Heads You Win

“I need two pounds of potatoes, Bernie, some runner beans, and a couple of oranges,” said Alex, checking his mother’s shopping list. “Oh yes, and a beetroot.”

“Three dollars, Mr. Rockefeller,” said Bernie, handing over two paper bags. “And I’d just like to say, Alex, how much I’ve enjoyed having you as a customer, and I have no doubt you will do well if you go to NYU.”

“Why would I go anywhere else for my fruit and vegetables?”

“You’ll have to in the future, because I’ll be giving up my stall in a couple of weeks.”

“Why?” asked Alex, who’d assumed Bernie was a permanent fixture in the market.

“My license comes up for renewal at the end of the month, and the owner’s demanding eighty dollars a week. At that price, I’d be lucky to break even. In any case, I’m nearly sixty, and I don’t enjoy the long hours anymore, especially in winter.” Alex knew Bernie got up at four o’clock every morning to go to the market, and rarely went home before five in the afternoon.

Alex couldn’t accept that his friend would disappear overnight. There were a dozen questions he wanted to ask Bernie, but he needed some time to think. He thanked him and began to walk home.

He was walking past the thrift store deep in thought, when Addie opened the door and shouted after him, “Come back, Alex, I’ve got something special for you.”

When Alex joined her in the shop, she took what looked like a brand-new suit off the rack and said, “Why don’t you try it on.”

“How did you get hold of this?” asked Alex as he slipped on the jacket.

“A regular customer who goes on shopping sprees, a few days later often gives us something he no longer wants.”

Alex tried to imagine what it must be like to be that rich. “What’s this made of?” he asked, feeling the cloth.

“Cashmere. Do you like it?”

“What’s not to like? But can I afford it?”

“Yours for ten dollars,” she whispered.

“How come?”

“It will have been in and out of the store before my boss even sees it.”

Alex pulled off his jeans, put on the trousers—they even had a zipper—and studied himself in the full-length mirror. Beige wouldn’t have been his first choice, but it still looked like a hundred-dollar suit.

“Just as I thought,” said Addie. “A perfect fit. It could have been made for you.”

“Thank you,” said Alex, handing over ten dollars.

“Are we still going to the movies next Saturday?” Addie asked as he pulled his jeans back on.

“John Wayne in True Grit. I’m looking forward to it,” he said as she folded up the suit and slipped it into a bag. “I don’t know how to thank you,” he added.

“I’ll think of something,” said Addie as he left the store.

As he walked back home, Alex’s thoughts turned to how he could possibly get his hands on the eighty dollars a week he needed to rent Bernie’s stall. He was making around twenty dollars from chess games at the weekends, but he had no idea how he could make up the shortfall. He knew his mother didn’t have that sort of spare cash, even though she’d just been given another raise. But what about Dimitri, who’d just come back from his most recent trip to Moscow? He must surely have some spare cash.

Alex had prepared his pitch long before he reached home, and when he opened the door, he could hear Dimitri singing out of tune. He joined him in the kitchen, and listened to what he had been up to on his Moscow trip.

“A fascinating city,” said Dimitri. “Red Square, the Kremlin, Lenin’s tomb. You should visit Moscow one day, Alex.”

“Never,” said Alex firmly. “I’m not interested in Lenin’s tomb. I’m an American now, and I’m going to be a millionaire.”

Dimitri didn’t look surprised, but then he’d already heard the claim many times before. But on this occasion, Alex added another sentence which did take him by surprise. “And you could be my partner.”

“What do you mean?” said Dimitri.

“How much spare cash do you have?” asked Alex.