by Milton Stern
He stood there shaking the last drops and crying for quite a while before he put his penis back into his pants, and zipped up.
He wanted to know what made her the way she was. Was her childhood as horrible as his? Why did she marry violent, narcissistic men, who mirrored her own selfish personality? If she didn’t want children, which obviously she did not, why did she? She certainly waited long enough to have Michael, giving birth at thirty-five, when all her friends already had teenagers to contend with. He wiped his eyes and thought his coming down here was a bad idea – although his bladder was now relieved.
* * * * *
In April 1962, Hannah Bern discovered that at thirty-five years old, she was two-months pregnant for the first time. After six years of marriage, she had resolved herself to the fact that she would probably never have children and never really gave it much thought. She knew she needed to break the news to Adam, but wasn’t sure of the best way to do so.
As she relayed the story to Michael after dinner one night when he was sixteen years old, Adam, Michael’s father, came home drunk late one night. Hannah was sitting at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette and playing solitaire, when Adam entered the room, staggering. He was around five-foot-nine, with reddish brown hair and a slight build, and his eyes were cold and empty.
“Where have you been?” Hannah asked without looking up.
“Playing poker, why?” Adam asked as he opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of beer.
Hannah looked at her husband, whom she had grown to hate, and blurted out, “I’m pregnant.”
Adam looked at her with rage in his cold, dead eyes, and yelled, “You’re just telling me that because I’m drunk.” He then hurled the bottle at Hannah’s head. Fortunately, she ducked just in time as the bottle crashed against the kitchen wall.
“And, that is when I realized I was stuck with your father,” Hannah told Michael as she finished the story and lit another cigarette.
She never added another word to that story.
* * * * *
Michael walked over to a few more graves of people he barely remembered, but laid stones on their markers as well, as a sign of respect. Then, he found Morton Sapperstein’s grave. Michael smiled when he thought back to Rona’s husband. He always had a ferbissina punim or sour look on his face, but he was really a nice man, who was so devoted to Rona. If only he had made love to her as often as she wanted. Michael laughed as he thought back to Rona in the Emergency Room, when Morton had a heart attack, and her removing her robe and standing in front of everyone, including a bunch of college kids, in a red lace bra and panties, wearing gold high-heeled slippers, showing everyone the reason Morton went into cardiac arrest. Even though she was fifty-eight at the time, she looked great. With this memory, Michael actually laughed for the first time in a long time.
He walked back to his car, and before starting the engine, he turned on his cell phone to check for any messages. There was one from Sam, telling him to have a safe trip and that he looked forward to seeing him again. Michael smiled when he thought about Sam. He then scrolled through the numbers and located one he thought he should call while in town. He hit the send button and waited while it rang, choosing not to start the car yet.
“Hello,” a woman’s voice said on the other end.
“Mrs. Wonderful?” Michael said.
“Mr. Perfect, where are you? How are you?” Doreen Weiner Eidleman asked.
“Aunt Doreen, I am in Newport News for the day, do you want some company?” he asked.
“Of course, I’d love to see you. Let me give you directions,” she said excitedly.
He wrote down the directions to her home in King’s Mill. After years of living in Hilton, Doreen finally bit the bullet and moved to the neighborhood, where all the snobs lived, and if he were not mistaken, Rona Sapperstein had done the same after Morton died.
Michael started the car and drove up Route 60, forgoing the Interstate as this would only be about a twenty-five-minute drive. He realized along the way why he never liked Newport News – once voted the ugliest city in the United States – as he passed one strip mall after another and the occasional mobile home park. Oddly, there were upscale neighborhoods dotting the landscape between the strip malls and trailers. Before long, he was at the entrance to King’s Mill, and he rolled down the car window and introduced himself to the guard at the gate as he was handed a temporary visitor’s pass.
He followed Doreen’s directions and pulled up in front of her house, which was situated off the main road and abutted the golf course. There was a small courtyard in front and two houses situated on either side of hers at ninety-degree angles, all with red brick and white trim. Michael walked past a champagne-colored Cadillac, knowing it was Doreen’s as she always drove the largest Cadillac available and bought a new one every two years. He rang the bell and heard another familiar and loud voice, which made Michael smile in anticipation.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” the woman yelled from the other side of the door, before she swung it open.
“Aunt Rona!” Michael exclaimed. “What are you doing here?” Rona smiled with her large mouth and rows of large teeth, still framed with the brightest pink lipstick in town. She was still tall with a slim figure, dressed in a brown sweater and winter white slacks with her signature amber jewelry in her ears and around her neck. She still wore multi-colored plastic framed glasses with pink-tinted lenses, but she had allowed her once curly red hair to go gray, almost white. She wore it short now, and it actually made her more attractive. She swung open the screen door and gave Michael a huge hug, kissing him on the cheek, and he knew that lipstick would take forever to wash off.
“Oh my God! What a hell of a surprise! Doreen, get out of the can, he’s here!” Rona yelled after letting Michael go and dragging him into the living room.
