Portraits

by Cynthia Freeman

  Two days later Jim and Rachel stood before the judge and were married. In spite of everything Rachel had asked her father and mother to be present, and they had refused.

  That night they spent their honeymoon in the suite Jim occupied at the Fairmont. He’d received a bottle of rare champagne from a friend and together they toasted their future.

  “To the beginning.” They clicked glasses and embraced. Jim held her for a long moment, then released her. Rachel changed her clothes and soon Jim was beside her. She thrilled to his touch. Gently, he took her to him. She had been worth waiting for…

  And she felt the same about him.

  The next night, immediately after dinner, Sara said to Jacob, “We’re going to furnish the house, once and for all. This time, Jacob, I will not be put off.”

  He knew from the look in Sara’s eyes that it was, finally, time to give in.

  Sara was not to be outdone by her daughter…“She’s starting out with more than I’ve had in twenty-one years. I’m not going to live like this anymore.”

  “It’s a shame you didn’t wait and marry a rich man. Rachel didn’t meet Mr. Ross at her mother’s sink, you know.”

  “You’re not a poor man anymore. I not only want to furnish the house, I want a car.”

  Before he had a chance to reply, Sara was out of the room and running upstairs. She sat on the bed and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She was fat and close to forty. What did she have to show for all the years? Well, enough of that.

  The next day she walked into W & J Sloane and bought with a vengeance. When Jacob received the bills, he was furious.

  “We don’t need such fancy bedrooms. Who needs to spend money on something no one sees? Doris and Lillian can’t sleep unless they have four-poster beds?” But he could have saved his breath.

  Rachel’s fine marriage revived Sara’s determination in another direction as well. Almost daily she received postcards and snapshots from such exotic honeymoon spots as Hong Kong and Tokyo, showing her daughter exquisitely turned out in a Japanese kimono, complete with the ceremonial obi about the waist. But what especially caught her eye was the Japanese parasol…evoking as it did memories of that day so long ago when Jacob had proposed to her on the beach in Coney Island, and she’d had a parasol too…when she had been young, and delicate, and thin…

  Sara proceeded promptly to put herself on a rigid diet. In less than three months she lost thirty pounds. She felt reborn…well, in the flesh in any case. She admired her new self in the mirror. This was the body, at least, that she’d brought to Jacob’s bed. And that body would be appropriately clothed, she told herself, as she went on a buying spree, acquiring fine clothes that she had, unfortunately, no place to wear. Well, Jacob would make up for that too…

  “What do you have in mind?” he said. “A trip to Japan? The opera every night?” And she answered, “Why not…it’s about time. It’s my turn now. You don’t have to go to bed every night at eight o’clock to get up at dawn to make more money that you won’t spend. Look at me, Jacob. I’m alive too. Take a good look at me…”

  And then she quickly turned away from him, not wanting him to hear the pleading that had drowned out the anger, that left her more naked and vulnerable than ever…for all her new clothes, for all her new self…

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  IMPOSSIBLE TO BELIEVE—THREE months had passed since Rachel and Jim had been married, but the memories of their glorious honeymoon were relived in Rachel’s mind as she now proceeded with the excitement of settling down into the apartment that was even more beautiful than she remembered.

  Rachel had no illusions about there ever being a full understanding between her mother and herself, yet something still kept her from making a total break. Sara was, after all, her mother, and maybe now that she was a married woman she would at least accept her independence, rise above past hurts…

  She found herself making a call.

  “Mama, how are you?”

  “Fine, Rachel, and you?”

  “I’m very happy, mama.”

  “Really. I’m glad to hear that.”

  There was a long awkward pause. “Mama, Jim and I want you and the girls to come to dinner.”

  “I don’t know, Rachel…We’re really very plain people, you know—”

  “Please, mama…please. Just once let’s not—”

  “Not what, Rachel?”

  “Be so angry at each other.”

  “Angry? Why should I be angry? Actually I admire you, Rachel, for being so sure of yourself. It’s certainly more than I’ve ever felt.”

