by Lauren Jayne
“Eat this and you’ll feel better.”
As soon as we got in the air, I really started to feel sick, and I told Milton. Thankfully, I was flying with a real hypochondriac. Booboo carried an arsenal of drugs in her purse as well as plenty of hard candy, mints, chocolates; everything you could imagine was in her bag. She even brought her famous Mandelbrot cookies. Just imagine Jewish biscotti; they are amazing, and I loved them. But Booboo watched over them like gold. I went to take a piece, and she slapped my hand away.
“I only packed enough for Milton; he needs these cookies,” she snapped.
She fed off of being the only one who knew what Milton needed at every moment. Booboo could offer you one, but you could never, ever take one. Milton looked at me and grabbed his little round pillbox that he always had in his pocket. It was gold with a tiny stone mosaic pattern on top, and you could tell that whatever was in there was very special. If he ever got close to running out of his little white pills, he had a doctor in every port who would come to his house or hotel room with a full bottle and a new prescription.
He opened his beloved box, took out two little white pills and said, “Take these and be quiet.”
The next thing I knew we were in Rome. We arrived in the morning, and I felt totally revived, ready to hit the ground running. Someone was waiting for us when we got off the plane with a little sign that read “Mr. Frank”, and he took care of everything. We were ushered on a little cart right through customs and down to our waiting stretch limo. I thought to myself, how could Hope have hated this?
Zipping through Rome, the packed city streets, cars honking, people kissing their hellos and goodbyes, I couldn’t wait for our trip to finally start! Everything and everyone dripped with sensuality. Pulling up to our hotel, the car doors opened, and white-gloved hands reached for ours in under a second. We were whisked to the front of the line as the man behind the desk gushed, “Mr. Frank, so happy to see you again, welcome back to the Excelsior Hotel Roma! Your usual room is ready for you, Mr. Frank!”
Up to this point, I had just heard about Europe; friends had gone backpacking, staying in pensions or hostels. They all warned me that everything would seem tiny. The porter took my enormous, tattered bag and the two tiny ones, and put them on the cart. We got to the room, and he stuck the large gold key with the red tassel in the door and opened it up to a cavernous room draped in red velvet. The ceilings must have been twenty feet high, and the drapes bunched up on the floor in puddles of velvet. There was a sitting area, a dining room with a fully set dining table, and a separate bedroom. My mouth hung open. I wanted to get on the bed and start jumping up and down, but after the long flight, I could tell no one would appreciate that kind of outburst.
They bossed this poor guy around for twenty minutes. He was just the bellboy, but to them, he was the help.
“Unpack our things.” Booboo was on the couch with a cigarette going even though they always had to be in a non-smoking room. “Never let them put you in a smoking room, ever; they’re not fit for a dog,” she instructed me, as she exhaled into the air and barked at the frightened man while watching him like a hawk. “Be careful, don’t crease those pants!”
Milton had him unpack his things and told him to go to the drugstore and buy him a back plaster. We were in a five-star hotel, so maybe this kind of request was accepted here, but it wouldn’t have mattered if we were at the Holiday Inn in Poughkeepsie; they would have the bellboy unpack for them and make a run to the drugstore. Booboo was a real sport and handed him five dollars. Milton shook his hand and I saw the guy’s face light up like a Christmas tree; Milton had given him a hundred dollar bill.
In two minutes our room was battened down like a dark cave with no hint of sunlight. My adrenaline was pumping, so I perched myself at the small window in the bathroom and watched the city buzz beneath us. It was beautiful, and the people were gorgeous, kissing and hugging and eating. I watched them as they ordered their café lattes and croissants; I could taste and smell and feel Rome from our little push-out window. After a few hours, they finally woke up and we ordered dinner in. Then, to my dismay, it was back to bed. Since Booboo and Milton were both convinced I’d be kidnapped immediately if I was out of their sight, I was on their schedule.
Without a magazine or a book, I just lay there and thought and prayed. “Thank you, God, for letting me be here. Thank you for this experience. Thank you for my family.” All I’d ever wanted was to have a family to love me, so now I had Booboo and Milton all to myself, and I would take what I could get and appreciate it.
