Against My Will

by Benjamin Berkley

“Sure. Everyone goes crazy for Benishe’s turnovers.”

  “And this is even better than Cantor’s.”

  “Cantor’s,” Beatrice scoffed. “They don’t know how to bake. Here, eat more! So, the Ryan guy. He didn’t work out?”

  “I think you mean Brian,” I corrected her.

  “Whatever.”

  “That’s alright. That Mr. Special is out there. Here. You need a little sugar in your tea. You look pale.”

  I smiled and reached for the Sweet and Low and again thought about tomorrow’s workout.

  “So, I think I know someone for you. I was speaking to my friend Marilyn in the Valley who told me about her friend who has a grandson. Anyway, the boy just got a divorce. Thank god there were no children. But can you imagine. He was only married six months and the zona (bad woman) he found in bed with his best friend. You think you know someone. So he wants to meet a nice girl and I thought of you.”

  “Well, thanks, Beatrice. But I think I am going to stay away from married men.”

  “You’re smart.”

  “But I do have a new man in my life.”

  “Voos. You did not tell me?”

  “Well, you’ll meet him tomorrow.”

  “What does he look like? How did you meet him? Tell me.”

  “All I can say is that he is purrfect!!!”

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Number nine on my list of things to do was to adopt a pet. And from the moment I first held this cuddly ball of fur with the loudest purr, we had an immediate connection. Cabby was a male gray Persian cat with the biggest blue eyes. He was wandering the streets when he was lucky enough to be found by the rescue shelter and I was lucky enough to have found him.

  It was very easy for Cabby and I to adjust to living together; he had his routine during the day and I had mine. And at night, we would review our day–though I would trade for Cabby’s life anytime.

  One night, upon arriving home, I could not wait to crawl into bed. I had had a terribly hectic day that started with a preliminary hearing in the morning that did not finish until the early afternoon. That caused me to be late for my 1:30 arraignments. Not surprisingly, judges don’t care about your schedule and Judge Faust scolded me when I finally arrived in his court. But before we could get started, the building had to be evacuated because someone called in that there was a bomb set to go off. Fortunately it was a hoax. But now the cases that were set for today were added to tomorrow morning’s calendar. And with two attorneys out this week, my work load just doubled.

  “Hi Cabby,” I said as I put the key in the door. “I hope you had a better day than me. Do you want some treats?”

  All I had to do was shake the purple package of kitty goodies and Cabby was brushing against my ankle.

  “Ok, here they are,” I said as I placed three chicken flavored treats in his bowl. “Now what am I going to eat? Hmm,” I said, surveying the shelves of my refrigerator. “Is tonight going to be a leftover Chinese food night or should I go wild and order a pizza? Thinking about my waist line and the last five pounds I had recently lost, I settled on the Moo Goo Gai Pan.

  “Do you want to watch some TV, Cabby? Ok, let’s see what Mr.TiVo recorded.”

  The program guide recorded episodes of “The Bachelor,” “Gray’s Anatomy” and “Oprah.”

  “I don’t think so. Let’s see what else is on.”

  After a few minutes of channel surfing, I could not concentrate and decided to unpack the box that I had placed in the hallway closet when I moved in.

  “Let’s put the box on the bed.” As I sorted through its contents, I found old bank statements, paid bills, and restaurant menus. But on the bottom was the shirt box that I had taken from Nana’s closet. Cabby seemed interested and jumped onto the bed. But like my brother had thought, the box contained old birthday cards that Nana had saved.

  “Oh my God, I must have been five years old when I made this card. Look, Cabby. I drew a picture of me and Nana.”

  Cabby’s ears momentarily perked up.

  There were dozens of other cards and a few recipes that Nana had saved. But on the bottom of the box was a bound composition book. It was no more than a quarter of an inch wide and had ruled pages. The entry on the cover was smudged but I could still make out Nana’s maiden name: Rose Melhman.

