The Witch and the Borscht Pearl

by Angela Zeman

  Pearl’s forehead furrowed, then she said, after clearing her throat, “Families. My family’s here tonight.” I wondered if that meant she’d seen Bella. “Mothers have ambitions for their sons.

  “The son of my rabbi, a fine boy, a tall handsome graduate of Columbia, destined to become a rabbi himself one day, asked a wealthy man’s daughter, an only child and heiress, to marry him. She said yes. Oy, his mother’s rejoicing. The rebbetzen swears the match was made in heaven. Gelt by association.”

  A few people chuckled warm-heartedly, but Pearl seemed to have lost her energy. She stood looking at the audience with an odd detachment. She gazed at them, and they stared back, more and more perplexed.

  Silence filled the room, then stretched. And stretched. And still Pearl said nothing. Her eyebrows tilted up like a puzzled child’s, and still she said nothing. Then her features crumpled, and to my horror, big silent tears rolled down her sunken cheeks, making wet roads through the makeup. Her big hands came up from her sides, fingers splayed, and then she let them drop.

  I suddenly realized that tears were spilling out of my eyes, too, and it seemed then that everyone was crying, heartbroken for Pearl. Or maybe heartbroken for ourselves.

  “I can’t do it,” she whispered. The whisper was picked up and broadcast through the theater by the microphone. It exaggerated her words into breathy, hollow syllables. Everyone heard.

  Beneath the pancake and lipstick and rouge, her skin paled, making harsh blotches of the makeup. The audience began a subtle muttering, a roiling of sound that grew louder with every second.

  Then she spoke. “Nothing’s funny anymore. I’m sorry.” She turned and walked towards us, abandoning her mark, the show, and her fans.

  She walked off the stage. She passed me, dignified, but broken. She had no more tears, but we were all crying for her now.

  Tough resilient Zoë stood as if impaled to the floor as Pearl walked by her.

  Some alert stage person cued the orchestra to play, which they did, but raggedly. Chaos reigned on the other side of the stage, but here all attention was on Pearl. When she stopped walking, she began weaving drunkenly as if ready to fall. Steve found a chair, pushed it behind her. Pearl collapsed into it. Zoë lunged toward her. Dropping into a crouch, she hugged Pearl’s bony knees to her chest like a bewildered child.

  Pearl comforted the now sobbing Zoë, rather than the other way around. “I’m sorry, Zoë. I feel dead inside. My Bernie’s gone forever. I’ll never see him again. And Solly … all the pain he held inside himself. All the ugly pain he caused. And my sister, the only family I have left. We were apart for thirty years and I wanted her back, Zoë. But she’s lost to me forever, now.”

  I heard the band playing more strongly, and I wondered what would happen to the television schedule, but I didn’t really care. Here, no one moved. The pandemonium from the audience could have come from another planet.

  In one corner of my eye I saw a familiar shape, and looked up to stare helplessly into the grave blue eyes of Michael. His gaze at me was oddly sympathetic. I say oddly because it seemed to me that all sympathy must surely be directed to Pearl. And Ilene. Ilene! I whipped around to find Ilene huddled wide-eyed next to me on my left. I breathed deep with relief.

  Then I heard what Pearl was saying to Zoë. “Don’t you see? Bella killed Solly, Zoë dear. But it’s my fault. I pushed her against her will. I wanted her to get him to confess and repay the money he stole. I put her into an unbearable position while laboring under the delusion that she owed me something. When nothing else worked, she killed him for me.”

  She pressed her lips together. “Bella put in 30 years paying for her mistakes, and now she’ll pay for mine, too. I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself.”

  Mrs. Risk said in an intense voice that carried easily over the racket, “No, Pearl.”

  Pearl searched the bystanders, found Mrs. Risk in the crowd. She stood up. Zoë crumpled on the floor, an island of despair. Pearl and Mrs. Risk gazed long and steadily at each other.

  “You’re mistaken, Pearl,” continued Mrs. Risk. “Much of what you’re saying is wrong.”

  I glanced warily at Michael, but he just stood impassively listening.

  “You told me yourself once, how I put faith and trust in the wrong people.” Pearl’s voice sounded bitter, a slight note daring Mrs. Risk to contradict herself now. “My stupid gullibility turned Marvin into a thief, killed Solly, destroyed my sister’s life. Didn’t it?”

