Naomi, The Rabbi's Wife

by Miriam Finesilver

  “I don’t know. I really need to move on. And you know Tony’s hoping to get that part on Days of our Lives.” Julie studied Naomi’s reflection. “Gary’s going to be leaving, huh? If we went ahead and closed the show, then you’d be able to go with him. Have you thought about that?”

  “Umhmm.”

  “Sometimes it feels like it’s the same audience out there every night. I mean they all come up with the same dopey suggestions. Every time they’re asked, ‘Give me a location,’ how come all they ever come up with is ‘a bus station’?”

  “I know what you mean. Hey, can I ask you something? Do you celebrate Passover with your family?”

  “Of course. I remember getting sloshed one time. I probably was all of seven years old. I’ll tell you, that Manishewitz sure can pack a wallop.” Julie knit her brows together and tilted her head. “Why on earth are you asking about Passover?”

  “Been thinking—this will be the first time I won’t be with my parents. Gonna be weird.”

  The next day during rehearsal with Don, an emergency run to the bathroom caused Naomi to vanish for a few minutes.

  When she returned to the stage, Gary demanded, “Where were you?” He sat in the front row of the theatre drumming his fingers on a small table. “We need to go over the Shlocky bit again. Don’s even put on his costume for you.”

  “I’m sorry.” She bit her lip. Why was she always apologizing? He hated it when she did, and she hated herself for doing it. “I was feeling . . . I don’t know, kinda queasy . . . I’m better now.” She crossed over to Don and fed him his first line.

  When performing this routine with Gary, she worked hard not to break character and laugh out loud at his antics. No such problem with Don.

  “Okay, good enough for now,” Gary declared. He turned around to face the back of the theatre. “Where’s Tony?”

  Naomi shrugged her shoulders. The backstage door slammed and she stared into the wings. “He’s coming now.”

  She waved Tony onto the stage, trying to hurry him up. “Gary’s ready for you. I think for the baseball skit.”

  Tony walked to the center of the stage, peered out to where he knew Gary always sat and shielded his eyes from the bright proscenium lights. “Need to talk with you.” He leapt off the stage and marched over to Gary.

  Oh no, I know what’s coming.

  Naomi and Don waited onstage. “Think you might have a few more parts coming to you,” she muttered under her breath to Don.

  “Why? Tony quitting?”

  “I think so.”

  “Hope this show’s not sinking. Man, my luck.” Don swore.

  Gary walked up to the stage and lifted his head toward Don. “Make sure you come tonight and catch our performance.”

  Don nodded and shed his costume as he made his way backstage.

  Gary turned toward Naomi. “C’mon, let’s hurry and get something to eat before the show.”

  She took the stairs located at stage right and joined him.

  “Excuse me, what’s that look?” he asked.

  “Tony got the soap opera, didn’t he?”

  “Naomi, no one likes an ‘I-told-you-so.’”

  “Hmmm, but I did . . . look, why can’t I come with you to California? Just close the show already.”

  He picked up his jacket and handed Naomi her suede coat. “I need you. I’ve told you that. And, you know what? I’m going to give you some of Tony’s parts. The baseball one—why can’t that be a female? You’ll be adorable in that.”

  She didn’t feel adorable, but knowing who would be in the audience this evening motivated her to make sure she gave an outstanding performance.

  Naomi wasn’t sure, but she believed the redhead sitting in the third row, left of center, had to be her. Gary had described Rhonda as a flaming fireball and all during the performance the woman was writing notes feverishly.

  When the curtain call ended, Naomi hesitated. Should she mingle with the crowd and “accidentally” bump into the woman? But she had no need to make a decision since the flaming redhead from the third row stormed her way backstage as if she owned the joint.

  She paraded herself directly to Naomi, while turning her head to address Gary. “Why did this young lady have to call for herself? What were you doing? Saving her for another agent?” She pinched Naomi’s cheek. “Sweetie, you’re adorable. Now here’s the question: are you free tomorrow at two?”

  Naomi nodded vigorously.

