The rabbi could wait. The Beatles were here.
Marjorie, as always, was late. And today, it mattered.
Not usually. “Punctuality is a sign of a small mind,” she liked to tell her parents loftily, when they begged her to turn up on time for doctors’ appointments, job interviews, college classes, and her older brother’s wedding reception.
On this Friday, Marjorie had come to JFK Airport to meet some VIP author. Deadly boring, but right now it seemed a good idea to keep Father from hitting the roof as he did so often, so she’d rather grumpily agreed to go.
Father, of course, had given her detailed instructions. Be pleasant. Make him feel at home. He’s a rabbi, so behave yourself, Marjorie. We’ve been negotiating about rights for this book for almost two years, and I want to get the business finalized quickly. I’d meet him myself, but I’ve got an important meeting in Hartford that I can’t miss.
This one’s in print. Some of our best stories live in the magazine — subscribe to get Mishpacha every week.
