when he faced Cora Levinson – the boss's daughter.
When George saw Cora, his heart beat faster, his pasteboard collar was too tight and his hands and feet grew clammy. He gulped as he tried very hard not to stare at Cora.
"Well, don't just stand out there in the heat. Come in," she said smiling at him.
George nearly fainted as his arm brushed against her hand as he went through the doorway. "Thanks… thank you, Miss Levinson."
"Oh, George! Don't be so formal. Miss Levinson?"
He nodded dumbly as she closed the door behind him.
"Nice to see you. You said you wanted mama?"
"Yes," he replied but he didn't want the chance meeting to end too soon. He gazed at beautiful Cora, as her dark chestnut hair and extremely pale blue eyes fixed him in place like a pin stuck in a collector's butterfly. Dimly he was aware that she was wearing a beige day dress with a round neck, puffed sleeves, and a flowing skirt, which in this heat seemed to be glued against those long, long legs of hers. The thought of all that she was made him shiver.
"What about?"
"The boss – that is your father – told me to come see her. That's all I know." He felt that a little lie would not hurt too much.
"Well it seems like such a long way to come just to see mama. And in this heat as well. You did come from papa's office? Would you like some lemonade?"
"Don't go to any trouble on my account," he told her yet felt it might be quite nice to have lemonade with Cora. Cora – dear Cora. He shook his head to clear it. "Is your mother home?"
"No. She went out a bit ago, but I do expect her shortly. She went out with Mrs. Baker my aunt and my cousin Tillie." She took him by the elbow. "No need to stand here. Come on in for a lemonade and we can sit on the porch, if you like."
George felt like he'd died and gone to heaven. "If you insist." A few minutes, or even longer, alone with Cora Levinson? "You're sure?"
She tugged him to towards the kitchen. "I am." She walked him to the kitchen and directed the cook Mrs. Potter to fix two glasses of lemonade.
George sat bolt upright on the porch chair, sipping iced lemonade and listened to Cora talk about her latest piano lessons, about a book she was reading, and the latest baseball scores. He didn't really mind what she told him, as long as he could just sit nearby and hear her talk.
"George? George?"
"Hmm?" he broke from his reverie.
"Am I boring you?"
He gulped. "No. Not at all, Miss Levinson. Just thinking…"
"About what?" she leaned towards him and his heart skipped a beat or two. "Papa sent you to the house so I suppose this is about business of some sort, isn't it? And please, George, call me Cora. You have before."
George Ackerman felt like the Earth moved a little as she gazed at him. He could only nod his head slowly and mutter, "Business." The condensation on the glass chilled his hand, while the rest of him felt all warm and incredibly toasty and every sense felt like it was afire.
"You're sure I am not boring you?" Cora asked. "Positive?"
"No. Not a bit," he managed to croak out staring at her lovely features with his ears filled with her soft voice. "Go on, Cora. Please?"