Portraits

by Cynthia Freeman

  The next evening Rachel decided she simply couldn’t go home to dinner. The last few days had been unbearable, so instead she decided to have dinner at a small tea room that catered to ladies only. As she waited for her salad her thoughts were full of Sandy…She looked about the room…When they—Lord, she meant “she,” of course—when she had a home of her own it would be like this, with a Windsor table and chairs, country floral wallpaper and matching draperies. Beyond the windows were flower boxes of spring blooms. Yes, her house would look more like this…She was depressed by the way her family lived, with the awful old furniture. Why didn’t papa spend some of his money and fix up the place? At least she wouldn’t be embarrassed to bring someone home then. Then again, she didn’t have friends to entertain, so what difference did it make? If they wanted to live like that, let them—it was their business. But it was hers to see that her life took a different direction…

  It was eight o’clock when she put the key in the door and was halfway up the stairs when Sara slid open the livingroom doors to the hall and without preamble asked, “Why didn’t you come home for dinner?”

  Rachel looked at her mother in amazement. To mama, she was still a little girl going to the convent who had to be carefully watched. “Because I didn’t feel like it.”

  “I must say, you’re getting to be quite an independent woman.”

  “You might say that,” Rachel said.

  Sara’s anger began to build. “What did you do after work?”

  Rachel felt like saying, I lost my virginity tonight. Instead…“I decided to have dinner out.”

  “Where?”

  “At a restaurant.”

  “Really…Who did you go with?”

  “Someone from work…”

  “Oh, you made friends at work?”

  “Of course, mama, people like me. I’m very popular.”

  “Especially with the men, I imagine—”

  “Especially.” She wouldn’t give mama the satisfaction of knowing there were no men in her office. Just sad girls, all cogs in a giant wheel pumping out figures for American Telephone and Telegraph, but not on her life would she let mama know that. She would very much have liked to tell mama that she was jealous of her job, that mama couldn’t quite keep her under her iron thumb anymore.

  Sara ran her tongue around her dry lips. “I’m going to warn you, Rachel, I won’t have you talk to me in that tone of voice. From now on, I want to know where you go and I want you to call. Do you hear?”

  “It would be difficult not to—”

  Sara ran up the stairs and was about to slap Rachel when the front door opened.

  Jacob and Shlomo stood below.

  Rachel was so mortified she ran to her room, slammed the door, then pounded on the wall until her knuckles bled.

  Sara walked down the stairs, seething. “I only wish you’d been here a little earlier.”

  Jacob’s face was pale. He had forbidden Sara to hit the children. After all, he’d left her once because of that. “What happened?” he asked with unmistakable anger.

  “You should have heard the way she talked to me—”

  “How?”

  “Like I was an interfering stranger, and all because I had the temerity to ask why her royal highness hadn’t come home to dinner. She didn’t even consider I might be worried that something had happened to her. It’s simply too inconsiderate, I can’t take this, Jacob. I want you to talk to her—”

  “But you were about to hit her. You weren’t hit enough in your own childhood? You forgot?”

  “Why are you bringing that up? I didn’t deserve it, I wasn’t like Rachel…I tell you, Jacob, there’s a limit to my endurance. I’m not a saint.” She went off to the kitchen, lay her head on the table and wept until her whole body shook.

  Jacob looked at Shlomo and shook his head. “I don’t know, I can’t understand. What’s wrong with kids today?”

  “Go up and talk to her, Jacob.”

  “No, I can’t. Not now…I’m too upset.”

  “Jacob, she needs you…”

  “Rachel doesn’t need anyone. Sara’s not altogether wrong, believe me…You should have heard the mouth she opened to me one day.”

  “Jacob, Sara’s too emotional—and Rachel’s a very sensitive young woman.”

  “How do you know so much? Correct me, but as I recall you just got here a few days ago. Besides, what do you know about raising children?” and he went into the livingroom and sat down heavily in his chair…

  Shlomo shook his head, went upstairs and knocked at Rachel’s door. “It’s me, Rachel.”

