Ben Long got his first potential client and his first real girlfriend on the same day in June 1952. He\u2019d opened an accounting office on the second floor of a Nassau Street building above a clothing store. The hum of the store\u2019s customers drifted up through the ductwork in a vaguely companionable way during the new firm\u2019s early, idle days.<\/p>\n
Ben wasn\u2019t worried about the slow start to his business. He had a clear-eyed sense of the man he was, and that man would be successful. He\u2019d graduated from a prominent West Coast business school, and his proximity to Princeton University would burnish the sophisticated and confident image he aspired to project.<\/p>\n
During Ben\u2019s lunch hours, he took long walks through the university campus, studying the buildings and the easy manners of the students\u2014all male, then\u2014lounging on the steps and lawns in their cardigans and pale trousers. Some wore straw boaters, just like his, though as a businessman, he wore a suit. Plenty of young women were about. They poured out of the administrative offices and the professors\u2019 lairs, carrying their lunches and spreading their skirts to sit on the grass.<\/p>\n
![\"Princeton](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/vweisfeld.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/08\/Princeton-University.jpg?resize=241%2C253\")
He attracted unexpected attention as he criss-crossed the campus, so he kept a ready smile as he sped forward on his long legs, loosening his tie and tipping his hat to the ladies. On that memorable day, he was in a bit of a rush because of that impending first appointment.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re all talking about you,\u201d said a Breck-girl blonde, who hurried up beside him, striving to keep up. She looked like a midwestern kid\u2014clear-skinned, bright blue eyes, illusions intact, like the freshman girls at his alma mater.<\/p>\n
\u201cReally. Why?\u201d Was his outsider status so easy to detect? He plowed ahead.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe all know you,\u201d she said and, when he gave her a quizzical glance, added, \u201cor feel we do.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh?\u201d He took a second look at her and slowed.<\/p>\n
\u201cI mean, we know who you are<\/em>.\u201d She blushed and fluttered her hands.<\/p>\n He\u2019d never seen her before. He would have remembered. \u201cYou\u2019re sure about that?\u201d<\/p>\n They were about to reach University Place, where he would turn back toward his office.<\/p>\n \u201cSure. You\u2019re Jimmy Stewart.\u201d<\/p>\n That stopped him. Her blue eyes radiated sincerity. He couldn\u2019t meet those eyes with a lie, tempting though it was. Smiling, he said, \u201cHate to disappoint you, but I\u2019m a CPA. I have an office on Nassau Street.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, certainly.\u201d She laughed. \u201cJimmy Stewart, Class of \u201932.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSincerely. My name is Ben.\u201d He stuck out his hand.<\/p>\n She held it as if it were glass. \u201cIf you say so,\u201d she giggled. She giggled enchantingly.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd you are?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCathy.\u201d He could imagine her mother saying, \u201cSpeak up, dear.\u201d<\/p>\n He still smiled. He still held her hand. The day was warm. The breeze made the sky-blue hydrangea heads bob agreeably. They were the exact shade of her eyes.<\/p>\n \u201cCathy, I\u2019m pleased to meet you.\u201d Awkwardly, he gave her hand a parting squeeze. \u201cWell, goodbye. I have to go.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSure. I know you\u2019re busy,\u201d she paused, \u201cJimmy.\u201d<\/p>\n Back at the office, he studied his reflection in the men\u2019s room mirror. Tall and lanky. Long neck with a head blobbed on top\u2014like a safety match, his brother said. Brown hair, blue-grey eyes projecting a hefty dose of sincerity. Bland expression. Too bland, in his opinion, but perhaps it was a face on which people could project what they wanted to see.<\/p>\n Maybe that\u2019s why people on campus stared. Did they really mistake him\u2014even briefly\u2014for James M. Stewart, Princeton \u201932?<\/p>\n His first prospective client, Charlie Caputo, certainly did not<\/em> look like a movie star: dark, compact, a little paunchy, face sweating on the warm day. Caputo launched into a long convoluted explanation of his money woes. Ben had to keep lassoing his mind, pulling it back from thoughts of Cathy and how she thought\u2014or pretended to think\u2014he was the famous actor, a man whose films he had seen many times.<\/p>\n \u201cIf I understand you correctly,\u201d Ben broke in, \u201cyou want an accountant who will make sure you don\u2019t pay any taxes.