Jacob was impressed by the building, and was happier than ever that he’d bought the car.
Sara said to the doorman, “Will you call Mrs. Ross and announce that her family is waiting.”
“Your name?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Sanders.”
He picked up the house phone. “Your family is here, Mrs. Ross.” He pushed the elevator button and the Sanders got in. It stopped at the fifth floor…
Rachel stood nervously with her husband in the foyer. When the bell rang, Jim looked at her reassuringly. “Rachel, you’re my wife. Keep remembering that.”
“I’ll try,” she said as she opened the door.
She could not believe this was mama.
Finding her voice, she said, “We’re so happy you’re here—”
“We are too, Rachel,” Sara said, handing her the wedding gift.
Doris kissed Rachel, shook hands with Jim.
Lillian said, “You look gorgeous, Rachel.”
“Thank you, Lillian. Oh, mama, what did you do to yourself? I can’t believe it’s you.”
“Is that good or bad?” Sara asked.
“You look so lovely, mama. When did you lose all that weight?”
“While you were exploring the world.”
Rachel looked at Jacob. “Thank you for coming, papa.”
“It was nice of you to ask us, Rachel.”
Jim quickly extended his hand. “Mr. Sanders, welcome.”
Jacob’s response was a nod of the head and a light handshake.
“What are we all standing in the hall for? Let’s go into the livingroom,” Rachel said brightly.
Sara looked around at the magnificent furnishings. Nothing escaped her…the pastel Persian rugs, the celery-green damask walls, a pair of petit-point chairs and a collection of jade and ivory in a vitrine that could have belonged to the dowager empress of China. Velvet love seats flanked the fireplace, and a Directoire sofa stood against the large wall. But the most staggering of all was the Steinway grand piano. Sara had never seen anything quite like it.
Everyone seated themselves. Silence took over.
Finally Rachel said, “I’m…I’m so excited that I didn’t even open the gift.” She rushed out to the foyer and returned with the box. Sara watched as Rachel took off the wrappings and took out the silver-plated chafing dish. “It’s beautiful, mama, papa. Thank you so much.”
“Well, it was very hard to buy you anything. I went to Gump’s, but it seemed you’d already bought most of the store out.” Sara laughed.
Rachel smiled. “I love it.”
“I’m sure it doesn’t compare with what you have, but then as you know, we’re not exactly rich people.”
Jacob wished she’d keep her mouth shut. She was embarrassing him in front of Jim Ross. How dare she say the Sanderses weren’t rich? That ridiculous present cost one hundred and fifty dollars.
There were few people Jim disliked, but, never mind how much he might have understood her, he was afraid his wife’s mother was pretty close to the top of the list. “One doesn’t need to be rich to have good taste, Mrs. Sanders, and yours is impeccable. Now, how about some brandy, or sherry? What’s it to be Mr. Sanders?”
Before Jacob could answer Sara had said, “‘Mr. Sanders’? My goodness, that makes Jacob seem so old…”
The inference was too clear…“You’ll have to forgive me. Now, what would you like…mother? Sherry or brandy?”
Sara’s eyes narrowed, but she responded graciously. “Sherry, if you don’t mind.”
“And you…Jack?”
“I’ll have a brandy.”
“And you, darling?” he asked Rachel.
“Nothing, dear. Doris, Lillian, I’ll get you some soda.”
Rachel went off to the kitchen and came back with a tray of hors d’oeuvre and two glasses of soda pop, then nervously passed the tray. Sara looked, then declined, feeling very virtuous.
“Papa?” Rachel asked, handing him the tray.
“What’s in them?”
“Seafood, crab, shrimp—”
“No thanks. I don’t eat seafood. You should know that.”
My God, Rachel thought, the family hadn’t been kosher in a hundred and four years.
“I’d like one,” Doris said.
“You don’t need any,” Sara told her quickly. “No matter how hard I try, Rachel, I can’t seem to get her to diet.”