  “How are the girls, mama?”

  “Fine. It’s very commendable that you should remember you still have a family.”

  “I remember, mama.”

  “That’s good, because some people who suddenly become rich…”

  Rachel took a deep breath. Mama, it seemed, was still mama…“Mama, I’d like all of you to come to dinner.”

  “Well, Rachel, I’ll be very frank. I don’t know if your father would be receptive to that. He’s terribly hurt. Your marrying the way you did was a blow to him, especially as his first daughter.”

  Except as a first daughter he didn’t offer to give me a wedding, and we both know why, Rachel thought…he’s not so much angry over the marriage…it’s that Jim threatens him, and you aren’t exactly overjoyed by the happiness of my marriage that you lost in yours I’m supposed to feel guilty…well, mama, I’m not and I won’t…

  Sara took Rachel’s silence for contrition, which led her to say, “However, Rachel, I’ll see what I can do to talk your father into coming…Rachel, are you there?”

  Softly, “Yes.”

  “All right, Rachel, I’ll call you in a day or so.” The line went silent.

  Rachel fell across the bed and in spite of herself cried until there were no more tears.

  When Jim came home he took her in his arms and held her for a long time before asking, “What happened, Rachel?”

  “I called my mother.”

  “And?”

  “She tried to punish me, as usual, make me feel guilty—and, damn it, in a way she succeeded.”

  “Why do you let her get inside of you like that?”

  “You’ve opened my eyes to a lot of the ways she’s manipulated me, and I thought I was prepared to handle whatever she said. But when it came to it, she evoked the feeling I’ve lived with all my life. It’s not easy getting rid of your childhood…”

  “But you can do it, Rachel…Did you tell her you’re expecting?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “I suppose I was afraid. I know, I know it doesn’t make any sense—”

  “My God, Rachel, you can’t allow her to do this to you, to us, anymore.”

  “Jim, I’ll try…but no matter what, just keep on loving me…You’re my life, darling…”

  Sara smiled as she went over the conversation. She had no intention in the world of not going to see Rachel’s apartment, but she wouldn’t be won over so easily. She had her pride too.

  That night in bed she said to Jacob, “Rachel called today.”

  Jacob was relieved, in spite of his feelings about Jim Ross. “Oh, and what did she have to say?”

  “How happy she is and how generous her husband is, how lovely her house is—but then, as I always said, Rachel doesn’t take after her mother. She always knew what she wanted, and she got it.”

  The inference landed where it was aimed—on Jacob’s head. “I don’t begrudge her, I’m glad for her.” And in spite of his anger at Ross, he meant it.

  “I am too. How many mothers have a daughter who married a millionaire? Well, anyway, Rachel invited us to dinner.”

  “So.”

  “Do you want to go?”

  Jacob had not forgotten Jim’s threat. If you want to lose Rachel, then…“We can hardly refuse. She’s married.”

  “You’ve gotten over her marrying a goy?”

  “Why d
o you ask me a question like that? It’s done.”

  “You think we should buy them a wedding present?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “How much do you want to spend?”

  He laughed at himself. When it came to the clothes and furniture she didn’t ask, but for a wedding present…still, she had at least asked…“What do I know about presents? Buy what you think is right.”

  “Well, then I’ll call in the morning and say we’re coming.”

  “Fine.” And he turned over and fell asleep.

  Rachel’s anger over having kowtowed to mama had rankled all day, and she had difficulty sleeping that night. When the phone rang the next morning at eight-thirty, she was tired and startled.

  “Hello,” Rachel said softly.

  “Rachel, this is mama.”

  She sat up in bed immediately.

  “You sound a little sleepy, Rachel. It must be wonderful to sleep late…”

  “Yes, wonderful…how are you?”

  “Fine. I spoke to your father last night and told him you wanted us to come to dinner.” Sara paused. “At first it wasn’t easy, Rachel, but I explained that bygones should be bygones, that one has to be flexible. You know your father’s not very easy to convince. Unfortunately, he has a habit of holding grudges, but I pointed out that you’re his daughter. Finally he said he’d come.”