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019s loopholes. Find them. Next time I\u2019m in town we can discuss it further.\u201d<\/p>\n \u058d<\/p>\n He ran into Cathy nearly every day after that. They\u2019d walk together across campus, at a slower pace than he preferred, but he didn\u2019t mind. They started eating their lunches together. He brought a blanket. She brought two five-cent Cokes from the vending machine. Under the summer trees they talked about everything and nothing. Her friends from the office sometimes joined them, and it was hard to believe they all could laugh so much.<\/p>\n Like Cathy, they persisted in calling him Jimmy.<\/p>\n \u201cBen,\u201d he\u2019d say.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s not what she<\/em> says.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHey, I\u2019m only twenty-four! Do I look in my forties to you?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cRemarkably well preserved.\u201d Cathy pushed a deviled egg into his gaping mouth, silencing him.<\/p>\n Business picked up. Ben hired a secretary. He joined the Rotary Club and attended testimonial dinners. He took Cathy to a Rotary picnic, and she was amazed at how easily he talked to people, how many friends he had.<\/p>\n \u201cWhen you\u2019re in business in a small town like Princeton, you have to have friends,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cYou sound like a character from one of your movies!\u201d<\/p>\n He glanced around to make sure no one had heard. \u201cCathy, please stop doing that. People will think\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThey will think you\u2019re a success at whatever you do? You can\u2019t help yourself. You\u2019re just so pleasant.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSure.\u201d To himself, he quoted Elwood P. Dowd\u2019s mother: \u201cIn this world, Elwood, you must be oh so smart, or oh so pleasant.\u201d Under his breath, he added, \u201cFor years I was smart, I recommend pleasant.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWasn\u2019t that a line from Harvey<\/em>?\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n \u201cYou may quote me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u058d<\/p>\n On their first real date, Ben took Cathy to dinner and a movie, Bend of the River<\/em>, featuring, naturally, Jimmy Stewart. Ben had read the book and thought it might help Cathy appreciate the part of the country he came from.<\/p>\n \u201cI know where you\u2019re from,\u201d she said, humoring him.<\/p>\n \u201cOregon.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJimmy,\u201d she said, as if to a small child with a tall tale. \u201cWestern Pennsylvania.\u201d<\/p>\n Maybe if she weren\u2019t so darn cute, he thought, I\u2019d make a stink about it, but it\u2019s all so ridiculous, why bother?<\/p>\n Instead, he said, \u201cWhat is it you want, Cathy? What do you want? You want the moon?\u201d<\/p>\n As if summoned, the moonlight pooled in the tears forming in her eyes. \u201cYou know,\u201d she said, \u201cit\u2019s a wonderful life.\u201d<\/p>\n \u058d<\/p>\n One hot day in August, when they sat close together on the campus lawn, she said, \u201cHaving fun?\u201d<\/p>\n Half of him knew it was dangerous, but the other half wouldn\u2019t stop, and he said, \u201cI always have a wonderful time, wherever I am, whomever I\u2019m with.\u201d<\/p>\n She laughed. \u201cThat\u2019s definitely from Harvey<\/em>. You\u2019re too funny!\u201d<\/p>\n He sighed. Being with Cathy was becoming more than a habit, it was something he needed. Like a drug<\/em>. But this day he couldn\u2019t linger. Mr. Caputo was expected.<\/p>\n That meeting didn\u2019t go nearly as well as lunch with Cathy.<\/p>\n Caputo slapped Ben\u2019s tax plan on the desk. \u201cThe loopholes you found aren\u2019t enough. Not nearly enough. Why report all my income? I got enough problems without forking money over to Washington.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, I don\u2019t know, Mr. Caputo. There\u2019s ways to reduce your taxes and there\u2019s ways to get into trouble.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou remember what I said I\u2019d pay you?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes, I do. You said ten thousand dollars a year. That\u2019s a lot of money, Mr. Caputo. I\u2019m not sure\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow much would make you sure? Twelve thousand? Fourteen?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, now, come on, Mr. Caputo. Maybe you need some other kind of accountant.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou think about it. When I come back, I\u2019ll want your answer.\u201d<\/p>\n Fourteen thousand dollars a year! Ten, even, would make marrying Cathy and starting life together possible\u2014no, perfect. Ben tapped out a thinking rhythm with his pencil.