She picked up the menu. “Fine, let’s eat. It will stop you from singing and possibly put an end to the gymnastics meet inside my stomach.”
They skipped the appetizers and went straight for the salads. “Today at the synagogue,” Aaron said. “I overheard some talk about a drama occurring between Becky and Miriam over Noah’s wedding. What’s the story? It’s been years since I’ve laughed over the stupidity of their wars. Entertain me.”
She swallowed a forkful of lettuce. “I’m not sure if this one is funny. Actually, the situation is puzzling. Originally, I believed the feud began while we prepared the meal for the rabbi’s last child’s brit milah. You know Miriam can’t boil water, and the only thing she likes to do in a kitchen is drink coffee and babble. Well, Becky got really angry and told her to ‘either help or get out of the kitchen.’”
He set his fork down. “Yeah, I can picture the scene. Becky pointing her French manicured finger, and Miriam stomping out on her oversized feet.”
“Aaron,” she replied.
“We both know she has big feet. Continue the story.” He flicked his wrist. The back of his hand told her to get to the point.
“As you know, I’ve been mediating their battles for thirty plus years. This afternoon, I tried to persuade Becky to send Miriam an invitation. I told her the brit luncheon fiasco wasn’t worth ending a lifelong friendship.” Naomi popped a fork full of salad into her mouth and tried to chew quickly. “My entire plea backfired. Becky let loose a tirade, implying I’m stupid if I believe she was upset over the luncheon incident. Then she informed me that hell would freeze over before they would ever be friends again.”
The waiter silently cleared the salad plates, and before he walked away from the table, Aaron ordered two more Cabernets. “That’s a good one,” he said. “Reminds me of my daughter’s behavior in elementary school. ‘Daddy.’” He mimicked the voice of a little girl. “‘I’m never ever going to invite Emily to my birthday party.’ Emily being her best friend of the week.” He grinned and then shifted his eyes from Naomi’s face to the pink salmon on his plate and plunged in his fork.
“I missed that kind of drama--boys don’t really care who comes to their birthday party as long as video games are involved. Right now, I’m truly perplexed,” Naomi replied.
He picked up the fresh glass of wine, swirled it, and sipped. She gazed out the window. The moon broke through the clouds. The snowflakes continued their descent into the Monongahela River. New York was famous for its skyline, but viewing the Pittsburgh cityscape and rivers from above was spectacular.
“A mystery--I love a good mystery.” Aaron interrupted the silence, which was lingering a bit too long. “Let’s play detective. So, if this battle didn’t begin over a luncheon, when did it commence? Did anything out of the ordinary occur in the days or weeks before the birth of this boy?”
She leaned back into the soft pad of the chair. Gosh, he was still sexy as hell. As he talked about Miriam and Becky, flashes of her fingers running through his curls sidetracked her.
“Naomi, any thoughts on this?”
Oops, she’d spaced out for a moment. Hopefully, he would write it off as a moment of memory mining. “Hard to say because Becky’s dad died three months earlier. She was an emotional disaster--hypersensitive. Miriam organized the entire shiva and never left Becky’s side. You know how much we all loved Mr. Greenburg. My parents flew in from Florida for the funeral. Maybe Miriam said something stupid during the funeral.”
“Both of Miriam’s parents are dead. Her father died about fifteen years after her mother,” he said.
“Sounds about right, she died a little over a year before Noah’s Bar Mitzvah, but how did you know that?”
His face tinged a bit pink. “Unfortunately, my mother tends to be the lead gossip connection in the Yenta Network. She has dirt on almost everyone who ever lived in Squirrel Hill for more than a month.”
She laughed. “Hey, maybe listening to her stories is how you turned into such a fabulous writer.”
He shook his head, appearing to be unhappy with her statement. “I remember something my mother said after Miriam’s father, Al, passed away. It bothered me for years and thinking about it now is still unpleasant.”
Naomi leaned forward. “You can’t just dangle it and not tell me.”
