by Galia Albin
Chapter 44
When the papers splashed big headlines announcing the imminent wedding of the glamorous Israeli and the famous filmmaker, the couple did not deny the rumors. The scene of Marvin’s proposal to her, Spargo’s restaurant, included all the showy, romantic trappings so beloved of L.A. denizens and American culture in general. Marvin invited her to the famous restaurant to celebrate her birthday, and only the kneeling gesture was missing when he looked deep into her eyes and said, “You are everything I’ve ever dreamed of.” He put a little dark blue velvet box on the sumptuously set table. “Open the box,” he said. She opened it and let out a cry of surprise; an enormous heart shaped polished diamond shone against the dark velvet background.
The people in the restaurant stood up and applauded, while photographers pounced on the couple, clicking their cameras. She was photographed again and again, kissing Marvin, being kissed by him, slipping the diamond ring on her finger, brandishing it in the air for all to see.
The preparations for the wedding were progressing apace. Roselyn Goldstone set the date: November second, immediately after the Jewish high holidays. “Talia, darling,” she gushed rapturously, “At long last! My son is getting married! And to a goldene, tayere meidele like you! I'm kvelling with joy!"
Talia, with her excellent organizational skills, approached the wedding project like the army officer she once was. Her office functioned like a military headquarters preparing for a large-scale maneuver. Hundreds of magnificent invitations - in the shape of a roll of film - finally went out after long hours of deliberation over the guest list. Jonathan Riskin was at the top of the list. Talia wanted him to share in her happiness, and Marvin acceded to her wish and pulled some strings with his famous friends. But the prison administrator sent back an angry, uncompromising letter saying that the famous prisoner would not be given even one day off his prison term.
But apart from this hitch, which to her was like a sudden, rude slap in the face, everything went smoothly. She booked a large, sumptuous hall and hired the services of the best caterer in town. Flattered yet bewildered, she tried to field the many phone calls from friends, journalists and famous actors who reminded her that they had not yet received their invitations. Friends called from Israel to let her know that they were arriving in Los Angeles right before the wedding.
Roselyn took Talia to Ann Magnum's store to choose a wedding gown, and Talia selected an elegant, classic design: silk ivory that cascaded along her long, lithe body like a waterfall, with a slit all the way up to her knee. The deep décolletage highlighted her swanlike neck and her high bosom. Her slender arms remained bare. Roselyn insisted on her wearing the bridal veil in which she herself had married Rudy, Marvin's late father. "May your marriage be as happy as ours was," she gushed. "Oh, if only the two of us could lead you to the chuppah together, my happiness would be complete..." Talia patted her arm. She loved the warm-hearted Yiddishe Mama, who exuded qualities she had so missed in her own mother. If not for her own sake, or for Marvin's, she would strive, for Roselyn's sake, to make her son happy. She deserved that.
The wedding day approached, and Talia was under pressure that left her exhausted and nervous. The children reacted to the commotion that filled the house by sitting frozen in front of the television set. Like tame animals, they answered all her questions with a muted "Yes, mummy," or "No, mummy." Michali was often sick, as she had been during their first stay in London, and Udi woke up every morning in a yellow puddle, shivering from cold and shame. Talia had consulted several doctors who could find nothing physically wrong with the boy. "The child seems to be under strain, Mrs. Schwartz. Can you think of a reason?" they asked her again and again. "We came from Israel a few months ago," she explained repeatedly. "We have a new nanny, and he has had to learn to speak both English and Spanish. Perhaps this is too much for a four year old?" The illustrious and expensive doctors enraged her when they interrogated her instead of supplying her with answers. Talia shrugged, but she continued to worry. After all, she was to blame for relaying her own inner turmoil to her children.
She could not quite figure out the reason for her agitation. After all, everything was going well, wonderfully even. Marvin was patient and so affectionate, Roselyn adored her, and their friends and colleagues shared their excitement at officially tying the knot. Even the newspapers contributed to the infectious elation; it isn't every day that a famous and popular director, a confirmed bachelor, marries the woman he loves.
And yet Talia was aware that some malicious tongues were wagging. What can Marvin Goldstone possibly see in that obscure Israeli, asked some jealous souls. She won't do anything for his career. True, she's good looking, but beauties like her are a dime a dozen in Hollywood.
At a gala cocktail party for a new movie, Gloria and her husband exchanged amazed, almost alarmed looks. Talia, uncharacteristically, looked drunk and unfocused. She flirted shamelessly with an aging Jewish producer, who obviously enjoyed her attention, while his young wife watched them with indignation and obvious displeasure. In vain Gloria tried to distract the producer. Talia held on to his arm, laughing aloud, "What do you want, Gloria? He's mine tonight. Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!’׳
Marvin stayed in a corner of the room the whole evening, a half empty glass of wine in his hand, responding listlessly and dryly to anyone who tried to engage him in conversation. After midnight, he came over to Talia, put his arm around her waist, and ignoring her childish protestations, dragged her out.
The next day, Talia listened dispassionately to Gloria's report of the vicious gossip. It was not the gossip that dampened her spirit, nor Marvin's gloomy face, but a sort of internal desperation, like a thorn stuck in her soul. Her mind was constantly, uncontrollably, deluged with memories and sensations from her wedding with Yoni.
Dead Yoni, who used to come and sit facing her in their bedroom on Emerald Street, was a figment of her imagination, and he had no existence in the metropolis of Los Angeles. But as the day of the wedding approached, her imagination produced an interminable series of ever-changing pictures. She trying on her wedding gown in Yoni׳s mother's store; she and Yoni in his parents' living room as the guests arrived, while waiters and waitresses made their rounds among them; the rabbi conducting the wedding service under the canopy, his eyes beaming at Yoni and herself benevolently. One picture in particular kept recurring: Yoni crushing the glass with his foot, then kissing her. It seemed as if the kiss that started then had continued ever since, and if she could just focus her mind and concentrate hard, she could taste his kisses on her lips.
She lay in bed, her eyes wide open, her chest heaving. Yoni, can you forgive me? I'm about to become a married woman again. Will you give your blessing to this union? Stupid woman, she scolded herself. There isn't anyone to answer your questions. Yet she knew that Yoni, wherever he was, would bless every move, every step she took, so long as she had done it with all her heart.
