“Oh, thanks,” Jake muttered preoccupied, shooting up to disappear through Hoffman’s door.
Sister Pinsky, too shy to ask, had left a note on Harry’s desk.
The Reading and Discussion Circle –
so sweet and arty,
Fabsolutely for the party,
Which Sandra, Viv, and Ruthy are giving
On Saturday the 7th
From 8:30 onwards come join the fray,
Right through dawn until the next day.
Shlep a bottle or two, or even more,
But leave your blues outside our door.
The Langley House is the fixed abode,
You’ll find it at 22 Belmont Road,
Add N.W.8 to your R.S.V.P.
Saying oui oui – we hope – for our soiree.
Or fourpence in Bell’s bag of tricks,
To let us know at HE 1-0376.
Sandra Pinsky
Vivian Gold
Ruthy Flam
Well, why not, Harry thought.
“So,” Oscar asked Jake, “what’s the latest?”
“Well, today it looks like they may honor my contract and pay me in full.”
“Ah ha.”
“If that’s the case, Oscar, you’ve got to tell me how to take the money. I don’t want to pick it up in the morning and fork it out in surtax in the afternoon, you know.”
“There will be no need,” Oscar said, reaching for the phone, “to even bring the money into this country in the first place.”
3
IN THE FIRST PLACE, JAKE HAD EVEN HAD SERIOUS doubts about making the film, but he had been through so many scripts, most of them appalling. He would not consider anything being shot abroad, because of Nancy’s pregnancy. He was bored, he was restless. So he had foolishly allowed his agent to talk him into it.
From the start, the project was ill-starred. Before the first day of shooting, Jake had turned against the script. He got off to a horrendous start with the actress, a stunning but vacuous British girl, who was to play the lead. She was on a macrobiotic diet and reading Zen, absolutely convinced that the yellow-brick road to international stardom was paved with trendiness. In her world, things were either swinging or a drag, other people groovy or uptight. She was willing to do a nude scene, she told Jake not once, but twice, as long as it was “artistically necessary.”
The first day of shooting, always Jake’s shakiest time on a set, the producer loomed over his shoulder as soon as he picked up the viewfinder. It was a grueling day, seemingly endless, and when it was over Jake had only shot a minute, a most unsatisfying minute, he knew, without waiting to see the rushes at noon the following day. Ensconced in the screening room with the producer, the star, her agent and others, indignant and in a sweat. Nobody said a word when the lights went on, fearful of committing themselves before the producer pronounced. The producer, who was already whispering in a far corner, with the lighting cameraman, the star, and her thrusting agent.
Announcing that he expected everyone on the set in twenty minutes, Jake strode out, seeking comfort among Hersh’s Continuing Rep, many of whom he had hired for the production.
“Don’t let him worry you, Yankel. He’s a grobber.”
During the first set-up of the afternoon, a restaurant scene, it all came down. The star, blinking the false eyelashes which she wore over Jake’s objections, turned to him between takes and indicated the group assembled under the hot lights since noon, rehearsed – spun into action – shushed – spun into action and shushed again and again – only so that she, the camera tracking after, might sweep through them, making a poignant exit, and getting her three little lines right, turned to him, her entrancing smile aimed at the crouching still photographer, and said, “Aren’t they, like, crazy?”
“What?”
“The faces you chose. Are they real people,” she asked, “or only extras?”
“They are my friends,” Jake said tightly. “And where are you going?”
“We aren’t doing it again?”
Yes. And again, and one more time as the producer seethed. Then again, and twice more, until she fled to her dressing room, the perplexed producer tumbling after.
A letter, hand-delivered, turned up at the office of Jake’s agent before six. Jake was barred from the set.
“Tell him not to worry,” Jake said. “I quit.”
“No, you don’t. I’ll have you back on the set on Monday. You’re making this picture.”
“Don’t threaten me.”
There was a meeting on Tuesday and another, with lawyers, on Wednesday. Thursday a subdued agent took Jake to lunch and revealed that another director had been hired. “I’ve turned down their offer of a settlement. I’m holding out for your full salary.”