  “No! Some facts you’ve got twisted, and you’re taking responsibility for things you shouldn’t.”

  Pearl shook her head. “Don’t try to soften it for me now. This is the new Pearl, remember? The tough one. I can take it. Trouble is, I forgot how to laugh.” Pearl sighed as if exhausted. “You’re a smart woman, Mrs. Risk, and nobody’s ever been a kinder, more helpful friend to me. But I can’t help wondering if I wasn’t happier before I got so smart. Maybe you should’ve left well enough alone.” Turning, she slowly, with head firmly erect, walked the long yards to her dressing room and shut the door behind herself.

  Zoë stirred. Awkwardly pulling herself upright, she stumbled after Pearl.

  The stage manager smacked both hands onto his bald head and moaned, “Oygod, what do I do now? I got fourteen hundred people out there, and a television crew. They’ll tear my hair out by the roots!”

  Roselle glanced sourly at the manager’s gleaming skull and said, “That shouldn’t take more than a second.”

  “Get Eddie Miller!” commanded Mrs. Risk. “Ask him to carry the show for Pearl. Tell the television crew to load up the commercials until he’s ready to go on.”

  The manager gaped at her for a wild second, then gave her an enormous kiss dead on the lips. She recoiled, but he didn’t notice. “I may marry you,” he said fervently. He flew away on chubby legs, inspired.

  I turned around to find that Michael and Ilene were gone.

  31

  “ILENE’S DISAPPEARED!” I SHRILLED, twisting about. She was nowhere in sight. After impaling me with a sharp look, Mrs. Risk hastened away. I followed, not knowing what else to do, devastated at how dismally I’d failed to protect Ilene. Even to be just a comforting presence at her side would have been better than nothing.

  Mrs. Risk forged ruthlessly up the crowded aisles. I ran after her, cursing my high heels as I wobbled on the inclines. She edged along the back wall, but passed the exit, which confused me. We were trying to get out, weren’t we? Then I saw Bella. Alone at her table, she stared morosely at the empty stage.

  Mrs. Risk stopped, grabbed Bella’s arm, and pulled her roughly to her feet. She towered over the small woman, but only physically, not in intimidation. “Go backstage. Your sister needs you,” Mrs. Risk commanded.

  Bella jerked her arm loose but seemed to bear Mrs. Risk no ill will. “Don’t you think I want to be there? Ever since we last saw you, my presence upsets her so much I’ve been avoiding her. I’m afraid of causing another heart attack. She thinks I killed Solly, and even worse, blames herself for it. She thinks absolutely everything everyone’s done is her fault. She’s been living on pills and nerves, and—I’ve tried. I probably shouldn’t have come tonight, but I couldn’t stay away.” Bella looked haggard with worry.

  Mrs. Risk subsided. She glanced around the room. “Yes, well, if she hasn’t collapsed by now—go back there anyway. Tell her you’re her sister, that you’re standing by her no matter what—don’t argue with her about it. Just stay there.”

  “Do you know this place is full of cops? Plainclothes everywhere, even some uniformed. You can’t tell me that’s normal security, even with the television broadcast. Something’s going on.” She laughed bitterly. “Are they looking for me?”

  “No, they’re not!” I snapped. Why was Mrs. Risk wasting precious time with Bella?

  “No, they’re not,” agreed Mrs. Risk. “But I must warn you—Pearl has told everyone backstage that you killed Solly. That means that in Ilene’s mind, you w
ere responsible for Pearl’s pain and harassment. Right now, Ilene’s terribly disturbed. She’s dangerous to anyone she thinks has hurt Pearl. If she approaches you and a policeman is nearby, tell him Mrs. Risk said to take her into protective custody.”

  What? She didn’t think Michael had Ilene yet? After the first rush of hope, I backed away from Mrs. Risk, repelled. “I thought you cared about Ilene, too. Not just Pearl.” My voice was bitter.

  Mrs. Risk turned pitying eyes on me. “Sometimes the best thing can seem the most cruel, Rachel. It’s too late for you to look after her yourself now. Our attentions are needed elsewhere.”

  She touched Bella. “Remember and do exactly what I said. Let’s go, Rachel.”

  “No.”

  “Yes! Come with me. You must trust me.”

  “I don’t have to trust anybody. Ilene did and look at the results.”

  Mrs. Risk’s lips twisted impatiently. I turned and plunged into the crowd. Pearl. Ilene would probably go to Pearl.