  “Good.” Rhonda handed Naomi a sheet of paper with an address scribbled on it. “They’re auditioning for a new Mop & Glo commercial. Cinderella and her wicked stepsisters.”

  The entire cast gathered around the agent and the actress, unabashedly eavesdropping. The only member off to the side was Gary.

  Rhonda said, “Let me hear you say ‘Cinderella, mop that floor.’”

  Naomi pointed to the floor and in the meanest, most strident voice she could muster, she said, “Cinderella, mop that floor. Now!”

  Tony, Julie, and the stage manager applauded.

  “Okay, cookie, do that tomorrow and we’re set. You have a resume you can give me? I’ll send it over to the casting people in the morning.”

  Julie squeezed Naomi’s arm and smiled. “I know where you have a stack of them. I’ll get one.”

  While waiting for the resume, Rhonda turned to Gary. “I’m really disappointed in you. Here you have a girl ready to be a moneymaker for me, and she has to call me herself.”

  “Well, as for this audition tomorrow,” Gary said, “I need her for rehearsal tomorrow, to work with my replacement.”

  Julie returned with the resume and glared at Gary. “I’ll fill in for Naomi.”

  Gary reluctantly accepted Julie’s offer and grabbed Naomi’s elbow. “Let’s get out of here.”

  As Naomi and Gary headed for the subway, she scrambled to keep up with him. Finally she stopped. “Would you wait up, please?”

  He turned around, never for a moment slowing down his pace, and said, “I don’t like being snookered.”

  “Hey, I have my own problems, okay?”

  With a smirk, he stopped. When she caught up with him, he asked, “What kind of problems?”

  “How would you feel only being considered for the wicked stepsister and never even given a chance to play Cinderella? Huh?”

  “Is that it?”

  “And as for walking ten steps ahead of me, I had an uncle used to do that with his wife. It was disgusting and I never—”

  “Can we please . . .?” He slipped his arm around her waist and moved her forward.

  Neither spoke during their subway ride. About one block from home, she tugged at his sleeve. “I had to call Rhonda. You promised one day you would call her for me, but you didn’t. And I thought I was ready, and obviously I was.”

  “You’re right. I admit I was caught up with all the things I need to do to get ready for my trip.”

  “And I wanted her to see me working with you. Not with Don. He’ll never replace you.”

  “But you’re doing a great job covering for him.”

  Thirty minutes later, they sat on their sofa. Gary sipped some wine while Naomi declined her usual nightcap. “Not tonight. I’m not feeling . . .”

  “I’m waiting.” She did not finish her sentence and he reached for the tablet of yellow paper sitting on their coffee table. “Where’d my pen go?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll get one from your office.” She quickly ran into the back room and stood as still as possible. Maybe the room would stop spinning. Maybe she was coming down with something.

  The dizziness continued, but Gary’s impatience pressed in on her. She grabbed a pen from his desk and hurried to the living room.

  “Would you stop looking so miserable? I’m only going to be away maybe a month or two. Once we get the show sold, Sid says he thinks we’ll shoot it right here in New York. So, you’ll keep our place for us. Did I tell you, Sid got a place for me to stay in California?”

 
“You said he was working on it. You mean it’s set now?”

  “An actor he knows who is on location is willing to let me live in his bungalow while he’s not there. It’s all coming together. Meantime, I’ve got some things to do, but you better get some sleep. You have a big audition tomorrow.”

  It was unusual, but this night she was able to drift into sleep almost immediately. However, Zoey’s sudden leap onto the bed woke her in a flash. The cat tapped Naomi on the nose and nuzzled her fluffy head onto her pillow. Again, unusual. And the beauty of the purring stirred up unusual feelings as well.

  “Come here, sweetie.” Naomi tentatively stroked the shiny fur. No hissing, only more purring. “What a sweet little baby.” Her hand stopped mid-motion. Never ever had she experienced this weird maternal-like ooey-gooey thing.

  “I thought you told me the cat didn’t like you?” Gary stood in the doorway. “I was thinking, since I’ll be in LA, I can take Zoey to Francine.”

