Stan had given the same “Egypt is a state of mind” speech, or some version of it, every year Liana had attended the Weiss family seder. This time, his words resonated with her. Perhaps she was stuck in this rut with Jakob not because of any external factors, not even because of Jakob, but because she herself was unable to push past the boundaries of her own fears and insecurities. Perhaps it was time to take control of her own destiny.
They got through the rest of the prescribed programming, skipping liberally, until they reached the festive meal. Arlene brought out all the traditional Passover foods: the gefilte fish, the matzo ball soup, the brisket, and the potato kugel. While they stuffed themselves silly, Stan turned the conversation to one of his favorite topics, Jakob’s career, oblivious to the discomfort it caused his son to be dissected in front of the family.
“So, Jake, how is your progress at the firm in bringing in new business of your own?”
“You know, Dad, it doesn’t really work that way anymore. Maybe it did when you were starting out, when the firms were smaller, and even someone junior could reel in a client. Now it’s very hierarchical. I barely go to the bathroom without Frank’s say-so, and it’s the partners who bring in the business, get credit for it, and then dole out the work to the grunts below.” Jakob didn’t sound angry, but Liana knew that the pressure his father put on him got him down.
“I’m sure that’s generally true, Jakob,” Stan said, refusing to give up, like a cat playing with a half-dead mouse. “But your priority, as I see it, is to get out there and be your own man, make a name for yourself.” Liana’s heart sank.
Why does Stan take every opportunity to berate Jakob this way?
Jakob pushed back, to a point. “Maybe instead of making a name for myself, I should just rely on your good name, Dad? Wouldn’t that be easier?” It was a low blow, delivered with an uncharacteristic caustic edge, but Stan was undeterred.
“If that’s what it takes, Jakob, by all means.”
“It’s not the way I operate.”
“Well, maybe you need to grow up a little, son. That’s the way the world works.” Stan often opined on “the way the world works,” relying on his observations to shut down just about any opposition. “And does Liana help you climb the ladder of success at the firm? Arlene was with me every step of the way, from helping me strategize about how to deal with a difficult superior to picking out my power ties to being a beautiful and charming companion by my side at firm events.”
Jakob was caught off guard, but Liana thought he must be wondering how to answer the question truthfully without betraying her inadequacies. Before he could pull himself together, Arlene said, “Stan, that was a very different time. Liana has her own career—she’s not just Jakob’s loyal sidekick.”
“Well, it might be a bit of a stretch to call her job a career, dear. And a wife, if that’s where this is headed, even in these times, should put her husband’s aspirations above her own.” Stan tried to mop up the last of the brisket gravy on his plate with a piece of matzo, which he then popped into his mouth and crunched noisily.
Liana had been so surprised by the turn in the conversation that she hadn’t said a thing in her own defense. They were all quiet for a minute, until Arlene brought out several light and fluffy cakes, miraculous confections for a holiday that eliminated all use of leavening. There were “oohs” and “ahs” from Phyllis and Irv, and then everyone dug in, relieved that they could chew instead of talk.
When they finished dessert, Liana turned to Jakob and whispered, “I need to get out of here. Can we walk to the park?”
“Great idea,” he said, and they practically ran out the door before anyone could think to ask to come along. The park was only about a block from his parents’ house, and Liana and Jakob had spent many hours there the summer they met and fell in love. They had played Frisbee on the big green lawn, hung out at the pool, and knocked tennis balls around on the courts. On the last night they had together in Westchester that summer, when Liana was set to go back to New Haven the next morning, they had taken a half-full bottle of vodka from Stan’s abundantly stocked liquor cabinet and sat on the grass. They had drunk and got maudlin and cried and vowed to stay together as they went their separate ways.
