Hostile Makeover

by Wendy Wax

  She roused momentarily when Nina, who was called on to read responsively during the service, did so in flawless Hebrew, much to Rabbi Jordan’s amazement. And again later when Howard Mellnick offered a thumbs-up to Nina, who was chosen to open the front door for the spirit of Elijah and who led the singing of the hauntingly beautiful Hebrew song that was sung to him.

  But mostly her mind was stuck on one unavoidable fact: Ross Morgan was JEWISH, and her parents had known it all along.

  Worse, Ross Morgan was exactly the sort of man her parents would have chosen for her had she not been rejecting the exact sort of man her parents would have chosen for her. He was exactly the sort of man her father would have—make that HAD—chosen as a son and successor.

  It was absolutely and completely MACHIAVELLIAN. Which meant there was only one person in this universe who could have come up with it.

  chapter 32

  At the conclusion of the seder, Shelley got up from the table and walked, on rubbery legs, upstairs to her childhood bedroom. She stayed there for a long time, sitting on the pink floral-covered twin bed and staring at her reflection in the white oval mirror over the dresser.

  She ignored Nina and her sister when they called to her through the door. Howard Mellnick knew better than to try to talk her out.

  Downstairs, the kitchen door swung open and closed and there was the murmur of voices and the clatter of silverware as the tables got cleared and the evening drew to a close.

  The spoiled, immature part of her wanted to fling herself down the stairs so that she could shriek out her anger and humiliation. She pictured her family’s faces if she were to do that, then imagined Howard Mellnick’s embarrassment; imagined him handing her parents back all the money they’d spent on her counseling sessions. “I tried,” he’d say, “but she refuses to grow up.”

  “No,” she said aloud. “No more steps back.” She’d taken so many she should be in Florida by now.

  And why, exactly, was she so upset? Because she’d been manipulated and kept in the dark? Her mother’s specialty was manipulating the members of her family for their own good. It was a fact of life. What would having a scene about it accomplish?

  By nine-thirty people had started to leave. She knew she should go down and at least pretend to be an adult, but she couldn’t seem to make herself move.

  “Shelley?” Ross Morgan’s voice startled her out of her reverie. “Are you coming out?”

  “No!”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “Go away!” she shouted, feeling incredibly stupid. “And don’t call me silly!”

  She waited for the sound of retreating footsteps but there were none. The doorknob turned and the door opened. Ross Morgan stepped inside.

  “I’m Jewish,” he said, “and I have a mother. It’s no big deal.”

  “Yeah, which must be why no one bothered to mention it to me.”

  He came closer and stopped in front of the bed.

  She didn’t ask him to sit down. She was too angry and embarrassed to make anything easy for him.

  “There are a few other things that haven’t been mentioned yet,” he said, “and I guess this is as good a time as any to mention them.”

  She shrugged. Her reflection in the mirror told her she was putting on a pretty good show of indifference.

  “For one thing,” he said, “I didn’t come into Schwartz and Associates with the goal of ousting you. I was given an opportunity that meant everything to me at the time, and I took it.” He paused, obviously searching for the right words. “I wasn’t attempting to take your place or steal your father’s affections—not that I ever could. Believe me, if anyone understands the importance of a father/child relationship, it’s me.”

  She stared at him, mute. It was one of the first personal things he’d ever told her. She sensed its importance, saw the promise of more in his eyes, but she was holding so tightly to the shreds of her indignation she couldn’t grasp on to anything else.

  “I’m sorry you got hurt,” Ross said. “I wasn’t trying to string you along or make you jump through hoops. It just seems to have worked out that way.”

  He smiled, but it wasn’t the cocky grin she was used to. “You definitely proved yourself, Shelley.” His smile turned rueful. “You may have done it just to spite me, but you did it. You’d be dammed good at running an agency. I’m truly sorry it won’t be your father’s.”