Doreen’s house was open and airy, just like a photo spread in Architectural Digest. It was decorated in whites and beiges with a hint of green and yellow accents. The living room had a large patio door on one side overlooking the golf course and a cathedral ceiling. Ironically, that golf course was where his mother’s second husband, Bart, was killed after being struck by lightning on the eighteenth green. There were two large white leather sofas, and Rona motioned for Michael to sit down.
“Doreen, wipe your ass and get down here!” she yelled, always crass and with a big mouth to go with it.
“Shut up, Rona, I’m coming,” Doreen yelled from upstairs.
Michael looked up and wearing her blonde hair as she had since Vidal Sassoon styled it in the late 1960s, Doreen appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing a sweater and slacks in her signature peach. She had two small gold hoops in her ears and a matching necklace, and on her hand was a diamond that was even larger than the one she wore twenty years earlier. She descended the stairs slowly, as Michael got up to greet her. He knew she had back surgery and a quadruple bypass in the past few years, but she still looked fantastic, although even shorter than her original five feet. Michael hugged her before she reached the bottom step, so she could reach him for a kiss on the cheek.
“Mr. Perfect,” she said. “You look fantastic. How old are you, now?”
“Mrs. Wonderful, you know how old I am. I’m forty-three.”
“Oy vay! Lie, I tell you, lie,” Rona said from where she was sitting on the couch. “You make us feel so old.”
“Please, you two don’t look a day over sixty,” Michael said as they sat down on the couch.
“That’s because we’re both over seventy-five,” Doreen said, laughing. “Can I get you anything? I made lunch. You’re staying for lunch aren’t you?”
“Of course, he’s staying for lunch. He wouldn’t just drop by and leave,” Rona chimed in.
“Yes, I can stay for lunch,” he answered as he smiled at them. “Rona, where is your house?”
“Next door,” she said. “They’re renovating it, so I’m staying with Doreen for a couple of months.”
<
br /> Michael looked at both of them and wondered how they could stand to live together for that long. They both had very strong personalities, and where Rona was loud, Doreen was always on, even with a heart condition and back problems, she was still quite animated and the center of attention. As with all his mother’s friends, he loved these two women. He could not remember a time when they weren’t in his life. And, here they were, two elderly women, yet they were as energetic and lively as he remembered them twenty years before.
“He needs to eat; he looks skinny,” Doreen said.
“Are you kidding, I am at least twenty pounds overweight,” Michael answered, sounding a bit like his mother, which he would never admit and having not stepped on a scale in quite a while, even though his clothes were starting to fit loosely.
“No, Doreen is right, you’re too thin,” Rona said as she got up to go to the kitchen. “I’ll get you a snack to tide you over before we have lunch.” Michael heard a bag opening and its contents being poured into a bowl after Rona went into the kitchen.
Doreen leaned toward Michael and whispered, “That bitch is driving me crazy. One more day in my house, and someone is going to end up dead. Do you know she snores as loud as she laughs? I can hear her two bedrooms over.”
Rona returned with pretzels in one bowl and mustard in another as Doreen leaned away from Michael, who almost cringed as this was his mother’s favorite snack. He had a vision of her dipping the hard pretzels in the mustard and eating them slowly, and it about made him wince at the thought of doing the same.
“Rona, how can you serve him that dry drek without something to drink?” Doreen asked as she got up slowly to go the kitchen.
Rona picked up her purse and pulled out a cigarette. She then went over to the patio door and opened it, standing in the doorway as she lit up. She took a puff and whispered in Michael’s direction, “I should have stayed with Neil and his wife. Do you know what it is like living with that tramp? The woman has had two heart attacks, bypass surgery and walks with a limp, and she still has the alta cockers coming over all hours of the night for a screw!” She then exhaled and raised her eyebrows as if to confirm what she said.
“What are you whispering about, Rona?” Doreen asked as she returned with two sodas. She handed one to Michael and kept the other for herself.
“You couldn’t bring me one?” Rona asked as she put out her cigarette after a few puffs, blew the remaining smoke in the direction of the patio, closed the door and stepped back inside.
“You especially know where the kitchen is, Rona. Every time I walk by the refrigerator, all I see is your asshole and pockets,” Doreen said with a smirk to her friend.
“I’m surprised you left your bedroom long enough to notice, Doreen,” Rona said as she went back to the kitchen for a soda.
Although they were bickering, Michael knew they were still the best of friends and would do anything for each other. Sixty years of friendship is hard to ignore or let go.
“That woman can eat and eat, and she never gains any weight. I’m telling you it’s unnatural,” Doreen, who struggled to maintain her full figure, whispered to him. “It’s a good thing I have money, or I would be out on the street with all she eats.”
“Doreen, remind me to call Neil and tell him to send over some more food from the deli,” Rona said as she returned with her soda in hand, indicating Doreen had not really paid for any of the food. Rona then sat on Michael’s other side.
“Does Neil still run Sapperstein’s Deli?” Michael asked, deciding not to eat any of the pretzels.
“Going on ten years,” she answered as she raised her glass to take a sip.
The two remaining women from his mother’s forty-year Tuesday night Mah Jongg game were sitting on either side of Michael, and he was happy to be there. When he was a kid, he never would have imagined his sitting on a couch as an adult between Rona and Doreen as they bickered about living together. It was almost surreal. A friendship like theirs was very rare. It was sad, too, as three of their best friends were gone, Arlene, his mother, and Florence, as well as all their husbands. They were the only ones left. What will happen when either of them dies? Michael thought.