  She held her breath. “Please, go away. Please.”

  “I just want to speak to you.”

  “Not now, I can’t—”

  But it was what she wanted more than anything in the world…

  The house was very still. Rachel put on her flowered robe, went to the bathroom and washed her face and combed her hair, then stared at her reflection. All the red was gone from her eyes. She tinted her cheeks and lips lightly, then walked quietly across the dark hall to Shlomo’s room. She knocked softly. The door opened.

  “May I come in?” she asked, trembling.

  “Of course.”

  When Shlomo shut the door, Rachel went into his arms. Clinging to him, she kissed him with such passion he felt himself grow hard. Gently he took her arm from around his neck and held her at a distance.

  “Rachel, I think we’d better talk tomorrow—”

  “No…now.”

  “Not tonight, Rachel, not here—”

  “Why not? You love me. We love each other and I want you to make love to—”

  “No—no, don’t say it.”

  Desperate, she let her robe drop from her shoulders. Her slim body was like delicate ivory. Her breasts were soft, firm. He picked up the robe and handed it to her, saying gently, “Put it on, Rachel.”

  She looked stricken. “Don’t you want me? Don’t you find me desirable at all? I thought—”

  “Rachel, I’m your father’s brother—”

  “Half-brother. Besides, what does that have to do with this? I love you, Sandy. Please take me with you…”

  “Rachel, you don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “Yes, I do. I’ve thought of absolutely nothing but us, you and me.”

  “You’re not looking for me, Rachel, you’re looking for an escape. Believe me, that’s what this really is—”

  “How can you say that to me after the letters you sent and the presents?”

  “What letters?”

  “The love letters…”

  Oh, my God, she had read into them what she needed to hear. “Rachel, those weren’t love letters. They were letters written to someone I love very dearly, as I do all of you…”

  Slowly Rachel stepped into the robe and tied the sash around her waist. “So all these years I waited for nothing. I thought if there was one person in the world I could count on, it would be you. My mother’s right. I am nothing, I am stupid—”

  “You mustn’t say that. You’re a beautiful young woman and you’re going to find a very lucky young man who loves you as you should be loved.”

  She stood silent for a long moment. “Well, dear uncle, you taught me a very valuable lesson tonight…I’m never going to love anyone again.”

  “You’re hurt and…”

  But she had already turned and walked out of the room before he had a chance to finish.

  He sat now on the edge of the bed. Face it, he had wanted to hold her tight and not only to comfort her…But such feelings aroused in him not only were dangerous but also of no importance. What was of real concern was that she clearly meant what she’d said, that she’d never allow herself to be vulnerable to anyone, and it was partly his fault. But what could he do about it except pray that he hadn’t, even if unwittingly, helped to destroy the last small vestige of love that she had left…

  He dressed quickly, packed and wrote a note that he propped again
st the pillow. He looked at the room, knowing he would never be able to come back…

  Jacob was not only bewildered but also angry at Shlomo’s abrupt departure. He had dreamed that the two of them were at last going to be partners but now Shlomo was going back to the marines. Jacob needed someone of his own to depend on in his business. If only he’d had a son…What perplexed him most was that in the last few days, as they had traveled together through the countryside, he thought that Shlomo had finally shown some enthusiasm for his work. Now, suddenly, he was reenlisting for another two years. Shlomo was a mystery. What in the world was the great hold the marines had on his brother?

  Fortunately, if Shlomo had his way, Jacob would never find out.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  IT WAS 1928, AND America was riding high. The nation was rich and powerful, the economy solid. Businesses were thriving and everyone was buying stock—even Jacob’s barber.

  Jacob was draped now in a white cloth and sitting in a revolving chair as Guido Ranzinni clipped away at his thick blond hair. He observed Guido’s smiling face in the mirror.

