The Kiddush Ladies

by Susan Sofayov

  ***

  On Thursday afternoon, the weather broke. The sun peeked through the remaining gray clouds. Becky hit the button on her key fob to open the trunk of her car, grabbing as many bags as she could, and headed into the synagogue.

  Rabbi Morty’s office door was open, so she glanced inside. He appeared engrossed in whatever he was typing on his laptop. But he must have heard the plastic bags slapping against her legs because he looked up. “Do you need help?”

  “Not really, there are only two more bags.”

  He looked at her, but said nothing. She walked into the kitchen and dumped the bags onto the table. A few minutes after she returned with the last two bags, the Rabbi walked into the kitchen.

  “I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute?”

  “Sure,” she said, piling produce into the refrigerator.

  “This business with you and Miriam. Is there any way I can help bring you two back together?”

  “Rabbi, with all due respect, this situation is not your business.”

  “Becky, it became my business when Miriam showed up in my office crying. She told me the whole story. You can’t hold something your parents did against her. She didn’t know about the affair either.”

  The kitchen wasn’t very large, and there was only one way for her to escape the conversation. And he was blocking the door. Her heart ceased pumping blood and began pushing anger into her veins. Her head pounded--the spot directly behind her eyes. She stood her ground and stared him down. “She lied.”

  The rabbi shook his head. “I don’t think so. Miriam’s not a good actress. She wears every emotion on her face. I don’t want to get involved, but the tension on the women’s side of the mehitza is getting too thick. Please, consider sitting down and talking to her--for shalom bayit.”

  Becky’s tenuous grip on self-control broke. She picked up the closest item she could get her hand on--a plastic serving bowl--and threw it against the wall. “No, no. It’s all bullshit. She’s sneaky and evil. She’s the one who put the evil eye on Noah. She’s the reason he’s marrying that shiksa. Family, sure, we’re just like a family--a back stabbing, lie to your face family. And you--you, I expected better from you. Her father seduced my mother. He and my father were best friends. Do you understand? My dad trusted him and loved him like a brother.”

  “Wait a minute.” Morty positioned his hands protectively in front of his chest. “The people who had the affair are dead. You can’t place blame on one or the other for starting it, any more than you could blame yourself for not stopping it.”

  “My mother is dead because of her father.”

  The rabbi shook his head, pure alarm registered on his face. She ignored it. Of course, Miriam’s father started it. He probably played the poor widower card, taking advantage of her mother’s caring nature. He had her under a spell. Just like the one Miriam put on Noah.

  “Of course, you’ll take her side,” Becky spat out.

  The rabbi sighed. “There’re no sides to take. You’re both on the same side, suffering over the sins of your parents.”

  “My mother didn’t sin! And she wouldn’t have killed herself if he didn’t drag her into a disgusting affair,” Becky shouted, but tinges of doubt flickered through her mind. “Move, I’m leaving.”

  He followed her out of the kitchen and into the vestibule. “Don’t, please.”

  “Stay out of this, Morty. It’s not your place.” Becky smacked open the glass door and stormed to her car. Damn him. Joe and Miriam’s money has him brainwashed. Take away all the cash, and he would see her for what she really is.

  Becky pulled the car out of the parking lot and hit the gas pedal.

  ***

  Naomi

  Naomi arrived at the restaurant first and ordered a glass of wine. She settled into the booth, nestling into the well-padded, leather upholstery. The jazz music, obviously chosen for its relaxing qualities, didn’t work for her. Her stomach churned, even it didn’t like the idea of saying what needed to be said.

  He glided through the door. Naomi watched him cross the room. For a moment, the world felt surreal, as if she was an intruder in a Ralph Lauren commercial. Someone designed this restaurant, with its cherry wood paneling and lush oriental carpet, for sophisticated, handsome literary types--Aaron. The smile on his face as he approached lit up the room. Her whole body tingled with desire.

  “Hi.” He tossed his briefcase onto the seat before sliding into the opposite side of the booth. “Could you believe the sunshine today? It was glorious.”

  Naomi nodded in agreement.

  He noticed her wine glass. “Good, I’m glad you didn’t wait for me.”

  He extended his neck out beyond the edge of the booth, scouting the dining room for a waiter. He caught the attention of two young women leaning against the bar engrossed in a giggling fest with the bartender. The blonde one approached the table. A smile lingered on her face as Aaron placed his drink order. Moments later, she placed the single-malt scotch in front of him. She scratched the back of her neck and looked down at the floor. “Excuse me, I don’t want to be rude, but my friends keep pushing me to ask.”

  Naomi studied the waitress’s face, such a sweet smile and fine features. Josh flicked through her thoughts. She wondered if the girl was Jewish, but then remembered that Josh had a girlfriend.

  “Are you Aaron Brenner, the writer?”

  A slight tinge of embarrassment reddened his face. “That’s me.”

  “My friend,” she said, pointing to the other waitress, “just loves your books. She wanted me to ask you to autograph something for her.”