  She felt herself soften, but resisted it. Much safer to let him remain “the obstacle” or “the enemy.” Lust was one thing, the feelings he was tugging on right now were much more vulnerable.

  Shelley rose to face him. Ignoring the promise she saw in his eyes, she reminded herself that she was the injured party; she was the one who’d been duped. It was easy enough to be magnanimous when you had won so handily. “Is that it?” she asked.

  “Just one more thing,” he said carefully, “because I don’t want you to be confused about my intentions. The supply closet,” he said, looking into her eyes, “was all about sex.” He paused. “Los Angeles wasn’t.”

  So what in the world did that mean? How dare he turn everything so upside down and then expect her to react to it? Her eyes narrowed and her body went still.

  “The thing is . . .” He paused, and she could tell he was waiting for her to chime in, but she couldn’t for the life of her think of the right thing to say. “I’m really bowled over by who you’ve become. The old Shelley Schwartz was a little girl looking for attention; the new Shelley Schwartz is one hell of a woman. I’d like to know her a lot better.”

  He stood, waiting while she tried to process what he’d said.

  Part of her wanted to tell him to get the hell out of here and leave her alone. The other part wanted to beg him to stay. In the end she couldn’t do either.

  “Well, thanks for the insights.” She hated how cold she sounded, but she was holding on to her emotions by some really slim threads. Anger, humiliation, hope, affection; everything was all jumbled up and seething inside her.

  Unable to sort it out, she raised her chin and took a step away. “Only I’m not a before-or-after choice. I’m sort of a package deal. And I think there’s been a little too much water over our dam to try to start from scratch.”

  He looked at her steadily as if he could see right through her bravado to the churning mass of uncertainty inside. And then he nodded. “Got it.” His smile was brittle. “I guess I’ll be going, then.”

  He turned and a moment later he was gone.

  Shelley stared at her reflection in the mirror for a while. The murmur of Ross and her father talking drifted up the stairs. Then there was a female voice that had to be Ross’s mother’s. The front door opened and closed.

  She sank back down on the bed, stunned. If she let herself think about what had just happened she was going to flip out. She grabbed a pillow and hugged it to her chest. She needed to put her mind elsewhere; needed to put it somewhere productive where it wouldn’t keep replaying all the stupid things she’d just said. Or wondering what might have happened if she hadn’t shut Ross Morgan down so thoroughly.

  YOU’D BE DAMNED GOOD AT RUNNING AN AGENCY . Ross’s statement flickered through her consciousness. Ross Morgan thought she was ready to head her own firm. Shelley closed her eyes and focused on his words. In her mind, they were capitalized and had a line underneath them.

  Ross thought she could run an agency. She released her hold on the pillow. And so did three potential clients.

  Breathing deeply, Shelley attempted to let go of her anger and embarrassment. She tried to picture it floating up into the stratosphere and out of her life. Slowly her mind opened and cleared until the only thing filling it were Ross’s words: YOU’D BE DAMNED GOOD AT RUNNING AN AGENCY. And her father’s You have what it takes to make it in this business.

  The correct path stretched out in front of her, obvious and unavoidable; just like Ross Morgan’s Jewishness would have, if only she’d bothered to look.

  Ross Morga
n and her father were right.

  Her brain began to race as it sorted through ideas. She could do it; she could start a small boutique agency with an emphasis on media accounts; one that would allow her to stay on the cutting edge creatively. There was no reason to try to duplicate her father’s success when what she really wanted was to create her own. And she could invite her sister to join her.

  Clinging to those thoughts, she left her room and started down the stairs. The sound of female voices reached her from the kitchen. Delilah’s could be heard above the others, organizing and cajoling; Delilah’s sister Delores was in there, too, helping wash her mother’s crystal and fine china. As Shelley crossed the foyer, they began to sing an old slave song they’d taught the women of Shelley’s family one year in recognition of the Hebrews’ years of bondage.