“That’s the stuff.”
“If I get it, you won’t be able to sign to make another film so long as you were supposed to be working on theirs. If you do, you’ll forfeit the money.”
Jake laughed.
“You think it’s funny?”
“Hell, I’m going to be paid more monthly not to work than I’ve ever earned in my life.”
“Don’t let it depress you. I can’t think of anyone on our list it hasn’t happened to at least once.”
With nowhere to go, and nothing to do, except connive with Hoffman on how to put his money out of reach of the Inland Revenue, Jake took to sleeping in late and then meandering down to Swiss Cottage to pick up the Herald Tribune at W. H. Smith’s. Almost daily, he passed the dress shop Ruthy worked in. Ruthy usually rapped hopefully on the window as he drifted by, startling him out of his reveries. She waved, he waved back, then this dumb show no longer satisfied her. She took to summoning Jake to the door.
“Have you heard from Joseph?”
“No.”
“Not to worry. But there’s no harm in asking, is there?”
Another day.
“Quick. See her? No. Across the street. The lady getting into the chauffeured Bentley.”
“Yes.”
“She’s a cousin to Lady Cohen. Whenever she comes into the shop she asks to be served by me personally. It’s a pleasure to deal with her. She’s no Golder’s Green yachna, if you know what I mean. Anything new?”
Jake looked baffled.
“I mean Joseph. Have you heard anything?”
“Ruthy, please. I haven’t seen him since I was a boy.”
4
ONLY FIVE MINUTES BEFORE THE BABYSITTER WAS expected, just as Ruthy was dabbing perfume behind her ears, she was summoned to the phone in the hall. It was Sandra Pinsky. She couldn’t come, after all.
“Why?” Ruthy complained.
“You want to know the truth?” Sandra dissolved into laughter. “I’m all out.”
“Oooo,” Ruthy moaned. “Come on.”
“Me and the boy scouts have the same motto: be prepared.”
A lot of good it’s done her, being prepared all these years, but Ruthy didn’t say it. “Couldn’t you phone your doctor to leave a prescription outside? You could still pick it up.”
“I phoned earlier, but he was just going off for the weekend. I said to him, oh, doctor, but I’m without pills. What pills, he asked? The pills. In that case, luv, he said, I’d keep my knickers up until Monday if I was you.” She exploded into laughter again. “Isn’t he wicked?”
“But there must be a locum he leaves in the clinic. Ask him for the prescription.”
“He’s a Pakistani. Oy, Ruthy, how could I? I’m too embarrassed.”
“Oooo,” Ruthy pleaded. “Come on.”
“I’m not even dressed. I left an invitation out for Mr. Stein. He’s coming on Saturday. Watch out for him, dearie, he doesn’t look the type, but he’s got only one thing in mind.”
“Are you coming?”
“Come to my place. The Avengers are on tonight. It’s a two-part one. I saw the first part last week.”
“Oh, I see. The penny’s dropped. You,” she said, hanging up. Ruthy decided no
t to attend the Friendship Club again after all; it would be no fun on her own, the so-called 27’s to 45’s (yeah, sure), pathetic types, most of the men at least fifty, wanting to know how much you were worth, was there a dowry, and, failing everything else, if you were interested in having a little fun.
A quick glance at the Jewish Chronicle revealed there was nothing on at the Ben Uri Gallery; neither was there a lecture that appealed. Across the street, she picked up a quarter of sweets and the Evening News.
You Cannot Afford To Miss These Films About
CANADA
– it could mean a new life for YOU
Niagara Falls. Deanna Durbin. Yes, and Joseph Hersh, she thought, thank you very much.
Mrs. Frankel stopped her outside Grodzinski’s.
“They took Golda back to the hospital this afternoon. Didn’t you see the ambulance outside?”
“No.”
“Her uterus is hanging, she can’t walk. I don’t understand; I thought she had it out.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Ruthy said.
“Listen, it’s better to grow old than to die young. And where are you going, all dressed up?”