Now they walked through the gate holding hands and made their way to the playground, where she sat on a swing and he pushed her high into the air, until the matzo ball she had eaten resurfaced at the back of her throat and she told him to stop. Then they walked to the dock that reached out into the water and strolled all the way to the end. Jakob stood behind Liana with his arms around her waist and his head resting in her curls as she looked out at the Long Island Sound and the lights of the north shore of Long Island, where she had grown up, far across the water.
“What do you think of Irv?” Jakob asked.
“I prefer not to think about him much.”
“Your mother’s a lot less lonely. I think he seems nice,” Jakob said.
“That’s because he’s not sleeping with your mother,” she replied.
“You think they are?” Jakob asked, a note of admiration creeping into his voice.
“I told you, I try not to think about it.” They stood quietly for a few more minutes, looking out at the view. “Honestly, I worry so much about my mom in that house alone. I’d give anything to see her with someone who’d look out for her. I don’t know if Irv is the right guy, but I guess that’s her call, right?”
“I guess so. He’s harmless enough. You’re a good daughter, Liana, but I don’t think you need to worry so much.” Jakob gently moved her hair to one side and kissed her on the back of her neck.
Distracted by his touch, Liana fought to keep her focus and tell Jakob what was on her mind. She pulled away so she could face him.
“I don’t get why you never stand up to your father. Why don’t you tell him that he’s out of touch and doesn’t know how things work now? He has no business putting you down or, for that matter, telling me that he thinks my career is a joke and that I should devote myself to helping you succeed.” Liana felt like shaking Jakob, but she settled for putting her hands on his chest and looking up into his face.
“Jakob, I’m lonely. Sometimes I feel like we’re in this weird love triangle—you, me, and Wilcox & Finney. Your father doesn’t get it—I don’t really care whether you’re a rain-maker. I would rather you have some less demanding job so we could spend more time together.”
Jakob didn’t respond immediately. When he did, he sounded more like his father than himself.
“That’s very sweet, Li, and I know you think you mean it. But my dad’s right. I need to be realistic about how things work and what it means to succeed and support a family at some point. And I know he’s old-fashioned, but I think he’s right about husbands and wives believing in each other and helping each other.”
Her thoughts were racing, but Liana was too frightened to speak. She longed to tell Jakob that her rapidly approaching thirtieth birthday felt like a big boulder that would crush her if she didn’t somehow get moving with her life. And she was desperate to tell him that she loved him beyond measure but that when he talked about marriage and his vision of their future together, she felt confined, as if she couldn’t breathe. Most of all, she yearned to tell him that she needed to know she was the center of his world. But, somehow, she couldn’t say anything at all.
As they stood there, both immobilized, Liana’s cell vibrated. She pulled it out of her pocket.
“Hello?” she said.
“Liana, it’s Danny.” His voice was warm and strong and confident. She felt an unexpected pleasure wash over her. She looked at Jakob to see if he had overheard, but he was looking at his feet, still processing Liana’s silence.
“I can’t talk now,” she said quietly into the phone. She tried to sound stern, but she couldn’t hide the combination of thrill and panic in her voice.
“Please, don’t hang up,” Danny pleaded. “I want to apologize for the other day
at the Starbucks—I came on too strong. When I like someone, I push the envelope.”
“It’s okay,” Liana whispered into the phone, turning slightly away from Jakob.
“Anyway, I recognize that I don’t have anything to offer a woman like you except my friendship. No strings attached, Liana, I promise. I just want to get to know you. But I won’t keep you now. Take care.” And then the line went dead. Liana put the phone slowly into her pocket.
Somehow, Danny must have gotten her phone number when they were at the Starbucks, although she couldn’t fathom how.
“Who was that?” Jakob asked, taking a couple of steps toward Liana.
“Just work,” she said.
“Your office calls you at night, on Passover? Even Frank wouldn’t have the nerve to do that, I don’t think. I heard a man’s voice. Was it Gerry?”
“No. It was a client.” Liana was getting flustered, and she knew this was going to end badly. She took a few strides forward toward the house, and Jakob gently, but firmly, reached out and held her upper arm to restrain her.
