Retaliation.
Fire and shattering glass. An SS man snatched an infant from its mother’s arms, broke it over his knee like a length of wood, and carelessly flung the broken body into the gutter.
Four Brownshirts drove three elderly Jewish men to their knees, forcing them to cut the grass with their teeth.
A Blackshirt derived immense pleasure from cutting a Hassidic man’s long beard and sideburns with a knife, taking chunks of skin away with the hair, delighting in the blood flowing.
Several Jews are thrown from upper-story windows as nonchalantly as if they were mere flotsam and jetsam. Death is preferable to broken spines.
Gleeful German civilians looted Jewish shops, dragging away whatever they can carry while others stood by horrified.
Die Juden sind unser Unglück! The Jews are our misfortune!
“Juden” in dripping red paint on the sidewalk.
CHAPTER 16
Sophia, profoundly rested and deeply unnerved at the same time, awoke early. Scenes of Kristallnacht split her tempestuous brain apart like an electrifying bolt of lightning cleaving the stormy sky.
Sophia heard the tuneful birds rustling and noticed the dull milky light through the gaps in the heavy curtains. She decided to make coffee to clear her head and ease the tightness in her skull. She planned on going back to sleep despite her long rest. She did not feel equipped to face the day.
Once she was back upstairs sipping her strong brew, she began to feel restored. She propped herself up on the pillows in order to finish her coffee in comfort, trying to keep her mind free of thoughts. She couldn’t face any of it. The hallucinations, the illusions, whatever had gone awry with her perceptions once again. She was trying to cope with Barth and Lili and her headlong rush toward Dirk. It was all too much. She finished her coffee, lay back, and was asleep within minutes.
Morton, the murdered philanderer, came to her in her dreams. He looked as if he had just risen from some woman’s bed. Pink cheeked, with tousled blond hair and sly green eyes, he pulled the covers aside and sat next to Sophia. He was in his prime, the picture of glowing health, self-satisfied, carelessly pleasured, his restlessness temporarily stilled by sexual satiation, charm turned to full blast.
“Sophia, my love, why are you frittering the morning away?” he demanded, putting an arm around her dreaming shoulders. “Life is short. Gather ye rosebuds while ye may. Carpe diem,” he commanded, displaying his love for the ready cliché, the superficial poetic turn of phrase. “Why, even we could do it. A quick roll in the hay will bring color to your face and put a twinkle in your eye. I know you’re my wife, and it seems a bit absurd for us to couple. There are so many strange kitty cats and honeypots out there to conquer,” he said, his thoughts already straying to the next conquest.
“Morton. I want you. You’re gorgeous. So appealing. Your mouth, your arms, your wonderful cock.” Her dream-self rubbed her tongue slowly across her lips, wetting them with her saliva. Sophia carefully pulled open his pajama pants. He was so accessible and growing, growing, growing. She was getting ready to take him tenderly in her mouth. The anticipation was spreading warmth through her body.
Abruptly, she sat up, an accusatory index finger jabbing at his bare hairless chest. She started shrieking, setting the walls vibrating. They were closing in on her as she screamed, “Pig. Beast. Asshole. Porcine pig.”
She awoke muttering, “Pig, pig, pig.” She reached for her empty coffee mug. She needed to get the bad taste of Morton out of her mouth. What a relief that I hadn’t taken him in my mouth, she thought irrationally. “Well, I guess I don’t have much closure on that,” she said. She should get some therapy. Given what’s unfolding now, I’ll need tons of therapy, she thought. At least Kristallnacht has receded a bit into the background thanks to Morton. It was helpful to remain sarcastic about Morton, dead and gone these seventeen years. The best way to remember his exasperating self.
She checked her cell and found two missed calls from Amanda. Only two? She returned her call, steeling herself for undermining comments.
“Hi, Sophia darling,” Amanda answered sweetly. Sophia was pleasantly surprised. “The film is still playing. We can go at four and have dinner at seven. I made reservations at Escopazzo. They have organic food, small, courtyard dining, and it will be quiet so we can talk. Have you ever been there?” Amanda asked.
“No. Someone told me about it. That’s why I recommended it,” Sophia enthused. Organic was music to her ears.
