by Sally Quinn
“But what will you do, Des?”
“I don’t know. More television, maybe. Maybe write a novel. I’ll do something.”
“But what will we do? You and I and Kay Kay?”
“We’ll be fine. We’ll be just fine.”
13
“Wonder of wonders. Miracle of miracles.” Michael had invited her to a Passover seder. Not that she had any idea what a seder was. Except that it was sort of like Easter Sunday lunch. In Savannah they always had a big ham at Easter. At least now she knew enough to know they wouldn’t have ham.
After she had accepted she realized what he was trying to do. He was trying to pile another row of bricks on the cultural wall between them. Get her at the seder, out of her element the way she got him at the White House. Show her what different worlds we live in, how impossible the gap is. Make her understand why it could never work, even an affair. That was clearly his thinking.
She didn’t want to make any mistakes this time. Giselle would be watching her. She didn’t know whether Giselle suspected there had been anything between them at La Samanna. She didn’t imagine Giselle was too thrilled at the idea of inviting her to the seder. There had been a definite coolness between them at the White House dinner. Certainly not because of her. She had tried. She had been very friendly toward Giselle. But this was not a stupid woman. This was also a Frenchwoman. Sadie couldn’t help but notice that the invitation for the seder had come from Michael. She had hoped Giselle might invite her as well, but she hadn’t, and the lack of a call from the hostess made her ill at ease before she even set foot in the door.
Jenny. She would have to discuss this with Jenny. She wanted to be prepared.
* * *
“A seder, huh? I’ve been to a seder. Let’s see now. Lots of wine, everybody gets drunk, they tell stories, sing songs, eat a lot of food, it’s great. You’ll have a good time.”
“Jenny Stern. You are not being at all helpful. I have to know what they do so I don’t make a stupid mistake. His wife doesn’t like me. She will love it if I screw up.”
“His wife hates you? That bitch. Just because you’re trying to steal her husband away from her. What nerve!”
“Whose side are you on, anyway?”
“Yours, dearie. That’s why I’m being so skeptical.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sadie, I love you. I care about you. You have just been through a major trauma. Your husband, who just happened to be President of the United States, father of your children, was assassinated before your very eyes. You went through a public funeral with the kind of scrutiny no human being should be required to experience. It’s only been nine months, Sadie. You are still in mourning. I daresay you’ve got your share of guilt, too, which makes it even harder. You meet this nice doctor who falls for you. He’s unthreatening, he’s married, he’s noble, compassionate, sympathetic, and Jewish. Perfect. Irresistible. Only it’s totally unreal. You’re not in control of your emotions yet. You don’t know what the hell you’re doing. You can’t possibly be in love with anybody right now. You’re too raw. This relationship is inappropriate at best and ridiculous at worst. You complain that he never calls, that you have to be the aggressor. Well, thank God the guy has got some sense, even if you don’t. If he’s as smart as you say he is, and I’m sure you’re right, then he knows, in spite of his feelings for you, that it just isn’t right and isn’t to be trusted. I feel sorry for him. It must be difficult for him to control his emotions in the face of a determined Sadie Grey. I’ve seen you go after what you want before, and I sure as hell would not want to be in your way. I only hope this Michael Lanzer is strong. Otherwise he is going to get destroyed. Because one day you are going to wake up and say, ‘What the hell am I doing with him?’ I just pray that when you do he’s not lying in the bed next to you.”
“It’s not true that I always get what I want. I didn’t get Des.”
She was upset and her voice rose when she answered Jenny defensively.
“Bullshit, Sadie. You didn’t want Des. You turned him down once. You could probably have persuaded him not to marry Allison, if you’d wanted to. Des is no dummy. He knew you had reservations. So did he. He might have tried to overcome his but he certainly couldn’t have overcome yours. You didn’t want him.”
“Well, I want Michael.” She surprised herself by not arguing back.
