I forced a giggle that I hoped sounded conspiratorial. I looked toward Mrs. Klein, waiting for her to ask me to call her Molly. Nothing. To nudge her, I asked, “Mrs. Klein, shall Willie make you one of his famous drinks?” but Mrs. Klein merely replied, “That would be fine, dear.”
“What can I make you, Rose? Ben? A Ward Eight? A champagne cocktail?”
“A Manhattan is nice.” Ma’s accent was thick but understandable. Where did Ma learn about Manhattans?
Willie splashed liquids from various bottles into a glass and, using a long silver spoon, stirred, making the ice clink. As he poured a second for Tateh, Mr. Klein came into the room.
“Good to see you,” he said, shaking hands with my parents.
Willie handed out drinks, and Tateh took a hearty gulp of his. I tried to mentally convey to him to drink more slowly.
“Please, have a seat,” Mrs. Klein invited, gesturing around the room.
Ma and Tateh sat on the couch. As Tateh leaned back, he sank into the plush cushions, tipping his drink. My eyes widened, but Ma saw, too, and she shifted her body so as to cover the damp spot. Tateh inched his way to a more dignified position.
The six of us remained in uncomfortable silence, and I frantically tried to think of a safe topic of conversation. Mr. Klein jumped in first, though. “So, Ben, what do you think of this cockamamy idea of moving to Europe?”
This was not a safe topic. Luckily, Tateh said, “I confess it distresses me greatly, but I’m sure they will manage just fine.” Bless Tateh. If I could have given him a big kiss on the spot, I would have.
“Manage? Our grandchild is going to be born in a shtetl!” Mr. Klein said.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Father,” Willie said. “We will be in real cities. Paris. Rome.”
“It will be a grand adventure,” I said.
“Of course it will,” Tateh said. “As long as you’re sensible. Things aren’t looking good in Europe. Promise to get out before things escalate.”
“But that’s when it’s going to get interesting,” Willie said, causing a knot to form in my stomach. There was going to be no talking Willie out of this ridiculous idea.
“Returning to Europe is a step backward,” Mrs. Klein said. “Next thing you know, you’ll be working as a storekeeper, as my father did in the Old Country.”
Ma registered surprise. “A horse dealer, your father was.”
Mrs. Klein’s entire face flushed a blood red. “Nonsense. He was a storekeeper.” Mrs. Klein’s hands tapped the base of her glass in irritation.
I caught Ma’s eye and saw she was biting back laughter. I confess I was rather pleased to see Mrs. Klein brought down a peg. Park Avenue’s Mrs. Klein the daughter of a horse dealer? Now who was too big for her britches?
The maid entered the room. In her Irish brogue, she announced, “Dinner is ready, ma’am.” I leaped to my feet, relieved to move the evening along.
As Mrs. Klein guided us into the dining room, I sent up a silent prayer that nothing treif would be served. Ma was doing well, but fireworks would erupt if crab salad emerged from the kitchen.
The grandeur of the setting—of the large mahogany table, the high-backed chairs, the silver gracing the center of the lace tablecloth—gave me a shot of pleasure. As fancy as our previous dinners had been, Mrs. Klein had pulled out all the stops tonight. The dining table was set for royalty. If I was going to be forced to live this life, I might as well revel in the beauty of it. I fought an urge to pick up a plate and check the underside to see if it was Wedgwood.
When the maid served us each salad, Ma reached for the fork to the far left. Both Tateh and I watched and mimicked her movements. In all situations Ma moved with an assurance I envied. Yet Ma’s fork hovered over the plate. I looked down. The leaves of lettuce were drenched in a creamy sauce, not much different from mayonnaise. Dreadful.
Speaking in Yiddish, Ma said, “When you return from the Continent, we shall have to throw a proper party to introduce you as a couple.”
Silence washed across the table. The Kleins looked as put out as if someone had passed gas. Was Yiddish such a crime?
“I apologize, Rose,” Willie said. His stiff bearing showed his distaste for the Old World language. “I never learned to speak Jewish.”
