Beth was breathless as she picked up the phone. “Frima! Oh, Frima, I’m so sorry I didn’t get back to you. Don’t hate me, and don’t think I’m crazy. It’s just complicated!”
“I thought it might be because you were occupied with Clarence Darrow.”
“Clarence Darrow? Oh, him! No! Now, Frima, please don’t think I’m completely off the rails, but it’s another guy. That first one turned out to be a horror story, which I’ll tell you about when we have more time. But Vinny rescued me from him.”
“Vinny?”
“That’s his name. He’s an Italian—Italian American, I mean—and he’s a bartender this summer but he’s really a political organizer. Kind of a left-wing labor leader, and brilliant in his way, I think. Totally great with people. Anyway I’m in love, and I very much want you to meet him. I’d love to have you come over here—you and Jack both. He could drive you here couldn’t he, hmm!
“Bess, please think about this. I’d love to meet this Vinny. But do you want Jack to meet a left-wing Italian bartender whom you happen to be in love with?”
“Now it will be just fine. You don’t have to say a word about any of this to him. Just that I want the two of you to meet my boyfriend.”
“Well, okay, but I don’t know his name, right? His name is boyfriend until you reveal the details. Now I can just see the look on your face—so innocent—like what can she mean? I mean, to be perfectly clear, do you know any Jews named Vinny?”
“Nope, can’t say that I do. Just leave it to me and Vinny. And speaking of names, I’m Beth now. You remember, short for Bethesda.”
Frima stifled a guffaw. “After all, what’s in a name? Well, you tell Jack. I’ll be busy looking for cover.”
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about a thing. Vinny and I can take care of Jack.”
“Uh, Bess . . . Beth . . . my dearest friend. Maybe you should leave it to Vinny, if he’s as great with people as you say.”
“Good idea. So what do you say? Would a week from this Saturday be okay?”
“Sounds good. Why don’t you count on us getting to Monticello around seven, unless you hear otherwise.”
“I simply can’t wait. Love ya,” Bess trilled.
Well, I can, Frima thought, as she hung up the phone and allowed herself a loud groan.
That name! She wished she and Bess had never gone on that trip to Washington their senior year in high school. That way they would never have seen a train schedule with the fateful words Bethesda, Maryland, and Bess wouldn’t have lost her head over the name. On the other hand, she might have come up with something like Hepzibah. It was all part of the need to make herself over. Jack would hate the name change, but that wasn’t really Frima’s problem. Brother and sister could take potshots at each other, but she was staying out of this one. She just had to remember to be surprised when the four of them were introduced.
Jack was completely amenable to the double date Frima and Bess were arranging, after he heard the highly expurgated version of their phone call. “Let’s hope he’s a nice normal guy with a little gelt,” was his only comment.
Mama was enthusiastic too, and she promised to make Frima a new dress for the occasion. The very next afternoon they set off for town to choose fabric and a pattern. They agreed on a fine, light cotton, a subtle small white print on a sea-colored grayish green background, “A color that only true blondes can wear,” Mama said. When it was done, Frima slipped it carefully over her head, ran to the mirror, and then hugged her mother. Cut and sewn so skillfully it fit like a glove, and the skirt would swing when she danced. And when she removed the little matching jacket, the bodice made the most of her usually modest cleavage, her smooth skin and lithe arms. Also, Mama promised to do Frima’s hair in a chignon, which was always fashionable, and certain to last the evening.
Jack whistled when he saw her dressed for their night out. He was looking pretty spiffy too, in his only good sports jacket and slacks, and they looked at each other and grinned, pleased with themselves, each other, and the drive ahead of them. The weather was warm and sunny, but with a gentle late-afternoon breeze, and neither of them was in a great hurry to reach their destination. Jack parked the car at a shaded little vista point, took her hand, and led her out of the car. They stood quietly, gazing out across the rise to a blue lake in the distance. Jack put his arms around her and kissed the back of her neck. In a moment she turned to him.
