Portraits

by Cynthia Freeman

  Afterward, back in his apartment, the lights out and trying to sleep, Richard couldn’t get Michele off his mind. He was intrigued by the reasons for her defenses, and in a way he admired her for holding him off tonight…clearly it wouldn’t have been honest, it would only have been done to please him…

  At his drawing board the next afternoon, he found his mind drifting away from the electrical outlets on the blueprints to the Junior sportswear department at I. Magnin. Finally he couldn’t resist the impulse, went to his desk, picked up the phone and called Michele at I. Magnin.

  “Yes, this is Mrs. Wolf.”

  “Mrs. Wolf, this is Richard Stein. I’d like to find out if you have a size thirty-six waist in Bermuda shorts.”

  Michele laughed. “We just happen to be out of that size. Maybe you should take a bit off…”

  “I’d rather take you out—to Scandia tonight?”

  She hesitated. “All right, I’d like that. By the way, thank you for dinner last night. It was really lovely.”

  And so are you, he thought, but instinctively knew better than to say it. If anybody came on too strong with her, he knew what the answer would be—thanks, but no thanks. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. What time can I pick you up?”

  “Seven-thirty?”

  “See you then. And cancel the order for the shorts.” …

  Over the next week they saw each other three times…

  After dinner on Saturday night Richard said, “I think the least you can do is invite a friend in for a nightcap.”

  Michele wasn’t foolish enough to think she could keep putting him off. He’d been damned sweet, and damned patient, as it was.

  He settled himself on the white sofa and once again looked about the room. It was almost as beautiful as Michele, and it seemed right that she should live in such surroundings. He put his drink on the table beside him and shook his head admiringly. “I have to say once again, this is one of the most charming apartments I’ve ever been in.”

  “Thank you. Not too many men would notice.”

  “I notice more than furnishings. During the past week, for example…you.”

  He reached over and drew her toward him, but when he started to kiss her she gently released herself. “Richard, you’re going to have to forgive me, but it seems I’m still not ready for this.”

  “Ready for what, Michele?”

  “To have even a casual relationship with a man.”

  “Why?”

  “I…I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it either.”

  “Michele, I don’t believe in preaching. But if you’ll forgive a little amateur Freud and a lot of practical experience, I’d like to suggest to you that the more we repress things, the deeper we bury them—and then it becomes difficult as hell even to try to peel off the layers. If you feel like it, it might help to talk about whatever’s bothering you to somebody who’s a comparatively new…friend.”

  She got up and walked over to the bar cart. When she sat down again she took a long swallow of her drink before looking up at him. “I’m getting a divorce and apparently I’m doing a lousy job of facing the reality of it. I just keep hoping that phone is going to ring and it’s going to be Joshua saying, ‘Honey, I just can’t live without you.’”

  “And if that doesn’t happen, what are you going to do. Sit for the rest of your life by the phone? Michele, maybe this will make it a little easier to talk about. I graduated from M.I.T., picked up my diploma and invited myself into the navy during the war. I was crazy in love with a girl, had been for a long time, and we were married two days before I shipped out. Now, after four years of going with somebody, you think you know them pretty well. But when I came back I found that Linda and I were not only total strangers, but that being faithful wasn’t one of her long suits. It knocked the props right out from under me. I did all the things that your average well-rounded all-American male does when he finds out he’s come home to an unfaithful wife. I sort of went a little off my rocker, did pretty good in the booze department and made up my mind then and there that I was never going to take a woman seriously again. A few years later I met a lovely girl by the name of Bonnie and we lived together. One day she said it was either-or, but much as I liked her I had to say that marriage was out of the question. It’s not so easy to live with someone for a couple of years and suddenly lose her. There were nights I’d lay awake and wonder if I hadn’t made a mistake. But by that time Bonnie had found someone else and gotten married. Well, I’m thirty-seven now, and I feel there has to be somebody special in my life, and that the word we instead of me is very important…probably the only parallel in our stories is that we both loved somebody very much. Believe me, I know how rough this is. But don’t let it make you bitter or frightened. We all have to go on living, and unless you leave that door open, you’re going to wake up one day and find you’re one very, very lonely lady. Sandra Heller’s going that route.”

  “There’s a difference between death and divorce. At least in Sandra’s case, she knows that phone’s never going to ring.”

  “True, but you know it too, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I guess I do. I just keep hoping…but there’s also a slight difference between your story and mine. I lost two children and I feel guilty as sin…as if I’ve criminally failed…”

  “I don’t think you’re as much a failure as you imagine you are—”

  “It doesn’t matter what you think, it’s what I feel…”

  “Michele, don’t beat on yourself. Give yourself a chance. And while you’re at it, give me a chance. I’d like us to be friends. Good friends. How about it?”

  She looked intently at him. “I’d like that.”

  During the next few months she dated other men, but they distinctly weren’t Richard. He had a sensitivity that she needed, and the more she saw of him, the more she liked him. More important, much as she knew he wanted her he never pushed her, and there was a kindness and understanding in that attitude that she appreciated more than she knew how to say…

  One evening at dinner she was unusually withdrawn.

  “Trouble, Michele?”

