by Emmens, Joye
Sarah passed back a Vogue magazine. Jolie flipped through the pages. “I can’t believe they are trying to force us into the midi,” Jolie said. “They’re saying the mini was the sixties and the midi is the seventies.”
“Nobody’s listening,” Leah said.
“They’re hideous. Half way below your knees.” Sarah said.
“Let’s all get hot pants this weekend,” Leah said.
“Your mother would never let you wear them,” Sarah said.
“I’ll wear them in Boston,” Leah said.
They laughed and continued their banter about clothes. Four hours later, the New York skyline was visible. Leah drove through the congestion into Brooklyn and the Borough Park neighborhood. Jolie looked out the window, fascinated. Many of the men had long beards and wore small round caps. Others wore black jackets and black pants with white dress shirts and black fedoras. Some wore fur hats. Fur, in the summer? Jolie asked about the clothes.
“They’re Orthodox Jews. They live strictly according to the Torah,” Sarah said.
“You can tell which movement they follow by their hats. The little round caps are called yarmulkes,” Leah said.
They passed a woman wearing a shawl over her head. “If you are an Orthodox married woman, you are not allowed to show your hair,” Sarah said.
“What are your parents?” Jolie said.
“Both of our parents are modern, but kosher. You’ll get to meet my parents tomorrow at the temple,” Sarah said.
“The temple?” Jolie asked.
“The synagogue.” Sarah looked at Leah. “You forgot to tell her we go to prayer on Saturday?”
Leah looked at Jolie in the rearview mirror and raised her eyebrows. “Sorry.”
“I’m sort of a Buddhist,” Jolie said.
“Sort of?” Leah said.
“Well, I adhere to the teachings but I do kill spiders when they come in the house. So technically I violate one of the teachings and probably won’t obtain enlightenment.”
Leah and Sarah looked at each other and burst out laughing.
“Being a Buddhist should get you off the hook for tomorrow,” Leah said, pulling into the driveway of a large three-story house.
Sarah hopped out and grabbed her bags from the trunk and ran up the steps. “See you later.”
Leah drove another block and pulled into a driveway with a similar style three-story house. She sounded the horn once. The front door opened, and Leah’s mom beamed at them. They slung their packs, purses, and Leah’s oversized laundry bag over their shoulders and followed Leah’s mom into the house.
Dark antique furniture and thick Oriental rugs welcomed them. Jolie scanned the built-in bookcases laden with books. A massive fireplace with a carved wooden mantel anchored one wall. Black-and-white photographs covered the walls on either side. The people in the photos posed for the cameraman. The clothes, dark and thick, looked like scratchy wool. Were they relatives from Europe? What kind of camera did they have back then? The room was like a museum adorned with hand-painted ceramic vases and oil paintings.
Leah’s mom led them into the kitchen. Two platters were piled high with small sandwich squares and bite-sized cakes. It was all for them. They washed up and sat down at the table. They were starving, and Leah’s mom watched approvingly as they ate and talked about Boston until they couldn’t eat another bite.
“Let’s get you settled,” Leah’s mom said to Jolie. They picked up their bags, and Jolie followed them upstairs to the third floor where Leah and her brother’s bedrooms and a guest room were located.
“This will be your room when you come to stay.” Leah’s mom led them into the guest room.
Her room? She was already being asked back? “Thank you,” Jolie said. An antique four-poster bed with a white chenille bedspread awaited her. An armoire and matching dresser were set against a wall. Intricate lace doilies had been placed on the dresser. “It’s beautiful.” She put her bag down and followed Leah to her room. Leah’s mom went back downstairs to start dinner.
A pink canopy bed and light pink walls gave the room a soft glow.
“My room at home is pink,” Jolie said.
“I hate it.”
“Me too. Why do they assume we like pink?”
A thundering noise approached from the stairs. A second later, a tall young man burst in. He moved toward Leah and without hesitation put his arms around her waist and whirled her around.
“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” he said. He noticed Jolie and seemed startled.
“Missed you too. This is my friend, Jolie. Jolie this is my brother, Zack.”
They surveyed each other in silence. His tall lean frame hovered above her. His square jaw and smile were framed by a halo of longish black curls, just like Leah’s. She resisted the urge to touch them.
“It’s good to meet you,” he said.
A radiant smile spread across her face. “Nice to meet you too.”
