Modern Girls

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Modern Girls Page 9

by Jennifer S. Brown


  “And what do you make of it, Mr. Klein?” Edith asked.

  “Why, I think it’s a respectable institution for respectable people,” Willie said.

  My hands made their way to the table, where I toyed with my beer glass, twirling it in tiny circles. I wished Willie away. I wished this night over. I would have gotten up and left if I weren’t sure he’d follow me—if I weren’t worried how that would appear.

  “So in other words,” Edith said, “it’s not for you.”

  With a laugh, Willie said, “Oh, someday. Mother won’t be happy until she has grandchildren to spoil.” The lump in my stomach rose to my throat.

  “The word on the street says that won’t be long,” another male voice said from behind. “I’ve heard rumors about you, my good man.”

  Don’t heave now! I ordered myself. My eyes flitted to Willie’s friend, but his glance wasn’t at me; it wasn’t a jab my way. From my peripheral vision I could see Willie looking at me, but I kept my eyes on the other boys, on my friends, on the fan in the corner, on anything but him. I forced myself not to be sick, a disingenuous expression on my face. Just be pretty and vapid. Not a serious thought in your head, I told myself. Fresh air. I was desperate for fresh air.

  “Lies, I tell you,” Willie said. I couldn’t help myself; my eyes were drawn back to him. Why did he have to be so handsome?

  “Oh, Willie,” Edith said. “We’ve all heard about your pretty little number at that club in Chinatown.”

  How was it no one noticed how I was suffering? Was I that good of an actress? I must have been, because Edith was smirking at me, enjoying the repartee.

  Willie grinned. “She’s definitely one of my pretty numbers.”

  “Speaking of lies, Willie,” Edith said, “who ghostwrote that Atlantic article with your name on it?”

  “What?” he asked, tilting his head.

  “That piece on the Friends of New Germany? It was well researched and well written, so naturally I assumed someone wrote it for you.”

  Willie let out a laugh that threatened to swallow me whole. “I hate to disappoint you, Edie, but the words all came from my pen.”

  “Who knew? There is an intelligent thought or two rattling around in that empty head of yours.”

  With a side glance to me, Willie said to Edith, “Oh, I’ve got plenty of thoughts in this head of mine.” This time he looked directly at me and added, “If anyone would care to find out.”

  If I didn’t get out fast, I would faint. And wouldn’t that bring on questions. My friends expected me to flirt back—it was what Willie and I always did—but I didn’t trust myself to banter.

  Fortunately, the front door of the café opened, bringing a blast of even hotter air. Abe. It was Abe. For a moment, I was able to breathe.

  “Sweetie,” I said, a touch too loudly. Now it was Willie’s turn to be uncomfortable, and he stared at something on the opposite side of the room.

  Abe made his way to our table. “A seat for me?” he asked.

  I slid over and made room for Abe.

  “What are you discussing?” Abe asked.

  Was it my imagination or was Willie nervous around Abe? The thought bolstered my confidence.

  “Willie wrote an insightful article about the Nazi movement in America,” Edith said. When Willie smiled, Edith added, “Well, it wasn’t that insightful.”

  I forced a laugh, trying to be my casual self.

  Abe shook his head. “The Nazis can’t be taken seriously. Hoodlums looking for attention.”

  “How can you say that?” Willie said. “In Berlin, just this month, two hundred Nazis beat Jews on the street, pulling Jews out of cafés and cars. And that was in the Kurfürstendamm, one of Berlin’s most fashionable neighborhoods. Restrictions are being placed on Jewish businesses. Yet Hitler is deporting foreign correspondents, so we don’t even know the extent of it!”

  “May God strike me down, but I actually agree with Willie Klein,” Edith said. “Hitler is eyeing Europe, and the Jews are a minor impediment of which he’s looking to dispose.”

  “Goebbels instigated the riots with his ‘If I were God’ speech, and—,” I said, but I faltered when I saw the withering glare Abe gave me.