  Reaching into her purse, she took out a large, legal-size envelope and handed it over to him.

  He looked at the size and at the name in the lefthand corner. “I’ve had one of these before, I don’t have to look.”

  “It hurts a lot, though, doesn’t it? Knowing it’s really over…”

  “It does, but the best answer to that is try again.”

  She had known it would come to this eventually. It had become as inevitable as receiving the divorce papers that had come today. But it seemed too early and she was still so preoccupied with the past. “I’ll have to think about it, Richard. Today’s really been pretty rough. Would you mind if we left? I’d like to go home.” …

  When they got back to her apartment she realized how grateful she was that he was here. To go through this alone…it would have been nearly as bad as the night Joshua left her.

  Sensing her need to have him with her, to feel wanted, he gently put his arms around her and kissed her. The kiss became urgent, and Michele found herself responding to his intensity. She needed to obliterate the past and to feel that she too could go forward. Tonight she wanted Richard, and he sensed her unspoken thoughts. When he carried her into the bedroom she made up her mind that Josh would not become a part of this moment. She was here with Richard. She needed him and he made love to her with a passion she had thought she would never know again…

  Later, when they lay in each other’s arms, the release she’d found with Richard made her feel more clear-headed and more alive than she’d felt in a long time. Richard was very good for her and she refused to make comparisons. Joshua was out of her life, Richard was now.

  “Michele…marry me…”

  She wanted to wait, but she knew that eventually it would be Richard anyway. Why delay what she’d needed for so long? “Yes…but I want to fly home and have you meet my family. In
fact, let’s call my parents now. I want to tell them.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a little late?”

  “For this, my mother won’t mind.” …

  The next few days in the Levin household were spent in preparation for Michele’s homecoming. Doris had the cleaning lady come in, the house was scoured from stem to stern. She cooked and baked for the meals they would share together as if she were preparing for a three-day banquet. As she took a few minutes to sit down and catch her breath, she thought, thank God, if we can just ride out the storm, not give up, we can survive…

  When she finally saw Michele standing in her foyer with Richard Stein, somehow she knew it was going to be all right.

  Later that night, Michele crept into Doris’ bedroom, knowing her mother would still be awake. Listening to Henry’s snoring, Doris slipped out of bed and the two of them went down to the kitchen. Doris fixed a fresh pot of coffee and took out a tin of home-baked cookies. When they sat down at the table they simply looked at each other, remembering all the wonderful secrets and memories they’d shared and all the heartbreak they’d lived through. And somehow, like childbirth, it now seemed to have become merely a part of the past.

  “Michele, darling, I have no words.”

  Michele laughed. “Gee, mama, for a lady who makes her living with words, that’s one big confession. Don’t let it get around, it could ruin your career.”

  “Well, there are some feelings I don’t think anybody can put on paper. You’re really happy, Michele, and your happiness is so important to me.”

  “Yes, I really am, mama, and in a very nice kind of way. Maybe it takes a lot of growing up, but I think Richard’s helped me. There isn’t the same excitement I had with Josh, but I don’t really want that anymore. I feel so good with him, at ease…”

  “Well, these are certainly aspects of love, and who’s to say which parts of love are more important…? Not this lady, I guarantee you.”

  “You’re a very smart lady, mama. I’m never going to bring his name up again, but I guess it can’t be avoided. Joshua was my first love but I just couldn’t handle it. I guess if I could, we’d still be married in spite of the lost babies. But in all the months I’ve been seeing Richard, I’ve learned that liking someone very much is almost better than loving someone so much you want to kill yourself over failing him…”

  For the first time, Doris was a little uneasy with that rationalization. That’s the way she had felt about Henry, but although her marriage had turned out to be workable, she wanted so much more for her daughter. She could only hope that Michele’s reasons for remarrying were the right ones, that she wasn’t marrying on the rebound or trying to prove anything…

  “Michele, dear, I don’t know what you’ve planned, but I’d love to have you married in the rabbi’s study, and then perhaps have a few friends over for a reception at home…”

  Michele looked at her mother, then said, “Thank you, darling, but getting married in San Francisco…Richard and I think it’s best to go to Las Vegas.”

  “I suppose it was a stupid suggestion, if I stop to think about it.”

  “It wasn’t stupid at all. It was exactly what I would have expected from you and I would have loved to have you and papa and Gary. But I know you understand…”

  The next morning after breakfast Michele went upstairs to knock on Gary’s door.

  “Yeah, who’s there?”

  “Your one and only favorite sister.”

  “Come right on in, favorite sister.”

  Michele smiled broadly at the blond, blue-eyed six-footer. He was going to make some gal mighty happy from the looks of him.

  “Boy, I’m glad you came, Michele. Sure have missed you this year.”

  “Same here. Gary, I came to talk to you about something very important.”

  “Okay, shoot.”

  “Mama tells me you’re not going with Barbara Levy anymore. How come?”

  “I was never really going with her. Just took her out—”

  “It seems to me you had quite a crush on her, and for a long time.”

  “Yeah, well, sixteen isn’t exactly eighteen. My ideas on women have changed.”

  “I know, to little shiksas.”