“It’s right around the corner from the Cinematheque. Let me pick you up, and we can park at the garage at the Jackie Gleason Theater and just walk.” Amanda was the epitome of efficiency.
“Great, Amanda. Thanks for taking care of everything. See you at three?” she asked.
“That sounds about right. See you soon. I’m looking forward to it. We’re going to have a wonderful time,” Amanda said, happy, for a change.
Sophia tried Lili’s cell, which went right to voice mail.
Sophia debated whether to leave a message. “I was at The Honey Pot. You are busted.” Or, “Why didn’t you tell me you’re a dyke?” Too confrontational. Too aggressive. Not very therapist-like or maternal.
She left a more benign message. “Lili, I’m worried about you. I’m sorry, but I snooped around your place, and I see that you’re going somewhere. I found a Honey Pot matchbook on your coffee table and went over there. We have to talk.” She couldn’t resist mentioning the Honey Pot and spilling the beans.
While dressing, Sophia contemplated whether to call Barth. He was on her mind sporadically. She wanted to make sure he stayed put in Key West if she were going to be romping around with Dirk tomorrow. It wouldn’t do to have him come home and find Dirk tying her up. Although it would serve him right.
Her thoughts turned to her closet. She chose a cherry-red dress that had a plunging neckline and backline. Cinched at the waist, it accentuated Sophia’s hourglass figure and revealed her athletic toned legs. Black heels with a touch of red in the front and a small black bag would complete the ensemble. No Christian Louboutin four-and-three-quarter-inch stilettos with his trademark red soles—“Sammy red bottoms,” as they were affectionately called. But boy, would they look perfect with the dress. I can dream, she thought.
Sophia was just putting on her Victorian jet earrings and a jet necklace she had acquired in London last year when the doorbell rang.
Amanda was right on time, looking stylishly emaciated in a plain apricot sheath.
“Wow, we clash,” Amanda said, looking Sophia up and down.
In more ways than one, Sophia thought. But she said, “No, we don’t. We look like two colorful exotic birds out on the prowl. Come on. Let’s go!” Sophia ushered Amanda out the door.
The Cinematheque was fairly empty, and they felt as if they had the place to themselves. Sophia was surprised to see that they had replaced the directors’ chairs with comfy cinema seating. Great improvement.
They settled in for the movie. Amanda left when the lengthy lesbian sex scene was in progress. Sophia joined her when the second lengthy sex scene between the same two protagonists seemed interminable.
“Well, Lili, said there were some hot love scenes,” Sophia said. “Hot, hot, hot, and long,” she continued. “Do you want to go back in?”
“I’ve seen enough,” Amanda said.
“Maybe we can get a drink at the bar while we wait for our table.”
“Good idea,” Amanda concurred, leaving the cinema with Sophia in tow. She couldn’t wait to get out of there.
Behind a nondescript storefront, Escopazzo opened up into a cozy little restaurant with the obligatory brick, dark wood, and candlelight. It all hung together nicely and looked inviting.
“Let’s order a bottle of Amarone. My treat,” Sophia proposed as they sat at the bar waiting for their courtyard table.
“What’s Amarone?” Amanda asked.
“Oh, you know, that great wine tasting of almonds, cherries, plums, and dust
. A little pricey but well worth it. Let’s get the Masi 2001,” she said, perusing the wine menu.
“If you’re treating,” Amanda said.
“I’m treating, and you’re in for a treat,” Sophia promised. “I feel like splurging. The holiday season and all that. We’re two tropical birds, displaying their plumage, out on the town. Let’s live it up.”
Sophia had been idly gazing into the room at the tables opposite the bar. She realized she was looking at Dirk’s back at a small table for two. His dinner companion was chic, sophisticated, and impressively turned out. She had blond, highlighted hair in an understated expensive bob cut. Her features were all small, well proportioned, and she was cute as a button. Her black linen dress hung on her as it would on a mannequin, given her flat chest and curveless form. Her crossed legs were her most curvaceous feature, showing off well-developed, athletic calves, tapering into dainty ankles and feet exposing the shiny red soles of the Christian Louboutin black stilettos Sophia had just been dreaming about.