Doris, of course, was on the edge of tears, and Lillian now wouldn’t dare accept anything from the tray. Mama and her diet food—it seemed that dieting had become the hub of their whole existence…For lack of anything better to say, Lillian tried, “This is the most beautiful house I ever saw, Rachel.”
“Thank you, Lillian. I haven’t asked if you’d like to see the rest. Mama?”
“Later.” She knew what the apartment was like. “I don’t think I had the chance to tell you that your uncle is getting married.”
Rachel dropped the tray.
Jim was quickly at her side. “Sit down, darling. I’ll take care of this.”
She looked at him vaguely.
“Are you all right, darling? Would you like a little sherry?”
“Yes…I think I would…”
“Haven’t you been feeling well, Rachel?” Sara asked. Jim might be forty-two but he looked virile enough. She couldn’t help wondering what their love-making had been like on that romantic, three-month honeymoon. Had Rachel enjoyed it? Probably…She was brought back as she heard Jim say, “No, Rachel hasn’t been feeling too well.” He smiled at Sara and added, “You’re going to be a grandmother.”
Sara almost choked on her brandy. A grandmother? She was only thirty-seven. She was beginning to feel young again, and now she was…
Thank God, Rachel thought, when the maid came in to announce dinner.
Dinner was solemn, with little conversation.
Jacob ate without relish. Sara glared at Doris who had heaped her plate with the fine food, and Lillian stared at mama, who hardly ate a thing. Rachel had a dreadful headache, and Jim couldn’t wait for the whole affair to be over.
When they were once again in the livingroom and Rachel was pouring coffee into the demitasse cups, Doris asked, “Can we see the rest of the house?”
This time Sara could hardly refuse. And besides, she was very curious now.
The apartment was perfection. One bedroom was done in rose toile. The second had become a study for Jim, all leather and oak with hunting scenes. There were golfing trophies on the Georgian mantel, and an entire wall was covered with photographs of Jim fishing in Mexico and Guatemala, and hunting in Canada. There were enlarged prints of the honeymoon couple in Tokyo, Hong Kong, Bangkok and Saigon. Sara had seen enough of Jim’s retreat.
When Rachel led the way into the master suite, Sara had to suppress a gasp. The bed had been custom-made and could easily have accommodated four people. Yellow silk draperies hung in the windows and thick pearl-gray carpet stretched from baseboard to baseboard. The large, marquetry dresser, the chaise longue, the writing table with blue monogrammed stationery embossed with “Rachel Ross,” the dressingroom and the bath with their profusion of French perfume and bath salts—it was all more than Sara could bear. “It’s lovely. Really lovely, Rachel.”
“Thank you, mama. I’d hoped you’d like it.”
“Mama furnished our house,” Doris said.
“That’s enough, we won’t talk about our great mansion this evening. Rachel will see it when she comes to visit.”
When they’d finally left, Rachel fell—collapsed—into Jim’s arms, her head against his chest. When she looked up there were tears in her eyes. He took her face between his hands, wiped away the tears.
“It was a disaster, wasn’t it?”
“Like the Johnstown Flood.” He laughed.
“I’ve got to lie down.”
“I’m not surprised.”
Rachel undressed and got under the covers, and Jim sat on the edge of her bed, holding her hand.
“What does she want from me?”
“Your mother wants to be you, Rachel.”
“I think you’re wrong, darling. She doesn’t want me at all.”
“That’s not exactly what I said…Look, you don’t have to be Sigmund Freud to see that the only outlet she has for her frustrations is her children.”
“I know. Poor Doris, wasn’t that awful? Mama just doesn’t have any idea what she’s doing to her. She’s fifteen, Jim, this should be the happiest time in her life. But she’s already lost some of the spirit and fun she used to have. Both of them sat there afraid to say anything. What did you and papa talk about while I was showing the apartment?”
“His favorite subject—the meat business.”
“What do you really think of him, Jim?”