  “I need a beer,” Abe said, looking around. But no waiter came our way, so he said, “I think you’re making too much of it. Give it time and the Nazis will prove to be no more than a German fad. They will pass. But what’s not passing is Torah. If the Jews simply turned to Hashem, then—”

  The uproar drowned out the rest of his sentence, with Edith, Willie, and Willie’s buddies all talking over one another. Linda and I both sat quietly, but for different reasons. Linda hated an argument. I hated an argument where Abe was in the wrong. How could he be so stubborn, so—dare I think it?—idiotic? I longed to dive into the fray, but I didn’t want to risk Abe’s wrath.

  So instead, I stood and put a hand on his shoulder, saying, “Why don’t we go for a stroll? Just you and me?”

  “I just got here,” Abe said. “It was a long day at the store. I’d like to get a beer.”

  A grin twitched at the corners of Willie’s mouth. I swallowed back the taste of panic.

  “But some fresh air would be nice,” I said, leaning into him. Abe’s scent was musky; he wasn’t one to disguise his hard work with aftershave. The tart smell of his skin, tinged with the slight pungency of sweat, was more enticing than any manufactured cologne. When I breathed it in, the tension in my belly released ever so slightly.

  “One beer and then we can go,” Abe said.

  Embarrassed, I stood there, unsure of what to do. First, Abe’s naive view of the world. Now he’d humiliated me in front of Willie. Of course, Abe had no idea, so could I really blame him? Tears formed in the corners of my eyes. I looked quickly toward the light, trying to discreetly bat them away. I rubbed my eyelash as if a piece of mascara had accidentally gotten into my eye.

  With a sly look, Willie said, “Dottie, if you’d like fresh air, I’d be more than happy to escort you on a walk.”

  I looked at him sharply, eyebrows pinched. But not as quickly as Abe, who seared Willie with his glower. “Excuse me?” Abe said angrily, standing back up. “Are you trying to step in?”

  Willie quickly took a step backward and lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Of course not. But if the lady wants fresh air, I’m just trying to accommodate.”

  The two men stared at each other. Willie was a good five inches taller than Abe, but he lacked Abe’s physique. He was a writer with the build of a writer. Not like Abe, who spent his days lifting and hauling bales and crates. Edith and Linda couldn’t keep their eyes off the men; Linda was horrified, Edith amused.

  Abe turned and took my arm. “Why don’t we go for that stroll?”

  I realized I was holding my breath. I exhaled. “Thank you,” I said quietly.

  Abe steered me toward the door as I called out good-byes to my friends.

  “We’ll see you tomorrow for gin rummy,” Edith said.

  We walked out the door, Abe pulling me along, slightly roughly.

  Out on the street, we walked silently for a block or two, before Abe snapped, “What was that?”

  The stores we passed were shuttered for the night, but plenty of people were out; groups of kids, couples, late-night laborers filled the sidewalks.

  “What was what?” I said as innocently as I could manage. Now that we were out of the café, my breath returned to normal and I felt the color return to my cheeks.

  “Why didn’t you back me up? Surely you don’t believe that political nonsense Willie spouted.”

  I couldn’t afford a fight, but I didn’t know how to let this go. “Abe, my uncle is trapped in Poland. The Jews in Europe are in trouble. The Nazi threat is real.”

  He threw his hands in the air before stopping and spinning around to
face me. “I’m not going to argue politics with you. But was that why you were making eyes at Willie? His great political intellect? Is there something I should know?”

  Could he hear my heart beating three times its normal speed? My chin jutted up in feigned indignation. “What are you saying, Abe Rabinowitz? Are you accusing me of something?”

  He pierced me with his stare. My stomach reeled, but I couldn’t let it show in my face. My best defense was to turn this around on him.

  “Why are you so suspicious?” I went on. “Is it because you’re feeling guilty? How is Sadie Kraus these days?”

  He rolled his eyes, but at least he turned, took my arm, and continued the walk home. “Sadie Kraus has nothing to do with this.”

