by Milton Stern
As Michael stepped out of the limousine, he was aware of the startled looks on some of the attendees’ faces, and he chuckled at their reactions when Eric stepped out the other side and walked around to stand next to his mother. While they stood there, Michael looked around to see if he had any more twins at the cemetery, but most if not all the other people there were over seventy, and many were over eighty. He didn’t see any familiar faces. Eric and his mother asked Michael to sit with them, but he was not comfortable sitting in one of the chairs for the mourners, so he stood off to the side. Thankfully, they did not argue. The last time Michael sat with the mourners was at Bart Shimmer’s funeral in 1985, and he only did that because he was glad Bart was dead.
They lowered the casket, and the rabbi began the short service. Michael loved Jewish funerals because the actual service was rather abbreviated, but unfortunately, the eulogies would sometimes go on forever. Eric was asked to give the eulogy for his father, and he was clearly upset and choking back tears as he spoke.
“My father, Seymour Sagman, was a good man, a loving father, a devoted husband, and a pillar in the community,” Eric began. “One of my earliest memories of my father was his teaching me to ride a bike. As many of you may not know, I have coordination issues, and riding a bike was very difficult for me, but he was so patient, never losing his cool, and working with me for not one but five days until I mastered riding my bike. He then bought a bike, and we would go riding together …”
Michael didn’t want to hear anymore, so he worked his way to the back of the crowd, while many of the people stared and whispered to the people standing next to them as they looked in his direction. Michael knew they were all trying to figure out who he was. He managed to slip away quietly and wandered around the cemetery. Michael could still hear Eric speaking, but he was far enough away not to be able to discern what he was saying. As Michael walked to another section of the cemetery, he sensed someone was following him. He turned around, and there was a slight woman, who looked to be the same age his mother would be if she were still alive, even though it was obvious this woman had undergone numerous face lifts. She had short brown hair and wore a simple but expensive black dress with matching gloves, coat and hat.
“Are you Michael Bern?” she asked as she removed her dark glasses. Michael didn’t recognize her, but she may have seen his picture in People magazine after they took a photo on the red carpet at the premiere of Birthright, so he didn’t act surprised.
“Yes, do I know you?” Michael asked.
“I have not seen you since you were a baby. I’m Eleanor Summers,” she said holding out her hand. Michael shook her hand and thought she might be related to his mother, who was also a Summers. “I’m your mother’s first cousin,” she confirmed.
“Small world,” he said, realizing how much he hated that expression. “Did you know Seymour Sagman?” Michael asked.
“Sort of,” she said. “I also know he was your father.”
Here was another person who knew the secret. How many were there?
“How did you know that?” Michael asked, still wondering if everyone in attendance knew.
“Your mother would send me pictures of you over the years, and the Sagmans belonged to my synagogue. You and Eric were too similar-looking for it not to be true. I also knew your mother had an affair with Seymour before he moved here,” she told Michael, not in the least worried about shocking him with her news. “I kept my distance from them over the years, but when I saw that his funeral was today, I wanted to come with the hope of running into you.”
This time, Michael was not angry or upset. He had reached a point where he did not care. He had a father for two days who was now dead. Michael also had a father who died before he was born, and he really had no emotional connection to either of them.
“Will you be staying with your family?” she asked, as if he were part of the Sagman family.
Michael was beginning not to like this woman although they were related. “No, my family is all dead. I’ll be going back home after the funeral as I have work to do,” he said to her, and she gave him a shocked look.
“Michael, your family is not dead. I’m your family, and Eric and Harryette are your family. You shouldn’t say that,” she said as if scolding a child.
“Miss Summers, I know you mean well, but this is not my family, and frankly, I don’t know you. No one from any of the many sides of what seems lately to be an expanding family of mine ever came to see me when I was a child, therefore, my family is dead to me. Now, if you will excuse me, I would like to go up to the cemetery office and call a cab,” Michael said as he walked away. He pulled the pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and lit one as he walked toward the office, but this newfound cousin of his kept following him, so he turned around, and she stopped. “I would appreciate your leaving me alone. I have been through quite a bit in the last week, and I don’t want to meet or talk to any more so-called relatives. And, if you don’t mind,” Michael continued, pointing to the others at the grave side, “tell any other relatives I have over there that I do not wish to meet them either. OK?”
Michael then turned around and walked to the office and asked them to call him a cab. As he stood outside the cemetery office waiting for the taxi, he noticed Eric walking his way. Michael really could not deal with anymore “family” today, but Eric walked up to Michael and stood there silently.
“You want a cigarette?” Michael asked him, just being polite.
“Sure, but don’t tell my mother,” he said. Michael handed him the pack, and he lit a cigarette. Michael could swear Eric turned a little green after taking his first puff.
“Eric, I called a cab. I’d prefer to go home now. I hope you don’t mind,” Michael said as he looked over to the grave side and saw a few old men shoveling dirt into the grave as the other guests got into their cars and slowly made their way out of the cemetery. To exit, they had to pass where Eric and Michael were standing, and all of them looked and pointed at the two of them as if they wouldn’t notice. Michael rolled his eyes at their curiosity.
