Dating Kosher

by Greene, Michaela

  Nate smiled. “Your grandmother is a great lady. I really like her.”

  I couldn’t help but agree. “She liked you too,” the words were out of my mouth before I thought to hold back. I shouldn’t be leading him on, telling him members of my family liked him. “Anyway, so tell me about your sister.”

  The diversion worked. Nate held up a finger as he chewed his mouthful of his double-meat roast beef sandwich. He took a sip from his can of root beer and cleared his throat before speaking. “She’s had a rough year. Her husband, my brother-in-law, was in a car accident and is in a wheelchair now.”

  I almost choked on my food. “Oh my God, that’s terrible.”

  Nate nodded. “He hasn’t been able to work since and they’re practically out of money. It’s amazing all the renovations they’ve had to do just to make the house accessible. I’ve done as much of the work as I can, but still, it’s been really expensive.”

  He regarded his sandwich, looking like he’d suddenly lost his appetite.

  “My God, Nate, that’s just awful. Your poor sister.”

  Tremendous guilt forced bile into my throat. How could I have been so mean and judgmental when she’d come into the spa without knowing anything about her? Why did I have to be such a bitch all the time?

  “You know what the worst part is? I can’t remember the last time I saw her smile.” He shook his head, frowning. “Anyway, she’s looking for a job. At least her kids are in school and my mom’s been helping them around the house. But it’s been hard; she’s having trouble finding something.”

  “What does she do?”

  “Before the kids were born, she worked as a secretary at a law firm, but she stopped working when she had her first. Steve made a good enough living that they could afford it, but… Anyway, she’s been out of the workforce for almost seven years. She’s just not up to speed anymore.”

  A seed of an idea planted itself in my mind. “Um, I volunteer at a place…I don’t mean this to sound bitchy, but I noticed that she…well her clothes…” I stumbled; it was suddenly really important that I not offend him. “Well, um anyway, this place is called The Confidence Closet and we help people with interviewing clothes. If she hasn’t been in the workforce for a while, maybe she doesn’t have…”

  Nate shook his head. “I’ve tried to take her shopping for clothes. I can afford to help her out, but she refuses to take my money. She wears her old clothes to interviews, but I’m sure that is part of the reason why she hasn’t gotten any bites.”

  I nodded. We had a lot of clients, especially the male ones, who came to us who were reluctant to take any help. They couldn’t handle the thought of taking charity. But I had learned how to make them feel comfortable and even good about it “Can I talk to her? Maybe it wouldn’t seem so bad coming from me. I mean, what girl wants to be given a makeover by her brother?” I screwed up my face.

  A relieved smile crept across his face and his eyes softened. “That would be nice, Shoshanna. Really nice. Thank you.”

  I waved him off, suddenly feeling shy. “Consider it payment for lunch.”

  He smirked. “So that’s a no on the home-cooked Jewish meal?”

  “Believe me, it’s not that I wouldn’t do it, but you’d be sorry you’d eaten anything I’d cooked.”

  Nate laughed out loud. “Okay, I guess I’ll take a pass on you cooking for me, then.”

  “Good call.”

  “So you never told me how your cat is doing.”

  I gave Nate the abridged account of Armani’s surgery and post-op prognosis.

  “I’m so glad he’ll be okay,” he said. “I really like cats, even if they don’t always love me.”

  “Armani liked you,” I said automatically, not actually remembering if my cat had paid Nate any attention, positive or negative.

  We walked back to the spa at an easy pace; I was happy to enjoy a few stolen minutes of warm sunshine, aware that the days were getting shorter and shorter.

  I opened the door to the spa to be greeted by Rita’s mischievous smile. “Welcome back,” she said, getting up from my chair and disentangling my headset from her hair.

  I glanced into the waiting area and stepped over to Nate’s sister who looked a tiny bit more relaxed than when she had arrived. I took the seat next to her as Nate lingered at the counter.

  “Hi. I’m Shoshanna. I’m friends with your brother.”

