The Dinner Party: A Novel

by Brenda Janowitz

  “It’s our Introduction to Judaism class,” the rabbi said. “It’s a wonderful—”

  Sylvia wasn’t really interested in how wonderful the class was. To Joe, she said: “Are you converting?”

  “That’s certainly an option at the end of class,” the rabbi answered for him. “But that’s a decision Joe can make any time he wants.”

  “So, no,” Sylvia said.

  “Not yet,” Joe clarified.

  Sylvia looked at Joe. He smiled at her, a mouthful of perfectly white teeth. She did not smile back at him.

  “It was lovely to see you today, Sylvia,” the rabbi said, and motioned Joe into his office.

  “You, too, Rabbi Weisman,” Sylvia said as she made her way into the bookkeeper’s office.

  * * *

  “That Sylvia keeps you on your toes, I bet,” Rabbi Weisman said to Joe.

  “That’s one way to put it,” Joe said. He sat down in a chair across from the rabbi. He set his textbook and notebook onto the rabbi’s desk.

  “Does she want you to convert?” Rabbi Weisman asked.

  “She wants me to not be married to her daughter,” Joe said.

  Rabbi Weisman regarded him. “Do you think, perhaps, she’s angry about the way she found out?”

  “I think she’s angry about everything,” Joe said. “She doesn’t think I’m good enough for Sarah; she doesn’t want us together, much less married.”

  “But you are married now.”

  “Yes,” Joe said.

  “So, she’ll have to learn to deal with it.”

  “I suppose,” Joe said. “Or she can keep avoiding Sarah. They’ve barely spoken in months.”

  “Do you think Sylvia would approve of your relationship if you converted to Judaism?”

  “I’d still be a garage rat,” Joe said. “So, no.”

  “Don’t call yourself that,” Rabbi Weisman said. “You’re a small business owner. And a valuable contributor to our local community and economy.”

  “That’s how Sylvia sees me,” Joe said. “A garage rat. A piece of garbage. Unworthy of her fancy daughter. But it doesn’t really matter. I’m not doing this for Sylvia. I’m doing it for Sarah.”

  “You should do it for yourself,” Rabbi Weisman said. “Now, shall we begin?”

  Sixty

  “Do you think we should include the Rothschilds in our New Year plans?” Sylvia asked.

  “You’re thinking of New Year’s Eve? It’s only August!” Alan said. “How very motivated of you.”

  “I mean Jewish New Year,” Sylvia corrected, though she could tell from Alan’s tone that he already knew that. “Rosh Hashanah.”

  “If Becca wants the Rothschilds to be there,” Alan said. “That would be lovely.”

  What he didn’t say, but Sylvia knew he was thinking was: if Becca plans to still be seeing Henry come September.

  “I’ll check with Becca, then.”

  “Who else are we planning on having?” Alan asked. With Gideon still in Sri Lanka, he knew that Sylvia would know what he was asking. Would Sarah be there?

  “Sarah seemed to think that she and Joe could make it,” she informed Alan. “But she’d have to check with Valentina and Dominic.”

  Alan wanted to play it cool, really he did. If he’d had a moment to think about it, he would have said something casual, like: Well, that’s nice, honey. Let me know what happens. But he didn’t have a moment to think about it. And he couldn’t contain himself. “You invited Valentina and Dominic?”

  “Yes,” Sylvia said. She said it calmly, daring Alan to press on. “They are family now, aren’t they?”

  “I suppose they are,” he said.

  “I may not be speaking to Sarah at the present moment,” Sylvia said, “but a holiday is still a holiday.”

  Sixty-One

  “I found these at that shop around the corner from my house … I thought you’d like them for the holiday,” Sarah said.

  She handed Sylvia the gift—the peace offering—and Sylvia handled it as if it might be flammable.

  “What is it?” she asked, turning the small package over in her hands, as if the simple act of holding it, turning it, would reveal to her its contents.

  “Open it!” Sarah said. She hoped her mother would love her present. It was a set of linen cocktail napkins, embroidered with tiny apples. The perfect thing to use for the start of her Rosh Hashanah dinner when apples and honey would be passed around to celebrate the coming of a sweet new year.