Around six in the morning, I heard Milton coughing, “Lauren,” cough, “meet me,” cough, “bathroom.”
It was pitch black, but I was able to navigate my way into the marble-covered bathroom. Milton was sitting on the stool in front of the boudoir. A tiny man in a massive bathroom, he was as giddy as a little boy, himself again. We sat and laughed in that bathroom for an hour, me on the side of the clawfoot tub, and him in the over-stuffed boudoir chair.
Suddenly he said, “Let’s start a campaign. Let’s get the hell out of here!” I had never heard anything so wonderful in my life. He whispered, “Meet me in front of our room in 5 minutes sharp. I’m starving; let’s see if we can get something to eat in this dump.”
We both stumbled around in the dark getting dressed, thankful that Booboo was practically deaf. By the time we headed downstairs it was seven.
Milton squinted at me; he was in shock, and said, “What in the fuck are these lunatics doing up right now? I thought we’d have a midnight snack.”
I just smiled.
We sat in the dining area, dripping in red velvet, silver shined to a high gloss and three servers per person. Milton took two bites of a roll and a sip of his coffee, threw his roll on the gold-rimmed plate and said, “Let’s get the hell out of here, kid.”
Walking the streets of Rome at eight in the morning, arm in arm with Milton, was the perfect way to officially start our vacation. The shopkeepers were hosing off the sidewalks in front of their stores, the newspaper stands were being set up, and as you walked by the cafes, you could hear the steam being made for the perfect café latte. The streets were filled with intoxicating smells from a hundred bakeries. The city had a heartbeat of its own, and I loved it. Milton and I walked hand in hand as he stopped us in front of the embassy. He read the signs in Italian. “Bella, a scuze a senora,” and on and on. He didn’t speak a lick of Italian, he just loved entertaining me, so he read me every sign with his hands going and a seemingly perfect accent. We were both laughing so hard we were crying.
I was wearing Levis and a jean coat with a t-shirt, my long sun-bleached hair hanging down to the middle of my back. Milton watched as the men looked at me and started to laugh.
“These fucking bastards, they are staring at your tits; close your fucking coat! Now hold my hand.” He was so happy he was almost skipping as we walked through the city hand in hand. Then he said, “No, like this,” and laced our fingers together. “These fuckers think you’re my girlfriend; I love it! Now we’ll really fuck ‘em up, kid. Everyone knows what it means when you lace fingers.” We laughed as we strolled down the streets.
Stepping into a park, we saw that someone had cut all of the heads off of the statues. “What kind of fucking prick would do this?” He stopped me in my tracks and stared at me. “Never ever go to a park like this alone. You will be kidnapped and sold into sex slavery before you can say your own name and even Milton won’t be able to help you.” When he was serious, he spoke in the third person. He had told Hope and me this forever, and he wasn’t kidding, but we thought it was funny.
“OK, Milton, I won’t. I promise.”
I kissed his cheek, and he pulled my hand up to his face and kissed it.
“Love you, kid. Now let’s go back before we get in trouble.”
Even Milton was afraid of Booboo. I was just so happy to see the city and breathe in some of its vibrant energy.
Back at the hotel,
we tiptoed into our room like we had just snuck out of our parents’ house. Thankfully Booboo hadn’t moved.
“I told you she wouldn’t be up,” Milton whispered.
We giggled and talked from bed to bed until we fell back to sleep.
At about noon, Booboo woke me up, “You better get dressed. Milton will be starving when he wakes up. He would sleep all day if it wasn’t for me.” She relished the thought that Milton couldn’t live without her.
We got up, and Milton was joking, “Oh, I wonder if they still do breakfast in the dining room?”
Booboo screamed back, “Of course they do, you idiot! OK, Mr. Frank, let’s go, pull yourself together.”
We walked downstairs and into the dining room. All the same, workers were there from our earlier visit. “Welcome back, Mr. Frank.” Milton walked up to the guy and explained that Mrs. Frank could never know we came in early for breakfast without her. He was more than happy to oblige his request. Milton handed him a twenty.
