by Cindy Rizzo
“This apartment is beautiful,” she called after Elizabeth as she walked toward the kitchen. “I’m sure Helena would be envious of whoever decorated it.”
“I had a little help, but you can tell her it was mostly me.”
Elizabeth retrieved her glass from earlier and opened the cabinet to get one for Ruth. Ruth. Ruth was in her home. She heard footsteps.
“I was curious to see the kitchen. I hope that’s all right.”
“You can get the grand tour, if you like.”
She had a fleeting vision of taking Ruth into the bedroom, the bed beckoning to both of them. She wondered how it would feel to have Ruth’s hands on her, to taste that spot beneath her ear that used to always get a reaction, and to grab Ruth’s shoulders as she made Elizabeth rise up toward release. When a familiar heat settled in her belly, she shook the image from her head.
Ruth’s voice was soft, her breath settling on the back of Elizabeth’s neck.
“Come sit down. We’ll talk.”
They arranged themselves on the olive-green-patterned sofa, their drinks on the low coffee table.
“I had an interesting conversation with Max on the way here,” said Ruth. “He said you’re putting his granddaughter through Fowler. That’s very generous of you.”
“Ruth, do people just naturally tell you things or are those who surround me entirely lacking in discretion?”
Ruth smiled. “Don’t fault him. I mentioned we’d gone to college together and asked if he’d ever driven you up there. It kind of followed.”
“She’s on a scholarship I set up. They weren’t able to afford more than a state school and I couldn’t let that happen.”
Ruth raised both hands in front of her. “Heaven forbid,” she said and laughed silently.
“She’s a bright girl and Max is a loyal employee who refuses to retire. Plus, I can afford it. And by the way, you were very sweet to him when we picked you up. It reminded me how you always took the time to talk to waitresses and the mailman.”
“I guess the Communists left some kind of impression on me. You know, workers of the world and all that.”
“Well, you made an impression on me. I seemed to have gained quite a wonderful reputation among the people who clean our offices. I hired them away from this horrible company we’d retained when I found out they weren’t getting paid sick leave or health insurance.”
Ruth looked directly at her with a gaze that penetrated Elizabeth to the core. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft and dream-like.
“So why did you leave the dinner tonight?”
Was this some trial lawyer technique that Ruth had learned—start off with a neutral topic and then hit her with the real question in the most soothing tone she could muster?
Elizabeth looked down at her lap. She clasped her hands together to prevent them from shaking.
“I’m not sure I can explain it in a way you’d understand. I felt…out of place.”
She glanced up and saw that Ruth was nodding. “I thought it might have been too soon.”
“I don’t know if it’s that. You have a family and they are all lovely. Well, maybe with the exception of Mr. Stanton, who seems unable to take no for an answer. But when I try to look down the line to envision what kind of us there could be, I just don’t see where I could possibly fit into your tight little circle. I only see myself on the sidelines, unconnected.”
Ruth extended her hand toward Elizabeth and then pulled it back. It was the same show of hesitation as when she’d entered the car earlier.
Elizabeth was afraid she’d been too blunt. Ruth looked positively dejected.
“I guess this isn’t easy for either of us, not knowing what to do, what the next step should be,” said Elizabeth.
She put her hand on Ruth’s forearm and gently moved it back and forth over the fabric of her jacket. This was the first time Elizabeth was the one to initiate physical contact between them and she suddenly wanted more. She slid her hand down to Ruth’s wrist and moved her fingers inside the sleeve so she could feel the soft, bare skin underneath. When she heard Ruth’s breathing quicken, she held on a little tighter.
It would be so easy to unbutton that jacket and slide it off of Ruth, so natural to bury her face in Ruth’s neck and reach that special spot she’d fantasized about before. They could be in bed in no time, and then even more wonderful, they could wake up together the next morning.
But then what?
Sex with Ruth would be like jumping off a cliff. It could only end up one of two ways, both of them utterly frightening. She withdrew her hand.
“Why don’t you ever talk about your son?”
Ruth wasn’t the only one who could lob a zinger at an unexpected moment. Elizabeth saw her draw back slightly. She was definitely caught off guard by the question.
“I haven’t?”
“Hardly at all. Is there something about him you don’t want me to know?”
Ruth hesitated and looked directly at her. “What do you mean?”
“Well, apparently Margaret met him recently. She went on and on to me about some crazy theory she has that he looks just like me.”
Ruth gasped and put her hand to her mouth. “She said that?”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Ruth, is it true?”
Ruth nodded.
“Oh come on. I mean, that’s just a silly coincidence. Do you have a picture you could show me?”
“Not with me.” Ruth picked up her glass and took a healthy sip of the sherry. “Elizabeth, it’s not just his looks. It’s everything. His interests, his likes and dislikes. Part of the reason he’s working in Hollywood is because he loves the movies.”
“A lot of people love the movies, you for instance.”