<\/p>\n \u058d<\/p>\n September approached, and posters appeared advertising a forthcoming talk by famous alumnus James M. Stewart, \u201932, sponsored by the University drama club. \u201cPublic invited.\u201d<\/p>\n Here was his chance to put Cathy\u2019s embarrassing fantasy to rest. He couldn\u2019t<\/em> be Jimmy Stewart, sitting next to her in the audience and watching the real one on stage. But as the date of the lecture approached, he hesitated to mention it. It was a harmless delusion, and did she truly believe it? She\u2019d introduced him to her parents as Ben, and that\u2019s what they called him.<\/p>\n \u201cSo I\u2019m Ben now,\u201d he said that night as they walked home arm-in-arm.<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t think they\u2019d let me go out with a movie star<\/em>, do you? I couldn\u2019t tell them that.\u201d<\/p>\n Once again, his mischievous side won out. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t give you two cents for all your fancy rules, if behind them they didn\u2019t have a little ordinary everyday human kindness,\u201d he said. \u201cIn this case, helping us be together.\u201d<\/p>\n She sighed. \u201cMr. Smith Goes to Washington<\/em>. My favorite. One<\/em> of them.\u201d<\/p>\n The light of the streetlamp, hidden among the sycamores, barely lit the walk up to her house.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m going to your lecture next Wednesday,\u201d she said. \u201cAll the girls in my office are going. We\u2019ve got our tickets.\u201d<\/p>\n Increasingly nervous about the lecture, he\u2019d decided not to go with her. Maybe he wouldn\u2019t go at all. The likelihood of disastrous disillusionment was too high. \u201cAre you sure that\u2019s wise? What if you don\u2019t like the guy? Where does that leave me?\u201d<\/p>\n At the top of the steps, he embraced her, and all five feet two inches of her strained upward toward him. \u201cBut I do<\/em> like you. A lot.\u201d As she said this, someone inside switched on the porch light. They kissed anyway.<\/p>\n The rest of the weekend was agony. What did she really believe? Whatever it was, it was bound to come to a crashing conclusion. He\u2019d lose her, just as he was realizing how desperately he wanted her. \u201cIt can\u2019t be anything like love, can it?\u201d he asked himself, Philadelphia Story-<\/em>style.<\/p>\n \u058d<\/p>\n On Wednesday, Ben closed his office at two and walked across campus to the lecture hall where his alter ego\u2014or was it his nemesis?\u2014was scheduled to speak. A crowd already filled most of the seats, and he saw Cathy and her friends about halfway down. He\u2019d thought about joining them, but instead leaned against a pillar and tried to distract himself by reading the newspaper.<\/p>\n After a hushed moment, the most famous member of Princeton\u2019s Class of 1932 strode onto the stage. In his homey drawl, he charmed the audience. They applauded, they cheered, Cathy and her friends were on their feet. It was over. People streamed up the aisle past him, talking and laughing.<\/p>\n He hid behind the newspaper again as Cathy and her friends approached. Someone called to her. \u201cCathy, what did you think?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe was great!\u201d she said, \u201cBut he\u2019s not my<\/em> Jimmy.\u201d<\/p>\n \u058d<\/p>\n Mr. Caputo came to the office at five, and Ben handed him a neat stack of papers. \u201cHere\u2019s the tax plan I worked out for you,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n Caputo skipped to the end and looked up, fuming. \u201cThis isn\u2019t what I asked for!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThese strategies are all legitimate.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s not what I asked for.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo you\u2019re asking me to lie and cheat?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIf you say so.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd you\u2019ll pay me well to do it too.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTen thousand a year.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI just want to be clear about all that.\u201d Ben imagined himself looking in the mirror again, but it was Jimmy Stewart looking back. Jimmy Stewart as Tom Destry, Jr. Big dented hat, drooping neckerchief, six-pointed sheriff\u2019s star. He let Tom Destry speak for him: \u201cYou know what I have to say to your offer, Mr. Caputo? \u2018Nobody\u2019s gonna set themselves up above the law around here, understand?\u2019 You go to hell.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n This story was published in U.S. 1, Summer Fiction Issue, July 27, 2016.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Ben Long got his first potential client and his first real girlfriend on the same day in June 1952. He\u2019d opened an accounting office on the second floor of a Nassau Street building above a clothing store. The hum of … Continue reading