“I wish this summer would never end,” she said.
“I don’t want us to end. We don’t have to, do we?” He looked sober, a little afraid.
So sweet, Frima thought. “No we don’t.”
What more was there to say? Frima moved toward the car, lest they ruin her makeup entirely. The passionate necking, the “Oh, please” and “No, we can’t” could wait until the end of the evening. She was sick of those dishonest “nos;” she didn’t want to hold back. And sometimes she felt that she was actually more open-minded than Jack about this. He might have more of the good girl–bad girl mentality than she did, if his sister’s comments were any guide. For herself, marriage might not be necessary, but lovemaking—sleeping-together sex, as she defined it—was something inseparable from deep commitment and love.
Back on the road, Jack broke the silence. “Well, at least I know now that your mother approves of me,” he said smiling. “After all she made that pretty dress for you to go out on the town with me.”
“Well, I like that!” Frima retorted, half indignant and half amused. “Maybe it’s just that she approves of me, you know.”
“Oh, of course—”
“Never mind,” she interrupted him lightly. “The real reason is that Mama is ever the competitive hotelkeeper. She wouldn’t want me showing up at the fancy Alpine Song looking like a schlump.” They both smiled, content now with silence.
As they neared Monticello, however, the atmosphere became edgy. She could see a tightness around Jack’s jaw. Her own uneasiness was all about her sins of omission. That she had not been entirely candid with Jack was no more than prudent, but his sister, her best friend, was quite another thing. Bess had guessed at the growing intimacy between Frima and Jack, and if she hadn’t alluded to it, Frima would probably have said nothing. It was of no use now to tell herself she was naturally reticent, whereas Bess wore her heart and everything else on her sleeve. That wasn’t even fair. It would be quite natural if Bess felt some resentment and jealousy about this new state of affairs. At the very least, Bess would think Frima had been cowardly about not mentioning it, and she would be justified. She glanced at Jack. Was he feeling something similar? She almost dreaded the reunion upcoming in about five minutes.
Happily, Bess made it easy for them. As soon as she spied them from the main house desk, she let out a whoop and embraced them at the same time, almost knocking their heads together. Good old Bessie! The silent sigh of relief from all of them was almost palpable.
Bess looked really smashing. In a white scoop-necked peasant blouse and skirt that showed off both her tan and her bust line, she looked healthy, relaxed, happy. Frima silently and swiftly sized up her best friend. There was that same Mediterranean skin as her brother’s, the kind that effortlessly bloomed in the sun, while Frima’s own fair skin had to be coaxed ever so cautiously into a hard-won layer of tan, lest she spend the summer sporting a gorgeous peel. And that thick wavy hair; cooperative hair that did what Bess wanted it to do. Was she always going to envy her looks? Maybe. But it was an easy, sort of genial envy that they shared, for both of them knew by now that they were good-looking young women, and the contrast in their looks put neither of them in the shade. They had heard this often enough.
Bess was eager to show them around the Alpine, talking it up like a real estate agent, and Frima took a professional interest in comparing their two summer homes. Without question she preferred Eisner’s casual rusticity, even though she knew it was as carefully planned as the Alpine Song’s more formal grounds and buildings. But this
was a pretty place, nevertheless, and surprisingly unpretentious looking. The owner was not trying to imitate Newport.
As they walked toward the cabin, Muriel came out to meet them.
“Jack and Frima, at last we meet. Beth has told me so much about both of you!” They all exchanged cordialities easily, but when Bess and Muriel moved away for a moment, Jack didn’t hesitate to comment.
“Who’s this Beth?” Jack asked Frima out of the side of his mouth. “This Muriel, does she have a lisp?”
Frima just shrugged, smiled, and looked a little surprised. “We’ll know soon enough. No wisecracks, now,” she murmured.