“You give your clients your cell phone number? Is that wise?”
She shook her head no but couldn’t find her voice.
“Who was on the phone, Liana?”
“Danny Shea,” she answered.
After a minute that felt like much longer, Jakob spoke.
“I’m not sure what kind of game you’re playing here, Li, with me or with him. But I can tell you it’s dangerous. Remember who Danny Shea is, and remember who you are.”
They walked back to the house in an uncomfortable silence.
CHAPTER 19
Growing up on Long Island in the 1980s and ’90s, Liana’s family considered themselves “culturally Jewish.” Proud of their heritage, they supported the State of Israel, they counted each year how many Nobel Prize winners were Jews, and they celebrated the major Jewish holidays by briefly attending synagogue and eating the appropriate foods with the appropriate relatives. But the real religion in the Cohen household was New York Mets baseball.
Liana’s father had become a fan when the franchise started in 1962 and he was a nineteen-year-old kid studying accounting at Baruch College. He’d suffered through the first seven terrible seasons, catching the occasional game at the Polo Grounds and then at Shea Stadium but mostly following on the radio at night. In 1969, the year that the “Miracle Mets” would beat the Baltimore Orioles in the World Series, Artie experienced his own miracle. On Saturday, September 13, playing hooky from synagogue on Rosh Hashana, he met Phyllis Stein in line at the hot dog concession stand on the third level of Shea Stadium. As they waited to order, they heard a deafening roar rise from the stands: Ron Swoboda had hit a grand slam in the eighth, breaking a one-to-one tie and extending the Mets winning streak to ten games as they marched toward glory. The story of how they missed the Mets moment but found each other would become the stuff of Cohen family legend.
Liana went to her first Mets game with her father during the magical 1986 season. It was June 10, and she was too young to understand the hoopla when Tim Teufel hit a walk-off grand slam homer in the eleventh to beat the Phillies, but the intensity and the excitement of the moment were seared into her soul. With no brothers or sisters to compete for their attention, Artie and Phyllis poured all their baseball knowledge and love into Liana, who soaked it up like a sponge. She had no athletic ability to speak of, and she was no tomboy, but she knew every archaic baseball rule and obscure stat better than any boy in her school. Her room was decorated with posters of her most handsome Mets players—Todd Hundley, Rey Ordonez, John Olerud, and a little later, Mike Piazza—clean-cut, wholesome young men who could hit a ball out of the park or make a diving catch look easy.
In 2009, when the Mets moved to Citi Field, Liana’s parents were simultaneously wistful about the demolition of their beloved, if dilapidated, Shea Stadium and enthusiastic about the beautiful new ballpark, with its variety of eateries and good views from every seat. It was a horrible year for the Mets—the team was riddled with injuries and finished with an abysmal seventy wins and ninety-two losses—but it was a tragic one for the Cohens. Artie passed away during the off-season, disappointed in his team but ever hopeful for better things to come. Instead of some biblical phrase in Hebrew that Phyllis said would be meaningless to Artie, she and Liana engraved his headstone with “You Gotta Believe!”
Liana had vowed that she would never miss an opening day, as a lasting tribute to her father. Jakob understood how much the ritual meant to Liana and had gone with her to the home opener all three seasons since Artie passed away. This year, she bought her tickets for Monday, April 1, 2013, months in advance. She kept things economical, choosing seats in the nosebleed section. She preferred to pay for the tickets herself, since Jakob, who enjoyed a cold beer and hot dog but had no real interest in baseball, was only going for her sake.
As she sat at work on the Friday afternoon before the game, daydreaming of baseball and her dad, she realized she hadn’t spoken with Jakob to arrange where they would meet. In fact, she had not spoken to him at length since their walk in the park the week before and the Danny Shea phone call fiasco. Liana hoped that opening day, that beacon of new beginnings, could be the way past this latest bump in the road. And she had no time to waste; her milestone birthday was rapidly approaching, even though the deadline for figuring out her future was self-imposed and Jakob did not know it existed.