After breakfast, Booboo had our driver take us to the Trevi Fountain. Walking up set after set of wet concrete steps lined on both sides by fountains, I was mesmerized by the beauty and history that seemed to blanket everything in this city. I walked up the hills while Booboo waited in the car and smoked, but she was happy I was seeing it on her watch. She told me Milton had no culture.
“If it were up to him he would stay cooped up in that hotel room the entire trip,” She said.
She wanted to show me Roma. The key to Booboo’s heart was to make her feel needed, adored, smart and wanted, but on her time. If you needed her when she was tired, you were a pest. Everything had to be timed just right, and I was doing my best to learn her timing.
The next day we were going to see the Vatican. She had told me this story a million times before, but it made her so happy that I always acted like it was my first time, with raised brows, the whole deal.
“Did you know that your Booboo had tea with the Pope?” she asked. “Sit down. I will tell you a story.” She was working at the dress shop in Denver and one of her best customers, Jane, was going on a First Class trip through Europe and her husband was too busy working, so she brought Booboo. “Now, I dressed Jane in the finest dresses and suits; she would have been lost without Booboo. We were in Rome and Jane told me to get ready; I never knew where we were going, but she always knew she could take me anywhere. I wore a little navy suit with tan heels; my hair slicked back, and a pair of signature Booboo Chanel glasses. Our driver pulled up and said to Jane, ‘To the Vatican, ma’am?’ I didn’t flinch. Jane had more money than God. We pulled up, and there was a sea of nuns waiting to see if he would make an appearance from his balcony. These poor fools came from around the world just to wait like dogs to see if he would come out. Not Booboo, don’t you worry. We were met by people in suits and escorted up. We walked into a room and there he was, in his gown; it was the Pope.” They sat and had tea with the Pope. “Just a normal Wednesday for your Booboo.” Jane had written the Vatican a check for five thousand dollars, and in those days, in the early sixties, that was a huge donation, enough for a cup of tea with the Pope.
Now it was my turn, not for tea and not with the Pope, but to see this amazing place. We pulled up in our limo, and I couldn’t wait to go in to see the Sistine Chapel. There was a huge line of people, but I didn’t care, I was happy to be out of our room, much less at the Vatican. I would’ve happily waited all day. As I was getting ready to pop the door open, Booboo tapped on the glass and told the driver to go back to the hotel. “Too busy. Trust me, you aren’t missing much.” So near but yet so far. Now I knew what Hope was talking about; you went to all of these places, but you never really got to see them. You had to find the humor, or you would go crazy.
After a week at the hotel, I could count the times we actually left the front doors on one hand. Most of Rome whizzed by out the window of a speeding limo, but I tried to be grateful and I really was. I had grandparents and they were amazing in their own ways. Milton and I had our shtick; every morning he would do a wake-up cough, we would sit in the bathroom and laugh and talk, and then we would walk the streets together arm in arm. It was perfect. I took it for what it was. I had to change gears and shift my expectations, or I would have gone nuts.
When we checked out, Milton had me sign the bill. When I saw the total, I almost fell on the floor. I worked my ass off all day for a hundred bucks and couldn’t believe what they’d spent knowing that they’d already paid for our room and the plane tickets months ago. Was I seeing this right? For meals alone our bill was five thousand dollars! Booboo came out of the bathroom and ripped the bill from my hands. Milton was laughing, “She will study this for an hour –watch.” He hit his knee, laughing. And she did. She put on her readers and with a pointed finger she went line by line. I realized then that the whole thing was just an act. She didn’t even notice the extra breakfast for all six days! When she signed off, it was like witnessing the President sign a new bill. Ann Frank in the most beautiful, perfect signature you have ever seen. She was proud, proud to be Mrs. Frank.
*
I didn’t know what to expect from Israel. I had a few preconceived notions: desert, dry, sad, desolate. As we flew over, I was overwhelmingly surprised. The land was lush and beautiful, vibrant and green, and truly one of the most amazing places I had ever seen. Such a tiny strip of land edged by a bright blue sea. How could such a magical and clearly God-given land be filled with such turmoil? We landed and a driver met us again. We were brought through customs, but having a guide with us didn’t make it go any faster this time. People everywhere had guns at their hips, along with large ones strapped to their backs. The people themselves were strikingly beautiful, with dark hair, light eyes, and tan skin.