  Aaron looked around the table, picked up a damp cocktail napkin, and then put it down. The waitress tore a page from her ordering pad. He scrawled a quick message and signed his name. She thanked him and walked away, flashing it like a winning lottery ticket at the young woman now hovering in the doorway to the kitchen.

  He sipped his drink. “That’s embarrassing. It doesn’t happen often, but I hate when it happens in front of people.”

  “Why? You write wonderful books. I’m surprised it doesn’t happen more often.”

  “Enough, let’s change the subject. I’m sorry Ezra couldn’t come. Next time. Did anything on the menu look good?”

  “All of it.” Inside, she couldn’t deny the comfort of sitting with him--lush and warm like the furniture in Miriam’s family room. She wondered what it would have been like if she had stuck with him all those years ago.

  “Naomi, do you still write?”

  Did she hear him right? Was he asking if she still wrote? “Me--write? You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, you were a journalism major. Unless that changed after we broke up.”

  “No, my degree is in journalism.” She twirled the stem of her wine glass and watched the liquid swirl, remembering the hours they spent sitting in the dark room of the school newspaper, dreaming of their future writing awards.

  “I spend my days taking boring meeting minutes in shorthand and typing them up. The only writing I do is ghost writing magazine articles about fundraising that make my boss look good.” She sipped the wine and couldn’t believe the tears teasing her eyes. “I do get the honor of writing his president’s report for the quarterly newsletter.”

  “You could freelance. Most magazines use freelance writers and some use only freelancers. You may not be able to quit your day job right away, but I know people who make a decent living doing it.”

  She shook her head and rubbed the edge of the linen napkin between her thumb and index finger. “No, my creativity supply dried up years ago.”

  “Bullshit.” But before he could continue, the waitress arrived to take their order.

  “How was New York?” Naomi asked, anxious to switch the subject.

  “Great, but don’t change the subject. I want you to write something. A short story, article, first chapter of a novel, press release, erotica.” Her eyes widened. He smiled mischievously. “I knew that wo
uld get your attention.”

  More than anything, she wanted to lean forward and kiss him. Instead, she smiled back. “Erotica is the last thing I’m qualified to write.” She smirked. “I couldn’t even keep my husband. He left for a man.”

  “Stop it. I’m perfectly qualified to say this, you could write a best seller.”

  The waitress arrived with their entrees, saving her from having to respond. She placed the fish in front of Naomi and turned toward Aaron. “Mr. Brenner,” she said. “Would you care for some fresh pepper or another drink?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “If you need anything, please let me know.”

  She stood smiling at him, a few moments longer than appropriate before walking back to the bar.

  “Looks like the waitress is enamored with you.”

  He popped a juicy chunk of steak into his mouth, shrugged, and did a slight eye roll. Aaron had no hang-ups about eating non-kosher meat, though he claimed to buy only kosher beef and chicken at home.

  She shifted her gaze to the bland looking piece of tilapia lying on her plate and stabbed her fork into it. She had to tell him. This lusting like a teenager was completely inappropriate for a middle-age mother.

  “You have until nine o’clock Sunday evening to get it into my inbox.” He looked like a sexy professor of college girl’s fantasies.

  “Are you going to grade it?”

  “Yes. And if I don’t like it, you’ll have to rewrite it.”

  Looking at him made her wish she could still write. Over the years, she tried a few times. No words flowed from her brain to fingers. After Josh, she still penned an occasional short story. The stories were okay--not New Yorker okay, but good enough to allow her to feel comfortable identifying herself as a writer.

  The words went away after Ezra was born. Spending her days caring for two children and working a full-time job sucked the energy out of her. She remembered the day the words went away. It frightened her...

  ***

  Jake sat in his spot at the head of the table, munching on a bagel and shaking his head.

  “I don’t want to go out to dinner for my birthday, and I don’t want a party,” Naomi said. “What I want is an uninterrupted day to write. Take the kids to the zoo or somewhere for at least six hours.”

  She stared across the table at Jake. She wasn’t giving in on this.

  He shook his head. “That’s ridiculous, spending your birthday alone. Birthdays are for celebrating, fun, parties, people.” The look on his face said it all. Jake, a true party animal, had no comprehension of the joy she got from silence.

  “You asked me what I wanted. I want to write something.” She shook her head. “No, I need to write something.”

  “How about I take the kids out for a few hours in the morning and in the evening we can have dinner with Miriam and Joe and Becky and David. It will be fun. We’ll pick someplace we haven’t tried before.”

  Naomi put down the mug and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “How about you take the kids for eight hours, and I write.”

  Jake reached over and clasped her hand. “Fine, you win--six uninterrupted hours. I’m not imaginative enough to keep those two boys occupied for eight hours.” He shrugged, and his gray eyes sparkled. “You know that even six hours is going to make me drive to my mother for help.”

  After he and the kids left, the silence melted all the stress from her body. Naomi brewed a cup of tea and sat down in front of her computer.

  The blank page glowed in front of her. All week she thought about ideas for a novel. Most of them, she dismissed. But one plot idea stuck in her head. She typed the first sentence and read it out loud. It sounded clunky. She rewrote it--not so clunky. Then her mind blanked, as if every one of her thoughts, dreams, and insights never existed. No more words came. She closed her eyes for a few moments and then hit the X in the upper right-hand corner of the document, closing it forever.