“I don’t think you really do. I think you are bereaved and lonely. Maybe even a little horny. Michael might be the perfect transitional person right now. He’s kind and gentle and totally safe. But I think you’re fooling yourself if you think he’s your man for the long haul.”
“I think you’re saying this only because he’s Jewish.”
“You could be right.” Jenny’s face softened and she smiled. “I find most Jewish men insufferable. They’re a bunch of spoiled little princes. I should know. I have two of them for brothers.”
“But you adore your brothers.”
“That’s because they are brilliant, funny, noble, sympathetic, kind, and gentle.”
“Jenny,” said Sadie with an exasperated laugh. “Why don’t you want me to marry him?”
“Marriage? We’re talking marriage? Has he told his wife yet? Or is he waiting to break it to her at the seder?”
“Jen?”
“Because it just wouldn’t be right.”
“So tell me about the seder.”
* * *
Jenny was a Reform Jew. Very Reform. She hadn’t been to a seder in a while and didn’t remember much about it. She did explain that it was the Feast of Freedom and it celebrated the flight of the Israelites from Egyptian slavery. Jenny found a Haggadah for her, a book of the Passover service that Sadie had practically memorized by the time the Friday night in April rolled around.
Judy Sokolow had called to tell her that they were going to the seder. Their children and her sister and her husband would also be going, as well as a distant cousin of Michael’s who was a resident at G. W. Hospital and Michael’s parents. The Lanzers’ kids would also be there. Michael had said nothing to her about bringing her own children and she was just as glad. She thought they might have felt awkward, especially Annie Laurie, and she didn’t want to have to worry about that, too. She was worried enough about herself. She was also somewhat leery about meeting Michael’s parents—especially his mother. That had upped the anxiety level. She didn’t tell Judy that Giselle had not formally invited her. She almost mentioned it to Michael. Was it possible that Giselle didn’t know she was coming? But Judy and Giselle would have talked. That’s how Judy must have known. Still, she did think it was odd of her not to call. She was, after all, the widow of the President. Giselle must be very annoyed.
Judy assured her that a dressy white wool suit would be appropriate and reassured her that she would do just fine. Each person has a Haggadah and everyone takes turns reading from it. The leader, Michael, would make sure that she could follow. Judy and Sid would watch out for her, she would be fine. Thank God for Judy. She was so warm and sympathetic and made Sadie feel comfortable.
By the time she got in the car that April Friday evening at sundown she felt positively relaxed. She also felt smug. She had brought a box of homemade cookies, Asuncion’s specialty, with no yeast. She had been doing her homework. Jews ate matzoh only, unleavened bread with no yeast, on Passover.
* * *
Michael opened the door. He was wearing a yarmulke. For a moment she was shocked. He looked different.
He could see what she was thinking, how nervous and ill at ease, how out of place she felt. He had his laser eyes focused right on her. He smiled and took her arm, bringing her into the room. His other hand rested lightly on her back. There was something oddly proprietary about the way he did it. In a way, it was a mixed signal, like putting up a few more bricks on the wall and then taking them down before the mortar was dry. It was the first time he had touched her since La Samanna, except for shaking hands.
Giselle came fo
rward to greet her. Everyone else was already there. She had deliberately come late, as was her habit, so as not to have to stand around and make small talk. Aside from being easier on her, it was less strain on the others as well, not having to be saddled with the icon for cocktails.
She scanned the room to see what kind of taste Giselle had, how Michael lived. This way, when she was thinking of him later, she would be able to imagine where he was. It made him seem closer. The room was tasteful in an extremely modern and rather cold way. The house had lots of glass overlooking a terrace and yard. In front of the fireplace were two white square wool and chrome sofas, a glass coffee table, and two black leather-and-chrome chairs. A modern, geometric-patterned rug covered the floor. Over the mantel was a purple glass vase with one long-stemmed white flower. Only the fire in the fireplace gave warmth to the room. Giselle was looking extremely chic in a simple red silk dress that complemented her dark hair. Her eyes were wary and unhappy.
