“You’re fine, aren’t you, baby?” I asked her, peering into her eyes. Although I only gave them a cursory examination, she didn’t look like she’d been drinking or doing drugs. Thank God for that, anyway.
“Yeah, I’m okay.”
I registered Molly’s involuntary flinch. “They didn’t…hurt you…or…touch…you in any bad way, did they?” I whispered to her. I glanced back at Officer Lupinacci, whose expression was significantly more parental than I ever would have anticipated.
“No, I’m fine, Ma. They even took the cuffs off once we came in here,” she added, indicating this room.
I turned on the cop. “You cuffed my daughter?! What for?”
“Standard procedure, ma’am, when we apprehend a shoplifter. Once we determined that she was a minor who presented no threat of bodily harm to either herself or anyone else, we removed the restraints.”
“Shoplifting? Molly, if you needed money, you’ve got an ATM card. Or you could have phoned home, and we would have found a way to get it to you. What did you need to shoplift for?”
“I think we’d better start from the beginning,” the officer told me. “Your daughter was caught shoplifting from Zabar’s—”
“Zabar’s!!? What did you do? Try to steal tomorrow’s brunch?”
“Sort of,” Molly said sheepishly. “But it was for my Bennington application.”
“I’m completely confused,” I confessed.
Officer Lupinacci flipped open his notebook. Reading from it, he informed me, “Your daughter used her cell phone to film herself shoplifting a package of smoked fish, a quarter-pound plastic container of vegetable cream cheese, and a chocolate bar with almonds.”
“What, no bagels?” I fumed sarcastically.
“Everybody knows that H& H has better ones and that they’ll be fresher if you get them Sunday morning rather than Saturday night.”
“Now you’re a comedian?” I snapped.
“You made the first bagel comment.”
I threw my hands in the air. “So where do we stand?” I asked the policeman. “And what was this stunt all about?” I demanded of Molly. “What’s this about the Bennington application?”
A heavyset gentleman in jeans and a plaid shirt was ushered into our room and nodded curtly to the cop.
“I swear it’s all just part of my college application. I’ve been phone-filming myself doing slacker stuff like cutting class, playing in video arcades, and now shoplifting, as part of my supplemental materials to Bennington, illustrating what happens to a teenager when she runs amok; and that a sound college education, offered from institutions like Bennington—well, specifically Bennington—can save an at-risk young woman like me from turning into an example of what’s wrong with our society. They can uplift her instead and mold her into a model citizen representing what’s best about the future of America. You know…” She bracketed her words as though we were watching them unspool on a giant screen above our heads. “Save another promising creative mind from ending up like this.”
“Do you believe any of this?” Lupinacci said to me.
“Knowing my daughter as I do, yes, I’m inclined to,” I replied.
“Will you un-impound her cell phone, because it might back up her story. And who’s this man?” I asked, looking at the stranger in the room.
The stranger extended his hand to me. “Bob Akins. I’m the Saturday night manager over at Zabar’s.”
“Look…do you mind dropping the charges? Molly’s a minor, she’s never done anything like this before and I’m certain she never will again. I’m sure this was all just a stunt that got out of hand; she was making a movie, and it just looked a little too real for comfort. Getting into college is so competitive these days that I suppose some kids are tempted to do anything—however misguided—that they feel might give themselves an edge.” I looked at Mr. Akins. “I can understand that you had to do your job and call the police. But we’ve discovered it was more or less a mix-up and we’ve straightened it out, now, haven’t we? You don’t really want to drag this through court, do you? How much money was the merchandise worth, after all?”
Officer Lupinacci referred to his notebook. “Twenty-two dollars and twenty-seven cents. But there’s tax on the chocolate bar…so it’s a little more than that.”
“Let us reimburse you,” I offered, “and just call it a night. I’m sure you don’t want the publicity,” I said to Mr. Akins, “and you, officer, don’t want the paperwork. Twenty-two dollars and twenty-seven cents? Call it an even twenty-two fifty. Molly, please pay Mr. Akins.”
