“Kissed a lily,” Ollie said earnestly.
Daniel chuckled and patted his head. “You’ll get it.”
Tostados, I said to myself. Tostados. Quesadilla. I’d only ever heard of tacos.
“Rosa, one of our old babysitters, used to speak Spanish to Ollie all the time, and I think he understood a great deal.” Simone rolled her R when she pronounced Rosa’s name.
“What happened to her?” I asked.
“She got pregnant and had a hard time with her morning sickness, like Sari,” Simone said.
“And yours was bad too.” Daniel touched Simone’s wrist. “You were a real trouper.”
“Maybe next time will be different.” A shadow of wistfulness passed over Simone’s face.
Daniel bolted to the fridge. “Forgot to offer our guest a beverage.”
Before I could say anything, he opened two long, skinny bottles of beer and handed one to Simone and the other to me. I held it for a minute, wondering what the rebbetzin would think of me drinking alcohol and eating traif, non-kosher food, and then I put it to my lips and without ceremony sipped my first beer. It tasted like yeasty carbonation, not altogether unpleasant. I took another sip and then another.
Oil and corn melted on my tongue, and the copper-colored beans tasted better than any cholent I’d ever had. The crisp iceberg lettuce added a refreshing texture to the dish. I hadn’t eaten all day, and I was starving. I wanted a third toasted doe, but I stopped after two, content drinking the rest of my beer.
I instinctively wiped Ollie’s hands as he wiggled from his seat and ran off to play with his blocks. “I can put him down so you two can be together,” I offered.
“You’ve had a long trip,” Daniel said. “We won’t put you to work just yet.”
I marveled that I felt so at ease with Daniel and Simone. The candles burned, and a man with a high voice sang of tin soldiers and Nixon and four dead in Ohio. The beer relaxed me, and I could have sat with them forever. We lingered around the table until a few minutes after ten o’clock. It was after midnight in Milwaukee, and I had officially turned nineteen.
16
On a damp February morning, I was combing my hair in the bathroom when I heard a knock on my bedroom door.
“I have a shirt for you,” Simone called.
“Thanks!” I replied, too shy to come out of the bathroom in my towel.
Simone had left a soft lime-green shirt on my bed. I slipped it over my head. My crew-neck T-shirts hid everything but my arms, but this one dipped below my collarbone, and the air felt cool against my exposed skin like it did against my teeth did after I got my braces off.
Ollie was sitting at the breakfast table drinking orange juice when I finally mustered the nerve to leave my bedroom. “You look like Mommy,” he said.
I wanted to look like Simone. Heck, I wanted to be Simone.
“It looks way better on you,” she said. “That shade of green is putrid on me. Now turn around.”
I obeyed.
“See, it pulled around my shoulders. You’re much smaller than me.” Simone looked pleased with herself.
Daniel came in, and I felt red splotches blooming on my chest.
“You look pretty, Barbara,” he said.
Nobody had ever used the words “pretty” and “Barbara Pupnick” in the same sentence before. This delicious spotlight was almost, but not quite, too intense. Thankfully, Ollie diverted our attention by spilling his orange juice.
“I have an idea,” Simone said as Daniel mopped up the spill and she poured herself a glass of milk. She was the only adult I knew who drank milk.
Ollie’s eyes lit up. “Me too. Let’s show Barbara the tide pools.”
“We’ll pack a picnic lunch and stay out all day.” Simone tapped his nose with her index finger.
“Let’s stay out until the moon comes up!” he shouted.
The Coxes were spontaneous. Simone’s shifts at the hospital were unpredictable, and Daniel sometimes worked nights and weekends at the bookstore. The Levensteins and the Schines followed strict edicts on when and how to eat, bathe, pray, and even nap, and their observance of Shabbos gave their weeks an unvarying rhythm of work and worship. My new freedom was fun and unsettling at the same time.
Daniel left for the bookstore, and I packed sandwiches and colored with Ollie while Simone fiddled around the house. At eleven o’clock, we piled into her car and drove south to Ocean Beach, a cute little town with a main drag and a straightforward shoreline, unlike the zigzagging, reefy beaches of La Jolla.