  Opening the cover revealed yellowed, brittle pages that were written in German or Yiddish; I was only able to read a few words. Some of the pages included calendar entries of dates in the margins and it appeared that Nana had kept some type of diary.

  As I massaged the top of Cabby’s head I said, “Cabby, Nana wrote this many, many years ago. But I think I know just the right person who can make these pages come alive!”

  Chapter Twenty Six

  I had wanted to call Cliff. But each time I would start to dial his number, I got cold feet and hung up. Now, after discovering Nana’s diary, I finally had an excuse. So the next day at work, with my desk covered in files, phone messages and post it notes, and my belly growling for lunch, I picked up the phone. On the third ring, a voice answered.

  “Hi, this is Cliff Warner.”

  “Cliff, you may not remember me. But we shared a train ride to Washington.”

  “Danielle?”

  I was very surprised Cliff remembered my name since it had been almost a year.

  “Yes.”

  “How are you?” He sounded pleased to be talking to me.

  “Well, ah fine,” I said nervously.

  “I have thought about you.”

  “You have?”

  “Sure. Have you gotten your own television series yet?”

  “I think you may have me confused with someone else.”

  “No, I definitely remember you. And I remember telling you that you would be a star.”

  “Well that’s sweet. But I am not a star. So will you still talk to me?”

  “Of course.”

  “I did call to ask you something.”

  “Oh.”

  “My grandmother passed away,” I said.

  “I am very sorry. Was she ill?” he asked.

  “No, she just went in her sleep. I guess it was her time.”

  “I suppose. But I don’t think there is ever a time to go.”

  I paused and thought how sensitive he was.

  “Anyway,” I continued, “after her funeral, I went through her apartment and found a journal. I can only make out a few words as they are in German or Yiddish. But from the dates it looks like she wrote it after she was, ah…”

  “Liberated,” he said helpfully. “I remember you told me that she was in Mauthausen.”

  “Wow. You have a good memory.”

  “That’s part of my job description, but thanks. And it was a common practice to ask survivors to write about their ordeal. Most did not want to because, well, their life was hell and who would want to remember. But the ones who did, their stories were amazing.”

  “Well, I was wondering if I could get the diary to you? Perhaps you have someone at work who could translate it. I would be happy to pay for any expenses.”

  “Danielle, this is what we do. We have an entire staff that speaks and reads German and Yiddish fluently.”

  “Oh, ok.”

  “But I have a better offer.””

  I listened.

  “How about dinner? I know this very authentic Mexican restaurant in Santa Monica.”

  “Santa Monica? I thought I was calling you in Washington.”

  “Oh, well, you called my cell number. I never changed it. I need to do that but I have been so busy. Anyway, I took a job about six months ago with the Simon Wiesenthal Center in Los Angeles. So I now live in LA.”

  “Wow. That’s great,” I said, regretting I had now used the word “wow” twice in sixty seconds.

  “So how about it?”

  “Well, I don’t know.” I had very bad Mexican food shortly after moving to LA and was not anxious to repeat the experience. But my friends kept telling me
that I had to give it another chance.

  “Come on. You have to eat, right?” he said encouragingly.

  I hesitated. “You are very kind.”

  “Then your answer is yes.”

  “Well, sure. It’s yes.”

  “Great. Let me get the exact address and I will text it to you. Will tomorrow night at 7 work?”

  “Ah, sure.”

  “All right. See you then.”

  For the rest of the afternoon, I could not think about work and I was guilty as charged for being on the government payroll at the taxpayer’s expense. That night, I pulled out every item of clothing in my possession trying to decide what to wear. In the process, I discovered that I owned over three dozen shirts and blouses including eight white ones. Tossing all of the clothes on to the floor did not make Cabby happy either.

  I arrived a few minutes late to the restaurant and I was hoping to freshen up. But Cliff was already standing by the hostess stand when I opened the door. As I extended my hand, he moved in to give me a polite hug and I looked a little startled.

