Portraits

by Cynthia Freeman

  “I can’t imagine Jim saying—”

  “Parents have feelings like anyone else, you know. As you’ll find out…”

  Rachel was trembling. “There must be some misunderstanding…”

  “I don’t think so. When I asked to see you, your husband told me not to come. Furthermore, I always thought it was common courtesy for parents to be called when one of their children is taken to the hospital—”

  “Mama, it all happened so suddenly. We didn’t have time for anything…”

  “Well, no matter, Rachel. It’s obvious, we’re just not important in your life anymore.”

  In spite of herself, Rachel felt guilty. “I want to apologize for not letting you know. I suppose it was wrong…”

  Silence.

  “Please, mama. Please come and see the baby.”

  “I’ll have to talk to your father. His feelings have to be considered too. Now, how are you, Rachel?”

  “Fine, mama, fine…”

  “Well, that’s good to know. And the baby?”

  “He’s beautiful.”

  “We’ll come over tonight.”

  When Rachel hung up, she was crying near-hysterically and could only be calmed with a sedative…

  When Jacob saw the baby through the nursery window he could barely resist picking the child up. His grandson…It seemed like only yesterday that Rachel had waited for him at the subway station…My God, where had all the years gone? Looking at Jim, he thought, Lucky old buck has a son and a lovely young wife like Rachel. But what the hell, this was a different situation, a different time…They never knew the hunger and the wants of mere survival. Nobody had left him a steel mill. He’d had to fight his way out of the sewer and he’d done it with his own two hands and his own mind…Still, was it really so bad that his grandson wouldn’t have to struggle as he had?

  The next day Doris came to see Rachel. She kissed her and seated herself in the yellow leather chair. “You look so beautiful, Rachel, in that blue bed jacket.”

  “Thank you, Doris. Why did you wait so long to come see me?”

  “Don’t you know mama and papa by now, Rachel? If they get mad, then we all have to be mad.”

  “I know…”

  Doris sighed. “Since you got married she simply doesn’t leave me alone. You’re lucky you escaped…”

  “I’m lucky on all counts, but some day you’re going to meet the right person too and—”

  “Me! Who’s going to marry fat Doris? I’m seventeen and I’ve never even had a date. Next week I’m graduating from high school and everyone’s been invited to the prom except big little old Doris.”

  “You won’t feel bad if I say this, will you, Doris?”

  “I know what you’re going to say. Why don’t you get thin, Doris? Am I right?”

  “Well, yes…Why don’t you try—?”

  “I really have, Rachel, so help me God. But every time mama starts at me about my diet I go out and buy a dozen candy bars.”

  “Don’t do it for her, Doris. Do it for yourself.”

  “Do it for myself…sure. And what about you, Rachel? How come now that you’re married and don’t need them for anything, she still gets to you? You had to beg them to come and see their own grandson. And I really have to laugh. Papa’s supposed to be the strong one, but the heck he is…She’s got him wound around her little finger. She can twist anything to suit her purpose and he doesn’t even know it. I don’t understand them at all.”

  “I know—”

  “Then how come you still put up with it?”

  “Jim asks me that too, but I can’t explain it, Doris. I should never have called mama. I’m angry at myself for always giving in to her, for always letting myself be made to feel guilty…but it won’t happen again. I’ve made up my mind…”

  “Well, you have more nerve than I ever did. I thought the only way I could survive was to keep my mouth shut. I’m still doing that, for all the good it does…”

  “Oh, forget them, Doris. What are you going to do when you graduate?”

  “Golly, I don’t know. Remember, I was going to be a big movie star?” Doris laughed. “Well, the blimp’s going to look for a job. Funny, I’ve no ambition to do much of anything. Funnier still is I made it through high school. In fact, I’m the youngest one in the class because mama lied about my age when I started school. Can you believe it, dumb Doris managed to get through.”

  “Doris, why don’t you go to secretarial school?”

  “Yes, and who’s going to pick up the tab for that? Papa? I’m so sick and tired of asking for nickels and dimes. I asked for an allowance of five dollars a week—”

  “And?”