“Madame,” she said. “What a pleasure it is to have you here.”
Ah, Giselle was torn. It was a feather in her cap to have Sadie at the seder. She wanted to play the gracious hostess for the benefit of her guests. On the other hand, she was scared. Her husband obviously cared about this woman, perhaps too much. Suddenly, Sadie felt sorry for Giselle. She wanted to reassure her. Yet, despite Michael’s yarmulke, her painful memories, and her growing conviction that Jenny had been right, she knew that it would be a lie. Watching him making everyone at home, glancing around into the dining room to see the exotic table setting and the candles, the only thing she felt was need.
“I brought you these,” she said to Giselle shyly, holding out the colorful flowered canister.
“Thank you,” said Giselle, a little taken aback as she reached for it.
“They’re homemade cookies,” said Sadie, beaming, as she handed them to Giselle.
A brief look passed over Giselle’s face, and she accidentally let go of the canister. It fell to the floor, burst open, and scattered cookies and crumbs everywhere.
Giselle stood in silence for a second, staring at the floor, then cast a look at Michael.
“Chametz,” someone mumbled, and then they were all down on the floor gathering up the crumbs.
It was obvious something wasn’t quite right.
“I, they’re kosh… I mean they’re specifically, they don’t have any yeast in them,” Sadie said to Michael.
“It’s all right,” he whispered.
Giselle almost ordered Michael to go into the kitchen and get the vacuum cleaner.
Judy Sokolow came over to her, seeing her confusion. She took Sadie aside with a gentle smile.
“Michael’s mother is Orthodox,” she said quietly. “It’s forbidden to have anything with flour in the house. It’s called chametz. Giselle doesn’t keep kosher. She has spent three days scouring the house for crumbs because Michael’s mother was coming. She’s absolutely exhausted, and she’s had it up to here with Mrs. Lanzer. Maybe this will bring them together. Meanwhile, try to relax. This will only give everybody something to talk about. You’ve made the seder!”
Michael had returned with the vacuum and within minutes things were cleaned up, and everyone was crowding around Sadie wanting to talk to her. It wasn’t every day that a former First Lady came for Passover. Sid and their children and Michael’s kids came over and began to giggle with Sadie about her little faux pas.
Michael walked over to their group.
“Well, Madame,” he said, imitating his wife’s accent, “I know you like to make grand entrances, but don’t you think this is somewhat excessive?”
Everyone laughed and Sadie felt the tension drain out of her.
“Let’s go meet some people,” he said, smiling at her. He took her around the room, introducing her to the guests, many of whom seemed starstruck and were terribly reassuring about the dreaded chametz. Sadie sometimes forgot how people viewed her. She could be forgiven almost anything. At least by everyone but Giselle.
Michael finally got to his mother and father after she had met everyone else in the room.
His mother was short, plump, and in her seventies. His father was slim and wiry with a full head of white hair and a large expectant grin on his face. Michael seemed amused.
“Mother,” he said formally, “I would like to introduce you to Sadie Grey. Sadie, this is my mother, Esther Lanzer. And this is my father, Abe. Sadie Grey.”
“So, Michael,” said his mother. “We’re not good enough to be introduced first. We have to wait until last.”
At least she didn’t mention the incident.
“Mother, I’m just saving the best till last,” he said, smiling indulgently at her, not in the least perturbed.
“Mrs. Grey,” said his father. “You are even more beautiful than your pictures.”
“In that case, Mr. Lanzer,” she said with relief, “I insist that you call me Sadie.”
“And I am Abe.” He beamed and took both of her hands in his.
“Well, what have we got here? A little romance already?” said his mother.
Michael burst out laughing.
“Maybe two?” she said with a look at Michael.
“We had better get started with the seder,” he said quickly. “It’s going to be a very long evening.”