“I think he’s a little overbearing but—”
“He wasn’t always that way, not when we were little. He’s not really the strong one, he only thinks he is. It’s mama who can influence him without him even knowing it.”
“Let’s not talk about them anymore…you, lady, were plain magnificent tonight. And dinner was out of this world.”
“I didn’t cook it.”
“The food was the least of it. It’s the way you do things, Rachel. God, you really held up well in a very difficult situation. But I’m going to get you away from that situation for a while. I’m taking you to Argentina.”
“We just got home.”
“I know, but I have to go on business again.”
“Is that the only reason?”
“Part of it. I think the time has come when you’re going to cut the umbilical cord, once and for all. You’re a lovely woman, it’s time you took full possession of yourself…free and clear of mama…”
She looked at him. “James Ross, father-to-be…I do believe I love you. Now please shut up and make love to me.”
Sara called the next day. “Rachel, I want to thank you for a lovely evening. You were so nice to have invited us.”
“You’re welcome. I’m delighted you could come.”
That sounded more like the old Rachel, Sara thought. “However, next time it doesn’t have to be so elegant. The way you catered to us, papa and I felt as if we were strangers.”
You are strangers. “Well, I wanted to treat you as nicely as I would invited guests.” Rachel applauded herself; she wasn’t quite so nervous this time.
“The thought was very nice, but unnecessary. However, I don’t think your husband was terribly receptive. Oh, he was polite enough, but sometimes I get the impression he thinks he’s just a little bit too good for the likes of us.”
“I’m sorry you got that impression. That’s really not so at all—”
“Don’t be defensive, Rachel, I was merely saying that he didn’t really make us feel too at home—”
“That has a lot to do with the attitudes brought to the situation…I’d like to thank you for the lovely gift, mama.”
“I hope you enjoy it. Now, tell me, Rachel, when are you expecting?”
“I’m about six weeks pregnant.”
“Oh. Well, not that it’s any of my business, but maybe you should have waited. Children are a great responsibility…”
You’re absolutely right, this is none of your business, Rachel thought. She answered, “Well, we decided to have a family as soon as—”
“On second thought, I can understand that, at Jim’s age…He’ll be rather an old man by the time—”
“Mama, I don’t want to be rude, but this really is between Jim and me—”
“I wasn’t trying to interfere, just making an observation.”
“I know, thank you, mama…Mama, I’d like to talk to you about Doris.”
“Doris? What’s there to talk about? She’s very difficult to control. I’ve had her to a doctor and he tells me she’s what they call a compulsive eater.”
Rachel badly wanted to say that maybe if mama gave her more love and understanding she wouldn’t need substitutes, but there was no point in pursuing that subject…“How do you like your new furniture?”
“It’s all right. You know your father’s great generosity. Remember, he wouldn’t give you the money to go to college.”
And I remember you didn’t urge him. “Well, as it turned out, I guess it wasn’t necessary. Incidentally, I’m going to South America.”
Sara gasped. “You just came back from a long trip.”
“Jim has to go again on business.”
“So every time he goes, you’re going with him? What are you going to do when you have a baby?”
“I’ll worry about that when the time comes.”
“You have your life very well ordered, Rachel.”
“It’s not really me. My husband is the planner.”
“That’s fine, but let me give you just a little advice, Rachel. Don’t ever let a man—even your husband—get total control of you.”
Rachel didn’t know whether to laugh or cry…“I’ll watch that carefully, mama.”
“How long will you be away?”
“About a month, maybe less.”
“I hope you’re back for your uncle’s wedding. From what I understand, he’s marrying a very lovely girl. She’s Jewish and from a very nice family. They had money before the crash. Incidentally, Rachel, how are you going to bring your children up?”
Rachel was still recovering from the memory of Shlomo, the surprising effect the news of his marriage had had on her. She’d thought she was well over that…“What did you say, mama? Oh, the children’s religion? We haven’t decided.” But she knew her child wasn’t going to find out about being Jewish from a Catholic nun. If she had a son, he was going to have a bar mitzvah.