She picked up the phone and dialed his number at the office. Jakob’s secretary answered, “Jakob Weiss’s line, may I help you?”
“Hi, Gloria. Is he around?”
“Yes, you just caught him, Liana. I’ll put you right through.”
“Hey, babe,” Jakob answered. She was relieved that he seemed glad to hear from her. “I’m up to my ears here in computer printouts of banking records that I can’t make heads or tails of. It is going to be another dreadful weekend in the office.” He sounded exhausted but pumped at the same time.
“I know you’re busy; I just wanted to check where we should meet on Monday,” Liana said. She could almost hear the wheels turning as Jakob tried to figure out what he was supposed to be doing with her on Monday and how he was going to break it to her that he couldn’t do it, whatever it was. After a few seconds, she took pity on him.
“Monday is opening day, Jay.”
“Oh, wow,” he said. “I totally forgot. I’m so sorry, Li, but I have to go to Frank’s country club on Monday—we have a team off-site for my case.” Several weeks earlier, Jakob had been asked to work on a new matter as the senior associate under Frank, a vote of confidence for someone fairly junior. “I can’t miss it. Besides, Frank wants us all to meet his new girlfriend, Sofia. I think she may be a mail-order bride from Eastern Europe.” His attempt at humor fell flat.
“Jakob, it’s opening day!” Liana felt a rush of frenzied raw hysteria, and she could hear it creeping into her voice, but she couldn’t help it. Bobby looked at her sympathetically, miming throwing a pitch and mouthing, “Let’s Go Mets!”
“I know, and I know how much it means to you. Honestly, I don’t have a choice,” Jakob said. “I can’t tell Frank that I’m skipping his off-site to watch the Mets.”
She tried to see the situation from Jakob’s point of view. She was only marginally successful, but she pretended. “Okay, Jay—I get it. It’s only a game.” She hung up the phone before she added anything she would regret.
Liana ticked through the possibilities in her mind. Deb would enjoy an outing, but she was way too frail to negotiate the stadium and the crowds, and the temperature on opening day could still be uncomfortably cool. Katie was traveling for work—she had called the night before from balmy San Diego, where Rob was meeting her to spend the weekend. Charlotte knew absolutely nothing about baseball and was so hugely pregnant that Liana would be afraid to cheer too wildly in case she induced early labor in her friend. And no way Rabbi Nacht could go to the game with an unmarried woman—Liana was sure that would
violate some rule, although she didn’t know exactly which one.
She picked up her cell phone and hit the speed dial.
“Hi, Mom,” she said when Phyllis answered.
“Hi, sweetie. Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Her mother was always worried that somehow Liana was shirking her responsibilities if she made even a five-minute phone call during the day.
“It’s okay, Mom. Listen, it turns out that Jakob can’t go to the game on Monday, and I was wondering—”
“Oh, Li, I can’t.” Phyllis had not been back to the ballpark since Artie’s death, finding it just too painful.
“I know it’s really hard to be there without Dad, believe me. But we’d be there together, and—”
“No, Li, that’s not it,” Phyllis said.
“What’s wrong? Are you sick?” Liana’s Jewish mother persona came out most strongly when interacting with her own Jewish mother.
“I’m fine. It’s just that Irv got us tickets to opening day for the Yankees.”
In an unprecedented scheduling quirk, the Yankees’ home opener was being played across town at the same time on the same day as the Mets’. For a moment, Liana could find no words. When she was able to speak, she said, “Ma, how could you?”
“Oh, Liana, it’s only—”
“—a game. I know, Mom, I know.” Liana hung up the phone and the tears came.
“Liana,” Bobby said, “I’m not really great around crying women. I’m going to step out for a little while and let you get yourself together. Will you be okay if I do that?” He sounded as if he were speaking to a three-year-old, but Liana figured she deserved that.
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