Every morning at seven o'clock, his long black chauffeur-driven limousine would swirl through the massive steel gates of the executive entrance and draw to a stop in front of his office building.
He liked to get in early, he always said, because it gave him a chance to go through his correspondence, which was at least twice as voluminous as that of anyone else in the studio, before his three secretaries came in.
That way, the rest of his day could be left free for anyone who came to his door. His door was always open, he claimed.
Actually, he got there early because he was a born snoop. Though no one ever spoke about it, everyone in the studio knew what he did the moment the front door closed behind him. He would prowl through the silent offices, executive and secretary alike, looking at the papers lying on desks, peeking into whatever desk drawers happened to be unlocked and examining the contents of every letter and memo.
It got so that whenever an executive wanted to be sure that something got to Norman's attention, he would leave a rough draft of his message lying innocently on his desk when he went home.
Norman justified this to himself easily. He was merely keeping his finger on the pulse of things.
How could one man control so complicated an organization, otherwise?
He arrived at the door to his own private office that morning about eight o'clock, his inspection having taken a little longer than usual.
He sighed heavily and opened his door.
Problems, always problems.
He started for his desk, then froze with horror.
His nephew David was asleep on his couch, sheaves of papers strewn over the floor around him.
Bernie could feel the anger bubbling up inside him.
He crossed the room and pulled David from the couch. "What the hell are you doing sleeping in my office, you bum bastard!" he shouted.
David sat up, startled. He rubbed his eyes.
"I didn't mean to fall asleep. I was looking at some papers and I must have dozed off."
"Papers!" Norman yelled. "What papers?"
Quickly he picked one up. He turned horror-stricken eyes back to his nephew. "The production contract for The Renegade!" he accused. "My own confidential file!"
"I can explain," David said quickly, awake now.
"No explanations!" Norman said dramatically. He pointed to the door. "Out! If you're not out of the studio in five minutes, I'll call the guards and have you thrown out.
You're through.
Fired!
Fartig!
One thing we don't tolerate in this studio – sneaks and spies.
My own sister's son!
Go."
"Aw, come off it, Uncle Bernie," David said, getting to his feet.
"Come off it, he tells me!" Norman roared.
"Half the night his mama keeps me up with telephone calls." His voice unconsciously mimicked his sister's nasal whine. "
'My Duvidele didn't come home yet, all night he didn't come home.
Maybe he vass in a accident.'
Accident, hah!
I should tell her her little Duvidele was fucking all night the redheaded shiksa extra from the studio, hah!
Get out!"
David stared at his uncle. "How did you know?"
"Know?" his uncle roared.
"I know everything that goes on in this studio.
You think I built a business like this fucking in furnished rooms all night?
No!
I worked, I tell you, I worked like a dirty dog. Day and night!" He walked over to the chair behind his desk and sank into it. He clasped his hand over his heart in an exaggerated gesture. "Aggravation like this, from my own flesh and blood first thing in the morning, I need like another luch im kopf!"
He unlocked his desk and took out a bottle of pills. Quickly he swallowed two and leaned back in his chair, his eyes closed.
David looked at his uncle. "You all right, Uncle Bernie?"
Slowly Norman opened his eyes.
"You still here?" he asked in the voice of a man making a supreme effort to control himself. "Go!" His eyes fell on the papers still on the floor. "First pick up the papers," he added quickly. "Then go!"
"You don't even know why I came here this morning," David said tentatively.
"Something very important came up."
His uncle opened his eyes and looked at him.
"If it's something important, come to see me like everybody else.
You know my door is always open."
"Open?" David laughed sarcastically. "If Christ himself came into this studio, those three harpies wouldn't let him in to see you!"