“No,” Tateh said. “How can that be?”
Mrs. Klein’s smile stopped short of her cheeks. “We speak English in this house. Always.”
I hadn’t noticed before how tight Mrs. Klein’s skin was, like a canvas stretched across a frame. I wondered what creams she used.
“But your grandparents?” Tateh said to Willie. I knew Tateh would be doing most of the speaking that evening, with his perfect English. “How do you converse with them?”
“You know my parents passed years ago,” Mrs. Klein said.
“But Ira’s parents?”
“Oh, we don’t see much of them.” Mrs. Klein spoke breezily. “They live in Brooklyn. A nuisance to get out there.”
“And they don’t relish the journey to civilization,” Mr. Klein said. He cleaned his salad plate, leaving a schmear of dressing on his mouth.
My shock was as great as Ma and Tateh’s, but to my relief, they didn’t say anything. But it did make me wonder: Did Mr. and Mrs. Klein expect me to leave my own parents behind? To live a life like theirs and toss my parents aside like a bundle of rags?
Ma repeated, in English, her offer of a party, as the maid came to clear away the salad plates.
“I’m not sure how practical that will be,” Mrs. Klein said. “After all, Dottie will be far along by the time they return.”
“Far along?” Willie said. “Don’t be ridiculous. By the time we return, we will have our son.”
“Or daughter,” I said, my stomach rolling at the thought of being away from my family for so long.
Willie gave me a humoring grin. “Of course. But it will be a son.”
“For how long do you intend to be on the Continent?” Mr. Klein asked.
“For as long as it takes to expose the Nazi threat and to make my name as a writer.”
“Say your good-byes now, dear,” Mr. Klein said to his wife. “It seems our son will never return.”
A wave of embarrassment for my husband washed over me, and I rose to his defense. “Willie is an excellent writer. Have you not read his work? I wager he’ll succeed in time for us to be home before the baby’s bris.”
For the first time since the wedding, Willie gave me a truly appreciative look, a look that bespoke a kindness—or was it thankfulness?—that I hadn’t seen from him before. For a moment, I was grateful for this dinner, which had given us an opportunity to be something new: allies.
“Who has time to read?” Mr. Klein said.
“Well, you should,” Tateh said. “That book review Willie wrote in last week’s New Yorker was impressive.”
“You read it?” Willie asked, sounding pleased.
The maid returned carrying plates filled with something that resembled chicken.
“I’m curious,” Tateh said to the table at large. “If Willie is going to ‘expose the Nazi threat,’ how will he do so without speaking Yiddish?”
“Willie speaks perfect French and Spanish and highly passable Italian. Why on earth does he need to know Yiddish?” Mrs. Klein said, delicately cutting her chicken into tiny nibbles.
Willie shoveled large bites into his mouth and spoke without swallowing. “We’re starting in Paris. The relief organizations there operate in French and English. If we move to Spain, my Spanish is excellent and I can even make out Portuguese.”
“But the French and Spanish Jews aren’t the refugees.”
“Diplomats speak French. And Spanish. And English.”
“But won’t you gain more from speaking to the refugees escaping the German Reich? Those refugees are coming out of Eastern Eu
rope and Germany. I can’t imagine they’ll be speaking even imperfect French, Italian, or Spanish,” Tateh said.
Willie paused midbite, considering. Self-consciously, he chewed and swallowed what was in his mouth, preparing to speak, but I smiled broadly for the room and placed my hand on Willie’s forearm. “Willie’s thought of that, of course. One of the reasons he asked me to join him in Europe is because I’ll be able to assist him. He will speak to politicians and dignitaries in the Western languages. I will speak to the refugees from Eastern Europe in Yiddish. I will translate for him.”
Ma shot me a look and raised an eyebrow.
Willie turned to me and gave me a thoughtful appraisal. “Yes,” he said. “That’s exactly what I had thought.” I could feel his eyes lingering on me, and it was pleasant.