  “Oh, come on, Michele. You’re not going to start on that, are you? I get enough of it from dad. Besides, just because I’m taking out a non-Jewish girl doesn’t mean anything—”

  “True. But on the other hand, what happened to all the Jewish girls you always went with? What’s wrong with them?”

  “Look, Michele, you and I have always been close. We could level with each other. So here it is…I’ve come to the conclusion that most Jewish girls are spoiled rotten and want things their own way.”

  “And gentile girls don’t? Besides, what about me…?”

  “Come on, Michele, you know it’s generally true…I mean about Jewish girls.”

  “No, I don’t, Gary. As you say, you’re making a generalization and it just doesn’t hold up. As a matter of fact, I think Jewish girls make damned good wives.”

  “Now I know you’ve been talking to dad. He thinks every Jewish girl is like mom. But let me tell you, sister, dear, they’re not. Anyway, why are we talking about this? I’m not serious with anybody.”

  “In other words, this Robin Baker you’re seeing is just a date?”

  “Just a date, Michele, believe me. When I get married, which isn’t going to be for a long time, she’ll be Jewish, honest Injun.”

  “I hope so, Gary. God knows, it would be a blow to the folks if you didn’t. They’ve had one disappointment with me already…”

  “They were pretty cut up about it, but they don’t think you were a disappointment. Anyway, Michele, you’ve got to marry the person you love, don’t you?”

  “I can’t argue with that, Gary, and I won’t.”

  “Good…Now I just have to get dad off my back about my so-called future profession…”

  “Why?”

  “He thinks if you’re not a doctor, you’re nothing. But I don’t want to be a doctor.”

  “You still want to be an engineer?”

  “You know I’ve always wanted to be. But it’s a battle royal with dad. He’s just hell-bent on having Doctors Levin and Levin on that door, and I’ll be damned if I understand it. He’s never qualified for any Nobel prizes, and if it wasn’t for mom the living wouldn’t be so easy—”

  “I’m in your corner there…I think you should be what you want.”

  “Yeah, but when dad goes off on one of his tangents and begins arguing the merits of the medical profession, he’s tough to convince. He’s got an obsession about this.”

  “Well, Gary, you just stand tough…not that I’m one to give advice…”

  “Never mind…that’s exactly what I intend to do. And, Michele…congratulations, I think you’ve got one great guy.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  THE FOLLOWING WEEKEND Michele and Richard were married by a rabbi in Las Vegas. Michele wore a lime-green silk shift, and as she stood in front of the rabbi she found herself recalling the white satin gown, the magnificent long veil with the Juliet cap, the pink going-away suit…But the recollections was wiped from her mind when Richard took her in his arms and held her. “We’re going to have a long life together, Michele. And I want to spend it making you happy…” Josh, God help her, had said the same thing…

  When they returned to Los Angeles they moved into Richard’s house in Encino. Every nook and cranny had been designed by Richard. There were four bedrooms and a den, and a combination livingroom-diningroom that looked out to the pool site. It seemed there wasn’t an electrical invention known to man that Richard had missed. If you pressed a button the record player started, press another and the bed revolved for a full view of the pool, another button and the TV went on…

  She thought it was one of the most incredible houses she’d ever seen—but she didn’t like it. It just seemed to go on for miles, and the brown suede walls, the
leather and corduroy furniture made it so masculine that she wondered what she was going to do with her little French pieces, for example. But Richard always had a solution. He converted one of the bedrooms into a sittingroom and put her furniture in it so that she could feel more at ease among her own things.

  For months it seemed that their life was one continuous round of parties. She’d never known people quite like Richard’s so-called friends, but maybe she was just having trouble getting accustomed to the Encino scene? There were barbecues and the swimming parties every weekend. And no one ever had to ask, “Tennis anyone?” That was a Sunday morning must.

  Michele knew that it should have been exciting to her, but truthfully it wasn’t. Somehow it all seemed too…superficial, and everybody seemed stamped out of pretty much the same mold. The girls took their shopping seriously, and conversations were mostly about who wore what to whose party. Still, she reminded herself, as a successful architect he needed the contacts, and as his wife she had to play the social game.

  Richard’s newest project meant frequent trips to Scottsdale, Arizona, and between all the parties and the travel it seemed their life was in a constant uproar. The only times that seemed to bring a semblance of stability and sanity into her life were those occasional weeks when her mother would come down, but since she was writing more furiously than ever now it wasn’t as often as Michele would have liked…

  Six months…half a year of whirlwind living. Finally, not wanting to carp but…Michele said to Richard, “Darling, I feel as if I’m spending my life as window-dressing. Would you mind if I took a job?”

  “I guess I would, Michele. I’m sort of old-fashioned about some things—”

  “Well, is there anything I could do around the office to help you out?”

  “Sweetheart, please…just be the lady in my life.”

  “The lady? What about the woman…?”

  Over the next three months Michele became so weary of her shallow women friends and the exotic parties that she found herself retreating from the forced gaiety and standing in corners with a glass of vodka in her hand. And more and more often, Richard would say to her, “Darling, I really think you’ve had enough.” Which echoed menacingly to her of another time, another place…