  ***

  There wasn’t a thought inside her worth writing down. Now, she did have something to say. It was time to say it. “Aaron, we can’t do this.”

  He looked at her. “Do what? Begin a writing class?”

  She shook her head and tried to control the trembling in her hands. “This...I don’t know what to call it.” She dropped her chin to avoid eye contact. “When you asked me to dinner, I thought it was just two old friends catching up. I never imagined we’d end up in bed together.”

  He leaned forward into the table, grinning. “Nice surprise, right?”

  “It was amazing, but wrong.” She wished he had ugly teeth. His smile triggered physical reactions that she didn’t want. She moved a chunk of fish around her plate. The garlic smell wafted into her nose. The tingling went away. The nausea returned.

  The look on his face chilled her bones. For a brief moment, she debated whether to continue speaking. But it had to be said.

  “We need to stay just friends. This romance won’t work.”

  “Why do you say that? It’s going fine now.”

  “I know. I love spending time with you, but...”

  “But what, Naomi? Tell me?”

  She inhaled, exhaled. Just say it, Naomi.

  “I think about you all the time. You’ve ruined my ability to focus on anything--including my job. It’s wrong. I feel like I’m eighteen all over, and I’m not. I’m almost fifty.”

  He locked eyes with her. “Where are you going with this?”

  All the comfort and warmth she felt upon his arrival dissipated in an icy flash of his eyes. She uncrossed her legs and squirmed in her seat. “I’m just a walk down memory lane, Aaron. We’ll go on like this for a few months. And then you’ll realize that you can’t bring back the old days. I’m not that girl anymore. You’ll get bored with me, and beautiful young waitresses like her--” Naomi used her head to point at the blond waitress taking the order at the next table. “--will tempt you. I’ll become the old woman you want to unload.” She waited, heart pounding against her ribcage. Please say something.

  “Did it ever occur to you that I’ve had girls like her coming on to me for years? I’ve taught as an adjunct professor for the last fifteen years at Columbia. I’ve had every type of female and male hit on me. They’re not interesting. They’re children.”

  They sat in silence, picking at their food.

  “Naomi, I didn’t move back just because of my mother.”

  She met his eyes, wondering where he was going with this.

  “I heard about your divorce a few months after it happened.” He sloshed the melting ice inside his cup. “Alisha and I were on a downhill slope by that time. Don’t get me wrong, I tried everything to save our marriage, but it really was over. The moment she moved out, you were my first thought. I wanted to call you or something, but...” He shrugged. “I don’t know, gutless I guess.”

  His face looked as if he wanted to say more, but silence lingered between them.

  “When I heard about the Pitt job, it felt bashert. The universe was bringing me back to you.”

  His eyes never flickered from her face. Naomi was stunned. Never in a million lifetimes could she have imagined that he came back for her. She shifted her gaze from his eyes to her plate. “But, Aaron, I’m damaged. If we continue, you’ll regret it.”

  “You are so wrong.”

  “No, I’m not. When Jake walked out, I was a mess. I don’t think my heart could take another rejection.”

  His eyes widened and his face flushed. No sign of the earlier happiness remained. He pulled out his wallet and slammed his credit card on the table. The waitress picked it up within seconds.

  He let out a quasi-laugh. “You’re afraid of me dumping you and breaking your heart?”

  Naomi remained silent.

  “Now, that’s a good one. I have a heart too. And this is the second time you’ve broken it.”

  ***

  Miriam

  Miriam sat in front of the monitor, shaking her head. She didn’t like what her ho
roscope said for that day. “Trying to prove a point without evidence will fail miserably.” Again, she typed the word “horoscope” into the search bar. Maybe, another astrology site would say something more helpful.

  Rabbi Morty was right. This situation was an unsolvable catch-22. If she proved her father didn’t start the affair, it would make Becky’s mother the culprit. That idea would make Becky nuts. If Miriam proved her father did start the affair, Becky would hate her forever. “Time,” Rabbi Morty had said, “will be the only solution.”

  He explained that Becky was projecting her anger and frustration over Noah marrying a non-Jew onto Miriam. He didn’t believe the fight was over an old affair, and no one believed Becky’s mother’s suicide was a result of guilt over an affair. The affair just came to light at a perfect time. A place for Becky to transfer all her negative emotions.

  Miriam believed he was probably right, but she really didn’t care, because it didn’t make a bit of difference. Becky still wouldn’t speak to her.

  ***

  Naomi

  On Friday morning, Naomi did something she’d never done before. She called in sick, even though there was no indication of rogue bacteria or virus inhabiting her body. When Ezra hollered up the steps to tell her it was time to leave, she yelled back, “Drive yourself to school, I don’t feel well.”

  She heard his size eleven feet pound the stairs.

  “Mom, are you sick?”

  “Yeah, Ez, I feel awful, headache, stomach ache. Take the car. I’m not going into work today.”

  “Can I get you something?”