  She gave me a polite smile. “He’s mentioned you.”

  I was dying to ask her how he had mentioned me, but fought the urge; I wasn’t here for my own purposes. “He mentioned to me that you are looking for a job. I volunteer for an organization that helps people with interviewing wardrobes.” She opened her mouth to speak, but I quickly addressed her reluctance, having expected it. “And please don’t get me wrong, these are not Goodwill-type, Grandma’s mothball-eaten clothes. These are amazing designer clothes that most people I know can’t afford even at season-end sales. I could have you looking so awesome for nothing…so what do you say?”

  Caroline pursed her lips and swallowed before opening her mouth again. “Okay. That would probably help.”

  I let out a breath. “Oh, I’m so glad. We’ve got some great suits in right now. What are you, about a size eight?”

  She nodded.

  “Great. Here, I’ll give you the number so you can give Sasha a call to make an appointment.” I got up and walked over to my desk to get an appointment card to scrawl the number on. I winked at Nate, who mouthed the words ‘thank you’ to me.

  Caroline came over to retrieve the card and looked at the number. “In Brooklyn?”

  “Don’t worry Caro,” Nate said. “I’ll take you. It just gives me another excuse to see Shoshanna.”

  The phone rang, my cue that I should be back on the job. I adjusted my headset to take the call.

  “Thanks, Shoshanna,” Caro said, the beginnings of a smile turning up the corners of her mouth.

  I gave her a big smile back as I answered the phone on the third ring, still making a point of taking in the view as Nate left the spa.

  * * *

  Four more hours of chaos and my work day was finally over. I left the spa for the short walk to meet my mother at the sushi place.

  Breathing deeply, I took in the early fall air. Still warm and moist, but having its own smell; like the leaves were giving off their last breaths before releasing themselves from the trees. Not that there were so many trees in the heavy urban area where I worked, but nonetheless, it was an enjoyable walk, providing a good transition between work and my weekly Mom duty.

  She walked into the restaurant late, really late: which was totally not like her. I’d already downed two martinis in my nervous anticipation of having to recount the wedding blow by blow. Not only did the prospect make me nervous, because it made me feel like I was betraying Dad, but I also didn’t remember a whole lot; between the whirlwind of the hospital, the costume changes, the vet hospital and the numbing effects of the martinis, I was a little blurry on the day’s events.

  When she did finally sashay in, with a shit-eating grin on her face, wearing a purple sweatsuit (very similar to the one she had been wearing the day of the rehearsal) I just about fell off my chair.

  “Hi Shoshie,” she said, pulling her chair out from the table.

  I looked her up and down. “Are you drunk?”

  “What?” she plunked her purse down on the empty chair next to her. Her five hundred dollar Fendi purse to complement her twelve dollar Wal-Mart ensemble.

  “The outfit? You changing your wardrobe to sweats now?”

  She shook her head and waved her hand dismissively. “Oh come on, Shoshanna.”

  Now I was really getting worried. Jenzo approached to take our order, forcing our conversation to stop.

  She ordered us a round of drinks with the food, thankfully.

  “What’s up with you?” I said when we were alone again.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about Shoshanna�
��” Mom said, her voice scolding despite the grin still pasted on her face.

  “Okay, whatever.” If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn she was hammered. Or…no… gotten laid? Wait a minute: I scrutinized her face. She batted her eyelashes at me. Ew, my parents were having far too much sex. And I was hearing far too much about it. Boring conversation was definitely in order. “Don’t you want to hear about the wedding?” It was all I had.

  “No, it’s okay, I’ve already heard all about it. And by the way, Shoshanna,” she clucked, scowling at me. “It’s very unladylike to sleep on the table at your father’s wedding.”

  I suddenly choked trying to keep from spraying my mouthful of martini across the table and onto my mother. Grabbing the water glass, I coughed several times before taking a sip.

  “How do you know about that?” I asked the second I was able to speak.

  “Moi…your uncle Moishe told me,” she said, finishing her sentence with a giggle. Tippy Rosenblatt was not normally given to giggling. I was beginning to think she was bipolar. “We had lunch,” she added quickly.