  After an endless struggle through the backstage mash to reach Pearl’s dressing room, I found nobody there.

  The manager was standing near the lighting control panel. I grabbed his arm. “Where’s Pearl?” I cried over the noise.

  He shook his head. The man he’d been talking with said, “She and that bunch went back up to her suite.”

  “Where’s her suite?”

  The manager eyed me, seemed reassured by what he saw, closed his eyes and thought a moment. “Seven twenty seven.”

  Without thanks I bolted for the exit.

  My room was 708. She couldn’t be too far away from that.

  When I reached the right hall I scanned room numbers. I began to plot how to gain entrance if Pearl’s friends were barricading the door, but needn’t have bothered. Her door gaped open. Anybody could go in, so I did. Food and drinks were piled on white cloth-draped tables and people were everywhere, but the mood was far from festive. A funeral hush reigned.

  Ilene was nowhere in sight in the enormous suite.

  “Where’s Pearl?” I asked Leeanne, to receive a grimace and the back of her head for my answer. The same question applied to Roselle got a similar response.

  With an embarrassed glance at his wife, Simon said, “Pearlie’s in her room.”

  I went to the bedroom door and pulled at the doorknob, but it was locked. I glanced around me. Nobody seemed to be watching so I put my ear to the wood. I heard odd muffled thumps.

  “Simon, who’s in there with her?”

  He shrugged and poured himself another drink. Soda water, I noticed. He dropped indigestion pills into it and watched the fizz morosely.

  Suddenly the bedroom door was flung open. I lunged for it. Vivian strutted out moving fast. The triumph on her face as I brushed by her worried me, but the sight inside made me forget Vivian.

  I exclaimed, which brought Leeanne and Roselle rushing, but I slammed the door in their faces and locked it again. I heard shouts outside. The door began to jolt from their pounding. I leaned back against it.

  Within, Bella and Ilene were grappling in near silence. It was the bumping of their bodies against the wall as they shifted for position that I’d heard outside. Ropy veins stood out in Ilene’s creamy neck. Grunting with effort, Bella strained to keep Ilene’s hook-fingered hands away from her face. Ilene’s usually gentle eyes bulged and her breath hissed through her teeth. A crushed lampshade, some magazines, and feathers from Ilene’s jacket lay trampled on the floor. Both women’s breaths came in choked gasps.

  Sobbing hysterically, Pearl was tugging, to no effect, on Ilene’s arm. Seeing me, she backed off and cried, “Stop them, Rachel!”

  I lunged away from the door. I pushed one shoulder between them and with a mighty heave, broke them apart. Bella staggered and fell against a dresser. I held Ilene’s arms tightly as she reeled, still grabbing futilely for Bella. I shook her hard. “Cut it out!” She blinked at me in surprise and subsided.

  Ilene’s hair and clothes were wildly disheveled, making Bella’s immaculate French knot look incongruously smooth, her simple dress oddly unrumpled. Bella’s face had a red streak across one parchment colored cheek, with blood welling from it, but her expression was bland, revealing nothing of her feelings.

  Suddenly Pearl crumpled backwards to sit heavily on the bed, then, almost in slow motion, she tilted sideways and lay there, still as a corpse. I thought at first that she’d fainted, but her eyes were still open. Her face twisted with pain.

  While Ilene stared, Bella whirled to crouch at Pearl’s side, an odd noise escaping from her throat. She lifted Pearl’s legs and swung them up onto the bed, grabbed one of Pearl’s wrists and began rubbing it.

  Letting go of Ilene, I ran to the bedroom door and flung it open, not caring whether I damaged Roselle and Leeanne, who hadn’t stopped pounding. I yelled, “Get Dr. Savoia fast!”

  People began filling the room, but shock kept them silent. I returned to Ilene’s side, mindful that if I’d stuck tighter to her earlier, none of this would’ve happened.

  Dr. Savoia pushed through the onlookers. As he passed Ilene, he shoved her unceremoniously out of his path. She stumbled backwards and froze there, still staring at Pearl.

  He grabbed Pearl’s wrist and pulled up her eyelids. Under his wordless direction, Bella darted to push a pillow beneath Pearl’s feet, elevating them. Color began to seep back into Pearl’s cheeks as he patted her.