  “But . . . I know this’ll sound crazy, but maybe I’m starting to bond with her. And besides the house is going to be empty with you gone. I want her to stay.”

  Gary scratched his head and smirked. “Sure, why not?”

  He climbed into bed and his snoring soon joined with Zoey’s purring. The only other sound was her breathing. And every car driving down the street. And the wind whistling outside. And the worst sound of all: the what if echoing in her mind.

  First she recalled the melody, then the lyrics—was there someone watching over her?

  Why had she chosen that song? Maybe Anne had suggested it. She couldn’t remember. All Naomi knew was she felt like a little lamb lost in a wood. A lamb who was trapped, ensnared by her own stupidity.

  Who was this man sleeping in bed next to her? Did she love him?

  At this moment, she didn’t even like him.

  But what if . . .

  Naomi and Gary kissed goodbye as the cab driver threw the last of his suitcases into the trunk.

  “I’ll call you tonight,” Gary said. “Have a good time today. This may be your first commercial but it won’t be your last.”

  Could a day be more of an emotional roller coaster than this? Filming her first commercial and about to live alone for who knew how long.

  She waited until the taxicab moved into traffic and waved her last goodbye. Better get going. With helping Gary get all his stuff downstairs and waiting with him while he hailed a cab, she was in danger of running late. Better scurry—back up to the now empty apartment.

  Fifteen minutes later dressed and her hand on the doorknob, she abruptly dropped her pocketbook to the floor and ran into the bathroom. Naomi downed two Dramamine tablets, recommended by the pharmacist. Once out on the street, she made a spur-of-the moment decision: she, too, would take a taxi to the production studio.

  The stars must have been smiling down upon her because a cab pulled up immediately.

  Sliding into the back seat, she gave the address. “Manhattan, Fifty-fifth and Madison.” Whew, the Dramamine seemed to be working.

  Gary was probably almost to the airport by now. Yeah, Gary would be traveling clear across the country. Thankfully, though, today would be a big day for her as well. She was shooting her first commercial.

  But still there was the eventual coming home to an empty apartment. No, wait a minute, Zoey would be there, her new best friend. And right from shooting the commercial, most likely she would grab a quick bite to eat and then get to the theatre in time for tonight’s performance. A commercial shoot and then a stage performance.

  Girl, everything you’ve always dreamed of.

  Naomi smiled as she recalled how she received the news about being cast in the commercial. Rhonda called Gary, got his answering machine and left a message. “I told you, cookie, your girlfriend’s going to be a real moneymaker. Had to rub it in your face. And don’t waste your breath, I’ll call her and tell her myself.”

  It still stung a little bit that she was never considered for the part of Cinderella, or perhaps even the fairy godmother, but nothing wrong with the challenge of playing a villainess. And, of course, one day she would be the comic lead in the soon-to-be TV hit of the season. Everyone would love Chloe.

  Yet Naomi wondered about Rhonda’s reaction the day she went into the agent’s office to sign an exclusive contract. Pen in hand, Naomi told her, “You know, soon I’ll be making money for you with the TV show Gary’s pitching.”

  The way Rhonda arched one eyebrow and pursed her lips together still nagged at Naomi. Happily, she was jarred from this disturbing memory—the sudden familiar thunking and squeaking of windshield wipers snapped her back into the present. When did it start raining?

  With determination, she chased away all negative memories and fears regarding the future. Naomi would choose to believe someone was watching over her.

  “Hey, lady, we’re here,” yelled the cabdriver.

  To avoid the heavy downpour, Naomi ran into the high-rise office tower. She gave her name at the security desk and was guided to an express elevator which took her straight to the thirty-first floor. Once there she entered into a beehive of activity.

  A young woman holding a clipboard asked, “Are you talent?”

  “Yes, I’m one of the stepsisters.”

  The young woman pointed to a section off to the right. “They’ll get you set up.”

  A woman wearing an artist’s smock told Naomi to prop herself up on a tall swivel chair. She did so, and instantly a man wrapped a black plastic cloak around her. A thin young man in skin-tight leather pants joined the woman and together they slathered on the makeup.