Outside, the air was thick and the mood was intensely serious. The easy, sexy feel of Italy seemed like another world. Our driver put our things in the trunk and we headed from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem. Along the road, we passed different kibbutzim, where people lived and worked communally. Milton explained it in simple terms: “These people are brilliant. They take nothing, just sand, and they can make it into a lush garden. Fucking genius!” I had never felt so alive or connected or awestruck before. Whizzing by, I saw kids my age in the back of an open truck in their blue-green uniforms, laughing and talking like kids at camp. But when they turned around they had massive machine guns on their backs. Milton explained that all Israeli citizens, men and women alike, must serve in the Army for a minimum of three years. This was their way of life. It was normal to them. We drove up the hill and I saw tanks on the side of the road, all kinds of machinery that I knew must have seen their share of hate and war.
There were so many thoughts swimming in my head. How could anyone that considers herself a person of God do anything but love? To call anything driven by hate an act of God is foolish. I believe God put different religions here to test our tolerance and ability to see the love of God in everyone. Allah, Buddha, Jesus, whomever you believe in – as long as you’re guided to live a better life, it is true religion to me. God is love, period. We all know what’s right and wrong by the time we can tie our own shoes. Religion to me was about culture, history, and traditions, something I desperately wanted and never had. I started to think about the amazing man Jesus was, filled with love, wisdom, and compassion. His love had no limits, yet I saw people hate and judge and condemn in his name every day. Jesus would – did – love a whore just as much as an innocent child. In today’s world, I imagine he would see God’s image in a gay person and love them like the perfect child of God they were. I knew it. God made a gay person, so how on earth could they be seen as different? God makes no mistakes. If he makes one of us different, it is a gift to see if we can act kindly and graciously toward that person. A religious life is about being a good person and doing good; helping those less fortunate, giving, teaching, loving. I just want to feel that you are religious, see that you are religious by your actions every day, not by the symbol hanging fr
om your neck.
I will never forget that ride to Jerusalem as long as I live. I felt so much energy and power in the air; I got it. Good, bad, wrong, right, old, new. There were pilgrims at the Wailing Wall and it could have been seven thousand years ago. Then you’d see a kid with headphones listening to music and you’d realize the old and new were in constant opposition here, yet co-existed. I was having a moment in the back of the car, moved to tears, feeling like I belonged to something, to someplace, like I had been here before. I was with my people and I loved it. My parents and all the parents before them on both sides of my family were Jewish. We shared this rich culture, and I had been fascinated by my religion since I was young, yet my parents could do with or without it. How is it possible to be born with such a gift and not recognize it? My parents got way too much religion growing up, so with us, they took the opposite approach: they never talked about religion or God and they never prayed. When someone died, my Mom would say, “You live and you die. We are like leaves, you just decompose and go back into the ground, that’s it.” I found that so sad. Once in Israel, I became acutely aware of my ties to all my Jewish ancestors over thousands of years and I made the decision to embrace my heritage from that moment forward, living as a Jewish woman. What I knew of Judaism was simple: don’t judge, and try to put other people before yourself. I got it, and I was happy to call myself a Jew.
We pulled up to the King David Hotel and it was gorgeous, but Booboo and Milton were both exhausted from the trip. While they were still amazing jet setters, it was getting harder for them to travel, and I could see it. But I was full of energy and couldn’t wait to explore this amazing and mystical city! I knew they would never let me out of their sight. “You will be killed or put into sex slavery by lunch.” I’d heard those words often enough. But I was a young Jewish girl in Jerusalem with a newfound sense of badass-ness. I was done napping with my grandparents. I had to get out, and that’s what I did. I waited until I heard them fall into a deep sleep, grabbed my shoes and a key, and headed out. I felt liberated and scared to death that they would find out, but when had they ever taken a short nap? I figured I had at least an hour.