“There are a million tide pools under there.” Simone pointed to an enormous pier jutting out into the ocean.
We rolled up our jeans and waded through the water. I hovered over a pool, studying it. Beneath the surface, an entire world of urchins and snails went about their business as if we didn’t exist.
“Starfish.” Ollie said, pointing. “And this is called surf grass.” He tickled a thin green blade with his thumb.
“Who’s hungry?” Simone’s eyes darted toward our towels. If Ollie and I had been alone, we would have observed that starfish until he grew bored. Simone was always preparing for the next activity, and I found myself craving the attention she’d given me during our early meetings at La Jolla Shores.
Ollie and I fell behind as Simone walked briskly to our spot on the beach. “I always thought I was a fast walker,” I said when we caught up with her, remembering my father panting to keep up with my mother and me during our walks to shul. The image of my father chasing after us, sweat beading on his mustache, chewed at me. Did he even try to stop my mother’s affair? He didn’t have a firm hold on her heart, and he probably hoped that she would grow tired of the Shabbos goy before she got us kicked out of the shul. Or maybe he knew that the rebbetzin, like the rest of us, couldn’t resist coming to my mother’s rescue. Enough.
“I probably walk fast because I grew up playing beach volleyball,” Simone said. “I’m short for a volleyball player, but I have these big, strong thighs.” She patted the tops of her legs proudly, the outline of her muscles visible through her tight jeans.
We polished off our peanut butter sandwiches quickly. “Can we go to the candy store, Mommy?” Ollie begged.
She mussed his hair. “Of course!”
We put our towels and picnic basket in the trunk, and Ollie started running when we neared the little candy shop across the street from the water. A long glass counter stocked with sheets of bubble gum cigars, candy buttons, and other treats monopolized the space in the tiny shop, which smelled like sugar and seawater. Behind the counter stood a tall bald man with a black handlebar mustache.
“The regular, please.” Simone plunked a dime on the counter.
“Yes, ma’am.” He disappeared to the back of the store and returned with a purple lollipop about half the size of Ollie’s head.
Simone instructed Ollie to thank the man, and we walked along the main drag until Ollie grew tired of his lollipop. Simone wrapped it up and put it in her bag.
“I want to go back to the tide pools,” he whined.
“Hey, Ollie Ollie Oop, it’s time to go home.” Simone knelt down and tried to kiss his cheek, but he swatted her away and started crying. She picked him up. “Do you know what you need, big guy?”
A nap, I thought to myself.
“You need an ice cream cone.” Simone handed me a dollar and directed me to the ice cream shop down the street. “Strawberry,” she said.
Maybe I was wrong. After all, she was a nurse.
They sat on a bench overlooking the ocean, and by the time I returned to them, Ollie was asleep on her lap. Simone and I took turns licking the ice cream cone, watching the surfers dance along the waves. When we finished, she scooped Ollie up, and he slept the entire drive home and another hour in his own bed.
I was thinking about a nap myself when Simone came into my room with an armful of clothes. “None of these fit quite right after I had Ollie,” she said, pulling his lollipop out of her bag. “Damn, this gets
so sticky.” She peeled off the plastic with difficulty, gave the sucker a lick, and pointed to the clothes. “Fashion show!”
I went into the bathroom to change, mainly because I was self-conscious about my granny underwear. I had inherited my mother’s tiny waist and slightly flared hips, and Simone’s white jeans fit me perfectly. The jeans hung low, right below my belly button, showing a fold of dingy white cotton, and fanned out dramatically at the ankle. I put on a dashiki, which thankfully covered my waist.
When I came out, Simone saluted me with her lollipop. “Far out!”
We spent the duration of Ollie’s nap on my fashion show. Almost every item of clothing fit as if it were made for me. When we finished, she tossed her lollipop into the wastebasket and called over her shoulder, “Wear the jeans to dinner.”
I was peeling an avocado, my new favorite food, when I heard Daniel’s car screech to a stop in the driveway.
“I thought you were going to do something about those brakes, baby,” Simone said as he walked through the front door.