  The words of the song seeped inside her. Shelley felt freer than she had in years; free to move forward, free to be her own person. If she hadn’t just rejected him so completely, she would have called Ross Morgan to thank him.

  The dining room was empty, the tables already cleared. Shelley found her father alone in the living room. Waiting. She walked to the sofa and dropped down next to him.

  “I feel like I was caught on Candid Camera with my pants down, and everyone was in on the joke but me.”

  Her father smiled. “It wasn’t like that.”

  “No?” she asked. “What was it like?”

  “Long version or short?”

  Shelley glanced toward the kitchen door. “Does Nina need a ride home?”

  “No, your mother asked Dr. Mellnick to drop her.”

  It was Shelley’s turn to smile. “A very busy woman, my mother.” She crossed one leg over the other and folded her arms across her chest. “Tell me.”

  “Well, let’s see.” Her father settled back into the sofa. “Benjamin Morganstern was my roommate in college. We were fraternity brothers, best men in each other’s weddings. But it turned out my friend had a gambling problem that none of us knew about.”

  “What happened?”

  “In the end it devoured him and destroyed his family. He left them one day and never came back.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “Yeah. My friend left his family drowning in debt. The only thing standing between them and homelessness was his seventeen-year-old son.”

  “Ross?”

  Her father nodded. “Ross had already managed to put himself and one of his younger sisters through college before I learned what had happened.”

  Ross Morgan had become his family’s sole support at the age of seventeen. Shelley’s heart ached for the boy who had been forced to become a man. Just this evening she’d pretty much told him to get lost.

  “I tried to help then, but the only thing he ever accepted from me was a job; and he’s more than earned that.”

  “No wonder he’s so frugal.”

  “His only indulgence is that car; everything else he’s made has gone to take care of his mother and sisters.”

  Shelley shook her head, still trying to wrap her brain around it. How could she have been drawn to someone she’d understood so little. “Good God, watching me throw money around must have been pure torture.” She was embarrassed at how unabashedly frivolous she’d been. Ashamed by how childishly she’d pushed him away.

  And how had Ross felt, watching Harvey Schwartz stick by his daughter no matter how badly she behaved or how often she screwed up? How painful that must have been for someone whose own father had abandoned him so completely.

  “Yes, I think we can safely say you drove him crazy. But that’s not always such a bad thing.” Her father’s smile faded. “I’m sorry Ben didn’t see how well his son turned out. But then, maybe he didn’t deserve to.”

  “I guess Mother assumed I’d never appreciate a man like Ross.” And of course she wouldn’t have before; hadn’t even an hour ago. Not in a way that counted.

  “I told her not to bother; that our approval coupled with a man’s suitability was the absolute kiss of death for you. And she finally listened.” He smiled, remembering. “In her own very twisted way.”

  Shelley sighed at the ironic beauty of her mother’s plan. If her mother had tried to push Ross Morgan on her, she would have run as far and as fast as possible, would probably have turned him over to Nina. So they could produce perfect blond Jewish babies and live happily every after. Nina would have found out and appreciated him for what he was. Her mother had had to trick her. And even then Shelley had managed to screw it up.

  Standing, she dropped a kiss on the top of her father’s head. Then she walked across the room and grasped the kitchen door handle. Without warning, she pulled it toward her.

  Her mother straightened quickly. She looked a bit sheepish, what with the empty drinking glass still raised to her ear.

  “My mother, the Jewish Lucy Ricardo.” Shelley leaned against the doorjamb. “Where’s Ethel?”

  Sarah Mendelsohn straightened beside her.

  “Well, I hope you two are happy,” Shelley said to her parents as she hunted down her keys and bid farewell to Delilah and Delores. It was all she could do not to cry over how badly she’d bungled everything. “The first perfectly-not-Jewish Jewish guy I’ve ever met and you let me go and muck it all up.”

  She kissed them both on the cheek and left. But it was hours later before she could fall asleep.