  It only took me a second to do the math. But it had to be: My mother was shtupping my uncle; her ex-husband’s brother.

  “I’m scheduled for a bikini wax tomorrow.” It’s all I could think of to say that would avoid going down the road that would lead to my mother telling me about her sex life. It was a lie, but I didn’t care, I had to change the subject.

  “Oh, do you have a gentleman in your life that you’re not telling me about?” She grinned, reminding me of how goofy Bev got sometimes. I did not want to get this chummy with my mom. “Because you know, Shoshie,” she began, sounding suddenly very parental. “Men like it tidy down there.”

  Bad call. Bad call. Abort mission! I was sinking deeper and deeper into a stinking, festering cesspool of taboo subjects. I gulped my martini, ignoring the burn on the way down.

  “I hear there’s this new thing they do called an Argentinean wax where,” her voice lowered to a whisper and she looked around to make sure no one was listening. “They take it all off!”

  With my tongue, I shoved the olive into my cheek before correcting my mother. “Mom, I work at a spa; it’s called a Brazilian. And I don’t want to be talking about this.”

  She blinked at me, incredulous. “You brought it up; I’m just making conversation with you. Why are you so sensitive today?”

  Why? A few reasons:

  Because you’re having sex with my uncle, your ex-brother in law.

  You have turned into a fashion don’t.

  Because you and Dad are both having more sex than I am.

  Because I’m a spoiled bitch, who’s destined to die alone surrounded by cats.

  Sheesh, mother, take your pick.

  But I didn’t say anything other than a grunted, “PMS,” accompanied by a shrug.

  The rest of dinner became a blur as I deflected each of Mom’s well-placed hints about her sex life (she was practically begging me to ask) with alternating attempts at playing dumb and non-explosive topics of conversation. I did not want to be her friend or confidant regarding her new hookup; that would be better served by one of her friends and not her weak-stomached daughter.

  It turned into another night of martini assault. By the time I stumbled into my condo, I fell into bed, conscious only long enough to feel an emptiness beside me where Armani usually lay.

  Chapter 27

  Wednesday was looking up: Armani would come home from the veterinarian and Bev was coming over for dinner so we could discuss my personality ‘challenges.’ I was a bit nervous at the prospect of being put under a microscope and then overhauled but weirdly excited at the same time. Recent events made it obvious that it was past time for some changes.

  Bev had late appointments so she promised she’d get the train right after and meet up with me at my apartment. This would work out well, giving me time to get the cat and settle him in before she was to arrive.

  We both loved a new Thai place that had opened up around the corner, so I called when I got home to place the order, and Bev would grab it on her way over.

  Normally, just the thought of a good dose of pad Thai and spring rolls for dinner would have been enough to cheer me up, but not today, and most of that was due to the ball of fur I’d finally brought home.

  Armani just wasn’t doing well. The vet told me that the surgery went well and showed me his post-op x-rays, but he was thin and dull and overall just looking terrible. She told me he would be sore for a while and to try to keep him quiet while he began to heal. I thought my heart would break when I got him home and got a good look at him for the first time. His back legs were matted down and wet with urine and he seemed listless and sad, not seeming to even notice me there. When I ran my hand along his back, I could count every vertebra where before he had been filled out. Taking the new bed and a few of the catnip treats from Nate’s gift basket, I apologized to him as I closed him in the bathroom. Knowing that he needed to be confined for his own good overshadowed the guilt I was feeling at keeping him locked up. Although, he didn’t seem to complain. He had limped two circles around the bed before he lay down heavily in it, letting out a sigh. I tried not to cry as I closed the door gently behind me.

  Finally, the doorbell rang; I’d never been so relieved to have a houseguest in my life.

  “Hey, grab this?” Bev pushed the paper bag containing our dinner toward me.

