How to Be Accommodating

Midweek musings, and an oldie-but-goodie

A roundup of some SHOW NOTES for you!

—Not for the first time, I have abandoned an audiobook because the narrator was so bad. In this case, the book is Sigrid Nunez’s The Friend, and while the narrator has a name, according to published reports, I would bet fifty bucks that it is an autogenerated voice, or at least it sounds so much like one that it might as well be. Listen to a sample here if you can, and let me know what you think. The cadence, the ever-so-slightly misplaced emphases, and the stiff affect are all just a hair off, in a way that makes me think it’s not human. I mean no offense if the narrator is indeed a living, breathing human, but wow. Also, how weird is it to wonder if a voice you’re hearing is a real voice?? We are living in a hall of mirrors these days, unable to be sure voices are human, emails are legitimate, facts are facts; it’s unnerving.

—After abandoning The Friend, I started Kaveh Akbar’s Martyr! and it’s just fabulous. The story is dark—a young, death-obsessed addict’s meditations on life—but it’s hilarious, sharp, exquisite, and witty as hell. I’m also consuming this as an audiobook. In this case, the reader is the wonderful actor Arian Moayed, who we all knew and loved as Stewie on Succession. I couldn’t love this book more.

—Now it can be told! The title of my forthcoming (upcoming? new?) book—a, gulp, memoir—is JOY RIDE. It’ll be out next fall, which sounds like forever from now, but a year in production is typical, or even speedy, for a book. We’re working on the cover now, and it’s going to be a doozy.

—Today is the first day I’m not wearing a boot or a brace since end of July. The bones in my ankle are knitted together! At least enough that I can mostly go without support, thank goodness. It’s still achy and I remain wary of putting my weight on it, but at last I can put on a normal shoe.

—If you, like me, need to alter most of your clothes, you will understand how excited I am at having found a tailor who can shorten pants in three days (versus the two weeks I usually have to wait). I’m tempted to write a story about tailors. The profession is the exclusive domain of immigrants, and it’s such a hard job: I wonder if young people are still willing to learn how to do it and work the long hours and put in the painstaking effort required. My previous tailors were often Russian, sometimes Russian Jews. My more recent few have been Armenian (no surprise in Los Angeles, which has a huge Armenian community). The guy who is promising my pants in three days is Persian. Thinking of tailors reminded me that I wrote a Talk of the Town piece a million years ago (1991, to be precise) about a guy named Nat the Tailor, and since I’m on the subject, I thought I’d reprint it here. Enjoy!

ACCOMMODATING

Reporter (which means us, entering Manhattan Valet, a dry-cleaning establishment at the corner of Ninety-seventh and Columbus Avenue): Pardon me, I was just wandering by and saw the sign in your window that says:

“ANNOUNCING NAT

OF VALETONE CLEANERS

YEARS OF EXPERIENCE

EXPERT TAILORING

AND ALTERATIONS

HAS JOINED THE STAFF OF MANHATTAN VALET”

I was thinking that this Nat must be quite something. Most dry cleaners don’t announce their tailors with such enthusiasm.

Person Behind the Counter (who turns out to be Gary Adler, owner and founder of Manhattan Valet): What can I tell you? He has an excellent reputation, and he was working up the street at a store that was closing and I needed a tailor. So we both had needs that needed to be filled. I wanted an authority in the area, and that was Nat. He’s very known. After I hired him, I put up the sign, because we’re not too shy to say we have Nat now.

Person Who Joins Gary Behind the Counter (who happens to be his sister Alisa, co-owner of Manhattan Valet): Actually, Nat came to work here because he’s been in love with me for years.

(Another person now joins Gary and Alisa behind the counter. This is their mother, who introduces herself as Mother Adler.)

Mother Adler: Alisa, please! (To us) You can call me Rhoda or Mother Adler. The story of Nat is that we had a tailor before Nat who was from Trinidad, a lovely man, but he wanted to do music. Calypso, cha-cha, and so forth. So he left.

Nat (who has stepped out from behind his sewing table) What I can’t give them musically, I give them in tailoring. Musically, I can’t accommodate.

Alisa: Personally, I think he’s an incredible tailor.

Nat: (Embarrassed silence.)

Mother Adler: Nat, I’m telling you, you don’t have to be modest. You don’t have to be shy. (To us) This is my kids’ business. I’m just the mother. I don’t meddle. I don’t butt in. I just give suggestions. I just give advice.

Gary: Mother, enough already. On the subject of Nat, I’m not saying this to swell his head, but there are people who simply will not go to anyone besides Nat.

Nat: I used to work for His Majesty the King.

Gary: You’re joking. (Gary exits.)

Nat: What’s to joke? His Majesty King George VI. In other words, the British Army. I worked in a uniform factory. Then for thirty-four years in this neighborhood. I’m known on the avenue.

Alisa: I met a woman at a luncheon once—this is a true story and a really funny story—and I mentioned to her that we had hired Nat and she said, “Oh my God! Not Nat! He’s the best!! I’ve been lookin for him since Valetone closed! (Commotion at the door. Gary reenters.) Gary, where have you been?

Gary: I went and got us a little something to eat. I thought to myself, We’re talking, we should have a little something. What does everyone like to eat? And then I thought, Butter cookies! Everyone loves butter cookies!

Nat (eyeing the cookies) I always say to my customers, ‘It’s easy to take in, it’s not so easy to let out.’ When they keep coming to me for letting out, sometimes I tell them they need a dietician, not a tailor. Of course, I let my own pants out. Periodically. Since I stopped smoking. (To us) Have a cookie! You could gain two ounces, it wouldn’t kill you.

Mother Adler: Wonderful cookies. It’s a lovely bakery on Broadway. You should try their candy cake if you’re having company over sometime. By the way, I should mention that we have specials here all the time—shirt specials, Lotto specials, rug-cleaning specials. This is a real family place. We love to accommodate. When Gary was on his quest for a business, I said, ‘Gary, find a business where you can accommodate.’ And I said, ‘Gary, when times are tough, people don’t buy suits, they clean them.’

Nat: I can tell you this. Of all the dry-cleaning establishments I’ve seen in this city, and I assure you I’ve seen quite a few, this is the most unique one. I used to walk by here four, five times a day when it first opened and just stare in the window. These are progressive young people with a whole new concept about a dry-cleaning establishment. I am not exaggerating when I say that no other tailor in the entire city of New York has a situation like mine. We have a whole department here! We have so much room! There are two of us tailors, me and (points across the room to a dark-haired young man bent over a sewing machine) my young friend over here from the Soviet Union. I know the other tailors on the avenue. I consult with them on an informal basis. It’s not for me to say they’re jealous, but I am sure that I’m the object of some—how would you put it?—envy.

Gary (leaning over conspiratorially): That’s something else you should know about Nat. A lot of tailors wouldn’t work with another tailor. You’re dealing with ego, with feelings, with conflict. For him, it’s not a problem. (To Nat) Nat, would you say you have charisma?

Nat: That’s not for me to say. Work is work. I will say I’ve got a following. I will say I’m known. I will say I have quite a lot of loyal customers. I will say I take care of them. They need me, because they need alteration. Also, I have a family that needs alteration, too.

Photo by Diana Polekhina on Unsplash