Changing the subject, Mrs. Klein said, “Dottie, remind me before you leave tonight, I picked up some darling baby clothes at Lord and Taylor.”
“Baby clothes?” Ma exclaimed at the same time that I said, “Lord and Taylor!”
“No baby clothes,” Ma said in her halting English. “The bad luck.”
“Oh, pish,” Mrs. Klein said. “That’s an old wives’ tale.”
“Why invite the evil eye?” Ma said.
“I thought you were freethinkers,” Mr. Klein said. His voice was slightly teasing, but not in a kind way.
“Ma, it’ll be fine. I’m going to need things for the baby. Might as well bring them with me.” But even as I spoke, the fear in my chest solidified. No one bought baby things before the birth. Ma was right. It simply wasn’t done. But what could I do?
Mrs. Klein rewarded me with a nod. “Practical thinking, my girl.”
Silence returned. The sound of forks tapping against plates was deafening.
Tateh broached a new topic. “Ground has been broken on the new East River Drive.”
“A huge project,” Ma said, delicately moving pieces of food around her plate. I wondered if the meat was kashered properly. I was pretty sure Ma was wondering the same thing. Eventually, she ate a string bean.
“The WPA is funding part of the road,” Tateh said. “Creating quite a few jobs, which will hopefully make a dent in the unemployment situation.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Mrs. Klein said.
“Nice?” Mr. Klein said with his mouth full of food. “More government money being spent on pointless projects?”
“Pointless projects?” Tateh said. “This is a much needed road and it’s providing much needed relief.”
“That’s what that Commie in the White House would have you think—,” Mr. Klein started before Mrs. Klein cut him off.
“Oh, let’s not bother ourselves with politics,” Mrs. Klein said. “It will give you indigestion.”
I saw Ma angling for a battle, but Tateh placed a calming hand on her arm. Ma grimaced and returned to her plate.
“There are so many more interesting things than politics,” I said, wanting to move to safer ground.
“I can’t imagine what,” Ma said.
“I couldn’t agree with you more, Rose,” Mr. Klein said. “Molly’s head is so far into the society page, she wouldn’t know a Nazi if he bit her on the behind. If I don’t grab the paper before Molly, she’ll have the maid using it to clean the kitchen floors.”
“I glance at the front page, I’ll thank you very much.” Mrs. Klein looked at me. “Did you see that darling article about Bing Crosby’s secretaries?”
“I must have missed that,” I said.
“Anyway, that New Deal is what I would call a raw deal,” Mr. Klein said, stabbing another piece of meat on his plate. “Handing out jobs as if they were penny candies. It’s Communism, I say.”
Willie and I exchanged panicked glances. We were trapped in the middle of a Noël Coward play. And not one of his more amusing ones.
“Communism?” Ma said. “What do you know of—”
“Seems to me we’re about ready to retire for coffee,” Willie interrupted. “Don’t you think, Mother?”
Not a single one of us had finished our meal, and yet no one protested.
“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Klein said. Picking up a small bell, Mrs. Klein rang for the maid. When the girl came to the door, Mrs. Klein said, “Fiona, bring coffee and dessert to the parlor, please.” Turning back to the seated group, she said, “Shall we?”
Tateh looked longingly at his half-eaten supper, but Ma pulled him along. We would get through this evening, but it would be helpful if it ended sooner rather than later.
At coffee, Willie and I kept the topic on neutral subjects: the new Fred Astaire–Ginger Rogers picture, Top Hat; the hurricane that was approaching Florida; the races at Saratoga Springs. We were a vaudeville act, trying to speak quickly enough not to allow anyone else a word in edgewise.
“Well,” Mrs. Klein finally said at the end of the evening, “who knew you had so much to say, Dottie?”
While I was abashed at monopolizing the conversation, I was sure it had been the safest way to manage the evening.
“It simply means she’ll be a fine hostess when we entertain abroad.” Willie put his arm around my shoulder.
“It’s getting late,” Ma said. “We should be leaving.”
“Yes, I agree,” I said. “Willie, shall we retire to the hotel?”