My daughter mumbled something that I couldn’t hear, so she crooked her finger and drew me closer. “I don’t have any money on me,” she whispered.
“What? How many times have your father and I told you never to leave the house without—”
“That was part of the thing,” Molly whined. “I wanted to know what it would really be like to get arrested for shoplifting and everything. To make it really real. Not to just get out of it by paying if I got caught. And so I didn’t bring any money with me on purpose.”
I wanted to kill her, but she was flesh and blood, so my allegiances were clear. I took twenty-five dollars from my wallet and handed it to Mr. Akins. “I’m asking you as a mother: can we please just put a period on this little incident. I’m sure that my daughter has learned a lesson from all of this, if the frightened look on her face when I walked in the door was any indication.”
Mr. Akins pocketed my cash and handed me back $2.50. “Of course, what she might have been scared of was you,” he quipped.
“Do you have teenagers?” I asked him plaintively.
He grinned. “I have fifteen-year-old twins. That’s why I accepted your offer.”
“Are we good to go?” I asked Officer Lupinacci. He nodded, then explained how Molly could redeem her phone. As we headed for the personal property room, the cop stopped us with his voice.
“Hey! I just gotta question, Mrs. Lederer.”
“Shoot. Oops, I didn’t mean that, obviously. I was trying to say ‘go ahead.’ What’s your question, officer?”
“I just wanna know what it is you do for a living. Your profession. Just curious is all.”
“I’m a shrink.”
He shook his head in bemused stupefaction. “It figures.”
Outside the station, I hailed a cab. “If you think there won’t be any fallout from this little episode, you are grievously mistaken,” I warned Molly. “When your father finds out that—”
Molly held up her hand to silence me. “You know, Ma, you’re always telling your clients to think things through for themselves, not to rely on others to solve their problems, not to be co-dependent. And whenever something happens at home, you’re always waiting for Dad to weigh in on it before you make a move. And half the time he’s not even around. At least not lately.”
That stung. And she did have a point. “That’s because there are two authority figures in our household and we’ve agreed to share the responsibility for everything.” Even though I usually end up with the lion’s share of it. “Don’t try to make this about something else, Molly. I’m on to you. You’re trying to shift the focus away from yourself, and that’s not going to work.”
Sure enough, when we returned home, Eli—who claimed to have arrived there not ten minutes after I’d left, but was sure I had everything under control and thought it made more sense for him to stay home with Ian—had something to say about the matter. Rather than rail and scream at our daughter for turning out to be an irresponsible hoodlum, however, he decided to put Molly on trial, offering her the opportunity to defend herself. Molly demanded a juror of her peers, but since it was well past midnight, I voted against reawakening Ian. Sigmund seemed willing to listen as long as he had a bone to gnaw on, and like many jurors, ended up being more preoccupied with the demands of his stomach than with the proceedings.
To support her contention that she staged—or should I say filmed—the shopliftin
g incident as part of a streaming video she was making to supplement her college application materials, Molly screened the work-in-progress for us and offered her partially completed college application as further evidence. She also informed us that she was submitting her diary—the original and not a photocopy—as further evidence of her wasted life, a prime example of a perfectly viable human being who has been content until now to take up time and space.
“I think the diary will totally blow them away,” Molly told us. “I mean, won’t they think it’s awesome that someone would be so vulnerable—maybe even so stupid—to let total strangers know their innermost thoughts that they wouldn’t even share with their best friends?!”
“Ever watch reality TV?” Eli was skeptical about this contention. “Are you sure you haven’t kept two sets of books?” he asked our daughter.
“Ucgh! Dad, that is so rude!”
Eli smiled at her. “Your mother and I have learned to take nothing at face value in this life. And deviousness is a behavior that is not entirely unknown to you.”
“Okay, if you don’t believe me, search my room! I swear, I promise you, there’s only one diary.”