  “I’m simply wondering, why these accusations? They often arrive when Sadie is about to come to town.”

  Abe was silent, and I realized my aimless punch was dead-on.

  “Sadie is coming?”

  “The family will be in town next week.”

  I stopped short. “I knew it!” Sadie Kraus was the only person on this earth whom I truly despised. She was the one who’d started all of my problems. The Kraus family had been friends with Abe’s family since their days in the Old Country. Mr. Kraus had made good money in the coat business and moved his family out to Paterson, New Jersey, to be near the textile mills. But they returned to the city frequently, and when they were here, Mrs. Kraus made no secret of the fact that she wanted Abe for Sadie. Even Sadie’s brother, Nathan, promoted the match, creating ways for Sadie and Abe to find themselves alone. The Krauses ignored me, treating me as if I were merely a minor hiccup on the way to Abe and Sadie’s inevitable future. Mr. Kraus frequently implied that he would set up Abe and Nathan together in business, if Abe were so inclined.

  “I have no interest in Sadie Kraus,” Abe said. But how could I believe him? No matter how he protested, I was certain he and Sadie had played the same kind of games Lefty and I had played. How could they not? Sadie had luscious curls that needed no perm and her skin was porcelain. Her eyes were such a vivid blue that I wanted to stab them with a fork every time I saw her. I could picture Sadie kissing Abe, seducing him in all the ways he resisted with me. Of course he would give in. He’d be a fool not to, with such a beauty. “But this has nothing to do with the matter at hand. Why did Willie think you might take a walk with him? Were you flirting with him?”

  “Of course not,” I said. If there was one truth to the entire night, it was that I was most definitely not flirting with Willie Klein. Not tonight. And never again.

  We were approaching my street, and our argument wasn’t abating. It needed to stop. Abe and I had to go to Camp Eden this coming weekend. Especially given that Sadie Kraus was coming to town. Swallowing my pride, I pulled Abe closer to me, both my hands clutching his arm, and whispered in his ear, “You are the only one with whom I care to flirt.” My right hand slid down his arm, over his belly, gently grazing the top of his thigh.

  Abe looked at me, and as I let my fingers stroke him, I could feel his anger melting. Stepping over the children sleeping on the front steps, Abe walked me into the entry of my building, and inside the darkened hallway, he brusquely pulled me in and kissed me with ardor. I could hear Mr. Baum moving about his apartment and I sent up a quick prayer that he didn’t emerge.

  My fingers combed through Abe’s hair as we necked on the stairs. In these hours, I was grateful for the darkness that encompassed the building. His hands roamed my back and sides, never straying too far out of the bounds of propriety. I longed to push Abe a little further, greedy to feel yet more, but after a few minutes I pulled away. No need to rush things. I didn’t want to scare him off. The important thing was to get him to Camp Eden next weekend.

  “I should go upstairs, check on Eugene. Ma and Tateh are out.”

  “Mmm,” Abe murmured, nibbling on my neck.

  “We’ll have more time next weekend. At Camp Eden. Right?” I said as he moved to my earlobe.

  “Absolutely,” he said.

  I gave him one last kiss and headed upstairs, pleased with myself. This would work. It had to work.

  Rose

  SUNDAY evening after dinner, I went with Ben to Perle’s apartment for the men’s card game and the women’s social time, carrying a kichel I’d made earlier in the day.

  “Rose, how is it you walk so fast in your condition?” Ben asked, trying to keep up.

  “Shah!” I spit on the ground. “You want to tempt the evil eye?”

  “Ridiculous superstition,” I heard Ben mutter.

  “What’s that?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

  He looked at me and smiled. “Nothing, dear.”

  “That’s what I thought,” I said, quickening my pace even more. My leg hurt, but not enough to keep me from hurrying.

  “You’d think you hadn’t seen Perle in weeks, the way you’re moving.”

  “I want to catch a moment to speak with her privately.”

  But of course, as luck had it, we were far from the first ones there. The men were already in the living room, playing cards around the table, and the women were gathered in the kitchen. I gave Ben a nod of my head as I left him to his kaluki game.