“Muriel is a peach,” Bess said, as she rejoined them. “Usually I’m not off for another hour, but she’s covering for me, even though it’s her night off, because this is the only day Vinny is free this week, and we want to take you to this special place. It’s a bit of a drive, but it’s worth it.”
“Vinny? And just who is Vinny?” Jack’s tone was ominous.
“Surely you know I’m seeing someone.” Bess answered offhandedly.
“Oh, yeah, and I notice this is the first time I’ve heard his name.”
“Perhaps I neglected to mention it.”
“A nice Jewish name—Vinny!”
“His name is Vincent Carmine Migliori,” Bess enunciated slowly and carefully, “though he answers to Vinny. And I, by the way, am now Bethesda, but you can call me Beth or Bethie if you like. Those are the names I answer to.” She said this lightly and evenly, but her eyes challenged him. You will behave yourself, her look said. You will be nice to him and to me. We’ll settle this at another time.
This was not her friend’s usual style, and Frima was impressed. Had she been coached? By this Vinny who was so good with people? She looked at Jack, who obviously was taken aback.
“Suit yourself,” he said shortly, to Frima’s great relief.
At that moment his sister waved to someone a little distance away. Obviously Vinny. His appearance was unexceptional, a little shorter than Jack and more compactly built. He looked like he’s done a lot of physical labor, might be formidable in a fist fight, if challenged. As he came nearer, Frima saw he had a really attractive face, interesting, intelligent, good-humored. He was only a few years older than Jack, but there was nothing boyish about him. What surprised her were his hazel eyes, light brown hair, and skin fairer than either brother or sister. She’d thought all Italians were swarthy.
Vinny greeted Beth with a squeeze and a kiss on the cheek and had a firm handshake for both Frima and Jack. “My pleasure,” he said easily. “Did you have a good drive? Did Beth tell you what we thought of doing? I understand you like to dance, and there’s a place we think you’d really enjoy. A very good pick-up band and good food too, though nothing fancy.” He paused for a moment, and they nodded. “So how about we take my car, Jack? This place is kind of off the main road and not too easy to find. And I imagine you’d like to sit back and relax with this pretty lady.” He spoke deferentially, making his words a question.
Admirable, Frima thought. There was something about this man that took in the situation at a glance and took charge of it. Something masterly and at the same time diplomatic and very courteous that defused the electric atmosphere. In a few minutes, they were settled in Vinny’s large sedan and on their way, making pleasant small talk. They chatted about the dry, cool weather, a rarity in the dog days of August. They joked about guests, big tippers, small tippers, the usual nut cases. They compared sore feet and aching backs. Jack seemed determined to be on good behavior, and Frima was proud of him, rooting for him. She figured Vinny would look after Bess . . . uh . . . Beth. (Get used to using that name!)
When they got to The Shack, as it was called, Frima knew immediately that they had crossed some invisible boundary and were no longer in the Jewish Catskills. It was a jagged boundary at best, but there was no question that for the time being they were in a different culture. The place had a rustic look, like some of those fake cowboy bars and grills on the main rural routes upstate. There was no western influence in the dimly lit interior, however, which offered very ordinary wood tables and booths with candles in wine bottles throwing off a warm but shadowy light. The place reminded her of the Greenwich Village hangouts that she had seen and heard about but had never entered. Sort of working class, but not quite. With the exception of a few quiet men at the bar who were obviously stag and looked tough and wary, the people seemed kind of arty—bohemian, she’d describe them. Also there were several colored customers there. This surprised her. She’d never been to a public place up here in the country where the races mingled, as equals. This one must be a rarity.
Frima looked at Jack. He seemed a little puzzled, but he remained quiet. He just pursed his lips at her and opened his eyes wide, mugging surprise. As their eyes become accustomed to the dusky light, they saw that The Shack was a substantial structure with an upright piano and a set-up for about six musicians who would come in a little later. Vinny ushered them into a comfortable booth near a screened window, and after a couple of beers, they all relaxed. Frima had perused the menu carefully, which was distinctly American bar food, including pork, shellfish, cheeseburgers, and so on. Frima had been afraid that Bess would provocatively order pork, but they all followed Vinny’s recommendation for steak, which turned out to be excellent.
