“That’s Jew for Rosie’s parents. Rosie’s mother and father.”

First Jimmy Joel said, “Oh.” Then he said, “Why don’t Jewish people just say mother and father?”

“Dunno.”

Grossinger’s set up a boxing ring.

It was erected in a spare recreation building to sharpen the Swede’s boxing skills. Its real purpose was for entertaining the guests.

The fun-loving but exhausted Swede knew that one of these days he needed to start getting in shape for the heavyweight championship fight coming up the following month at Yankee Stadium. His trainer/manager, Rolf Aberg, insisted the Swede work hard for at least three hours a day fighting a string of sparring partners, one after the other. The problem the squat, tough, cunning Aberg had was getting the Swede into the ring. The only way Aberg could entice his boxer out of bed in the morning was to promise him sparring partners half his height and weight. Consequently, the Swede happily battered one miniature fighter senseless after another. That went on for weeks, until most of the sparring partners were either seriously injured or quit. Toward the end of August, the Swede was down to drunks and derelicts, who were no more than human punching bags for the heavyweight boxing champion of Europe.

The Swede’s sparring bouts became such bloodbaths that Grossinger’s guests stopped coming. It ruined their appetites for lunch and/or dinner. Billy Constable stopped coming, too, the afternoon he saw the heavyweight boxing champion of Europe give a grotesque beating to his younger brother, the lighter and shorter Roddy Svenson. When the heavyweight boxing champion of Europe was finished, Roddy’s face was a mess of saliva, snot, and blood. The heavyweight champ of Europe was supposed to be tough. Didn’t the New York Daily News say the Swede was “as big as a house and strong as an ox”? If that was the case, wondered Billy Constable, why was Rolf Aberg allowing the heavyweight champ of Europe to fight such puny sparring partners? Why was his trainer letting the heavyweight champ of Europe beat up on his little brother Roddy? And why was Aberg allowing the heavyweight champ of Europe to sleep with so many groupies?

And then one night in the middle of a shtup, Billy figured it all out.

“He’s here for the money, Rosie honey,” said Billy, suddenly jumping out of bed and pacing back and forth.

“What?” asked Rosie Feinstein, miffed at the hillbilly’s sudden damn coitus interruptus.

“He’s here for the loser’s purse, period,” said Billy, quite pleased with himself. “That’s why he don’t give a shit, Rosie. Because he’s only here for the money!”

The cripple was immediately anxious.

He didn’t care that the butler hadn’t helped him into his chair. He was more concerned with the fact that he was seated so far away. The cripple didn’t have his hearing aids with him. He wasn’t used to taking them and had left them behind in his apartment. It would be very difficult for him to hear what transpired seated like he was in New Jersey.