  “Maybe later,” Sylvia said. “I’m so busy. You should have called before you came over.”

  Sarah’s face fell. She had thought that the invitation to Rosh Hashanah was Sylvia’s way of offering forgiveness. She could see now—and only now—that she had been sorely mistaken.

  “You’re still mad,” Sarah said.

  Sylvia regarded her daughter for a moment. Sarah stood before her, as if ready for judgment. Sylvia laughed out loud.

  “I’m sorry,” Sarah said. “I don’t know how many times I can say it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! What else can I say? What else can I do?”

  “You think it’s that easy?”

  “No,” Sarah said. “I don’t! I just need you to forgive me, and I don’t know how to get you to do that. I’m sorry. Don’t you understand? I’m so sorry.”

  “How dare you,” Sylvia snarled. “How dare you do that to me? How dare you rob me of that experience?”

  “I’m sorry,” Sarah said. Again. It seemed like she couldn’t say she was sorry quite enough. “I knew you wouldn’t have approved. I know you don’t like Joe, don’t think he’s good enough for me. I did it for me. For us.”

  “You don’t even realize that you took something from me,” Sylvia said. “From your father. Who do you think you are?”

  Sylvia was yelling. Sarah didn’t know how to react. Her mother didn’t yell. Sylvia generally spoke quietly, softly. If you really wanted to hear her, you had to pay attention. You had to get close. Sarah wasn’t sure if she’d ever heard her mother yell before. Tears streamed down her face before she realized she was crying.

  “Why are you crying?” Sylvia said. “I should be the one crying. I was the one made to be a fool, made to be a laughingstock in my own home, at my own family holiday dinner.”

  “I didn’t mean to do that,” Sarah said. “I was just afraid.”

  “Afraid of what, exactly?”

  “Of you.”

  Sixty-Two

  “She is such a spoiled brat,” Sylvia ranted.

  “So spoiled,” Alan parroted back.

  “How did we raise such spoiled children?” Sylvia asked. “I’m so angry.”

  “So angry,” Alan said.

  “And she has the nerve to cry?”

  “The nerve,” Alan said.

  “I should have really let her have it,” Sylvia said.

  “It sounds like you did,” Alan said.

  “Excuse me?” Sylvia put down her knife and fork. She stared across the table at Alan, who was still cutting a piece of broccoli. He speared a tiny floret and put it into his mouth. Sylvia continued to stare. Alan looked up and saw her watching him, waiting. For what? He wasn’t entirely sure.

  “I’m only saying that it sounds like you were able to get a few things off your chest today,” Alan said, clearing his throat. “I wish I’d had the opportunity to do the same.”

  “Yes,” Sylvia said, regaining her composure. “Well.”

  “Are we going to let this be the end?”

  “The end of what?”

  “The end of our relationship with our daughter,” Alan said. “What she did was bad. Inexcusable, really. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive her. I know I won’t forget it. But are we going to let it break our family apart?”

  “I haven’t done anything here,” Sylvia said. “I am the injured party.”

  “You are. We are,” Alan corrected.

  “Okay, then.”

  “But we
’re also the parents,” Alan said. “You’re going to have to decide when it’s time to let this go and move on. Do you think you can do that?”

  “Yes,” Sylvia said.

  “Great,” Alan said. “Do you know when that will be?”

  “No.”

  Sixty-Three

  “That can’t be,” Sylvia said. “That just can’t be.”

  “I’m afraid so, Mrs. Gold,” the landscaper said. “If you look right here, it’s attaching to the house.”

  Sylvia was out in her front yard with her landscaper, Charlie. He had left a note under her front door the day before, stating he had something URGENT to discuss with her. She couldn’t imagine what that could be—a hydrangea emergency?—but met with him just to be certain.

  “I saw that,” Sylvia said. She gently touched the ivy that was climbing the bricks of her house. “I thought it looked beautiful. Makes the house look more distinguished.”

  “That may be,” he said, “but it’s going to tear your whole house down.”