Doreen started to cry and pulled a tissue out of her sleeve. Then Rona also cried and pulled a tissue out of her own sleeve. He remembered the “sleeve tissue dispensers” and how he wondered as a little boy if all these women had holes in their forearms.
“Why are you two crying?” he asked with alarm.
“Oh we are just a couple of sentimental old farts, Michael,” Rona said between sobs.
“Your being here just brings back so many memories, and we are just so happy you turned out so well,” Doreen said as she patted Michael’s knee and dabbed her eyes. Not wanting to be outdone, Rona also patted his knee. And, he noticed them looking at each other to see who could pat the most affectionately. He never felt so loved. But what did they mean by happy he turned out so well? Were they worried about him? Did he really want to know?
“OK, you two yentas, stop crying, or I’ll start,” Michael said, wanting this tear-fest to end since he had already been crying earlier that day.
“You’re right,” Doreen said. “Rona, stop crying, this is a happy occasion. Michael didn’t drop by to see us blubber.”
“You started it,” Rona said indignantly.
“Do you two argue a lot?” Michael asked.
“All the time,” Doreen said as if surprised by his question.
“We wouldn’t have it any other way,” Rona said as if there were any other way to conduct a friendship.
“And your friendship survives all that bickering?” he asked with wonder, as he did everything possible to avoid arguments or fighting and especially yelling. Michael couldn’t imagine having a friendship based on bickering.
“Of course,” Doreen said. “We’re like sisters. That is how we show our love. She can say anything to me, and I to her.” Then Doreen leaned toward Michael, shook her finger and said, “But, God help anyone else who says anything about Rona.”
“And, you, Rona?” Michael asked.
“Please, half the gossip around town about her, I started, myself,” she said and laughed that loud laugh Michael missed so much. Doreen also joined in the laughter, and he was infected by the humor as well, as he laughed and truly was glad to have made this special side trip.
Doreen stopped laughing long enough to yell at Rona, “Careful, Rona, or those teeth’ll come flying out.”
“How many times do I have to tell you these are my teeth,” Rona yelled at Doreen, then looked at Michael and said, “After all, I paid for them.” They started laughing again.
“Can you believe it? They actually made her a set that matched those horse teeth she had,” Doreen said as she got up and looked at her friend.
“Somewhere, there is an Osmond with a toothless grin,” Rona answered back.
“Or Mr. Ed,” Michael said.
“Good one, Michael,” Doreen said as she went into the kitchen slowly.
Rona slapped Michael’s leg and got up herself. He followed them into the kitchen and sat at the dinette, happily watching as they prepared lunch, constantly tripping over each other and bickering about what plates to use and what containers to open. Rona put a plate of egg salad and a tray of sliced challah on the table, while Doreen placed a bowl of large, kosher pickles, followed by bowls of potato salad and coleslaw. Rona then placed a bowl of potato chips and a plate of pimento stuffed olives on the table.
“I hope there’s enough food,” Michael said, missing these large Jewish meals.
“Rona, did you pull the kugle out of the oven?” Doreen asked.
Rona then opened the oven and pulled out a kugle and placed it on the table. There was no room for plates at this point.
“Kugle? I haven’t had good kugle in years,” he said with delight.
They both stopped to look at the table, then in unison, they said, “The whitefish.”
Rona then retr
ieved the whitefish from the refrigerator, and Michael was certain they had no room to eat. Rona, sensing his concern, immediately rearranged everything, as per her years of restaurant management experience, and amazingly they had room for the plates, cutlery, and napkins. When the iced tea was poured, Michael was confident he was back in the South. A few states north, and they would have been enjoying cream soda.
They both sat down, and Michael said, “When do the other guests arrive?”
They looked at each other and then at Michael and laughed again, while he prepared himself for Rona’s teeth to come flying in his direction or land in the egg salad.
“Go ahead, Michael, don’t be shy, eat,” Rona said. “We wanted to be sure we had all your favorites.”
“You have this food in your house all the time?” he asked as he took a slice of kugle, followed by some whitefish and egg salad. Michael had not eaten like this since he could remember.
“It pays to have a roommate with a deli in the family,” Doreen said ironically as she filled her plate with whitefish and egg salad and took a piece of challah.
Rona made a sandwich with the challah and egg salad and took two slices of kugle. She then piled on the white fish, potato salad, and coleslaw and topped off her plate with a pickle. Doreen gave her a look then looked at Michael, rolling her eyes in Rona’s direction.
“Rona, do you have enough food on your plate?” Doreen asked, sarcastically.
Rona looked at her plate then reached for the potato chips, and after grabbing a handful, declared unapologetically, “Now I do.”
Michael smiled at the two of them as they began eating in silence. Between bites of the kugle, which was among the best he ever tasted, he asked, “When you said you were glad I turned out all right, what did you mean?”
Rona swallowed her mouthful of food and Doreen put down her fork as they looked at each other. It was as if each knew what the other was thinking.