“He was the editor of the Bennington literary magazine, just like you were at Fowler. He hates butterscotch and he loves ginger ice cream and my cold borscht with sour cream. Oh, and he’s a very good cook and learns languages easily.”
“Ruth, I don’t know what to say. He’s your child. Yours and Bennett’s—and even Helena’s to a large extent.”
“I know. But these traits started showing up very early on. Little things. I ignored them for a long time, but once he was an adolescent, it was so clear to me.”
“Have you talked about this with Bennett or anyone?”
“Not with Bennett. I kept it to myself for years. I thought it was just more punishment for what I’d done, to be constantly reminded of you through Mark. But after I accepted the invitation to the reunion, I told Lauren. Once you’d left the dinner tonight, she turned to me and said she now understood what I meant.”
“Margaret told me I should go out to LA and meet him or at least get a good look at him.”
“I can show you photos, but as I said, the physical resemblance is only part of it.”
They sat for a few minutes nursing their drinks in silence. Ruth put her glass back down on the table and stood.
“I should get going. I’ve kept you up late enough.”
She took a few steps over to Elizabeth, now also standing, and laid her hands on her shoulders. Drawing Elizabeth close, she spoke softly into her ear.
“I want you to know one thing, and I really mean it. There will always be a place for you with me if you want one.”
Elizabeth leaned her head on Ruth’s shoulder.
“I need time, Ruth.” She could hear her voice shaking. She lifted her head and took a half step back. “This is so much, so fast after all these years.”
“I know. I was trying not to have it be like that, but…”
“No, I don’t blame you. I’m not sure there was any other way for us. But maybe I just need a little break now to sort it out. All right?”
Chapter 11
August 2008
In the first days of August, the news was filled with stories about the heat wave that had hit New York City, kicked off by a solid workweek of ninety-degree temperatures. Elizabeth coped the best way she knew how, hopping from one air-conditioned environment to the next and burying herself in work. But there was little escape from the weight of all the unanswered questions in her life. Fortunately, she was able to find some relief by working on Joe Donovan’s new book. She’d retained her role as his editor all these years, mostly because he was so important to the company, but also to keep her hand in the content of the work. She missed editing and, to her surprise, had recently been thinking about writing again. Nothing too daunting, maybe a short story.
She’d invited Joe and his wife to join her at her place in Amagansett, figuring they could work on the book out on the deck while Maureen enjoyed the private beach area. Elizabeth had just completed her first read of the manuscript and had some notes to go over with Joe.
In spite of this welcome distraction, it was difficult to keep thoughts of Ruth at bay. Not just Ruth, but all of it: the daughter, the son, the ex-husband. And that was just the present. There was also the past to contend with. Would she ever get over what Ruth had done to the point where she could seriously entertain a real relationship?
The dreams returned. The ones with Leon Abramov acting as accuser, prosecutor, and judge, sentencing her to the Siberian prison camp amidst the silence of the famous Russian authors. From night to night the story was the same, but often new details were added. In one version, she was admitted to the camp with a little child holding on to her hand. She kept trying to get a better look at him or her but there was always some reason that the child would turn away. One night, she was able to see that it was a little boy with her coloring. He was holding a book with no title. Then she was alone, the child having been escorted away and a voice she didn’t recognize telling her he would be well taken care of. She tried to scream, but woke up instead and just lay there on her back in the darkness with the knowledge that she would once again need the help of Ambien to sleep soundly until the situation with Ruth was resolved.
All Margaret would say was that she should call Ruth, that the only way to figure this out was to spend time with her. Reese was a bit more sympathetic, but Elizabeth knew Reese hoped she’d give Ruth a chance.
“Is there anything else you can teach me to cook, Tracy? I’m ready for my next lesson.”
“I think the best thing with this heat wave is iced tea, Southern style.”
“That sweet stuff? No, thank you. My apartment is fully air-conditioned. Come over.”
Elizabeth had to admit, it was somewhat difficult to look away when Tracy stood in her doorway dressed only in a white halter top and faded jean shorts that barely covered her thighs. She wondered how this young woman was able to make it down the street without being catcalled by dozens of men and maybe even a few women.
“I’m surprised Robin lets you leave the house dressed like that.”
She knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Tracy’s expression of surprise and annoyance only confirmed the feeling.
“She doesn’t get to…”
“I apologize.” Elizabeth thought it best to just cut off Tracy’s indignation before it blossomed. “I had no right to say that. Let’s start over, all right?”
She saw Tracy literally swallow her reply and nod.
“Please come in and cool off.” Elizabeth took one of the two plastic grocery bags Tracy was carrying. “What did you bring?”
They set the bags down on the kitchen counter.
“Collard greens from the farmers market in Union Square and some other ingredients we’ll need.” Her voice was a little stiff.
“I have the bacon fat and ham hocks you told me to buy.”
“Good. And I brought you two presents, though after that remark at the door, I’m not sure you deserve them.”
Elizabeth was always surprised that Tracy felt no hesitation to be that direct with her. The only other person who spoke to her that way was Margaret, and, she suddenly realized, Ruth.