  “And papa said, ‘What do you need an allowance for, don’t you have enough food?’ It went on and on with the same old things we’ve heard all our lives. He still doesn’t understand. Finally I said, ‘You’re absolutely right, papa.’ Who wants to argue?”

  “Why don’t you go to night school and take a course? I did.”

  “You had more ambition. The heck with it, I’ll get a job doing something. Well, enough about the hard life and times of Doris Sanders…You’re really happy, aren’t you, Rachel?”

  “More than I can tell you…”

  “And you’re really in love with Jim. I can tell that much.”

  “Didn’t you think I was?”

  “Not at first…”

  “Well, for anyone’s information, I adore him.”

  “Did you always?”

  “Not in the very, very beginning, but soon enough. He’s the best thing that ever happened to me. Or ever will…”

  “I’m glad, it must be wonderful.”

  “It is. And it will happen to you—”

  Doris burst out laughing. “You want to make a bet?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, six candy bars.”

  “You’re on.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  THE NIGHT OF THE senior prom, Doris lay in bed and thought about the other girls getting into their long white dresses, then waiting for their dates to arrive.

  “Holy cow, Gladys, you look terrific…Here’s your corsage.”

  “Oh, Howie, it’s beautiful! Tie it around my wrist…Goodnight, mom, dad.”

  “Have a good time, Gladys, and drive carefully, Howie.” The front door shuts.

  “Didn’t she look beautiful, Willie?”

  “Imagine our little girl…just like her mother.”

  “Oh, you told me that when you picked me up for our prom.” …

  “Wow, you got your pop’s car!”

  “Yeah, pop’s terrific…Gosh, Gladys, you look so beautiful.”

  “Oh, Howie…”

  “Gladys, let’s go to lover’s lane and park. I got a flask filled with my pop’s favorite booze.” …

  “You’re dripping it on my dress…Howie! Take your hands off my—”

  “Don’t talk now, Gladys…”

  Doris started to cry. Her life was hopeless. She had no direction, and although she had lots of desire there was no Howie on the horizon…

  Doris got a job at Goldman’s Dress Shop from nine to five. She stood on her feet six days a week, and the only thing that made life bearable was her lunch hour and the movies on Sunday. On Saturday nights she came home, ate, took a bath, went to bed to read movie magazines; it was better than being seen without a date on the traditional big date night.

  By the time her birthday came in January she knew more about Hollywood than Louella Parsons. But then, she wasn’t Louella Parsons, she was still fat Doris and it was yet another lonely Saturday night. Already eighteen and no closer to any romance than she’d been in June. At forty she’d probably still be living at home. God, what would happen to her if mama and papa died? She was afraid to think about it. She’d be all alone. Rachel had Jim and little Larry. Lillian would be married, probably a grandmother by then. And fat Aunt Doris would float from one to the other for Sunday night supper because everyone would feel
so sorry for her…Thank God she finally went home, they’d say, old maids were a pain…

  She went downstairs and poured herself a large glass of milk, took the chocolate Oreo cookies she kept stashed away and wolfed them down. At least she had no fear of reprisals tonight. Mama and papa were at some kind of nightclub with Nadine and Sandy to celebrate Mr. and Mrs. Blum’s anniversary. Mama was really dressed to the teeth tonight. God, if she got any thinner she’d be able to take a shower without getting wet…And Lillian was at a meeting of the Girl Scouts.

  Finishing the last Oreo cookie, she felt as though her life was one long, dateless prom night. To hell with it…

  Doris sat having her lunch of macaroni and cheese at her usual spot in Clinton’s Cafeteria. Sitting across from her at the long communal table, she saw a girl about her own age but at least thirty pounds lighter. She was eating a hot fudge sundae, heavy with whipped cream. God wasn’t fair. How come some people could eat themselves into oblivion and never gain a pound? It had to be glandular, it had to be. Rachel was raised on the same diet of starches and fats that mama used to make when food was the center of their existence, and she never put on a pound. Doris was convinced that fat was a disease the medical profession had never researched.