  “I got a house paid for. A brand new Chevrolet—green, the color of money. I’m a happy man, Jack. My sons are goin’ to have what I never had. Joey’s going to the college…he’s gonna be a doctor. Pretty good for a barber who couldn’t read or write, huh? From me and Maria, two dumb kids from Naples. With these scissors and a little luck I’ve done okay. But I really made a killing the other day.”

  “Yeah? How?”

  “I bought a stock called Goldman Saks. I never heard of it, don’t even know now what it’s all about, but my broker says buy, so Guido buys. Smart man, my broker.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Wonderful man, his name is Joseph Calla. You should go see him, Jack.”

  “I don’t like stocks.”

  “You’re crazy, everyone’s making a fortune. I made three hundred dollars in one day. Did you ever hear of anything like it? I could have stood on my feet for the rest of my life and never make what I did last year. I learned how from Calla. I buy and sell, keep most of the money, put it in the bank and buy on margin.”

  “I still don’t like stocks…”

  “A smart Jew like you don’t want to make a killing?”

  The comment didn’t anger Jacob because he knew there was no malice in it. In fact, Guido put them in the same bag. Wops and Kikes had to stick together, he had often said.

  “Of course I do,” answered Jacob. “Who doesn’t? But I only know how to buy cattle. I don’t like to invest in anything I can’t control.”

  “That’s foolish. The richest men in the world are in the market and they can’t control it any more than you can.”

  Jacob knew how much money everyone was making, but he was afraid to invest. His own business was almost as much a gamble as the stock market was, in some ways even more so. The truth of the matter was that although he knew it was important to buy in volume he didn’t always have the cash to buy the amount of livestock he needed. Most of the time he traded on a bank draft, when in fact the money wasn’t in his account. But thank God he’d become good friends with the local bank manager. The man covered for him because he knew that not once had Jacob defaulted. Still, he frequently spent a sleepless night praying that by the time he sold the cattle he’d be able to cover the draft and come out with a profit.

  These were different times than when Jacob started. Prices fluctuated so fast from the time of purchase to the time of sale that if it hadn’t been for his uncanny skill in buying right he could easily be operating in the red. Yes indeed, these were different times. Today farmers had radios and listened to stock prices. But Jacob pitted his brain against the ranchers and there were few who did better than he. He played the percentages. Many of the heifers were underweight but he bought them deliberately. He made sure that his cattle would gain weight in transit, because every pound gained was a dollar earned. Which was why he traveled with them, even slept in a caboose…

  As Guido removed the white apron from Jacob’s neck, sprinkled talcum powder on a round brush and began to dust away the tiny stray hairs, he said, “You go see Calla. I’m telling you, Jack, climb on the gravy train.”

  After he left the shop Jacob sat in his car for a long time debating with himself. Guido’s words had had more of an impact than he wanted to admit. “I could work a lifetime…I’m a happy man…two dumb kids from Naples…” Well, Jacob wasn’t such a happy man, but in its fashion life had been good to him too. He wasn’t rich, of course, but he had more than most, and more than anyone knew, including Sara and the kids, and for good reason. He’d become so secretive thanks to their pressures, that he didn’t even tell Shlomo, though he wondered now if that hadn’t been a mistake…maybe if he’d told him more he’d have stayed, not reenlisted…Still, what he’d seen and learned was that you couldn’t trust anybody…hadn’t his whole life been proof of that? Sometimes he did feel bad…though he could never bring himself to tell her so…that he held back from Sara, but then he reminded himself that if he let her have her way she’d have them bankrupt with her craziness about furniture, her refusal to understand that the money he needed to buy his cattle didn’t grow on trees…All right, maybe he did overdo it, maybe he could loosen up a little more, except once you started with that…The overwhelming fact for him was that from his sweat and hands and brains he had created security for his family, and he was determined that the source of it…his business…should grow. One day he would own his own plant…Still, “go see Calla, climb on the gravy train” kept reverberating in his head. Sometimes maybe you did have to risk a little to get ahead…

  Jacob sat now in Calla’s office in the Bank of America Building as the broker explained, “In order to make money, Mr. Sanders, you know as well as I do that you’ve got to invest a sizable sum.”