  “I’m very happy. What night could you make it?”

  Sara laughed. “With my busy social life, any night you say.”

  “Then let’s make it Friday.”

  “No, not Friday. I always make Shabbes. Have you forgotten?”

  Rachel sighed. “All right, then Sunday?”

  “That would be fine. What time?”

  “Six-thirty.”

  “Make it about five so the girls can get home early.”

  “All right…say hello to everyone.”

  “I will, and thank you for asking us.”

  Rachel hung up and leaned back against the pillows. Mama still wants her pound of flesh. Was she strong enough, she wondered, to resist her…?

  Jacob came through the front door and called out, “Sara? Come on out. I want to show you something.”

  She took off her apron and smoothed her short, shingled hair.

  Jacob still couldn’t get over the transformation. He disliked her short hair, but what the hell, it was the style. And Sara had certainly become stylish of late. She was getting so thin…too thin. She’d be thinner than Jean Harlow pretty soon. Still…

  “What’s so urgent?”

  “Come on outside. Take a look.”

  “At what?”

  “The new car…”

  For once she was speechless.

  Parked at the curb was a secondhand Pierce Arrow, navy blue and shiny. The upholstery was gray-blue and inside was a walnut panel that contained a sterling silver comb, brush and mirror. On either side of the back doors were glass bud vases. It looked as though it had come straight out of the showroom.

  Sara gasped. “You bought this car?”

  “I sure did.”

  Jacob had gone mad. A Pierce Arrow in this neighborhood?

  “Well what do you think of it?” he asked anxiously.

  “It’s simply beautiful, but don’t you think it’s a little elegant for West Oakland? My God, what will the Welches and the Heannys say? They might think that the Sanders are acting a bit ostentatious—and Jewish.”

  “The hell with them, goyim. You like it?”

  “I said it before, it’s beautiful.”

  “Well, it’s yours.”

  “Mine? I’m going to drive that car? Why didn’t you get me a chauffeur?”

  “Here, get in.” Jacob had to smile as he saw her pleasure in the car.

  She started up the engine, which purred like a kitten. She couldn’t deny it was the most wonderful car she’d ever seen. As they drove around the block, she felt like a queen. She really did. Jacob was certainly making up for lost time. “What did you pay for it, Jacob?”

  “I stole it.”

  “How much did you steal it for?”

  “Twenty-two hundred dollars. What do you think of that for horse trading?”

  “I think it’s some car, never mind the horses.”

  Some sense of humor all of a sudden, his Sara…“Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “So now you’ve got your own car.”

  “It’s beautiful, I don’t know what to say.”

  “Well, you could say thank you.”

  “Thank you, Jacob.”

  “Are the girls home?”

  “Not yet.”

  “We’ll take them for a ride after dinner…Wait till your fancy daughter and her dandy get a look at this car—”

  “Is that the reason you bought it, Jacob?”

  “Of course not, who do I have to impress? Admit it, though, not many people have a car like this.”

  “You’re right, Jacob, only millionaires.”

  A few months before Rachel’s marriage she had asked Sara, in the spirit of new beginnings, to come and see the apartment while she was in the process of furnishing, but Sara had begged off, playing as she was then the role of the non-interfering mother. “Rachel, you don’t need my advice on this. You have the finest decorator in San Francisco helping you.” …

  Still, without Rachel knowing it, the Brocklebank Apartments were not to be an unknown quantity to mama. One day she crossed the bay to San Francisco, took the cable car up California Street to Mason, then walked to Sacramento Street and stood on the corner viewing the magnificent structure. It looked like many of the buildings she recalled in Brussels. And she remembered taking Rachel and Doris, then little more than infants, uptown to Park Avenue in New York, where she’d stood outside the mansions, just as she was doing now, and dreamed of all the things she had missed because of other people…Harry, Louie, Molly…She’d led a decent, respectable life, with too little to show for it…especially love. And now her fine daughter, who had been seeing a married man old enough to be her father, was rewarded with all this…Not, of course, that she begrudged her luxuries. It was just that life, just once, ought to take time out for her…

  After all, she was equipped to be the lady of such a manor. She had the schooling, she spoke several languages, could pour tea with the best of them, could recite Hamlet chapter and verse when she was eleven…The tricks life played…

  She crossed the street and regally walked across the wide cobblestone courtyard.