“That woman, Eleanor, told me what you said, Michael,” Eric said, breaking his silence.
“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, Eric, but having all these relatives come out of the woodwork is not sitting well with me,” he told him.
“You didn’t hurt my feelings,” Eric said, but something told Michael he had. “I’m just disappointed because I thought we could get to know each other, but I kinda get the feeling you’d rather not.” Eric looked at Michael as he took another puff.
“Eric, I would like to get to know you better. You’re the only one who didn’t know the big secret,” Michael said. “I just don’t want to get to know people who knew I existed and never acknowledged me. I seem to be nothing but a curiosity to these people, and to meet my mother’s cousin, who said she knew the secret all along was too much.”
“From what I could tell, Eleanor is a dumb ass. I mean the woman appears to be one shank bone short of a seder plate,” Eric said. And, they both started laughing. “She thought going over and talking to you would make you feel better. She has no clue what you’re going through.”
“And, you do?” Michael asked, lighting another cigarette, realizing he would probably be looking at grass from the other side not too far from where he was standing if he didn’t quit chain smoking soon.
“I think I do,” Eric said. “I think I’m going through the same thing. After the initial excitement of finding out I had a brother, I began to wonder how many other siblings I have out there. My father must have been pretty potent to knock up two broads in a matter of months, and he was fifty-three when he did that!”
“Was he married before he met your mother?” Michael asked him, figuring a fifty-three-year-old heterosexual bachelor was rare.
Eric looked at Michael with wonder. He stomped the cigarette on the ground and looked away for a second. He then turned to face Michael again and asked, “They didn’
t tell you?”
“Tell me what?” Michael asked, dreading what other secrets would be revealed to him that day.
“I don’t know, Michael, if I should tell you, but what the hell, nothing else could shock you at this point,” Eric began. “My father married your mother in 1945 when she was eighteen and he was thirty-six. They were only married six months and had it annulled.”
Michael’s mouth dropped open. He was not ready for this. His mother was married to Seymour Sagman for six months in 1945? He was dumbfounded. She really did hide things from him. No wonder Eleanor knew of the Sagmans.
“Is there more?” Michael asked.
“They were married in D.C. After the annulment, your mother moved to Newport News. My father moved there a couple of years later, hoping to reconcile with your mother, but then she married again. Apparently, they started having an affair around the same time he met my mother,” Eric told him.
“How long have you known this?” Michael asked.
“My mother told me in the limousine on the way to pick you up this morning,” Eric said.
“No wonder you know what I’m going through,” Michael told him as his cab pulled up.
“Michael, come back to the house with us. Please, do it for me,” he pleaded.
Michael opened the taxi cab door, and as he stepped inside, he changed his mind. He handed the cab driver a twenty and apologized for taking up his time as he decided to go back to the house with Eric. After all, Eric was his half brother, and he also wanted to see pictures of what he looked like growing up.
As Michael got back into the limousine with Eric and his mother, he turned to both of them and said, “I’m only going to your house because Eric asked me. You must promise me one thing, Mrs. Sagman.”
“What is that?” Mrs. Sagman asked as she checked her make-up in her compact.
“Don’t introduce me as Seymour’s son,” Michael said.
“OK, Michael, if you promise me one thing,” she said.
“What?” he asked, not sure he would agree to whatever she wanted.
“You will call me Harryette,” she said as she closed the compact and smiled at him.
“OK, Harryette,” Michael said, smiling back at her.
“Can I introduce you as my brother?” Eric asked.
Michael leaned over and looked at Eric and said, “Let me think about that one.”
They chuckled a bit as they rode back to the Sagman’s house on Helsel Drive in Silver Spring. They lived in a modest three bedroom ranch style home with a deck and a large back yard. There were dozens of people already in the house when they arrived, and there was food everywhere. Michael excused himself to the bathroom, and he lingered in there as there were pictures of Eric at various stages in his life. There was a headshot with his name etched on the bottom, Eric Buddy Sagman. Michael guessed him to about twenty in the picture as he looked like him at that age. There was a shirtless picture of him on the beach. He had a nice body in his youth, a little thin, though. Michael had a similar picture in his home, and he was also a bit thin at the time. Eric had really packed on the pounds since then, but so had Michael. Neither was fat, just a little fuller – though Eric was fuller than Michael. But, the picture that struck Michael the most was his baby picture. It was as if he were looking at his own. Michael stared at it for quite some time, marveling at how much they looked alike. Michael never looked like anyone in his family, but here he was staring at what could have been his identical twin. Michael did notice one significant difference between pictures of Eric growing up and pictures from the same period in his life. In Eric’s, he looked happy, always with a big smile and a sparkle in his eyes, but in Michael’s, the smile was strained and his eyes appeared empty. Michael didn’t begrudge him his happiness, nor was he jealous.