She was looking right at the quintessential shiksa, the polar opposite of her Jewish self. The blond Wasp luring the Jewish man away from the fold. This woman possessed everything she had learned to envy. Blond hair, no boobs, no hips, no ass, small features. And this version was so elegant. She and Dirk looked as if they were conspiring, their heads almost touching across the table. Sophia immediately felt dowdy and fat. How could she compete with this woman? What did he want from her?
Although Sophia had always gone for the shegetz herself, not the Jewish man who lusts after the shiksa, she still felt inferior. The skinny blond was at the top of the pyramid, making every Jewish woman look bad, and well, Jewish.
Just as she was about to turn back to face Amanda and confer about the lush wine that had been poured for them, Sophia noticed that the lovely couple was getting up to leave, and they were now heading straight for the bar on their way out.
“Zophia,” Dirk said with that tingle-inducing pronunciation. “How lucky to see you!” He bowed over her hand and brushed it with his lips, sending a buzz up Sophia’s arm. “This is my agent, Sally May Mackleson. She’s an incredible help to me when I’m in Miami,” he enthused, looking every bit as well turned out in his black-linen designer suit and red-silk tie as the amazing agent. Did they call each other to color coordinate? Sophia wondered.
“Pleased to meet you,” Sophia said perfunctorily as she proffered her hand, which was enveloped in a cool, crisp handshake.
The blond goddess shiksa smiled tightly.
“Oh, this is my friend and colleague, Dr. Amanda Petersen,” Sophia said. “Amanda, this is Dirk Salzburg, an art dealer.”
Smiles all around. Amanda and Sally shook hands. Dirk and Amanda shook hands. No courtly hand kiss for her.
“We must be going. One of those art affairs. I’ll see you tomorrow, Zophia,” he said, lingering on her name as he slowly turned away from her and held the door open for the blond bombshell.
And they were gone, leaving Sophia cringing because of his last comment.
“Wow, what a pair!” said the astonished Amanda. “That man is stunning. What did he mean when he said he’d be seeing you tomorrow? I thought you and Barth were going to Key West tomorrow for Christmas week as usual?”
Before Sophia could reply, Amanda was twittering on. “Keith is there now. He decided to go with two friends and leave his poor momma by her lonesome. I was going to tell him to give you a call and—” Amanda broke off, staring at Sophia’s reddening face. Sophia dropped her wine glass, which splintered on the stone floor and spewed red wine, some of which splashed onto both their legs.
As the bartender hurried from around the bar to clean up the mess, the maître d’ appeared to show them to their table outside.
“Perfect timing,” Sophia said. She was relieved to see that they had a secluded table because this conversation was not going to be pretty. Thinking that Barth had made impromptu plans with Keith once she was out of the picture, her imagination was running wild like a mustang galloping across his terrain.
Were they long-time lovers? Was Barth lying about it being a one-time impulse? Was Barth gay? Was she his beard?
Amanda was looking at her with unabashed curiosity. Sophia was granted a reprieve by the appearance of the waiter with the bottle of Amarone and a new glass for her. With a dramatic flourish, he presented them with menus and, once he had poured the wine, began reeling off the specials for the evening.
Sophia was not listening but instead was scrutinizing the menu. She was an emotional eater, and anxiety could fuel her appetite. She had been debating whether to share her discovery about Lili, which was uppermost in her mind, especially during the movie. Now Barth and Keith had taken center stage, and Lili was in the wings. Dirk’s remark about seeing her tomorrow had fallen by the wayside.
Sophia knew what she wanted. Asparagus flan and butternut-squash-and-amaretto-filled tortelli. Sounded divine for drowning her sorrows. What a perfect match for the Amarone. She was going to forego the raw and vegan offerings for richness and flavor.
Amanda announced she was going to go all out and have filet of Pacific fluke instead of a big salad, her usual dinner fare.
Once they had placed their orders and the waiter was gone, Amanda looked at Sophia, her eyes questioning, her long, narrow head tilted to the side like an eager greyhound looking to her master for direction.