“To eat latkes at Buckingham Palace. Where else?” she asked, running for the bus.
Imagine, she thought, a new life. Without yentas everywhere. You pack your bags, you buy tickets, and off you go. Goodbye Quality Outfitting, so long Sunday afternoon teas in Edgware, her sister-in-law asking, “And did you meet anybody this week?” Australia, Canada, South Africa. Even her brother, and he took the Financial Times every day, said there was a better future there. He had been to Toronto, the mayor was Jewish. The government didn’t squeeze you like a lemon.
Nelson Eddy and Jeanette MacDonald had made a film in Canada, Ruthy recalled, but the title eluded her. “Give me some men, who are stout-hearted men …” One would do.
Takes the RUB out of SCRUB. Brewed, Brood. Earn, Urn. Our WURST is truly the BEST. NO WAIT to bake, no WEIGHT to eat … Swaying on the Victoria-bound bus, Ruthy unsnapped her bulging, coupon-filled handbag and stuffed her dictionary of homonyms inside, still savoring a couple of the winning ones. A RECKLESS driver is seldom WRECKLESS long and – for a baby’s name, this – Prince of WAILS.
It was a rotten night, cold and rainy, but there was no harm in seeing, was there, she thought, as she joined the knot of people collapsing their umbrellas outside Caxton Hall. Scanning the notice board, Ruthy noted that a yoga group was meeting on the first floor, so was the Schopenhauer Society, and the Druid Order – brrrrr – was holding its monthly meeting. The Canadian thing, as she imagined, was in the main hall and she was lucky to find a seat.
You pack your bags, you go. This is the twentieth century.
There were chattering people everywhere, some middle-aged and making no pretense about it, but many more who were young, coddling children on their laps. Settling into her chair with an assumed air of indifference, Ruthy offered a sweet to the taciturn man next to her and nervously inquired, “Why do you want to go to Canada?”
“There’s too much waiting for dead men’s shoes here.”
“And you?” Ruthy sang out to the man on her other side.
“Harold Wilson.”
“My family’s been here for generations. I’m just looking in for a friend.”
Trans-Canada Journey, the color movie they were shown about a trip from Halifax to Vancouver, displayed all of the vast dominion’s natural wonders and spoke glowingly of the opportunities available there. No sooner was the film done, its final image an R.C.M.P. corporal mounting the steps to parliament, than the lights went on again and a brisk smiling young man, from the Department of Citizenship and Immigration, bounded onto the platform. “You’re an excellent audience. Terrific! I can sense our immigration offices will be jam-packed tomorrow morning.”
Which evoked more coughing than huzzahs.
“Canada needs people, the RIGHT kind of people –”
Everywhere you go, Ruthy reflected, anti-semites.
“– We have many, many jobs that are just going begging, with one of the highest standards of living in the world.”
The young man summoned three experts to the platform and they also smiled brightly, devouring the audience with their enthusiasm.
“Do you welcome unskilled workers?” a man asked.
“That’s a loaded question. If you mean a nineteen-year-old, sure, he’ll acquire a skill, but if you mean a man of forty, the kind who is on and off national assistance all the time … well you get ’em, you keep ’em, we don’t want ’em.”
“I’m an engineer myself.”
“You certainly look like a professional man to me, sir. I realize your question was of a general nature.”
“If things are so rosy in Canada, why do so many immigrants return?”
“I’ll field that one,” the youngest panel member hollered, winking at the first row. “Homesickness. Unadaptability. If your wife is the kind who has to see her mum once a day and four times on Sunday don’t come to Canada unless you bring your mother-in-law.”
“What’s the unemployment situation like?”
“Three point nine.”
Somebody guffawed.
“Oh, I admit it gets higher in winter, but –”
“Didn’t you have a recession in 1961?”
“Recession, no, a sort of leveling-off, yes. But right now we’re booming. Booming. We want people, the right type. We need British immigrants.”
“What about medical bills?”
“That’s a very, very good question. We have no national health plan, but we do have private health schemes that cost very little.”
“I have four children, you see.”