“Well, that always happens in mixed marriages. That’s why they usually don’t work.”
“Don’t worry too much, mama. They’ll be raised just as religiously as we were.”
“I certainly hope so. I wouldn’t want you to have any problems on that score.”
“I won’t—”
“Tell me, how do you get along with your husband’s daughter? Her being almost your age? It’s difficult to think of you being old enough to be a stepmother.”
“We get along beautifully,” Rachel lied. They hadn’t heard from Maureen since their marriage.
“Well, it seems everything in your life is just beautiful. You’re a fortunate girl, Rachel.”
“Thank you, mama. I know I am.”
“All it takes is a little mazel and that you’ve got.”
“Thank you, but I’ve got a lot of mazel. It’s been wonderful speaking to you, mama. So happy you called…”
When Rachel replaced the receiver, she sat looking at the silent phone and thought, finally I’ve really grown up a little.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
SHLOMO HAD HAD HIS share of romances during his years in the service, but he had never seriously thought of settling down. The marine corps had exposed him to a world he might never have known existed, and he enjoyed the freedom to explore it.
Of all the places he’d been, Manila was the most exotic. Life was good, he lived like a king. He had risen to the rank of top sergeant, a position as high as any enlisted man could attain. The rank and job afforded him a small house, a Filipino aide named Juan, a car of his own and a Eurasian mistress.
Monica was an admixture of English, Portuguese and Filipino. She was not only educated, but beautiful. Her skin was smooth as ivory, and her black hair fell like heavy strands of silk to her waist. Her mouth was tender, her eyes deep, and the feel of her was at once exquisite and sensual.
They met at a New Year’s Eve party, where Monica soon found herself dancing every dance in the arms of Sergeant Sandy Sanders. At midnight the whistles blew, balloons floated in the air, champagne bubbled, and amidst shouts of “Happy New Year” Monica was being kissed by a rather inebriated Sandy Sanders.
At three o’clock in the morning, Monica found her hand in Sandy’s as he led her ou
t of the ballroom to the terrace.
“Where have you been hiding?” he asked with, he realized, something less than originality.
“Where have you been looking?”
“Obviously in the wrong places. Did anyone ever tell you you were the most…the most gorgeous woman in the—”
She laughed. “On occasion.”
He held her very close. “I want to make love to you.”
“And what happens on the second of January?”
“That’s not until tomorrow.” He kissed her soft smooth shoulder, then ventured down to the cleavage between her breasts. “Please, now, I’ve got to have you…”
Monica was certain he must have said that more than a few times, but there also was something about Sandy Sanders for her that she neither could nor wanted to resist. She followed him to his car.
He drove silently, one hand on the wheel, the other around Monica’s slim waist. When he opened the door to his house he picked her up and carried her to his bedroom. He undressed her and caressed each part of her magnificent body as he exposed it to his touch. She was like no one he’d ever known before. The taste and smell of her…she was pure pleasure.
Lying side by side in the still, dark night, he said, “You asked me about the second of January. How about the Fourth of July?”
“Or the fifth?”
“Yes, or the fifth.”
“Give me a minute—no, two—to think it over.”
“I’ll give you one.”
“You’re a hard man”—said with a straight face. “All right, in that case the answer is yes.”
“You’re not only the most beautiful but the most sensible woman I’ve ever met. I’d never have given up. If you hadn’t said yes, think of all the time we’d have lost.” …
Literally from that moment on, there was no other woman Sandy wanted, and it wasn’t necessary for Monica to tell him that he’d be the only one for her.
Until Sandy had entered her life she was a woman groping. Her position in the government as an interpreter had been rewarding because it was all-consuming, but her husband, an English pilot, had been killed in the war, and at twenty-two she was left a widow. The world had fragmented into pieces she could not put together. And the few men she had permitted into her life were far removed from what she was searching for, whatever…whoever…that was. But now her life was complete. Sandy truly had become the center of her world. Her search was over…
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