Friday the Rabbi Slept Late by Harry Kemelman

conversation got around to maids, as it usually did, she would mention it. “Elspeth always bolts her door. I wonder if she thinks my Joe might come in while she’s in bed or getting dressed.” She always laughed when she said it as though the idea of her husband’s being interested in the maid was completely ridiculous. But now she wondered if it was ridiculous. Could Elspeth be bolting it against her rather than against Joe? You could enter that room through the back way. Did Joe occasionally come in from the back, knowing that the door to the kitchen was bolted and they wouldn’t be interrupted by his wife?
    Another thought occurred to her. Although the girl had been with them over three months, she seemed to have no friends. All the other girls had dates on their days off. Why didn’t she? Her only friend was that big horse of a girl, Celia, who worked for the Hoskins.
    Could the reason Elspeth had no dates be that she was making beautiful music with her Joe?
    She laughed at herself for her foolish suspicions. Why, she was with Joe practically all the time. She saw him at the club every night. Every night, that is, except Thursday. And Thursday was Elspeth’s day off.
    Several times Melvin Bronstein had reached for the telephone, and each time he withdrew his hand without removing the instrument from its cradle. Now it was after six and the staff had all gone home. Al Becker was still there but he was in his own office, and to judge by the books spread out on his desk, he was there to stay for a while.
    He could call Rosalie undisturbed now. All week long she did not obtrude on his thoughts, but Thursdays when he was used to seeing her his need for her became overwhelming. In the year he had known her their relationship had settled down to a routine. Every Thursday afternoon she would call him and they would meet at some restaurant for dinner. Then they would drive out into the country and stop at a motel. He always brought her home by midnight, since the babysitter who took care of her children objected to staying later.
    But recently there had been a change. He had not seen her last Thursday nor the Thursday before, because of her foolish fear that her estranged husband had hired detectives to watch her.
    “Don’t even call me, Mel,” she had begged.
    “But there can’t be any harm in calling. You don’t think they’d go to the trouble of tapping your telephone, do you?”
    “No, but if we talk I might weaken. Then it will start all over again.”
    He had agreed because she had been insistent, and also because some of her fear had communicated itself to him. And now it was Thursday again. Surely he ought to call if only to inquire whether things had changed in any way. If only he could talk to her, he was sure that her need, which was as great as his, would overcome her fears.
    Becker came into the room, making a great effort to appear casual, and said: “Say, Mel, I almost forgot; Sally asked me to be sure and bring you home for dinner tonight.”
    Bronstein smiled to himself. Ever since AI and Sally had seen him with the girl a month ago, they had tried all kinds of stratagems to entice him to spend Thursday evenings with them.
    “Gee Al, let me take a rain check, will you? I don’t feel up to people tonight.”
    “Were you planning to eat at home?”
    “No-o – Debbie’s having her bridge club as usual. I thought I’d just grab a bite somewhere and then drop into a movie.”
    “Tell you what, kid, why don’t you come over a little later, spend the evening with us. Sally just got some new records – highbrow stuff. We could listen to them and then go downstairs and shoot a couple of racks of pool.”
    “Well, if I drive by, perhaps I’ll drop in.”
    Becker tried again. “Say, I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t I call Sally and tell her I’m going to stay in town, and then the two of us could make a night of it – go some place for dinner, hoist a couple of drinks, and then take in a