“Actually, I think the world would be okay if I dropped it, but I won’t. I happened to be in Pittsburgh the week after his funeral because my mom had just been discharged from the hospital. I remember hearing her talking to someone on the telephone. She kept repeating ‘no.’ Then, I heard her say, and, believe me, I remember it verbatim. ‘Can you believe Mildred sat in the first row between her husband, Sam, and her daughter, Becky, sobbing like she was the widow? The chutzpah, everyone in the room knew Mildred and Al started running around together a week after he buried his poor wife. Poor Sam such a nice man--shame on Mildred--that hussy.’”
Her throat constricted, and words failed to form sentences inside her head. “What?”
“I had a feeling you didn’t know,” he said, “but many people in the old neighborhood did. Becky’s mom and Miriam’s dad carried on an affair for years.”
A chill rushed through her. She stared at him, but her mind’s eye saw something else...
***
Naomi rolled onto her stomach and peeked over the edge of the top bunk. Two congealed slices of pizza laying in a greasy box stared up at her. Yuck. She flopped onto her back and tossed her forearm over her eyes. It didn’t stop the pounding inside her head.
Leftover alcohol molecules fuzzed her memory except for a vague recollection of Becky opening a third bottle of wine and Miriam ordering a pizza.
Naomi looked back down at the greasy box. Beside it sat an ashtray, heaping with menthol cigarette butts, and an overturned coffee mug beached in a wine puddle.
Miriam rolled out of the bottom bunk and staggered--one sock on, one sock off--across the shag carpet to the sole dormitory room window. “It stinks in here.”
She whipped open the faded drapes and grabbed the old wooden window frame, groaning as she heaved it open.
Becky crushed her comforter around her head. “Shut the damn window. It’s freakin’ February.”
“Keep the blanket on,” Miriam said. “Cold is better than the stench.” She took two steps and hinged over at the waist. “Why did you guys let me drink so much?”
“Because you’re a fun drunk,” Naomi said, propping her chin on her crossed forearms. “Last night was like the old days when we had sleepovers. Remember?”
Becky emerged from her padded cocoon, stretched her arms above her head, and moaned. “Yeah, but I don’t recall us drinking wine in the old days.”
Naomi grabbed the stuffed elephant lying at the foot of the bed and chucked it at Becky. “That’s not what I mean. I mean the three of us, hanging out, talking, and laughing.”
“Yeah, we had the best sleepovers,” Miriam said.
“I wish I could live here,” Naomi said. “High School stinks without you guys.”
“Graduation is only a few months away.” Becky ambled over to the closet. “Have you decided, Naomi? Will it be Pitt with us or Columbia with him?”
“I don’t have a chance of getting into Columbia,” Naomi replied. “I’ll be one more Squirrel Hill girl moving down Forbes Avenue into the deluxe accommodations of the Pitt Towers.”
She rolled and faced the wall. Just thinking about him in New York City and her stuck in Pittsburgh caused her heart to ache.
Becky grabbed the towel from the hook on the closet door and pulled her shower caddy off the top shelf. “Hangover or no hangover, the library reference desk calls.” On her way out of the room, Becky stopped next to Naomi’s bunk. She reached up and patted the top of Naomi’s head. “Happy eighteenth birthday, Dumb-Dumb.”
Miriam stumbled around looking for her glasses. To put an end to her frustration, Naomi jumped down and found them, hidden under the open lid of the pizza box.
“Thanks.” Miriam took them from Naomi’s hand as the phone rang.
“Hello,” Miriam said. “Sure Mrs. Cohen, you can talk to Naomi.”
“Yes, Mom,” Naomi said.
“You and Miriam need to come home right now,” her mom said.
Her mother’s voice squeaked like it did when she was crying. “Give us an hour to get dressed and eat. Then we’ll catch the bus.”
“No, you need to come home right now. Get a cab.”
Naomi stared at the floor. “I don’t have enough money for a cab.”
She turned toward Miriam, who mouthed the words “What’s wrong?”
Naomi shrugged. Maybe Miriam would help with the cab fare.
“I’ll pay the driver when you get here and bring Becky home too.”
“Why do I need to bring Becky home? Is something wrong?”
“Stop asking questions. Just get moving.”
“Fine. We’ll get a cab as soon as Becky gets out of the shower.” Naomi hung up the phone.