  They painted her lips a garish black and stretched the black eyebrow paint halfway down the outer sides of her nose. The skinny man then glued long shiny black fingernails over her real ones. Another woman walked over with a comb and teased Naomi’s hair so violently that it painfully tugged on her scalp.

  When they finished, Naomi stared into the mirror. They had transformed her into a gothic nightmare.

  Naomi, her wicked stepsister counterpart and their wicked stepmother all were rushed into wardrobe. A masculine-looking woman gave each of the actresses matching ball gowns to slip into.

  Seemed like a split second later, Naomi was ushered onto the sound stage. Lights had already been set up around a dirty kitchen floor with a giant silver bucket receiving the brunt of the glaring light. Leaning against this bucket was a huge mop.

  The director, a middle-aged man wearing an obvious toupee, called out, “Here we go, people. Get into position. Three, two, one, and action.”

  The only retakes were necessitated by Cinderella’s flubs, but not once did Naomi cause a “cut” or a “retake.” The Dramamine wore off and Naomi managed to work the nausea into amplifying her mean and evil character.

  By the end of the shoot, the director approached Naomi. “I wish all my talent was as professional as you, young lady. Thank you for a good day’s work.”

  Although the theatre was a short and easy subway ride, Naomi treated herself once again to a cab ride. I may not be cast as a princess, but why not treat myself as one?

  The rain having let up, she asked the driver to stop a block away from the theatre. A new Korean-owned fruit and vegetable greengrocer had opened on the corner and both Naomi and Julie had discovered the salad bar was healthy and inexpensive. It offered innovative and delicious ways to enjoy tofu. Who knew bean curd could taste so good? Naomi took one of their plastic containers, filled it with a mishmash of ingredients, all the way from fresh cucumbers to the marinated tofu and noodles. Four dollars and twenty-five cents provided a decent pre-performance dinner, one she hoped would cause no digestive problems.

  Almost colliding with Julie at the stage door entrance, the actresses laughed together as they saw both were carrying similar containers of a salad bar dinner.

  “How’d your commercial go?”

  “Oh, Julie, it was the most incredible experience.”

  “I think you’ll ha
ve plenty more of them.”

  “I was born for this. Julie, you need to go visit Rhonda, too. I can try and get you set up with her.”

  The women went into their dressing room, ate their dinner, and then applied their makeup and got into costume. As they waited for the stage manager to give his countdown for “places,” Julie asked, “You look a little pale. Everything okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “It must be hard with Gary having left today. Just seems you haven’t been feeling that well lately.”

  The stage manager knocked on their door and pronounced, “Places everyone.”

  The evening’s performance turned out the most dismal in Naomi’s memory. The audience was so unresponsive to the humor that the cast eventually stopped pausing after the once-predictable laugh lines. Following curtain call and before changing into her street clothes, Naomi overheard Tony speaking to Julie.

  “Glad next week’s my last show. I counted maybe ten people out there.”

  “Twelve,” Julie corrected.

  Don walked over to them and added, “Ten really, two were my parents.”

  Tony slapped the newest cast member on the back. “Well, at least you’ll have something to add to your resume, right?”

  The backstage door suddenly swung open and all eyes turned to see the newcomer. Naomi recognized the corpulent bald-headed man from her audition—the rude producer.

  He removed the toothpick hanging out of his mouth. “Three more shows and that’s it. Friday show, last show. Can’t keep floating this boat.” Placing the toothpick back in his mouth, he turned and walked out.

  Naomi ran into the dressing room and lightning-quick changed into the pants suit she left the house in earlier that day. One video shoot and one closing notice later, she could go home . . . to her empty apartment. At least Zoey would be waiting for her.

  Julie turned to Naomi with tears in her eyes. “If your boyfriend had only written new skits, this maybe—”

  “Maybe it’s simply time . . . call Rhonda tomorrow.”

  Julie nodded. “I will. I’m going to miss you.”

  Naomi initiated a hug and Julie gratefully responded.