“Was my apology insufficient?” She couldn’t avoid the little hint of Queen Elizabeth that crept into her voice.
“I’ll get over it, but please, nothing more about my clothing and any implication that it’s Robin’s job to somehow rein me in. That is so not how things work with us.”
“You have my word.”
Tracy smiled and Elizabeth felt the mood lighten a bit.
“So, present number one.” She slipped a plastic container out of one of the bags. “Peach cobbler. My mama’s family recipe. I made it the other day before the peaches went bad. I can teach it to you another time.”
“I’ll look forward to it. And you said you had something else?”
“Let’s hold off on that one until later. It’s a bit more serious than dessert and you’ve gotten me in the mood to attack those greens.”
With three cooking projects under their belts, she and Tracy had developed a comfortable and companionable working style that was a mixture of instruction and side-by-side tasks. Tracy had learned to navigate the drawers and cabinets as well as the pantry of Elizabeth’s kitchen as if it were her own.
“Do you and Robin cook together?”
“We do. We also have this strange habit of eating off the same plate. It’s something we started doing in the college dining hall and we’ve just kept it up all these years.”
“Well, I’m sure if Reese were here, she’d tell me that this was very common for lesbians and that I was woefully undereducated on the subject.”
Tracy laughed. “No, we’re the only ones I know who do it. Everyone thinks it’s insane, but couples have their quirks, I suppose.”
“Another subject I know very little about.”
Tracy was quiet for a few minutes as she carefully added the greens to the steaming pot on the stovetop and stirred them in with a wooden spoon.
“Can I ask you about Ruth? I mean, where things stand?”
Elizabeth sighed and proceeded to update Tracy on the ACLU dinner and its aftermath. She ended with a description of the awful Siberian prison camp dreams.
The greens would take forty-five minutes to cook. While they waited, Tracy set them both up with peach cobbler at the kitchen table while Elizabeth brewed coffee in the French press.
“It’s a lot,” said Tracy when they were both seated. “I understand why you needed the break. But you don’t sound like you’re any closer to deciding what to do.”
“That’s true.”
“What are the biggest obstacles? Is it this family thing that came up for you at the dinner or is it really the past?”
“I can’t separate the two. Ruth’s family is a product of the decisions she made in the past.”
“And so you resent them? The children, the ex-husband?”
“It’s not them per se. I actually liked her daughter as well as Bennett and his wife. They’re lovely people. But they’re not mine. Ruth stole that from me. We could have had our own family.”
Elizabeth blew softly on her hot coffee and took a sip. “And then there’s this ridiculous stuff about her son looking and acting like me. I have no idea what to do with that.”
Elizabeth wondered if Tracy had slipped into therapist mode. Her body was still. She had stopped eating and was sitting back in her chair looking directly across the table at her. Was this some kind of professional habit?
“And your dreams are still focused on Ruth’s father? Do you think you see him at the root of all this?”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together and nodded. “I told you the story about the only time I met him. I’ve never gotten over my hatred of that man. I know he didn’t force Ruth to do what she did
, but it’s hard not to feel that she only did it because of him and who he was.”
“Well, I guess then, this is as good a time as any to give you the second thing I brought.”
She reached behind to her shoulder bag and placed a book on the table. It was a hardcover copy of Modern Day Moses: Leon Abramov’s Struggle to Free Soviet Jewry by Guy Jacobson.
Elizabeth looked at it. There he was on the cover, his photo superimposed on three symbols: the hammer and sickle, the Star of David, and the American flag.
Elizabeth shook her head. “I know this book,” she said, a tone of distain in her voice. “Of course, it’s not one of ours.”
“Have you ever read it?”
“I wouldn’t be able to get through it.” She picked up the book and opened it to the end. “Three hundred and twenty pages about a man I detested five minutes after meeting him.”
“Robin bought it and read it. Then she gave it to me. I think you need to read it. It may put some things into perspective for you, including some of what is keeping you stuck.”
Elizabeth placed her hands over her eyes and breathed out. “Do you really think reading some paean to him is what I need to do?”
“You’ll get a fuller picture. This isn’t an uncritical portrait. It may also help you understand Ruth a bit more.”
Elizabeth stood on her front deck in Amagansett watching Joe and Maureen Donovan drive off to catch the ferry to Connecticut on their way back to Boston. They’d stayed until Monday morning after a productive and relaxing weekend, getting through most of Joe’s manuscript so that he could work on revisions. He’d honed his craft, not to mention his brand, so beautifully that it was a pleasure to work with him; like fine-tuning a Maserati.
Max would be arriving later in the day with Reese and Jaret. Elizabeth had given them the house through the following weekend. It wasn’t the first time she’d invited them to stay, but this year she’d done so consciously aware that she wanted to do the kind of thing that parents do for their adult children. In the past, they’d come with her and other friends for a weekend. This time she was letting them have their own private vacation. They’d all have dinner together that night and then the next morning she’d return to the city.