“What’s the matter?” Miriam asked.
“I don’t know, but it sounded like my mom was crying. She wants all three of us home right now. I’ll tell Becky to hurry up, while you get dressed.”
The next morning, Naomi, Miriam, and Becky stood, surrounded by headstones engraved with the names of people who died before they were born. Rain drizzled from the heavy gray clouds, mixing with the tears streaming down Naomi’s face. Becky and Naomi linked their arms through Miriam’s. It reminded Naomi of the paper-ring chains they made every fall to decorate their Sukkahs.
Naomi gazed at her mother dressed in the same black suit she wore to her aunt Golda’s funeral. It was an ugly suit. Naomi’s mother and Becky’s mother flanked Miriam’s father, gripping his elbows. His body trembled, and tears reddened his eyes. It appeared that only the strength of the women held him up. She didn’t want to look at him. He didn’t look like himself. Miriam’s dad was the funny dad. He teased all three of them mercilessly. Naomi loved it. Her family was much more serious. Today, he looked ready to crumble to the ground like one of the dead leaves disintegrating under the melting spots of snow. She turned away and watched her dad and Becky’s father--suited, straight-backed, and red eyed, standing beside their wives.
The rabbi began chanting the ancient Jewish prayer for the dead--Kaddish, over the dirt-covered coffin belonging to Miriam’s mother.
Naomi released Miriam’s hand and swiped at the tear escaping from the corner of her eye. She scanned the people surrounding the grave and imagined that, from a distance, they all looked like dancers waiting for the music to begin.
***
She pulled her mind from the memory and returned her gaze to Aaron’s face. “After Miriam’s mother died, my parents, Becky’s parents, and Miriam’s dad continued to get together for Shabbat dinners and summer cookouts.”
“I remember a few Shabbat dinners at your house. That group was fun.”
Naomi looked at a red wine spot staining the table cloth. “After a while, Miriam’s dad fell out of the picture. I always attributed it to third-wheel syndrome. Do you think my parents knew?”
Aaron shrugged one shoulder.
“There’s no way Becky and Miriam knew about this.” Naomi shook her head. “Like I said, Miriam took care of Becky throughout the entire funeral and shiva. Impossible--neither knew.” For a moment, she gazed at the broccoli lying on her plate, and then looked up. “No, my parents didn’t know.” The statement lacked confidence, because she was unable to convince herself that the words were true.
Aaron shifted his gaze to the window.
The air moved in and out of her lungs, but barely. Her ribs crunched against the underside of her skin. He reached across the table and clasped her hand. “Naomi, I’ve missed talking to you. I never thought of you as just a girlfriend--you were my best friend for a long time. I wanted this evening to be light and fun. As impossible as it may seem right now, could we switch the conversation to a less difficult topic? Let’s talk about our miserable divorces, instead. I’ll complain about the exorbitant amount of alimony I have to pay, and you can whine about your cheap ex-son-of-a-bitch, and the mere pennies he gives you.”
She pulled her hand away. “Aaron, I’m stunned. I don’t think my brain can change subjects.”
“So, Naomi, is there any chance of us having sex after dinner?”
Cabernet almost exploded from her mouth. “Aaron!” she said, and red drops dribbled from the corners of her mouth.
“Sorry,” he said, not looking the least bit apologetic. “I needed something to make you laugh and that popped into my head.” A self-satisfied grin spread across his face, and his eyes lit up. “Let’s order a couple of unhealthy deserts and commiserate.”
Her entrée was so-so, but the desert was amazing. They devoured a slice of raspberry swirl cheesecake and a peanut and chocolate confection that defied words. When the ramrod stiff waiter offered them a coffee refill, Aaron suggested one more glass of wine before ending the evening.
She didn’t protest.
“You really haven’t changed, Naomi, still a sarcastic wit with a sweet heart.”
“I don’t know about the sweet heart. The divorce left some jagged scars.”
He sipped his wine, placed it back on the table, and reached for her hand. For a few moments, they sat quietly--this time it was warm, comfortable silence.