  “Boy, I bet you never had a problem with your weight,” she said to the girl.

  “Actually it’s the other way around. I have to eat to keep the skin on my bones. I’m so thin I hate myself.”

  God sure got mixed up when He was handing out the bodies. She had to eat? What a curse…“Yeah, I’ll bet it’s tough…”

  “It is…really. I hate to get into a bathing suit. I feel like Popeye’s girlfriend, Olive Oyl.”

  “And I hate to get into a bathing suit because I look like a zeppelin.”

  “There’s just no in-between, is there?”

  “Never a more astute statement was made—”

  “Yeah. Golly, I have to get back to work—”

  “Well, so long. Nice meeting you.”

  The thin girl nodded and Doris sighed as she watched the size-six disappear…

  From then on, the girls ran into each other frequently at lunch and got to know each other quite well. Amazingly, they discovered they had the same birthdates. But the similarities stopped there. Murial was born in Oakland and her family well well-known in the Jewish community. The Silvermans were prominent members of Temple Sinai and, in fact, Murial’s grandfather had been there the day the cornerstone was laid.

  But the differences in the girls’ backgrounds made very little difference in their friendship. Doris had at last found a friend, and her devotion to Murial had no bounds.

  Soon Doris was invited to the Silvermans’, and in a short time their home became her refuge…she adored the whole family.

  Mr. Silverman was a soft-spoken, slender gentleman. Mrs. Silverman was a gentle woman whose understanding nature made all four of her daughters feel the value of their individuality.

  Sylvia, the oldest, was like her father in manner. She was twenty-three and not especially attractive, but her parents’ love had given her an inner and outer composure that more than compensated. She had been going with Henry Levin, a doctor, for three years on an on-and-off basis, but the family kept assuring her that one day he would pop the question. All he needed was to establish himself in private practice. After all, he was only thirty-three and doctors were the first to be called and the last to be paid. Sylvia was advised to be patient, and Doris thought it was wise advice. Doris had never really talked to the doctor, but she thought he seemed nice. He always said hello to her when they met at the Silvermans’, and he seemed to like her jokes.

  Janice, eighteen months younger, had any number of dates, but no proposals. In spite of the fact that she was the beauty of the four sisters.

  Auburn-haired Alice was seeing Martin Gold, the furrier’s son. There were no intentions on his part, but then this was the Depression and fellows generally didn’t or couldn’t think of marriage.

  Murial had lots of friends, gave lots of parties, but that was as far as her social life went. She had her heart set on Sidney Stein, although there was little hope that anything would materialize there. Still, she was going to keep trying…

  Doris loved the nights she could spend with Murial. They would lie on Murial’s bed and fantasize about the boys…about the bliss of being Mrs…

  Now Doris had a friend she could share her dreams with, and a whole family who actually liked her and laughed at her jokes. Her life had decidedly taken on new meaning. She really dieted, and, miracle of miracles, took off twenty pounds. It was torture, but she did it.

  Mama said another thirty and she’d look human…

  Murial worked for her father in his haberdashery shop and she had Saturdays off, but this was a problem for Doris. She worked, six days a week, and as a result she couldn’t go tea dancing at the Saint Francis Hotel on Saturday afternoons.

  After hearing Murial and Eva Kahn’s tales about those fabulous guys who twirled you around the floor, Doris was desperate to go to the tea dances. Finally she called in sick one Saturday—the hell with being docked three dollars—and joined Murial and Eva…

  Dressed in a brown and chartreuse print and a small pillbox hat with veil, she sat excitedly at the table and watched the fellows asking the girls if they would like to dance. Today she ignored the plate of small sandwiches on the table. She was waiting for someone to walk into her life.

  Skinny Murial was whisked away to the dance floor, where Eva, the Clara Bow of Doris’ new circle of friends, was already dipping and twirling in the arms of some tall boy with the remains of adolescent acne.