“There’s a guy I surf with who works on Datsuns. I’ll ask him the next time I see him.” Daniel went to Simone and bent to kiss her.
“Don’t forget,” she said.
I concentrated on my avocado, shy about turning around to face Daniel in my new clothes. We drank beer with our meal, and I started the dishes while Simone put a reluctant Ollie to bed. Daniel sponged down the dining-room table, and I grabbed a clean towel from the kitchen to mop up the moisture.
“Thank you.” He spread a stack of receipts across the surface.
I folded the towel. “Did you sell a lot of books today?”
“Two Gatsbys. Not bad.”
“Fitzgerald is my favorite.” This was the first substantive thing I’d said to Daniel. “I used to read a lot,” I added, thinking of the novels I’d ploughed through as I sat on my mother’s chaise longue waiting for her to emerge from her funk.
“Really?” He looked at me with interest.
“I tried reading through the stacks of the Shorewood Public Library by alphabet. I got to the Bs.”
Daniel stuck a pencil behind his ear. “No kidding.”
“I guess I shouldn’t admit to something so square.” Now that I’d captured his attention, I didn’t want to let it go.
“Not at all. Why did you like Gatsby so much?”
“Well, I guess I liked Nick. I could relate to him.”
“Oh?” Daniel gazed at me more intently. “How so?”
I’d never thought of myself as Nick Carraway, but once I spoke the words, they felt true. “Because he got a hold of a secret and didn’t know what to do with it.” What was I saying? Daniel was almost a total stranger.
He rubbed his whiskers and fixed me with his hazel eyes. His eyelashes were long and brownish, making his pupils look a greener hazel, as if he were wearing mascara. I was afraid he’d press me about what secrets I might have, but all he said was, “That’s intriguing, Barbara.”
“I’ve always loved to read,” I said hurriedly. “It must be great to work in a bookstore.” If we kept talking, I’d certainly find more intriguing things to say.
“Someday I want to open my own bookstore,” Daniel said. “With a coffee shop in front.”
“Books and coffee together?” What a concept!
“Yeah, a place where you can drink a cup of joe and find other people who love your favorite books. Simone thinks it’s a crazy idea. She’s not much of a reader.”
“I’d go to a place like that.” It thrilled me that there was something between us, a current of energy that didn’t include Simone.
I left him to his work and returned to the kitchen to wash the dishes, imagining his eyes on my back as I scrubbed away the remnants of Simone’s enchiladas.
That night I lay in bed listening to the ocean. My room smelled like grape from the lollipop in my wastebasket. Talking to Daniel had made me feel like Alan Shepard, floating, unmoored, in clothing as foreign to me as a space suit. In the last few minutes before sleep, I was bouncing around the moon hitting a golf ball while Simone sucked her lollipop and Daniel’s eyes burned into my back. I wasn’t me anymore. What a relief.
The Sunday after Simone gave me her clothes, she and Daniel took Ollie on a day trip to Julian, their little mountain getaway. I lounged in bed, a queen with a fluffy goose-down comforter. I stared at the four tall bookshelves stocked with novels and poetry mainly by Spanish authors who had never found a spot in the stacks of my public library. My world was growing larger every day, and soon I’d think of the Schines as a mere smudge on the big map of life.
This was the first time I’d been alone in the house. Without the distraction of Ollie and my chores, I started thinking about home. I hadn’t spoken to my parents since I left Milwaukee, so maybe it was time to phone them and then I could return to my sunny new life. I hoped my father would answer. I couldn’t shake the image of him waving at me so sadly from the front steps.
My mother answered on the second ring.
“Will you accept a collect call from Barbara Pupnick?” the operator asked. My eye started twitching the way it did when I read for too long.
“I most certainly will,” my mother said eagerly.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hello, sweetheart. It’s wonderful to hear from you. Your father will be so sorry he missed you.”
So are you still having an affair? I wanted to ask, but I said nothing. Let her fill in the void.
“How is California life treating you?”
“Everything’s fine. I just wanted to say hi. I’ll call back when Dad gets home.”
“Can’t we talk a little?”