“We’re getting derailed here,” I said. “Molly, you committed a crime. A real one. And there are going to be real consequences. You’re just damn lucky—we all are—that the Zabar’s people didn’t insist on pressing charges. Your allowance couldn’t exactly cover legal fees.”
“I got the scare of my young life; isn’t that enough?”
Eli shook his head. “No holiday parties this month. You can forget about the ski trip during Christmas break, and don’t even think about getting any presents.”
“It goes beyond the Christmas and Chanukah parties,” I added. “New Year’s Eve is cancelled for you too. And you’re grounded indefinitely as of this moment.”
“I don’t think the sentence is harsh enough,” Eli said. “And we forgot to get the juror’s verdict.” We looked over at Sigmund, who was busy with his porterhouse steak bone.
A malevolent smile crossed my lips. “Molly, you’re in charge of walking the dog, and being responsible for cleaning up after his accidents in the apartment too. Also indefinitely.”
“Maaaaaaaaaaaaa,” she moaned. “That one is really unfair.”
“Tough shit,” I said.
“What she said,” Eli echoed.
We hadn’t tag-teamed a punishment in a long time, Eli and I. It felt good; just like the old days. I felt like we were truly a couple again, presenting a solid front in the face of adversity. I’d almost forgotten that he hadn’t been home to deal with the issue when the shit first hit the fan. “Do you think we should assign some community service as well?” I suggested.
“Where are prosecuted juvenile shoplifters sent?” Eli wondered aloud.
“There must be some kind of program that they’re compelled to attend. Or maybe a halfway house. I’ll phone Officer Lupinacci on Monday and ask him about it. I’m sure places like that can always use volunteers. Particularly during the holiday season.”
Molly glared at both of us. “You two are so mean!”
We reminded her that we were benevolence personified compared with New York City’s juvenile justice system, and sent her off to bed.
I raised my hand to Eli for a high-five. “Good work, pard’ner. I’ve missed that!” I wrapped my arms around him and leaned forward for a kiss. He turned his head, leaving my lips to make contact with his cheek.
“You too, pard’ner.” He kissed my forehead.
Oh.
Do I say something…or let it go, and not make such a big deal about it?
“Eli…I really missed you tonight. Take a break from the book and let your imagination replenish itself. Focusing too much on something can sometimes cause as much anxiety as not being able to devote enough time to it. Can’t you spend one Saturday night with your wife every so often? I miss romance, Eli. Even if it’s just a bowl of popcorn in front of a late night screwball comedy on TCM.”
“Speaking of missing things,” Eli said, emitting a frustrated little sucking sound out of the side of his mouth, “I can’t seem to find my lucky boxers. You know, the aqua-colored ones with Betty Boop on them. I’m still kind of at an impasse with the Gia book, and whenever I feel creatively blocked, I put on my lucky boxers, and sooner rather than later, the muse reappears.”
“I haven’t a clue, Eli. I haven’t seen them lately. Or, not that I’m aware of, anyway.”
“I can’t find one of my Mickey socks either. The navy Sorcerer’s Apprentice ones. And you’re the laundry maven, so I thought I’d ask. I was sure you’d know.”
“Well, Eli, I don’t know,” I sighed, aware that he’d ignored my remarks about his neglecting me and giving short shrift to our love life. “And if it’s that big a deal, you can do the laundry yourself from now on so that you can account for every garment. If that’s too much responsibility on your shoulders, you can go back to the store where you got the first set of Bettys and buy yourself another pair or two. Ditto for the Disney socks.”
“You’re really edgy tonight, Susie,” said my husband, in an immediate attempt at mollification. I knew he wouldn’t like what I said about his taking over the household laundry duties. Eli stepped behind me and massaged my shoulders. I was hoping for a neck nuzzle, but didn’t want to appear too needy.