  “Hey, come on,” he said. “We don’t need to be so formal. We’re veterans of the Starlight Express. And if we can survive a three hour train ride, we’re passed the handshake stage.”

  “Ok,” I giggled. “I am sorry I am late.”

  “You’re not late. I just got here myself. Come, let’s sit down.”

  The restaurant’s decor was a decorator’s nightmare with green, fire truck red, and orange painted walls and even more colorful paintings. In addition to the loudness of the walls, there was also the deafening mariachi music blaring on tape. We were immediately seated opposite each other by a window that looked onto the ocean. Seconds after we sat down, a waiter brought a bowl of chips with two bowls of orange-colored sauce.

  “I told you it was authentic. But customers don’t come here for the atmosphere. They come because the food is incredible.”

  “Oh,” I said looking at the two bowls.

  “It’s salsa,” Cliff explained. “Try it,” he said as he dipped a chip into one of the bowls and handed it to me.

  “All right,” I hesitated before shoving the chip into my mouth. “Wow, that is hot.”

  “Drink some water. You’ll get used to it. I promise.”

  I had now said “wow” three times and feared that Cliff would think that my vocabulary was extremely limited.

  “Margarita?” he offered.

  “Sure,” I nodded affirmatively, as I knew that would put out the fire.

  “Señor,” he called to our waiter. “Two margaritas with salt. Gracias.”

  Along with our drinks, chips and salsa, Cliff had placed that all too familiar Blackberry on the table and I was fearing it would be dinner for three. But to my welcomed surprise, he had set it to vibrate and ignored all his calls. However, when it buzzed several times in quick succession, I asked him if he was going to answer it.

  “I am with you,” he said. “And it is never that important.”

  I almost said “wow” again but caught myself and smiled.

  “Your hair is different.”

  “Yeah, it was longer. Do you like it?”

  “Very cute. Frames your face.”

  “Thanks.”

  I blushed and raised the multi-page menu to cover my face. The menu had more pages than the average short story and I must have looked a little bewildered.

  “Can I suggest the chicken enchiladas? Do you like chicken?”

  “I’m Jewish. What Jewish girl doesn’t like chicken? We ate it every Friday night.”

  “Well, this is a little different. But it is the best.”

  Cliff was right about the food. At the end of the dinner, I proclaimed, “This was the best Mexican food I have ever had.”

  As we talked, I found Cliff to be just as charming as when I first met him on the train. And even better looking than I remembered.

  “Please, let me pay for my share,” I offered.

  “Absolutely not,” he said. “It is my pleasure. But I was hoping the evening was not going to end here. Would you like to take a walk on the pier?”

  I gladly said yes.

  “I wanted to call you,” he said as we strolled down the pier.

  “Why didn’t you?” I asked.

  “Well, I thought you were married.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, it was the way you touched your ring finger. I did not see a ring but I did not want to pry. And I did not think it was my business to ask.”

  We sat down on a bench and I told Cliff that I had been married but I left out the most horrid of details. And as the pigeons walked between our feet searching for crumbs, our relationship was born.

  “Come with me,” he said, pulling my hand.

  “Where?”

  Across from where we were sitting was an instant photo booth.

  “Remember I said you should be in pictures?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, here’s your chance.”

  We walked into the photo booth and posed for the silliest of photos. Afterwards, we continued our walk toward the end of the pier.

  “So, how do like living in California?” Cliff asked.

  “I miss the snow,” I said.

  “It snows here.”

  “It does?”

  “Yeah, not too often. But you know the Hollywood sign? That’s where it snows.”

  I accepted Cliff’s explanation.

  “So how about a ride on the Ferris wheel?” he suggested.

  “Huh?” I replied.

  Cliff pointed to the huge neon lit ride that was rotating. “Have you been on a Ferris wheel?”

  I had never been on an arcade ride before and I was feeling my nervousness build inside me.

  “Actually, I haven’t.”