“I should probably go.”
“Just a minute or two, Sweet B,” she said. I tried not to let her woo me with her Sweet B business. “Okay, but just a few minutes.”
“Tzippy and her husband are still in town. She’s been asking for you.”
I felt a surge of alarm. “What have you told her?”
“Not much.”
Finally, I was grateful for her evasive nature. “Good.”
“This is between you girls. I’m sure you’ll sort it out.”
I wanted to hurl the phone across the room. She wasn’t going to take any responsibility for my skipping Tzippy’s wedding or apologize for what her affair had cost our family. “It’s about much more.”
“You’re right.” She sounded defeated.
My eye was twitching madly. “So why did you bring it up?”
“I wanted to help. Tzippy’s a good friend.”
That dizzying sensation from our last argument resurfaced, usurping my anger. “If you want to help me, and Dad, you know what you need to do. I have to go,” I said with a calm that surprised me, hanging up before she could respond.
I couldn’t sit in this house alone with my anger, so I went to the mall. Daniel had loaned me his Datsun with instructions to pump the brakes to get them to work. I drove to the Mission Valley shopping center, where Sari and I had taken Benny to buy new shoes. Today I looked like the women who had gawked at Sari, Benny, and me. I bought myself a hot dog and a Sprite, sat on a bench, and chewed the salty pork with impunity. After I took my last bite, I felt a little sick, but I couldn’t tell if it was from the hot dog or the guilt.
I wandered into Robinson’s and made a beeline for a display of bikini underpants in an assortment of rainbow colors. I grabbed a pair of royal blue panties and found a dressing room. Though I knew I was supposed to keep on my own underpants for sanitary reasons, I stripped naked and faced the three-way mirror. I studied my back, as I had my mother’s when I sat behind her on the yellow bench in her bathroom and watched her tweeze her eyebrows. Turn the clock back a few years, and from this angle you’d never be able to tell us apart.
The elastic band of my new underpants fell inches below my navel. I wanted to wear them home, so I ripped off the tag and was on my way to pay for them when a rack of lacy slips caught my attention. I let
the material run through my fingers, wondering if Tzippy bought pretty slips and nightgowns now that she was married. A little boy’s voice roused me from my daydreaming. “Mama, Mama, that’s her.”
Benny was standing close enough for me to make out the birthmark on his chin. I might not have recognized the thin woman pushing a baby buggy except for the sheitel I’d seen draped over its stand so many times. Sari now had color in her cheeks, and she moved quickly as she tucked Benny behind her.
“That’s Barbara. I know it….” His voice trailed off as I turned my back to him, his mother, and his new sister and strode toward the dressing room. I yearned to embrace Benny, but I needed to spurn Sari’s long skirt and wig and everything it stood for even more. I was done.
I pulled the small bench in the dressing room from the wall and lay down on it, face up, fingers grazing the carpet. I imagined Sari, the rebbetzin, my mother, and the Shabbos goy stacked on top of me. One by one, I took four deep breaths and with all my strength hurled them into the air, pretending I was one of those Olympic weight lifters who wore leotards and grunted as they heaved hundreds of pounds over their heads.
Now I was ready to return to the cashier and spend some of my first paycheck from Simone and Daniel on my new underwear.
When I got home, the house was eerily quiet. I missed Simone’s wild energy and her devotion to redoing my look. I devised one-liners I’d toss off to Daniel should he ever engage me in another conversation. I’d been gobbling up the Coxes’ attention as though they’d been offering me a taste of cream when I’d been drinking powdered milk my whole life.
The next Sunday, the Santa Ana winds blew in, and Simone and I took Ollie to a beach in Del Mar, a few miles north of where we met. Simone let me borrow her red bikini, and when we passed a group of college boys, I felt like I was parading around in my underwear.
“Just so you know, those guys are checking you out,” Simone said.
“I doubt that.” They were staring at her, but I had to admit that I’d come a long way from the girl skulking along the beach in a long skirt.
I swallowed my grin and lay back on the sand, feeling the warmth of the sun on my ribs.
Washing the Dead Page 22