  “There, sweetheart, there. You’ll be fine.” He looked fiercely around at us. “What happened in here? Her heart’s jumping around like she’s been doing somersaults. My God.” That last was from seeing Bella’s cheek.

  His exclamation was the signal that released the onlookers’ inhibitions, and now questions flew freely. “What happened? Why does Ilene look like that?” and on and on.

  He squeezed Pearl’s shoulder and abandoned her for Bella. “Don’t move,” he commanded Pearl. He pulled an honest to goodness linen handkerchief out of his pocket and began dabbing at the blood that rolled freely down Bella’s chin.

  Ignoring the babble, Pearl gazed in misery at Ilene, who still stood where Dr. Savoia had pushed her. Her face was puffy, her eyes wide and distracted. She was almost unrecognizable. Bella gazed thoughtfully at her over Dr. Savoia’s shoulder as he ministered to her cheek.

  “Pearl! Eddie’s going on television for you,” I announced. Conversations halted abruptly, then began again. Louder. Roselle’s caw grated on my ears. A few left, maybe searching for confirmation, relieving the press in the room.

  Astonishment brightened Pearl’s ravaged expression. “What?” She turned to Bella. “Did I hear that right? Eddie?”

  Ilene took a step back toward the door, then another. I moved with her, staying close. Bella called out to me over people’s heads. “Eddie—he’s going to rescue Pearl’s show?” she asked.

  I declared impatiently. “He’s her friend, isn’t he? Friends do everything they can for you, if they love you. Don’t they, Ilene?”

  Ilene blinked dry eyes and the bulging, staring look began to fade. “Yes,” she managed to say.

  Bella looked at her, her expression as reserved and cool as always, then her features softened. Compassion shone at that instant from her dark eyes. She lifted a tentative hand towards Ilene, but then must’ve thought better of it.

  Ilene seemed then to deflate. She rubbed at her face like a child rubbing sleep away.

  I remembered Vivian’s triumphant exit, the malice in her expression, and wondered if she was on her way to find Michael, to turn Ilene in. “Come on, Ilene,” I said. “We have somewhere to go.”

  Pearl struggled to her feet. Dr. Savoia and Bella stooped to help her, with the doctor fussing. As Ilene and I left the room, Bella began scolding Pearl. “Okay Pearl, listen now, and listen well. I didn’t kill Solly.” She straightened, and facing the crowd, declared in ominous tones, “I never killed Stanley either. Believe it or not, just shut up about it. That’s it. No more.”

  Before
I closed the door behind us, the last thing I saw was a euphoric smile spreading across Pearl’s face.

  I found Simon alone in the living room, straightening his cumberbund in a mirror, smoothing his hair. He looked much happier. Obviously, he’d heard about Eddie.

  “Simon, looks like Pearl’s remembered a few of her jokes. I’ll bet she’ll go downstairs in a minute.”

  “I thought she might. That’s my Pearlie,” he beamed at me.

  I smiled back, but not so enthusiastically. “A detective, you’ve seen him. Sergeant Hahn. He’s looking for Ilene. If he asks you,” I glanced over my shoulder at her. Her eyes were vacant and she looked exhausted. She waited flaccidly, content for me to push and pull her wherever I wanted.

  “I’m not asking you to lie to Hahn, but,” I shrugged, hoping that Simon, if none of the others, was compassionate enough to make good decisions. Help Ilene get a second chance she more than deserved.

  His basset hound eyes rounded in horrified sympathy. “You mean, Ilene? She’s—the one?”

  I didn’t answer. “Look at her. She can’t handle police inquiries or anything else tonight. So I’m taking her somewhere to rest. To find a doctor who can help her. Could you talk to the others in there?” Remembering the way they’d closed ranks against Mrs. Risk and me, I felt pretty sure he’d get the idea without my having to say it openly. To deny later. In court, if necessary.

  He gazed at me, then at Ilene, and his already pale face paled even further. Without another word I pulled Ilene out the door with me.

  The elevator was out of the question. And taking her to my room would only postpone things. We had to get out of Krasner’s.

  Vivian’s room was only two doors down, between us and the exit stairway, but I had no qualms about passing that way. At best she was watching Eddie Miller with the rest of the hotel; at worst, she was blabbing to Michael. Whichever, she wouldn’t be in residence.

  Then I noticed Vivian’s door was not quite closed. Was she inside? It might be only a maid turning down the bed …