  “Have a cup of coffee,” Perle said by way of greeting, pouring me a cup from the percolator.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Lana and Deborah were both already sitting at the table, and Lana jumped up to offer me her seat. I tried to wave her back down, but she insisted. It embarrassed me when people noticed my lame leg, and now my limp was more pronounced. Yet I took her seat and she pulled a new chair from the other side of the room for herself.

  These women were my people, my landsfroyen, those of us from the same region of the Old Country. I had known Perle since I was a babe, known Deborah since I could toddle. Lana came from a nearby town, and while I hadn’t known her at home, we were related by geography. We all had the same memories: sewing under the watchful eye of a grandmother, secret meetings in the fields with handsome young men, the rebbe droning on in the town’s only shul. For that alone, we would always remain united.

  These Sunday evenings we sipped our coffee and gossiped. Gossip important and catty, local and international—everything was covered in these gatherings at one another’s homes: tenants’ rights, Hitler, Stalin, who was seen out with whom, who didn’t have enough for rent, who splurged on a new dining set. So soothing to speak Yiddish in a room full of people who weren’t going to reply in English. We all understood Russian, and we were proficient in English, but Yiddish was home.

  Taking a sip of coffee, I announced, “So, my little Dottala? A promotion at work.” I could feel myself sitting slightly taller with pride. “Head bookkeeper!”

  Bayla, who had just walked in, said, “Mazel tov,” as she pulled a chair in from the living room and plopped herself down.

  “A nice raise, too,” I said.

  “Now maybe she and Abe can save enough to get married,” Perle said.

  “From your mouth to God’s ears,” I said. “Those two, they move like the milk cart in a blizzard.”

  We chitchatted about our families, slicing slivers of the pastries we’d all brought. Most of the sweets went to the card table in the next room, where we could hear the men’s roar of conversation as the smell of their cigars wafted into the kitchen.

  As the conversation moved toward politics, I said, “I’ve received a letter from Yussel. He has given up hope, it seems, of coming here. He is now trying to leave for Cuba. You have all written your letters this week?” That afternoon, Dottie had sat with me for over an hour, making sure my most recent letter to Senator Copeland sounded properly American.

  An awkward silence descended upon the room. Blood rushed to my cheeks. “You must write your letters! Those of us who are citizens must write our representatives to repeal the Johnson-Reed Act.�
�� Passed in 1924, that immigration act had introduced such severe quotas that barely any Jews could now enter the Goldene Medina, the golden land.

  “We’re writing, we’re writing,” Bayla said. “But surely there are other more pressing things to which we should turn our attention.”

  “More pressing than our brothers and sisters starving in Europe?” Standing up, I had to fight to control the volume of my voice, which wanted to burst through the ceiling.

  “Yussel isn’t starving,” Perle said.

  “No,” I said, “but others are. And the Jews are being deprived of rights and stripped of their dignity. And we just sit here and let it happen?”

  “We don’t just let it happen,” Perle said, “but we help those whom we can actually help.”

  “I’m not helping our comrades here? Who’s helping Esther Friedman’s women’s conference, managing the correspondence and assisting at the event? I agree, it’s important. But our people in Europe are being denied jobs. Killed in riots. I know most of you have your families here, but some of us are sick with worry about our relatives stuck in the Old Country!” I realized I was yelling when the men from the next room shot worried looks our way. I rolled my eyes at Ben and he shrugged and went back to his cards. This was not a new argument.

  Perle walked over and placed a hand on my shoulder, gently guiding me back into my seat. “I write my letters, Rose. And yes, you do much. Yet perhaps you could do more, right here at home. Conferencing is good. But doing is better. So much more needs to be done to feed and clothe and house the families in our own city of New York.” She rubbed my arm, as if appeasing an angry child. “I am going to a meeting of the Workers’ Alliance tomorrow to formulate our plan for the Workers’ Rights Amendment. Come with me.”

 

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