  “What’s a sizable sum?”

  “Well, all things are relative, but let’s say if you could spare five thousand dollars, that could start you out with a fair portfolio.”

  Jacob groaned inwardly. Sure, he had the money, but to gamble five thousand dollars?

  Calla continued, “I’d suggest putting three thousand in Goldman Saks—that’s the best buy on the market at twelve dollars a share. Then there’s a new issue out on an airline that’s going commercial—”

  “Airline stock? I wouldn’t invest a quarter.”

  “All right, here’s a gilt-edge stock. AT&T. There…”

  Jacob wasn’t listening. Goldman Saks was the buy. Twelve dollars into five thousand meant owning four hundred and sixteen shares. Jacob’s hand shook as he wrote out the check…

  He read the financial page every night. It was going up and up and up.

  After eight months Jacob became nervous. The stock had jumped to sixty-five dollars a share. Of the twenty-seven thousand dollars, he took twenty-two of it and put it in the safe-deposit box and reinvested the original five thousand, plus what he bought on margin. He now owned railroad, oil and AT&T stocks. Not so bad. Jack Sandsonitsky had a real stake in the goyim’s America…

  To own a meat packing plant, that still was the ultimate, and now it was almost in the palm of his hand. Mr. Fratis, who had owned and ran the Hayward Meat Packing Company, had died, leaving no sons to carry on the business. It was an established and well-respected business, and it was up for grabs.

  When Jacob had worked for the Hayward Meat Packing Company, he had been concerned with keeping his family’s security uppermost in his mind and suppressing his revulsion over slaughtering the cows. The idea that one day he might own it would have seemed as ridiculous as going to the moon. And now? He hungered for it. The plant and the five acres of pens and feed mills were his ladder to success—no more speculating at the stockyards. But buying it would mean selling the stocks, which had now earned him two hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars. The choice lay between the riches promised by the market and the attainment of a longtime dream. He would have liked both, but Mrs. Fratis wa
nted cash. She was a tough old lady who could not be bargained with. So Jacob sold to buy a dream.

  On January 5, 1929, Jacob disposed of his stock and bought the Hayward Meat Packing Company. He paid seventy thousand dollars in cash to Mrs. Fratis and used the rest of his stock earnings to establish a line of credit. With a bank loan he modernized the plant and hired a small office staff. Smitty, who still worked at the plant, became a truck driver. Jacob hired two additional drivers and bought three new trucks.

  This would have been, should have been, Jacob’s happiest moment, except for two things. Shlomo was still in the marines and he needed someone to keep an eye on his interests. He couldn’t be everywhere…And Sara still badgered him…wanting to furnish the house and all the rest of it. The arguments were becoming more frequent, more extreme. But he would not, could not, budge from his position…She was not going to dominate his life no matter how much she tried. She’d deprived him of enough, deprived him of herself. Now she would wait until he was ready. She had hurt him more than even he knew. She had turned against him during the times when it seemed that everything in life was conspiring against him. Now, the money at least helped. His new company would help more…

  Shortly after Jacob was firmly established in the plant he became consumed with another vision—to own a large ranch up in Klamath that consisted of four hundred and fifty acres of perfect grazing land and two hundred acres of planted alfalfa. But its greatest asset was what every cattleman most valued—water. The irrigation ditches were already there and an added attraction was that a Santa Fe spur track ran through the property. This not only meant less expense in transporting his cattle, but the railroad had to rent the land in order to have access to the track. No longer would he be obliged to buy the cattle in Montana, Wyoming, Oregon and Nevada, and once he acquired his own breeding stock the profits could be enormous. The cattle could be shipped to the Hayward Meat Packing Company, fed and fattened in his pens and feed mill—and all the profits would be his.