Jack of All

He pushed open his door and started to get out of the car. I made no motion to join him and overrode his discourse on early Israel history of this region with an objection. “I’m sorry, Panos, but I’ve just had a long and tiring plane trip. I only want a drink and a shower and a good nap. And then I suppose I need to check in at the office.”

“Yes, yes, all is well at the office,” Panos responded through the window of the car door he’d already shut. “The drink’s why we’re here. Then it’s off to your new house.”

“My house?” I asked incredulously, as, resigned, I unfolded myself from the car and followed Panos toward a gap at the end of the street, where I could see the blue waters of the Mediterranean. Panos had flipped a coin to the Israeli boy, who had chirped his thanks and disappeared in the opposite direction.

“I just got here,” I objected. “I assumed I’d be in a hotel until I could find a place. And I understand that it’s not that easy to find an affordable rental in Tel Aviv. I’ll have to have a small flat of some sort in Jerusalem too.”

“Both all arranged,” Panos said, as he pulled me into a crowded terrace café overlooking the sea and guided me to the only empty table in the place. It was in a prime spot and obviously had been kept clear in anticipation of our arrival. “It so happens I own several places I rent out and the main office has already approved the rental of my beach house in Herzliya, the international area on the coast north of the city, and a small flat I have in the American sector in Jerusalem. I’ve arranged furniture for the house and have stocked the kitchen. So we can go right there from here.”