Mahoney watched as Hartman took a drink of water, and began.
“I have an uncle, my father’s younger brother. He’s either eighty-seven or eighty-eight. Or he could be ninety-two. No one seems to know his real age for certain. He owns a bar on the corner of Fifty-fourth and Ninth. The Kildare Tavern,” Hartman said.
“Kildare?”
“It’s a county in Ireland.”
“No kidding. How the hell did one of the Hartmans come to own an Irish bar?”
“What, Jews can’t own Irish bars? What’s next, no owning of Italian restaurants for us?”
“Don’t get all sensitive, I’m just asking.”
“If you have to know, he won it. In a card game, decades ago.”
“Pretty good card player.”
“Either that, or the other guy was exceptionally bad. And you have to remember that neighborhood wasn’t exactly nice a half-century ago. I always thought maybe the guy wanted to unload it.”
“Southwest corner, right?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve walked by it. Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s a dump,” Mahoney said.
“It is. The man hasn’t put a dime into it since Reagan was president,” Hartman said.
“Part of the charm of it or something?”
“No, not at all.”
“Then what, he too old to keep the place up?”
“That’s part of it. The other part is that he’s incredibly hard-headed. He’s refused to invest in it because as he says, he’s not going to turn it into some place for yuppie assholes to drink.”
“So, you want me to go become a regular or something? Start patronizing the place? Give it some business?”
“Yes, I asked you to lunch to request you use some of your spare time to drink at my uncle’s bar,” Hartman said.
“Done.”
Mahoney wasn’t sure where this was going. Hartman said he had a problem, but so far, all he heard about was a dive bar his old uncle owned. He failed to see how that was really much of a problem.
“My uncle is not well,” Hartman said. “He has a slew of ailments, and conditions, and my guess is that pretty soon he won’t be able to get around at all.”
“So, who’s going to run the bar?”
Hartman put a hand up and said, “Hang on, I’m getting there. My uncle recently re-did his will. He made me the executor, and he is leaving the building to me.”
“The bar?”
Hartman shook his head and said, “No, the building.”
“Please don’t tell me he won the building playing cards, too,” Mahoney said.
“No, he bought it in nineteen seventy-three. The neighborhood was a hellhole then. The guy who owned it wanted to dump it and couldn’t find anyone to buy it. He sold it to my uncle for a few thousand dollars. And for the last twenty-five years my uncle has been telling developers to screw off when they try to buy it from him.”
Mahoney was getting hungry, and wondered when the heck this other person Hartman said was joining them would arrive so that they could order. Sometime today would nice, he thought. In the meantime, he tried to focus on the story of Hartman’s uncle and the bar.
“So, why does your uncle turn down the money?”
“My uncle is a hater, Phil. And he was before that became a term. He hates professionals, people in the business world. Pretty much anyone who’s successful. He says he’d rather die than see his building in the hands of some quote, evil bastard who will throw his tenants out, rip the place down, and put up some cookie cutter building.”
“And if I remember, this is like, a three story building, right?” Mahoney asked.
“Four. Three floors above the bar. Two apartments on each floor,” Hartman said.
“Six New York apartments. That’s like owning six ATMs.”
“Yes, but it’s not that easy. My uncle has to be a landlord. Things break, tenants complain. A decade ago he hired a kind of super, gives the guy a place at half-price this fella takes care of the little day to day stuff.”
“So, what are you going to do when he passes, sell the place?”
Hartman shook his head. “I can’t. He put a clause in the contract that says it has to stay in the Hartman family for five years after he dies.”
“Cagey old guy,” Mahoney said.
Hartman stopped talking and looked across the table at Mahoney. “I want you to run the bar, Phil,” he said.
Mahoney’s eyebrows rose and he smirked. “You want me to run a bar?”
“Correct.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I’m not.”
“Maybe you have me confused with some other guy. See, I’m a newspaper columnist.”
“You were a newspaper columnist, Phil. I’m giving you a chance to move on.”
“You want me to give up my career and become a bartender.”
“A bar owner.”
“Same thing.”
“Not at all,” Hartman said. “I’ll willing to give you ownership of the Kildare.”
Mahoney looked at Hartman and realized the man was serious. Then he got angry.
“Kinda insulting, don’t you think, Reuben?” Mahoney said. “How about I suggest you quit your firm and do something else because your industry is dying?”
“First off, my industry is not dying, and never will,” Hartman said. “As long as high profile people do stupid things, they’ll need me.”
Mahoney didn’t know what to say. This was so far out of left field, that it was throwing him off. He was all discombobulated and tried to figure out where the hell this was coming from. Reuben Hartman was suggesting he run a bar.
“Phil, I’m not doing this to bust your balls,” Hartman said, breaking the silence.
“You’re not?”
“No. I’m doing this because I know what’s going to happen to you. You’re trying to hang on in a shrinking industry. Make that, a rapidly shrinking industry,” Hartman said. “And that’s natural. But let’s say you do get another columnist position somewhere. It’s not going to pay you what you were making, and it probably won’t last that long. I’m offering you a way out.”
“So my best days are behind me?”
“In your field, yes. You’re heading into a cycle of weak jobs and weaker salaries, Phil.”
“So I walk away from my career to run your bar?”
“Your bar, Phil. Like I said, I’m willing to work something out to give you ownership of the business. And we’ll work out a rent-free agreement or something. I’ll pay to have it renovated, and I’ll get you off to a good start.”
“Let’s say I thought it was a great idea, which I don’t,” Mahoney said. “But even if I did, the only thing I know about bars is how to find one. I’m the first guy to admit I have no business sense.”
“That’s why I have someone in mind as a partner. Someone in a similar situation, just not as dire. But he’s someone who is also going to have to make a career choice sooner rather than later,” Hartman said.
“What, you got another newspaperman to open a bar with me? Even I can tell you that isn’t a good idea.”
“He’s not a newspaperman, but you know him,” Hartman said, looking past him. “And here he is, right on time.”
Mahoney turned to get a better look and caught sight of the guy crossing the dining room.
“Oh, no,” Mahoney said, pounding a fist on the table. “No, freaking way, Reuben.”