* * *
Michael was at the head of the table, with a beautiful black velvet pillow embroidered in gold with symbols and Hebrew letters, which he leaned against. His mother was on his right and Judy’s mother on his left. Sadie, seated in the center of the table, was between Sid Sokolow and Michael’s father, who were both trying very hard to make her feel comfortable. Giselle was opposite Michael at the other end. It occurred to Sadie that Michael had placed her as far away from his wife and his mother as was possible and she couldn’t have been more grateful.
She looked at the table, set with a beautiful lace cloth, special gold and white plates, and glasses at each place, filled.
She was still trying to find a way to recoup from the cookies. She wanted to compliment Giselle on the table, but that was such an inane thing to do. The china, the cloth, the glasses were attractive but not anything to exclaim about specifically. It was the candlesticks that caught her eye. They were obviously very old, crudely crafted, slightly bent, scratched, and made up of some sort of chrome. They were out of place with the finery.
Sadie reached out to touch them, turning to Giselle’s end of the table.
“What charming candlesticks,” she said, as she fondled one of them with her fingers. “They must be very old.”
“Shiksa!” Michael’s mother muttered from her end of the table. Sadie recoiled as though she had touched the flame, jerking her hand away quickly.
She looked up at Giselle anxiously only to find her staring at Michael. Then she looked imploringly at Michael. What had she done now?
“You’re not supposed to touch the Sabbath candles,” whispered Sid. “It’s the Sabbath as well as Passover. But don’t worry. It’s all right. Nobody cares except Esther and if it weren’t you it would be somebody else.”
She didn’t see how she would make it through the rest of the evening. And if she did, how she would ever recover. Whatever chance she had thought she had with Michael was lost tonight. She could see it in his eyes, not to mention Giselle’s sudden high spirits.
The only thing to do was to concentrate on the seder. She looked around the table, trying to take her mind off what had happened. There were strange coverings on the flat bread or matzoh. There was a large platter with a shankbone, an egg, horseradish, a pasty-looking mixture, some parsley, a bowl of water, and a mixture of finely chopped apples, walnuts, and wine made to resemble the mortar that the Jewish slaves had used to build pyramids for the Egyptians. There was a large silver chalice in the center of the table.
In each place was a small booklet. She recognized the Haggadah. It was not unlike the one Jenny had given her. She was relieved to see that people were picking up t
heir booklets and reading them as they began the seder service. At least she would be able to follow the proceedings.
Then Michael stood and raised his cup of wine.
He began by saying a prayer. With dread she realized that the strange language he was speaking was Hebrew and that the Haggadah was in half Hebrew, half English. So she wouldn’t be able to follow it completely. What had she been thinking about when she agreed to come? Here was this man she thought she loved reciting Hebrew from memory—and everyone else was following in their books—in this exotic setting. She felt as if she had come upon some remote tribe in the wilderness and was peering at them through the palm fronds as they performed their bizarre rituals.
She did not have any sense of being at the home of some cute guy she just happened to have a crush on.
When she finally consulted the Haggadah she saw what he was saying. “Behold this cup of wine! Let it be a symbol of our joy tonight as we celebrate the festival of Pesach.
“On this night, long years ago, our forefathers hearkened to the call of freedom. Tonight that call rings out again, sounding its glorious challenge, commanding us to champion the cause of all the oppressed and the downtrodden, summoning all the peoples throughout the world to arise and be free.
“We are taught,” continued Michael, “in every generation all are obliged to regard themselves as if they had personally gone forth from the land of Egypt.”
Everyone washed their hands, Michael divided the matzoh and he began, in Hebrew, the story of Israel’s redemption from Egypt.
Thank God she had read, and practically memorized, the Haggadah Jenny had lent her. At least, even though he was reciting in Hebrew, the English was alongside. She was beside herself with gratitude when the others began to read passages in English.
At one point a small child, around seven years old, the son of Michael’s cousin, stood up to ask the four questions… in English.
“Why is this night of Pesach so different from all other nights of the year?” he began with a quavering voice and a trembling lip.