“So, how did you manage to let a beautiful fashion model wife walk out the door? From the pictures, I’ve seen, most men would crawl across a football field for the opportunity to touch her spiked heels.”
“Wow, what a loaded statement.” Aaron grasped the table and pushed back, elbows locked, feigning insulted. Then he released his grip and relaxed into his chair. “First of all, we both walked out the door, so don’t try to make me sound shallow. I didn’t marry a model. We met during my senior year at Columbia. She was a freshman majoring in film. The modeling stuff came later.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply--I just mean--she’s so beautiful.”
“So are you. If you had grown four more inches, you would have made a great model,” he said, and the dim light of the room failed to dull his eyes.
“Flirt,” she said, tilting her head to indicate she still expected him to answer the question.
“Our marriage ended with a cliché. We grew apart. When our youngest left for college, the apartment felt cold. Don’t get me wrong, we ended on decent terms--good enough to meet for an occasional lunch. Right now, she’s working day and night, trying to launch a new modeling agency.”
“That sounds very exciting and glamorous.”
“And very ambitious. Personally, I’m too tired for that kind of ambition. For years, with each book published, I did interviews, appearances, and book signings. Now, I’m a tired introvert who wants to come home.”
The conversation continued without a lull until Naomi noticed the snowflakes were beginning to resemble a junior blizzard. It was time to leave.
***
Sunday morning began with a ringing telephone. And an excited Laurie asking for details.
“Laurie, we’re not in high school.”
“You might not be, but I am. Did he kiss you? And was it a real kiss or a good-to-see-you-old-buddy kiss?
Naomi flopped back on her pillow--laughing. When she finally stopped, she told Laurie it was a wonderful evening and the good night kiss was just fine.
“What the hell does just ‘fine’ mean?”
“I haven’t had my coffee. I’ll call you back when I have a hot cup in my hand.”
“Forget that,” Laurie replied. “Dan’s bowling, and Sarah slept over at a friend’s house. I’ll be on your doorstep in fifteen minutes. Wait, if he’s lying next to you in that big bed, kick him out.”
“You’re crazy.”
“That’s what Dan always tells me.” The line went dead.
Outside, three inches of snow covered the sidewalk leading to her door. Time
to fight with Ezra, who hated shoveling snow more than anything. She made the bed and gathered up the wrinkled outfit she wore for the date. Before shoving it down the laundry chute, she smelled the neckline of her shirt, hoping a bit of Aaron’s deliciously masculine scent lingered from the brief moment their bodies pressed together during the kiss.
The kitchen held the remains of Ezra’s night and, based on the number of plates in the sink, he didn’t spend it alone. She walked down the steps to the basement and found exactly what she expected. Ezra and two friends crashed out on the worn sofa and the floor, exhausted from a tough night of video games. She switched off the light they had left on, and shut down the Xbox.
The smell of coffee engulfed the kitchen and she hummed while pouring it into her cup. The first few sips passed through her lips and over her tongue. The warmth reminded her of the good night kiss and the lusciousness of Aaron’s lips on hers. She set the mug down on the counter next to the sink. Was it really a friend kiss or...
“Yuk,” she said out loud, seeing the schmutz left over from last night’s teenage eat-a-thon ingrained into the plates. She turned on the hot water and let it run over them. Gazing out the window above the sink, she smiled. The snow continued falling, but the sun’s rays broke through the thinning clouds, replacing the gray sky of the day before.
She loaded the rinsed plates into the dishwasher, grabbed her mug from the countertop, and settled into her favorite spot at the table. It was time to push Aaron from her mind and focus on a way to approach Becky about the affair. This turned out to be futile. Mental movies of their parents drinking cocktails and barbecuing hamburgers on Miriam’s parents’ patio distracted her. She always viewed the little group as a happy extended family.
She shuddered off the image and shifted her attention beyond the glass door to a cardinal sitting in the tree behind her house. The bird appeared stark against the white of snow-covered tree branches. It reminded her of a Christmas card she once received from an acquaintance who didn’t understand Jews don’t celebrate Christmas. Funny, what we believe people should know, but they don’t. It was a pretty card. The cardinal flew away, and the doorbell rang.
The Kiddush Ladies Page 11