“Look, if you’re the kind of guy who runs to the national health doctor and sits in his waiting room all day because it’s free, and you have the sniffles …”
Finally, Ruthy rose and asked in a small voice, “I’m over forty –”
“Louder, please.”
“I’m inquiring for a friend who is over forty and works in a dress shop. What are her chances of employment in Canada?”
“That’s a very good question. I’m glad you asked it. Now if you were a man, I’d have to say your chances were not so hot because of pension schemes and such … but many shops and offices prefer to employ women who are past the marrying age.”
“Well, thank you. Thank you very, very much.”
5
SOMEWHAT ASHAMED OF HIMSELF, JAKE NEVERTHELESS worked out an alternative route to W. H. Smith’s, but occasionally lapsed into the habitual one when he was self-absorbed. One day, two weeks later, Ruthy stopped him. Could he meet her at the pub again at five thirty. Yes, why not?
“Pepsi?” Jake asked, intrigued.
“No. I’d like a lemon soda. Canada Dry, if you don’t mind?”
A celery protruded from her string shopping bag. There were also two tins tucked inside, both of them shorn of their labels. Jake ordered a large gin and tonic for himself, two Canada Dry lemon sodas, and settled back to watch.
“I’m engaged,” Ruthy announced haughtily, “or don’t you read the Times social page,” she added with a giggle.
Jake congratulated her.
“He’s a lovely, lovely man. Very well versed in literature and political matters. He reads the New Statesman and Tribune. As a matter of fact, one week he had a poem in the Tribune. That’s an accomplishment, isn’t it?”
“Yes it is.”
“I’m going to need the money, you know.”
“What money?” Jake charged, jolted awake.
“The seven hundred pounds. The money Joseph took from me.”
“But what in the hell do you expect me to do about it?” he asked, bug-eyed as she peeled the labels off the two Canada Dry lemon sodas.
“Tell him I need it. Harry hasn’t had much materialistic success. It doesn’t interest him.”
“Ruthy, for the last time, it’s been years since I’ve seen him.”
&nb
sp; “Oh, come off it. Come off it, please.”
“I’m afraid you’ll just have to take my word for it.”
“Maybe you could return the money to me?”
“Why should I?”
“Harry saw your film, but I must say he didn’t care for it. He didn’t think it rang true to life. He says when you direct something about working-class people it is obviously done for the rich to laugh at. In his estimation you’re a self-hater.”
“Is your brother having him investigated?”
“Harry has nothing to hide. His life’s an open book, it is. You want to know the truth about Joseph, why he did a bunk? The plain truth is I consider myself ever so fortunate. I would not have been able to live with him.”
“I wish you and Harry the best of luck. I –”
“Your cousin Joseph was some French nobleman. The truth is he is just this side of being a meths man. He’s an inveterate drinker.”
“Self-hatred, self-destruction. We’re a crazy family.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what scarred him psychologically in his childhood to make him like that. And he must have suffered torments since he fell in love with me, but –”
“I’m sure he did.”
“Oh, that’s nice. That’s ever so nice and gentlemanly. What right have you to talk to me like that?”
“I apologize.”
“That’s why he went away ‘on business’ for a fortnight. It was to drink. Well, thank goodness I found out before it was too late. I don’t hold grudges. I pity him.”
“I’ll tell him.”
Ruthy leaned back and smiled triumphantly. “Caught you out, didn’t I?”
“Oh, my God. If I ever run into him again, I mean.”
“I caught you out for a common liar. Why don’t you admit it?”
“Damn it, Ruthy, I have not laid eyes on Joey for more than twenty years.”
“He certainly led me a merry dance.”
“Yes, he did. I’m sorry about that.”
“Well, not to worry. Worse accidents happen at sea. Harry’s a very desirable man, you know.”
“I’m very pleased for you.”
“Oh, I’ll bet you are. But this time my brother made me swear I wouldn’t take a chance. No hurrying into marriage in two weeks. He says I should try the water first, if you know what I mean?”
St. Urbain's Horseman Page 31