  “That last client was disgusting,” Bev said, still huffing after running up the stairs. She refused to use the elevator, claiming she needed to get in any exercise she could. Personally, I’d rather use the elevator and stay on the treadmill the extra ten minutes: apartment building stairwells were among the nastiest and scariest of places, even in my security building.

  “Who was it?” I tried to think back to the day’s schedule.

  “Mrs. Smurlick with the bunions.”

  “Ugh,” I sympathized.

  “It’s not even the bunions that are so bad, it’s just her talking on and on and almost making me miss the train. Anyway,” Bev shook her head, dismissing her thoughts of Mrs. Smurlick. “Let’s have a drink before we eat, if that’s okay. I need to wind down.”

  Ever the hostess, (I don’t care what the topic of discussion was for the evening, I would make someone an excellent wife and co-host for great parties) I placed a cosmopolitan in Bev’s hand and watched with a great deal of satisfaction as a relieved smile graced her face.

  She sighed. “Thanks.”

  “No problem,” I turned to get some plates out of the cupboard.

  “So any new gossip?” Bev asked absently as she sipped at her drink.

  I turned back toward her. “Well, I was going to save this for later, but since you asked. My mother is doing it with my uncle Moishe.” I cringed.

  “Your dad’s brother?” Bev’s eyes bulged out of her head as I nodded. “Shut up! Are you kidding me?”

  I shook my head and turned back to the kitchen to dig out my chopsticks. “It’s true. She as much as told me,” I faked a shiver. “I kept changing the subject; I think she wanted to tell me.”

  “Maybe he’s a champ in the sack,” she said, making me give her a withering look. “Does anyone else know? Lauren is going to have a stroke if she finds out her dad is doing it with your mother.”

  She was right: whenever Tippy and Lauren had run into each other at pre-Rosenblatt-divorce functions, they were like oil and water; neither able to stand the other. If anything ever came of the affair and word got out, the shit was going to fly.

  “I don’t think anyone knows, I would have heard about it at the wedding. I’m sure if Simon knew he would have told me. It’s just gross though…yech.”

  “Yech is right, there’s way too much geriatric sex going on in your family.”

  “Amen. I’m the one that’s supposed to be having all the sex in my family.”

  “You know what it is?” Bev asked after a long pull of her cosmo.

 
I dropped onto the couch and handed her a pair of chopsticks. “Someone dropped the price of Viagra?”

  She snorted but shook her head. She took a deep breath and said, “You’re your mother. You’re an A class snob.”

  “Excuse me?” I whirled around to face her, not sure if I heard her correctly.

  Bev looked at me in a way that made me think that, although she was sorry, she was having a major epiphany. She got up off the couch and faced me across the breakfast bar. “I’m sorry, but you are. I feel horrible saying it, but you’ve never been nice to a guy who couldn’t support you financially.”

  I had known it was going to be hard: isolating my problem and hopefully identifying a cure, but this was beginning to suck. It was beginning to suck large. And worse, I wasn’t expecting to have to hear any harsh truths until after I was dosed full of a huge plate of carb-heavy pad Thai and at least four drinks.

  I just blinked, unable to formulate a defense.

  “Shosh?”

  “Hmm?” I said, lifting a take-out container and opening it, totally avoiding Bev’s stare.

  “Have you ever been in love?”

  Now that was a tricky question. Had I, Shoshanna Rosenblatt ever been in love? That depends on how you define love.

  If love is a beautifully fitted and devastatingly stylish pump, then I had been seduced by Prada during the spring of my eighteenth year.

  If love is a crisp button-down shirt that can make you feel like a million bucks every time you wear it, Ralph Lauren was my man.

  If love is a diamond so perfect, you wish every stranger on the street carried a jeweler’s loupe so you could invite them to inspect it, de Beers was my lover. (Is it pretentious that I asked for a loupe for my twentieth birthday?)

  Okay, of course, I realized that Bev was asking if I’d ever been in love with a real man. And to that, I had to say no. I didn’t even have to think about it, I’d never even been close. I’d never swooned or even felt a little jump in my heart. Nope, never over a man.