  The doorman, dressed in a handsome uniform, inquired if he could announce her.

  “No, I’ve come to inquire if there is a vacancy in the building.”

  “Of course, madam,” he answered, opening the imposing doors and ushering Sara into the magnificent lobby. Red plush carpet lay beneath her feet. A huge tapestry covered one wall and taupe velvet sofas and matching chairs completed the elegant décor—

  “Yes, madam, I’m the manager. My name is Mr. Lawson. I understand you’re interested in seeing an apartment.”

  “Yes, if I may.”

  “We have four apartments available. If you’d like to wait I’ll just get the keys.”

  Sara waited nervously. What if Rachel should walk in?

  As they stepped into the elevator Mr. Lawson said, “Now, we have one on the third floor with a panoramic view of the bay.”

  “How large is it?”

  “This one has three master bedrooms, a butler’s pantry, two maid’s quarters…ah, here we are.” The doors slid back and Sara followed Mr. Lawson down the hall, watched as he selected the key, slid it into the lock, and when he opened the door Sara thought she would faint as she saw the lovely foyer and enormous livingroom beyond. At one end was the most extraordinary view she had ever seen—looking out to the shimmering, blue bay. Alcatraz stood like a citadel. Then her gaze wandered to the hills of Marin and back across to the East Bay. The house in West Oakland was there. Slowly, she took in the French mantel, the wood moldings
and the high ceilings. Her mind darted back to the hotel in Brussels, where Molly and Louie had once lived in this kind of splendor. Next she walked across to the diningroom. The former tenants had left traces of how they must have lived. The walls were covered in rose damask. She barely heard Mr. Lawson saying, “Of course you understand, Mrs. Sanders, the apartment will be refurbished to your taste.”

  “Naturally…” and she had followed him down the hall to the bedrooms—beautiful, large, sunlit. A breakfast tray brought in by a maid dressed in a black uniform and a starched white apron—

  Her fantasy was interrupted by Mr. Lawson. “Now, Mrs. Sanders, would you like to see the others?”

  “What? Oh, yes, of course…”

  Each was more beautiful than the last.

  When the tour was over Sara asked, “How much are they renting for?”

  “Well, let’s see.” He scanned his clipboard. “Now, the one on the second floor is two hundred and fifty a month.”

  “How much is the one on the fifth floor?”

  “The fifth floor…ah, here we are. That one is four hundred and seventy-five. Is that your preference?”

  Indeed it was. “It’s very charming, Mr. Lawson. However, I’d like to have my husband see it before I decide.” …

  Sara stood at the rail on the upper deck of the ferry, but the cool sea breeze could not dissipate what she felt…“I’d like to have my husband see it before I decide…”

  Some joke. Some joke, indeed.

  When Sunday came and the Pierce Arrow parked in front of the Brocklebank, it was that other secret day that came rushing back to Sara. When the doorman helped her out of the car, he didn’t, of course, recognize her. That brief meeting was of complete indifference to him; she was only one of the many people who had inquired about the apartments. And she looked so different with the loss of weight and the short hair that she hardly recognized herself.

  That day she had worn her brown dress and feathered hat, and she knew she had looked matronly. Now she wore a size-eight gray silk frock, a pink hat, gunmetal-gray bag and shoes and sheer silk stockings. Her makeup was flattering, and artfully applied.

  Doris was wearing her plaid dress, and Lillian wore the simple little yellow silk, made by Sara’s loving hands at home.