  Doris suddenly felt that she was only a spectator. She wasn’t jealous of either of her friends…not really jealous, only very aggravated. What the hell had she taken off the twenty pounds for! Was this her reward for all the hunger pangs and near-sleepless nights when her stomach had rumbled so? She had gone down two whole dress sizes, and at a hundred and thirty, although she was only five-feet-two and large-boned like papa, she thought she looked reasonably svelte. Everyone had praised her accomplishment—except mama, of course. But in this case, maybe mama was right.

  Holding back the tears of anger, she grabbed for the dainty cucumber and mayonnaise sandwiches. Murial was so busy dancing she wouldn’t have time to eat hers anyway…She washed them down with the sugared tea. What was wrong with her? She’d even had her hair cut short and marcelled into small waves and had carefully learned to apply the dark lipstick Joan Crawford used. Well, Doris, she muttered to herself, make up your mind, this is it. She sat leadenly in her unnoticed spot and watched all the pelvic bones, thin arms and thin legs gliding past the table…

  “Wow,” Eva said as they sat on the ferry going back to Oakland. “I was asked out by some guy who gave me his card.”

  “Did you accept?” Murial asked.

  “Are you crazy? Here, take a look at the name…”

  Murial held the card, while Doris peeked. Timothy McCarthy, Esq., Attorney at Law.

  Murial laughed. “How did he get into that profession? I thought it was restricted.”

  “Just my luck, he’s in the right profession but the wrong pew.” Eva tore up the card into small pieces and let them blow into the salty breeze. “Well, there goes my last chance at motherhood.”

  Doris smiled in spite of her depression, “With your luck and figure, I wouldn’t worry.” …

  That night she decided not to stay over at Murial’s. If ever she owed herself a treat, it was now.

  She went to the Pig and Whistle, where she had a banana split and a piece of German chocolate cake with coffee. She expected the binge to be heaven after the months of dieting, but somehow it just wasn’t. She took the streetcar home, went to her room and cried most of the rest of the evening. Tomorrow she’d diet. Tonight she gorged.

  In February, Murial announced that they were having a surprise birthday party for Sylvia. “But how are we going to decorate the house wi
th balloons and streamers and not have her guess? Holy cow…”

  Doris thought carefully. “If I could get my mother to say yes, would it be all right if it was at my place?”

  “Say, what an idea! We could bring the food in the morning, work all day and you can tell Sylvia you’re having a party. Oh, Doris, you’re a genius.”

  “Let me ask my mother first…”

  “Do you think she’ll say yes?”

  “Well, I’ll ask her—”

  “Thanks, and tell her she doesn’t have to do a thing. Everything will be spick-and-span before we leave.”

  “Sure, well, I’ll ask.” …

  Sara had begun a strict regimen of exercise. Doris sat on the edge of her mother’s bed and watched, and in between the bends and kicks tried explaining to her about the party.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Doris. Do you really think I’m going to have a bunch of kids jumping all over my furniture—?”

  “Mama, these aren’t kids. Sylvia’s going to be twenty-four. Besides, Murial and her family have been so good to me, I think it’s the least I could do.”

  Sara wiped the perspiration from her face and looked at Doris as she went on.

  “Besides, mama, I never had a party.”

  “Well, that’s not exactly my fault. You never had any friends—”

  “Well, I do now. Can I tell Murial it’s all right?”

  Sara hesitated. Should she cover up the furniture? Doris really asked for very little…“If I say yes, can you guarantee me that no one smokes or gets wild?”

  “Yes, I give my word.”

  “All right On one condition—don’t let anyone put their feet on the furniture.”

  “I promise. Thank you a lot, mama, I really appreciate it.” And she did.

  The girls had come to Doris’ to help with the preparations for the party, and at the end of a frantic day everyone had rushed home to shower and dress.

  Doris was ready a half hour early and was dressed in a long beige chiffon dress with a pink taffeta sash around her waist that ended in a large bow at the back. Some fashion expert said big bows covered a multitude of sins…

  The bell began to ring promptly at seven, and Doris ran down the stairs and nervously greeted her guests for the first party she’d ever given.