  As little kids, when my brother and I begged Dad to take us to Coney Island to go on the rides, my father would try to ask us why normal people would eagerly trade in their serenity of the ground for a chance to be tossed into the air like a vegetable in a blender. So we listened to him and stayed far away from amusement parks.

  “Until tonight,” Cliff said.

  “What do you mean?” I said nervously.

  “Come on.” Cliff grabbed my arm and within minutes I was sitting in the “Wonder” wheel as we lifted and ascended to the stars.

  Cliff was my tour guide. “That’s Malibu. And see the planes? That’s LAX.”

  On the second trip around, Cliff gave me his jacket. And as he put his arm around me, for the first time in a very long time I felt safe.

  “Where did you park? Are you in the parking lot on third?” he asked as we alighted the ride.

  “No, actually I took the bus. I don’t have a car,” I explained.

  “Who in LA doesn’t drive?”

  “You’re looking at her.”

  Cliff drove me home. His wonderful sense of humor meant I laughed like I had never done before. That night I fell in love with the kindest, gentlest man I had ever met.

  “Goodnight.”

  I stared into Cliff’s enchanting brown eyes as he kissed me. I found his aroma intoxicating. More importantly, my heart melted and for the first time in my life, I felt the pitter patter in my heart that Nana had always talked about.

  The next day at work, my secretary Ellen came into my office with a package. It was from Cliff.

  “Open it,” Ellen said.

  It was a snow globe of the Hollywood Hills and sign.

  As I shook it I said, “He was right. It does snow in Hollywood.”

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Cliff and I had been dating almost four months when Thanksgiving arrived. I thought about Nana and how this would be the first year without her. Fortunately, I have all those wonderful Thanksgiving memories. I had talked to my father about going back to New York for the holiday, but by the time I looked into traveling, the price of plane tickets was sky high. My father was understandably disappointed but in the end understood.
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br />   Cliff had also thought about traveling east to be with his family and invited me to join him. But because of his work schedule, he too decided not to go. Fortunately, we would not be completely alone as a friend from his work invited us to her home. After a day of stuffing our mouths, it was after eleven o’clock in the evening when we arrived back at my apartment.

  “I am so tired,” I announced as I opened the door. Cliff nodded his head in agreement and immediately sat down on the couch. Cabby jumped up to join him.

  “Must be that tryptophan in turkeys that makes people sleepy,” Cliff mused as he picked up the remote and turned on the news.

  “I am going to check if there are any messages. I’ll be right back,” I said.

  “Hi Sweetie. Sorry I missed you. Hope you didn’t eat too much. I went to your brother’s house. Your sister-in-law made an attempt at cooking a turkey but nothing compares to Nana’s. I was thinking about you. Say Hi to that nice boyfriend of yours. Maybe we can all be together next year. Love you.”

  “My dad left a message,” I started to tell Cliff as I walked back into the room, but he had already nodded off on the couch.

  “Come, lay down in the bed.” I put my arm under Cliff’s shoulder and woke up him up long enough to walk to my bedroom. Seconds later, he was covered with the thin top cover of my bedding and I watched him fall into a peaceful sleep.

  But unlike Cliff, I was not tired. Perhaps I did not eat enough turkey. So I changed my clothes, covered myself in my green Afghan blanket, turned on the TV and settled into bed. To my delight, there was Rachael Ray as energetic as ever making a five course, thirty minute turkey dinner that would take me all week to prepare.

  But after a few minutes of watching chopping and dicing, I too felt tired. So I pulled the top sheet below my chin, folded my hands behind my head, closed my eyes, and replayed the day beginning with the delicious food that was served and how my Nana’s apple spiced cookies were such a hit. I next kissed Cliff on the forehead and stared at this precious being before I drifted off to sleep.

  The morning sun was poking through the white shutters, as I tilted my head to meet the sun’s rays. At the same time, Cliff raised his head looking somewhat lost.

  “Did you sleep well?” I asked.