“Well, you’re not the one who had to leave the apartment at midnight to collect our firstborn child from the local police precinct. And you’re not the one who reasoned our daughter’s way out of prosecution for her misdeed. I swear, I’ll never look at cream cheese and lox the same way again.” I leaned my head back against Eli’s chest and looked up at him. “Let’s go to bed. We’ll deal with the rest of life’s little problems in the cool, clear light of day.” I held out my hand to lead the way.
“Don’t forget about my lucky boxers. And my sock.”
I flicked the light switch in the hallway. “How could I?” I sighed.
14
FAITH
“You will never in a million years believe what I’m about to tell you,” Faith told me the following morning. She was positively giddy. Gone for the moment was the ordinarily composed woman-of-a-certain age.
I grinned at her. “Try me.”
“Well…remember a couple of weeks ago when I asked you if you wanted to join me for that holiday jazz concert up at the 92nd Street Y?”
I nodded. “Sorry I couldn’t make it. Ian had something at school that evening.”
“I can’t say I blame you for not joining me; after all, your children must come first; but you missed a magnificent concert. In fact…it was so wonderful, so…so invigorating and jubilant…that I did something I have never done before in my seventy-two years. Are you ready?”
“Absolutely! Hit me, baby.”
“Oh-ho, you know the jazz terms! Very snappy. Well, Susan, just like a stagestruck schoolgirl, I waited for the musicians to come out after the performance. One in particular, a pianist, just knocked my socks from here to Cincinnati. Elijah Loving, his name is. Brilliant musician. Just brilliant. He brought tears to my eyes. So I had to tell him so. There was just no way around it. I couldn’t leave the auditorium and head for the bus stop without telling this Mr. Loving how much his performance had affected me. I was so nervous, I tell you, Susan, I couldn’t believe I’d gotten up the gumption. So I waited…and I told him…and then guess what happened next?”
“I can’t guess,” I replied, unwilling to play along. “I’d rather you told me.”
“He invited me for coffee!” Faith blushed from the apples of her cheeks to her hairline.
“No!” I exclaimed happily.
“Yes!”
We double-high-fived each other.
“Wow! This is amazing news!”
Faith beamed. “The first time in my entire life since I was a college coed that I ever went out on a date with a man. You know once I met Ben, there was never another man for me. Ever. Well,
until the other night.”
Talk about finally moving on. I wanted to hug her.
“Susan, I found myself so taken with him. Positively smitten.”
“You mean smitten with his musicianship, or smitten-smitten?”
Faith fanned herself with her hand. “Both, actually. But I know what you’re really asking. And, yes, smitten-smitten. And there’s more. More that you’ll never believe.”
I laughed. “Okay. Try me.”
Faith leaned toward me and dropped her voice to a pajama-party conspiratorial whisper. “He’s only forty-eight!” A younger man! I stifled my impulse to squeal. After all, the session was still a professional situation. “And…he’s”—her voice grew even softer—“an African-American.”
This revelation was completely unexpected. Just a few months ago, if someone were to ask me whether I believed Faith Nesbit harbored some racial prejudices, I would have had to uncomfortably admit that I did in fact think that might be the case.
“And another wonderful thing about Elijah,” Faith said, primping a little, “he loves the color purple.”
I was momentarily perplexed by this bit of news. “The book or the movie?”
“Wh…? Oh, no, silly! My fashion sense, of course. Funny, I hadn’t thought about the other two possibilities until you just mentioned them. So I want you to know this, in case you fear that I’m backsliding; I just might be wearing more of my violet clothes in the coming days, and leave the light blue and rust-colored garments in the closet for the nonce.” Faith tipped me a wink. “I invited Elijah to join me at the opera next week. Isn’t it wonderful? He appreciates Donizetti as much as he admires Dizzy Gillespie. Oh…and he’s as great a Hoagy Carmichael fan as I am! More than that, he’s a collector. He asked me to come up and see his Hoagy memorabilia,” she added with a wink.
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