A whole lot of people knew Vinny, and several knew Beth, too, probably because she was his girl. They came over to greet them, and he was cordial to everyone, no matter how often his meal was interrupted. He rose a little as he greeted each newcomer and was careful always to introduce the people at his table. Frima started counting off some of these names in her head. Bob, John, Pete, Pancho (could that be right?), Claire, Ida, a colored woman named Adella—Frima made a special effort to remember her name—and several other women, all named Felicity or Olivia. Now that wasn’t possible, was it? Or maybe, Frima decided, she’d better lay off the beer.
Beth seemed in her element, getting up to hug this one or throw a kiss to that one. She appeared to be entirely at home, ostentatiously so, and this was beginning to irritate her brother, though he said nothing.
“The band’s starting,” said Frima, grabbing Jack’s hand. “Let’s dance!”
“Let’s all dance,” said Vinny.
The band was terrific, and they all began to have a very good time, not stopping until the musicians took a break. When they returned to their table, Jack turned to Vinny. “Who are those bruisers sitting at the bar? Are they bouncers?”
“Sort of. They are just working stiffs, like the rest of us. But they are ready and willing to scare off any troublemakers.”
“There are Klansmen in these hills, or White Brotherhood, or whatever they like to call themselves,” said Beth scornfully, and they don’t like to see Negroes and whites mingling. And those guys over there make sure they don’t come in and bother anybody.”
“The Ku Klux Klan is here in the Catskills? I thought they were only in the South,” said Frima.
Jack’s glare went from Beth to Vinny. “And you let me bring Frima here where there might be violence?”
“Nothing is going to happen here,” Vinny said calmly. And then added more pointedly, “And do you think I’d bring Beth here if there were any danger? These men are just a precaution because a few years ago, some drunken teenage punks came in and tried to pick a fight with a few people. They’ve never come back. Oh, there are some white supremacists up here, like anywhere, but they’re not too eager to bother people who have the power and the means to fight back. And you, Beth,” he said cheerfully. “Stop scaring away the customers with that kind of talk.” He gently smoothed a lock of her hair off her forehead.
Frima smiled at Vinny. “You seem to know everyone here. Are you running for Congress, or something?”
Vinny laughed. “No, I’m just a bartender in another place not very different from this one. You get to know a lot of people that way. That’s where I met Beth.”
>
“In a bar?” Jack looked at his sister.
“That’s right. Vinny rescued me from the jerk I was with. Remind me to tell you about that some day.”
Frima took Jack’s hand under the table, and he visibly relaxed.
“Is that your job all year round? Up here?” Jack asked. They all knew it was a way of finding out whether Beth would continue seeing this guy in the city.
“Just for the summer,” Vinny responded easily. “In New York, I’ll be working for the American Labor Party: the ALP.”
“You mean with Vito Marcantonio and those other guys? Wasn’t he kicked out of the Republican Party for being a red?” Jack asked.
“He’s the guy who won the Congressional seat anyway,” Beth retorted.
Jack ignored her. “Is he a red?”
“He’s an American. An Italian American like me.”
Frima refrained from telling Jack that her own mother looked very kindly on the ALP. She felt it impolitic to say so at this moment. Instead she turned again to Vinny. “So you are in politics, in a way, after all.”
Vinny winked at her. “I confess that I love the political fray, but I’m not running for anything. But enough about me. What do you do?”
“Me? I do clerical work and bookkeeping for the hotel during the winter and I study the piano. I hope to teach music, some day.” She was a little shy talking about this. “And Jack’s studying chemistry at City College.”
“Only part time, unfortunately,” Jack added. “The rest of the time, like my sister, I have to help my folks with the store. Hard times, you know.”
Bess and Frima Page 9