  “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” Sylvia said, laughter in her voice.

  “No,” Charlie said. “It’s not. Crumbling mortar or small cracks can be invaded by the ivy roots. You have a broken brick right here, for example.”

  Sylvia’s eye went to the broken brick. Why hadn’t she noticed that before? Were there others like it? “What’s your suggestion?”

  “I say we take it down before it gets out of control,” Charlie said. “Right now, it’s manageable. It won’t be too difficult to contain the damage. But if we let it go any further, I can’t make any guarantees.”

  “But I’ve worked so hard on it,” Sylvia said. “Do you have any idea how much effort I’ve put into this?”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Gold, but I don’t see any other way. You’ve done a great job training the ivy, really you have. But is it worth destroying your house over?”

  “It’s not going to destroy my house. What an overstatement,” Sylvia said, furrowing her brow. As if anyone or anything could tear down the house that she and Alan had built. What they’d created together. What they shared.

  “And anyway, here down by the base of your house, this is some perfect cover for rats and mice and other unsavory creatures,” he said.

  “I do not have rats and mice,” Sylvia said, her tone clipped.

  “Yet.”

  “Now you’re just trying to scare me,” Sylvia said. He was overstepping. A warning was one thing, but what this man was suggesting was patently ridiculous. Perhaps he was the unsavory creature she should be keeping away from her house.

  “I’ve seen it before,” Charlie said. “You want to nip these problems in the bud. See here?” He pulled a bit of the root away from Sylvia’s brick house. “The roots leave this glue-like substance. The only way to get it off is with old-fashioned elbow grease.”

  Sylvia looked at where the ivy had been removed. She picked at the hairy tendrils with her fingernail. It had no give to it. It would take a hard scrub brush to get rid of the mess. Hours of work.

  “So, do you want me to get started on the removal?” he asked. “I could have my crew out here tomorrow.”

  “I suppose so,” Sylvia said, taking a vine and winding it around her hand. She gently tugged and the entire thing dislodged itself from the house.

  “Okay, we’ll get started first thing,” Charlie said. “Like I said, I really am sorry to be the bearer of bad news. You did a really great job with the vines.”

  “Thank you,” Sylvia said, grabbing another ivy vine, not looking at Charlie.

  “You have a tiny bit of poison ivy on the edge over there,” he said, pointing at the corner of the house. “I wouldn’t do that without gloves.”

  Sixty-Four

  “Jesus Christ, Sarah, I thought you’d be happy for me.”

  “I am happy,” Sarah said. “But now Mom really isn’t going to ever forgive me.”

  “Because, yeah,” Becca said. “My decision to go back to medical school is really all about you.”

  Becca hung up the phone before Sarah could get a word in. Sarah really hated when Becca did that. Sarah supposed it had something to do with being the baby of the family. Becca had never really outgrown the baby role, even in her adult life.

  And it was so like Becca to do something like that—to turn something normal, something average, into a grand announcement. To actually make telephone calls to announce to your friends and family that your summer sabbatical is over, and that you’ve decided to return to medical school come fall. As if your friends and family didn’t already know that that’s what you’d be doing. Becca may have taken the summer off, but she was who she was, and there was no changing that.

  Perhaps she was trying to distract from the scandal enveloping the Rothschild clan. It looked like the Boyfriend’s father was to be indicted any day now, so maybe Becca was trying to soften the blow of jail time for her possible future father-in-law by announcing that she, herself, was back on the straight and narrow.

  Sarah couldn’t help but chuckle at the turn of events. Her mother had been so excited, so nervous, about welcoming the Rothschilds into her family, and now Edmond would be going to jail. Just like Dominic.

  Well, not just like Dominic. Rich people didn’t go to jail the way regular people went to jail. But Sarah liked this new turn of events all the same.

  Sixty-Five

  Valentina knew she shouldn’t have listened to Dominic. “Wear what you like,” he had said. “You always look great,” he had said. “If there’s one thing I know about my Val it’s that she always dresses right for the occasion.” But she was dressed all wrong. What was she thinking wearing a snug-fitting knit dress? Everyone here favored white blouses and skirts. All of the women wore hose or tights; no one was bare-legged like she was. And hats. So many of the women were wearing hats! Dressed for the occasion indeed. She looked like she was going out to a sexy dinner in Manhattan, not religious services.