  The thing about life, Shelley thought, as she raced to lunch with Nina two weeks after her Passover debacle, was that just when you got one part of it under control, some other part of it went all to hell.

  Her plans for an agency were coming together almost effortlessly. It turned out that as the Miller-Schwartz merger progressed, the creative shake-up proved much larger than anyone anticipated. Chase Miller was driven and opinionated. Luke Skyler had had one meeting with him and his creative director and decided to jump ship.

  Ross Morgan was evidently still riding the waves there; her father kept her posted in that offhand way of his as if she weren’t hanging on every word or wishing she could wind the clocks back to just before she’d told Ross Morgan to take a hike. Her father was taking her mother on an extended trip to Europe as soon as the sale went through. And Judy had agreed to hang her shingle beside Shelley’s.

  Right now she was watching Nina eat and living vicariously through Nina’s torrid love affair with Howard Mellnick.

  “He says he loves to watch me eat, that most women have a hang-up about eating and that it’s a pleasure to see someone enjoy her food.”

  “Boy, does he have the right girl.”

  “He’s taking me home to meet his mother, Shelley.” Nina reached over and helped herself to Shelley’s last few French fries. “I’m scared to death.”

  “Of what?” Shelley pushed her plate toward her friend. “You’ve been handling my Jewish mother since childhood; they’re all pretty much the same. Just let her know you think her son is God’s gift to the universe and that you plan to offer daily prayers of thanks that you met him. Then ask for her brisket and baked chicken recipes and make sure you don’t cook them as well as she does. Oh—and try not to eat off her plate.”

  “And have you tried any of those things on Ross’s mother?”

  Shelley drained the last of her Diet Coke before Nina could get to it. “No, and I don’t intend to.”

  “Don’t be an ass, Shelley.” Nina reached for the bun Shelley hadn’t yet eaten. They tussled briefly over it; Shelley got a mouthful, Nina took the rest. “So he’s Jewish and nobody told you. So you fell for him anyway. You’re signing a lease this afternoon on your very own office space; your competition with him pushed you to greater heights. And you told me it was the best sex of your life. What exactly is the problem?”

  The bread felt rocklike in her stomach. How did you tell your best friend, who was wild about a great guy who felt the same way about her, that the person you couldn’t stop thinking about wasn’t likely to call? That after she’d told him she wasn’t intere
sted, he’d taken her at her word? That now that she knew what a hero he was, there was no way he’d think she was a big enough hero for him.

  Shrugging, she passed the bill to Nina, who’d eaten most of both their lunches anyway, and gathered up her things.

  In her car her cell phone rang and she drove to her new office with her sister’s happy voice trilling in her ear. “I signed my first event, Shelley. Oh, God, this feels great. And guess what? It was a referral from Craig. I’m going to come in tomorrow and lay out my office.” She was still singing her husband’s praises when Shelley pulled up in front of her new building.

  Stomping into the shiny new lobby, Shelley took the elevator up to the sixth floor. Removing the For Lease sign, she used her key to open the door. Inside, she breathed in the smell of brand-new carpet and paint. Closing her eyes she envisioned furniture and people; Luke and her sister working beside her. She could hardly wait.

  How ironic that now when her professional life was about to take off, her personal life was so totally nonexistent. It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy for Nina and Judy and her parents. It was just that her old kinds of choices were no longer attractive, and her current choice—well, the choice didn’t seem to be hers to make.

  Her footfalls were muffled on the carpet. Down the hallway, she poked her head into the small kitchen/lunchroom. Next to it was a supply closet. She opened the door and took in the empty shelves that ran along two walls. She planned to put the copy machine she’d just leased along the far wall.

  Her eyes fluttered shut and she was transported back to the supply closet at Schwartz and Associates, where Ross Morgan had made love to her up against the Canon iR400. She supposed she should be grateful they hadn’t accidentally copied any body parts during their mad coupling; not that she would mind a reminder of Ross Morgan’s body parts right now. Or any other part of him, for that matter.