Sophia contemplated Amanda. She always had perceived her as a naïve child in many ways. Protected by her defenses, she was given to little introspection, despite having chosen to become a psychologist. She had constructed her own sheltered world, cocooned herself away with Keith, inhabiting a dreamscape, which was about to be shattered. Her fabrication painstakingly built to keep the truth out was about to be torn to bits by the enormous razor-sharp talons of reality.
The food appeared, and Sophia began eating her appetizer in between savoring sips of her rich wine, which was reminiscent of marzipan. She kept delaying the inevitable. Amanda was clearly waiting for something while she picked at her fish.
“Amanda, I had a falling out with Barth this week, which is why he went to Key West by himself,” she began.
“Oh. What happened, and how does this relate to your reaction earlier?” Amanda asked.
“I’m having a hard time telling you this. In fact, I was debating whether to tell you at all. But now, considering what you just told me, I feel I have to share this with you,” she said, pulling frantically on her left ear.
“I don’t understand. What are you trying to tell me?” Amanda questioned as she put down her fork and gave Sophia her undivided attention.
Sophia had polished off her appetizer and was digging into her tortelli with relish, saving her ear from further punishment. “I stumbled upon a shocking tableau in our garden on Tuesday,” she began as she kept eating, looking down at her food.
“Shocking?” Amanda echoed, a quizzical look on her face.
“Yes, shocking. Keith, your darling Keith, was on his knees between Barth’s legs with Barth’s cock in his mouth, ecstatically sucking away. They both seemed to be having a grand old time. There, I finally said it,” she declared, returning to her tortelli, determined to enjoy every last bit of food, even amid the chaos of revelation.
“You’re lying! You’re trying to upset me!” Tears were streaming down Amanda’s stony face. “First you take me to a dyke drama filled with gratuitous lesbian sex. Then you fling this garbage in my face. Keith is dating a gorgeous girl. They have matching hair,” she said incongruously.
“Girl? He’s dating a girl. Amanda, wake up. You act as if Keith is sixteen. He’s twenty-five and living with his Mommy. How old is this girl he’s dating?” she asked, while thinking no girl or woman could get between Amanda and her true love, Keith. “Anyway, we’re avoiding the matter at hand. When you told me Keith was in Key West I immediately saw red, thinking they had planned to continue their fun there with me out of the way. Or that they had been having an a
ffair all along and that this had not been a one-time freakish interlude,” Sophia said between what had now evolved into gulps of wine. She might as well have been drinking Thunderbird. “Barth told me it just happened because he gave in to impulse and extreme pressure from Keith,” Sophia said, deciding she could not humor Amanda on this one.
“Let’s go. I’m paralyzed by shock,” Amanda said.
“What about dessert?” Sophia wailed.
“Fuck dessert. Let’s pay and get out of here. I can’t breathe or think,” Amanda shouted.
“Are you okay to drive?” Sophia asked after paying the bill.
“I guess.”
“Why don’t you spend the night at my place?” Sophia offered.
“Might be a good idea.”
Amanda lived in the rarified atmosphere of Bal Harbour, a tiny beach village north of SoBe, which, tiny as it was, encompassed the ritzy Bal Harbour Shops mall, always advertised in the New York Times Magazine.
It was an excellent location for cocooning and denying reality. Sophia had a patient who had told her that it wasn’t until 1984 that an überexclusive area of the town was successfully sued for excluding Jews from owning property there. She gleaned all sorts of tidbits from her patients. She had the mental equivalent of a crazy patchwork quilt pieced together with random bits of information.
Once ensconced in Sophia’s living room, they both took off their shoes, and Amanda asked for a drink.
Amanda, ever the calorie-conscious woman, rarely drank more than a glass of wine with dinner. However, unusual circumstances called for unusual behavior.
“More wine, vodka, scotch, or brandy?” Sophia offered. “Although the wine will be a come down from Amarone.”
“I’ll have a dirty martini. Do you have Grey Goose?”
“Yes, I do. Coming right up. I’m going to have a Cabernet. Not Amarone but really good,” Sophia said.
Once they were settled with their drinks, Amanda continued to be silent. Amanda remained silent throughout her first martini. Once Sophia had made her a second, she began to talk.
Time's Hostage: The dangers of love, loss, and lus (Time Series Book 1) Page 11