Willie looked down at his sleeves and straightened his cuffs. “I arranged to meet a few folks before I leave town. Writing colleagues. I will meet you later at the hotel.”
“I can come with you,” I said, standing to go.
“Aw, you’d be bored. I’ll see you later.”
Willie refused to look at me, and I understood that while this night had not gone badly, that we’d proved ourselves able to work together, we were not yet a twosome.
Ma, Tateh, and the Kleins were tactful enough to pretend they weren’t listening. I was mortified that they were witness to my humiliation.
“Yes, all right.”
Willie finally looked at me. “Don’t be cross. I won’t be out late.”
“No, of course.” I gave him a kiss on the cheek, the ever-submissive wife. “I’ll see my parents out and meet you later.”
After a round of polite good-byes, the three of us were on the street. Ma sighed and unbuttoned the top of her skirt. “We survived. I didn’t think I would be able to breathe if we stayed there much longer.” She sounded much more at ease speaking again in Yiddish. “Is Perle really that much smaller than me?” she said, revealing the secret of her new outfit.
“You are a perfect size,” Tateh said, giving Ma a squeeze.
I looked at them with envy. Could I create that easy way with Willie? Would I be able to make this marriage work?
“Shall we take a streetcar or the subway from here?” Tateh asked.
Ma said, “You go ahead. I’d like to walk with Dottie a bit.”
“Are you well enough to walk?” Tateh asked.
“Do I look unwell? Of course I am fine to walk.”
“I will come with you,” he said.
“No. A mother needs time with her daughter.”
“Ah, of course.” Tateh gave Ma a wink, and he scurried off to catch the subway.
Ma took my arm as we walked.
“I’ll be all right, you know,” I said.
“Of course you’ll be all right. Who said anything about you not being all right?”
We walked silently for a block, and I was grateful for Ma’s presence, grateful I could lean on her. How would I make it on the other side of the ocean?
Half a block more and Ma started, hesitatingly. “Do you— Is there anything—”
“What?”
“Is there anything still for you to know?”
I laughed. “A little late for that, don’t you think?”
Ma chuckled. “Yes. But anyt
hing else?”
“I think I know what I need to know, Ma.”
A window of hats beckoned my attention. I steered Ma to peer into the darkened store.
“Now, even I can tell that’s a fetching little hat,” Ma said, gazing at a velvety brown one with deep curves and delicate netting.
“Look at you noticing fashion,” I said.
Ma turned to me. “You don’t have to go, you know. You can stay with me and Tateh. Raise the baby with us. You don’t have to go to Europe. You don’t have to be with . . . him.”
“If I stay here, do you really think Molly Klein will allow her grandchild to be raised on the lower East Side? And will I spend the rest of my days avoiding the Rabinowitzes and Avenue A? Who is going to be seen with the deserted wife?” I pulled Ma closer to me. “I have to go.”
She looked back at the hats and nodded. “Maybe you should get something like that? For your trip? Hats I can’t sew. You will need some fine hats. You still have money, no?”
Money was no longer an issue for me. Not only did I still have the stash from Willie, safely nestled away, but he had given me a generous allowance to buy all we needed to take to Europe. And of course there were Mrs. Klein’s store accounts. “I still have money, yes,” I said.
“So you get a hat?”
I shook my head. As beautiful as the hat was, I could no longer spend money on frivolous things. “No,” I said. “Someone once told me that a woman should always save a little something. Just in case.”
Ma smiled. “A very wise someone, I think.”
“Perhaps I’ll find a little tin. Keep the money in it.”
With genuine laughter, Ma and I left the window and continued our walk.
Rose
Wednesday, September 4
ZELDA, Linda, and Edith joined me and Dottie on our shopping trip, which was good because I could barely keep my eyes open. I didn’t get a minute of sleep the night before, worrying about my poor Dottala after that dinner. What kind of man had she married?
“Look at this fabric,” Zelda said, holding up a bolt of cotton dotted with tiny roses. The girls spoke Yiddish for my benefit.
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