Michael stepped out of the bathroom, and there was an elderly woman standing there. She told him how sorry she was about his father before going into the bathroom, and he didn’t feel like correcting her. Eric and his mother were seated in the living room, so Michael decided to look at the pictures they had hanging on the wall opposite where they were seated. There was a picture of Eric at around ten or eleven sitting on the ground with a pug.
“You had a pug?” Michael asked Eric as he turned around to look at him.
Eric stood up from the couch and walked over to where Michael was standing, looking at the picture. “Yeah, that’s Kelly. She was my fourth birthday present. She lived sixteen years. Imagine that. I was twenty when she died.” He then touched the picture, remembering his dog.
“I also had a pug,” Michael said. “Her name was Aunt Clara. She died right before I moved here, and she also lived sixteen years. Weird, huh?”
Eric looked at Michael and furrowed his brow. “What is your favorite color?”
“Green,” Michael said.
“Mine, too,” Eric said with excitement. “What is your lucky number?”
“Twenty-four,” Michael said, “But I know that’s not yours. Yours is three.”
“No, Michael,” Eric said with a smile, “My favorite number is twenty-four. It’s divisible by three. Everybody I know has a favorite number like five or seven, but never a two-digit number. I felt so weird in first grade when I picked twenty-four. No one else could count that high, but being an Aspy, I was special.” Eric smiled as he said this feigning superiority for comic effect.
Michael looked at him and tried to come up with something else they might have in common. “What is your all time favorite TV show?”
“Bewitched,” Eric said, waiting for his reaction.
“Oh my God,” Michael said slowly. “That is why I named my dog Aunt Clara. OK, you can introduce me as your half brother, now.” Michael smiled at Eric, happy to be related to him at last.
“Great!” Eric exclaimed as his eyes lit up.
Just then, an elderly woman with horribly teased hair and too much make-up came up to them. “Which one of you is Eric?”
“I am, Aunt Rose,” Eric said. “This is my half brother, Michael Bern.”
Michael reached out his hand to shake hers and she looked at him as if she just saw a ghost. “You two look exactly alike.”
“Well, to tell you the truth, Aunt Rose, my hair is gray, and I wear glasses,” Eric said. “And, Michael is gay.”
Michael looked at him confused as he was convinced Eric was gay, too. Aunt Rose walked away, and Michael said to Eric, “You’re straight?”
“Get a grip, Michael,” Eric said, “I’m so gay the mailman knows. I was just teasing Aunt Rose. She’s a little senile.”
Michael liked his sense of humor. It was more sarcastic and dryer than his, and he thought Eric should have been a comedy writer. But most comedy writers come from a dark past, so he might not have had much of a career after all.
Michael stayed for a few more hours talking to some of the guests, who didn’t know if he was Eric or not. Not once did anyone ask what he did for a living, as they were more curious about his looking like Eric. Not having to deal with the thing he dreaded – having to explain who he was and what he did for a living – turned out to be a relief as Michael didn’t have to hear about this one’s daughter who should be in movies and did he know this director and could he get that one an audition. Whenever that happened, he would see the look of disappointment on their faces when he would tell them he was a just a lowly television comedy writer with no real connections – at least none he would admit to.
Eric drove Michael home in his mother’s Cadillac, and one thing they did not have in common was the way they drove. Michael always obeyed the speed limit and all the rules, but Eric took it to the extreme, driving with his head near the dash and in the right lane with old women passing him as if he were standing still. Eric was obviously terrified to be driving his mother’s car in the city.
“You don’t drive much, do you?” Michael asked.
Not taking his eyes off the road, Eric said, “I hate to drive. I only got a license because my fath
er said I would need one some day. I don’t even own a car. I never have. I haven’t driven a car in almost seven years.”
“Well, that’s one thing we don’t have in common. I love to drive,” Michael said, and upon hearing that, Eric pulled over immediately, got out, walked around to Michael’s side, opened the door and practically ordered him to drive.
Michael settled behind the wheel, trying to remember the last time he drove a Cadillac, also realizing this was the first time he would drive a car into Washington as they continued down Connecticut Avenue in Silver Spring. Michael also wondered if the experience would rival the Hollywood Freeway in a Corvair.
* * * * *
When Michael was eighteen, he still had not learned to drive because his mother didn’t have time to teach him, and Michael never would have thought to ask Bart. Michael did think about asking Aunt Flossie to teach him to drive, but she had such a reputation as a bad driver that he decided that would be worse. As luck would have it, Hannah and Bart went away for a week and left him home alone, and they knew Michael would never throw a party for fear of the repercussions. One of the nights they were away, Aunt Doreen invited him over for dinner. Her daughter, Marci, was her only child still living at home at the time, and she thought they would make such a nice couple, but Michael knew by then he was gay. Marci was fifteen at the time, and she adored him because he worked at Baskin Robbins, and she loved ice cream.
After dinner, Doreen suggested they go see a movie. Michael asked if she could drive them, and she looked at him as if he were crazy.
“Michael, you don’t need a chaperone. This is Marci. I changed your diapers; I trust you,” she said.