  But none of that mattered when she saw her Joey sitting in the front row near the rabbi. She knew that he was getting some sort of honor today where he’d get to read from the Torah. She couldn’t wait for his big moment.

  Valentina wasn’t altogether pleased about his possible conversion, but here, in a house of worship, she allowed herself to wonder what God had really done for her, anyway. God had given Sylvia three healthy kids, so maybe he’d do the same for her Joey. It was the Jewish New Year, so like every New Year’s Eve, she thought about the year to come. Maybe Sarah would get pregnant. Maybe they’d make her a grandmother.

  “Are they going to be speaking in Hebrew the whole time?” Dominic whispered. Only Dominic’s whisper was gruff. And loud.

  “Shh!” she chided. Wasn’t it enough that they stood out from the crowd? Did Dominic have to draw even more attention to them by talking? She gave Sylvia a look that said: I can’t believe he’s speaking! Sylvia smiled back at her warmly. Even when they weren’t in her home, she was a gracious hostess. Now that was class.

  “The rabbi’s sermon will be in English,” Edmond said to Dominic.

  Edmond looked every bit the titan of industry in a perfectly tailored charcoal-gray suit and cherry-red tie. Valentina wished she’d insisted on Dominic wearing a suit. He’d come in dress pants and a shirt. No jacket. No tie. The outline of his sleeveless undershirt was visible through his shirt.

  Joe walked up to the bimah for his big honor. Valentina sat up a little straighter in her seat. She was so pleased when Sarah told her that Joe would be getting this honor, this aliyah. Dominic, less so.

  Dominic didn’t understand what else Joe needed to do for these people. Joe and Sarah were married, for Christ’s sake. Why did Joe have something else to prove? When would it end? When would it ever be enough? Valentina tried to explain that Joe just wanted to be closer to Sarah. To cement their bond. To be able to make an informed decision about how to raise their future children. Dominic softened at the mention of children. Valentin
a always knew exactly what to say to her Dominic.

  Sarah stood at Joe’s side as he read directly from the Torah, her hat tilted at just the right angle. Joe’s Hebrew was amazing, Valentina thought, even though she didn’t know what it should sound like. But from the expression on Sarah’s face, she could tell he was doing well.

  When Sarah had explained what the services would be like (maybe she’d told her to wear a white blouse and a skirt … but there’d been no mention of a hat), she said that Joe would be conducting part of the service with the rabbi. This sounded very exciting to Valentina; her priest had never asked her to take part in a service before. Sarah was very clear about the rules: there would be no applause after Joe read. He was just reading a part of the service, and once he was done with his aliyah, he would come back and sit with the congregation. The service would continue as it had before. Yes, it was an honor, the highest you could get during the High Holiday season. But no, there would not be applause.

  Valentina relayed this information to Dominic, but he wasn’t interested. He wasn’t really interested in anything having to do with this Jewish holiday. He didn’t want to go back to Sylvia’s after temple to eat, much less to listen to his son speak in a language he couldn’t understand.

  Joe finished reading, and the rabbi shook his hand. Sarah smiled widely and kissed Joe on the cheek. Valentina felt herself brimming with pride. She just couldn’t help herself. She had planned to wait until Joe got back to his seat, and then give him a warm hug and congratulate him for doing so well. Just like Sylvia would have done. But Valentina was so overcome with emotion, so overcome with pride, that she forgot all about her plan and jumped from her seat, clapping wildly.

  “Great job, Joey!” she cried, then mouthed, Sorry! as soon as she remembered the no-applause rule.

  Edmond said: “That was rather good!” and Ursella reached out to pat her back. Valentina didn’t dare look at Sylvia for a reaction.

  “That was very good,” the rabbi agreed from up at his podium. “That was Joseph Russo, one of my Introduction to Judaism students. He’s just learning Hebrew now. Wasn’t that wonderful?”