The Garden of Eden and Other Criminal Delights Part 35

"Shut up!" Benton replied. "We're reminiscing."

Again Feinermann wiped his mouth. "I'll tell you where this is leading, Philip. Pay attention, because it has to do with business."

The bald man wiped his forehead. "I'm listening."

Feinermann said, "You have a multibillion-dollar business that provides beverages to America. And all of your products are aimed at the young or the ones who wish they were young. Not that I have anything against the new generation, but I can't relate to them. And I don't drink the same things they drink. I want my gla.s.s of tea with a lemon. I want my old-fashioned shpritz without essences of this flavor or that flavor. Whatever happened to tonic water and ginger ale, for goodness' sake?"

"We have ginger ale," Philip protested. "King Ginger."

"Ach!" The rabbi gave him a disgusted look. "Relegated to the back of the cooler. The young people think it's a drink for stomach maladies."

"You have to realize that New Age drinks comprise a measly three hundred and twenty-seven million dollars of market sales," Philip said. "Ginger ale's a drink with no appeal."

"It appeals to me," Feinermann insisted.

"The rabbi's got a point," Benton said. "The New Age drinks do appeal to the older set. And let's not forget the growth rate, Philip-fifteen percent as compared to two percent in the industry as a whole."

"There you go," Feinermann stated. "When are you companies going to wake up and realize there is a whole generation out there waiting for you to appeal to them?" He turned to Benton. "You gobbled up dinner tonight because it reminded you of your mother's cooking."

Benton bit his lip. "I see what you're saying. But, Rabbi, you have to realize that carbonated beverages are still a youth-oriented market."

"Because you choose to woo the youth. What about me?"

"The elderly market is tricky," Benton said.

"Even if you convert them to your product, they're just going to keel over anyway," Philip said.

Benton glared at his a.s.sistant. "I beg your pardon."

"No . . . I mean . . . not you, Mr. Benton-"

"Calm down, Philip," Feinermann said with little patience. "Yes, we're all going to die. Even your Mr. Benton here. But I see your point. So don't market them as old-fashioned drinks. Make them family drinks. Seltzer, tonic water, ginger ale-promote them as new, lighter, less sugary drinks with a history of America. Show teenagers and grandpas drinking them at the family barbecues. What could be better?"

Philip said, "I've got the hook, sir-a New Age drink with a touch of nostalgia."

"I like it, Philip," Benton said.

"And what about iced teas?" Feinermann said.

Philip said, "Only a four-hundred-million-dollar share of the market."

Feinermann said, "But combine it with your three-hundred-and-twenty-seven-million-dollar New Age share, Philip. That's almost a billion dollars."

"Man's got a point, Philip."

"Tensel's has a lock on tea, sir," Philip said. "Besides, I heard Heavenly Brew is coming out with a new line. Lots of teas for such a little market share."

"Ah, Heavenly Brew. That's not tea. Not tea the way Mr. Benton and I remember it," Feinermann said.

Benton nodded. "True. We had tea that rotted the gut. How about a new full-flavored tea drink, Philip? It just might work, especially if we get a decaf version."

"Very good, Mr. Benton."

Feinermann said, "We're a lost generation, Mr. Benton, just waiting for someone to sing our tunes. Stop regurgitating old cola recipes and expand your horizons."

Benton exclaimed, "Glad you brought all this to my attention, Rabbi! Philip, make a note to bring all this c.r.a.p to the board's attention this Thursday. And, Rabbi, you will join us at the meeting, won't you?"

"Thursday I have a funeral to preside over. I'm afraid I must pa.s.s. Besides, I've stated my piece. Perhaps now your Philip will leave me in peace?"

"Absolutely! Philip, stop pestering the rabbi."

Philip nodded like a Kewpie doll.

Feinermann stood. "If you don't mind, I'd like to take my leave."

"Certainly, Rabbi," Benton responded. "And anytime you need anything, just ask."

"Thank you, Mr. Benton." The old man shook hands with the philanthropist and bade him goodbye. As he was accompanied back to the car, walking in the cool March air, he reflected on how much he missed his childhood. Not the part about being beaten up by Tommy Hoolihan . . . and he didn't miss the cholera and polio, either. But he did miss his youth-a generation that grew up without TV. And a good gla.s.s of ginger ale . . . corporations do forget about the elderly-a reflection of society, he supposed.

Ah well, at least he'd sleep in his own bed tonight.

When they arrived at the Cadillac, Feinermann said to Philip, "You don't have to come back with me. The Marxes know the way."

"The Marxes?" Philip said.

"Private joke, Mr. P.," Donnie/Karl said.

Philip shook hands with the rabbi. "I'm sorry if I inconvenienced you."

"No problem," Feinermann said. "I'll integrate the experience into next week's sermon." He opened the door to the backseat. "By the way, Marxes, what did you do with the face masks?"

"They're in the trunk," Elvis/Groucho said. "Why?"

"Unless you're planning another abduction, give them to me," Feinermann said. "I'll use them in the Purim festivities! Why let them go to waste?"

These last four stories and essays deal

less with mystery and more with my

favorite subject-family. My husband,

Jonathan, and I have been married for

thirty-four years, a union that has

produced four children and a lot of

material for my fiction. I thank them

all-husband, parents, children,

grandparents, uncles, aunts, and

cousins-for my beautiful life.

FREE PARKING.

"Free Parking" is a charming tale that

addresses the gap between generations.

Its origin was a conversation I had with

my daughter Rachel. I chose the game

Monopoly as a nexus for the story

because that was the board game that

my mother and her sisters used to play

with their mother. Family lore states

that Grandma was so sedentary, her