Page 49 of Baker

“I will. Thank you.”

He closed his briefcase and set it on the floor beside him. “Mort tells me you’ve decided to take occupancy of 3A.”

I slid the envelope aside and wondered if the card had my name on it or the company’s name. Maybe both, I decided. “I did,” I said. “And, I have.”

“I prefer that the manager stay on the premises. It encourages the tenants to be responsible. No problems, I take it?”

“None whatsoever.”

He waved his hand toward the door. “I see the door’s been repaired.”

The hand-written bill for the door simply stated repair steel door and gave an amount. I decided a little white lie was in Mort’s best interest. “Nothing more than repositioning a few things.”

“I’m pleased that’s resolved. It was annoying.”

“I thought so, too.”

“There is one other thing.” He clasped his hands together. “One would think it’s common knowledge, but considering the problems we had with the last property manager, I feel compelled to say something.”

“I don’t use drugs,” I said adamantly. “Never have, never will.”

“The thought never crossed my mind. There’s a matter we need to discuss that is outlined in the employee handbook, but no one ever bothers to read it.” His brows raised. “Have you read it?”

“I uhhm.” I lowered my head in mock shame. “No.”

“Fraternization with tenants is not allowed. No exceptions.” He wagged his index finger at me playfully. “Disobeying that clause will be grounds for dismissal.”

“You won’t have to worry about that,” I said. “I’m a man hater.”

His expression changed to surprise. “I didn’t. I had no idea. We do have two female tenants. I don’t think either of them are, you know. But one never knows.”

“No.” I couldn’t help but laugh at his thoughts, so I did. “Not that kind of man hater. I just don’t really date. I’ve had some bad luck with men, and I don’t really trust them.”

He seemed embarrassed. “My apologies for jumping to conclusions.” He crossed his legs and placed his hands in his lap. “Men are like latkes.”

I was perplexed at his slice of advice. I gave him a confused look. “I don’t understand.”

“I was going to explain, but your mind is quicker than mine.”

“I’ll listen.”

The expression on his face changed to serious, but he smiled just a little. “Latkes are potato cakes that we eat on Hanukkah. It seems they’d be simple enough to make: potatoes, eggs, onions, salt, Matzo meal, and a little flour. They’re formed into a flat cake, and fried in oil. That’s it.” He turned his palms up and raised one hand slightly higher than the other. “But not all latkes are created equal. And, you can’t tell a good latke from a bad one by looking at it. To find out if they’re suitable, one must get to what’s inside. Only then do you know.”

After a period of silence, I felt like I could speak, so I did. “Let’s say I had a really bad latke.”

“I’ve eaten latkes so bad that they made me ill. The eggs. They must have been raw.” He raised his index finger. “But I didn’t stop eating them because I encountered a bad one.”

I decided I liked Mister Greene. A lot. “One of these days I might try again,” I said, although I didn’t know if or when that day would ever come. “Right now, I still have a stomach ache. The last thing I want to do take a chance by eating another.”

“Sometimes the best latke is the one everyone has left on the platter. The one with no eye appeal. Remember, you must get to what’s inside.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

He reached for his briefcase and then stood. “Send Nadine photos of the office when you’re finished. I’d like to see it.”

“I will.”

As he reached for the door, I stood. “Without taking a bite, how do you know if it’s going to be a good one?”