Leah and Zack launched into catch-up mode and quickly filled each other in on friends and events. Jolie liked it here, in this big welcoming house. Leah’s mom stood at the door, smiling.
“My baby’s home,” she said. “Dinner is at six and your father will be home soon.”
They all went to their rooms to clean up and change. Before Leah and Jolie went downstairs, they dabbed patchouli oil on their wrists and neck. Jolie followed Leah as she dashed down the stairs two at a time to greet her father.
“Welcome home, princess,” he said, hugging Leah. He stood back and sniffed. “What is that musty smell?”
Leah’s mother lit two candles on the dining room table and carried in the homemade challahs. The warm, yeasty-smelling bread was covered with an embroidered cloth.
They took their places at the dining room table. Leah’s father stood over the bread and said a prayer in Hebrew. They toasted with glasses of wine and began to eat the braided challahs.
“This embroidery design is beautiful,” Jolie said, admiring the cloth that had covered the bread.
“My grandmother made it,” Leah said.
Leah’s mom’s eyes rested on Jolie. “It’s a dying art. Where did you get your blouse?”
Jolie looked down at her handmade peasant blouse. An embroidered garland of intricate colorful flowers entwined the neckline. “I made it,” Jolie said.
“It’s beautiful work,” Leah’s mom said. She got up to bring the food to the table. “I’m not used to seeing embroidery on clothes.”
Dinner conversation turned to Zack, a second year student at New York University.
“He’s not home much,” his father said.
Zack smiled. “I study a lot.”
Leah’s father turned to Jolie. “Are you joining us for prayer service tomorrow afternoon?”
Jolie could see Zack rolling his eyes next to his father as he lifted his glass of wine.
“Actually, I’m a Buddhist,” Jolie said.
Zack snorted and choked on his wine. When he recovered, he said, “Did you know about one-third of North American Buddhists are Jews?”
Jolie looked at him, puzzled. You could be a Jew but not Jewish? “I learn something new every day,” she said. She would have to talk to Daniel to understand what Zack was talking about.
“Tell us about your family,” Leah’s father said.
Jolie swallowed. “Well, I have two brothers. One is in college and one is a senior in high school.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Leah said. “You said they were both older than you.”
Jolie’s mouth opened but nothing came out. She was on a tight rope. “Ah…well…I meant the one in high school is taller than me.”
Leah cocked her head, absorbing the response. “Oh, well brothers usually are.”
“They’re Dodger fans,” Jolie said.
; “The Dodgers used to be New York’s team,” her dad said, and then he proceeded to tell them the history of the Dodgers.
Jolie sat on edge, half listening. Will warned her to never reveal information. She needed to get her story down.
Zack joined them later in Leah’s room. Leah and Jolie sat on the bed. He flipped through a stack of records and put on Cream’s Disraeli Gears and straddled the desk chair. When “Tales of Brave Ulysses” came on they got up and danced around the room. Zack kept changing the music, taking requests like a D.J. Their parents called up good night from the floor below and he turned the music down a notch. Jolie couldn’t take her eyes off his beautiful black curls.
“I’m proud of you, Leah. You moved out of the house and to a different city for college. I honestly didn’t think you’d survive. And I hear you actually cook now.”
Leah looked at Jolie with unspoken gratitude.
When they couldn’t stay awake any longer, they went off to bed. Jolie lay in the luxurious guest room feeling very small in the grand four-poster bed. A wave of isolation washed over her. Why was she overcome with sadness and a deep loneliness when she was surrounded by this family who welcomed her? Was it because she missed Will? No, not yet, anyway. She felt for the moonstone in the suede pouch around her neck.
She closed her eyes. It was her family she missed. Tomorrow she would call them. Would they be angry with her? What if they weren’t home and she’d come all this way for nothing? She could still mail the letter.
Drifting off to sleep, she began to dream. She was below the surface of emerald-green water, looking up at a faint shaft of sunlight. She swam up and up but couldn’t break through the depths to the sunlight. She was drowning. She could see the surface and fought to reach it. There was a weight on her chest, and her lungs couldn’t hold out any longer. Struggling, she finally broke through the green depths and woke, gasping.
Startled, she lay breathless in the dark. Where was she? She sat up and was comforted by the sight of the four-poster bed. Leah’s house. The vivid emerald-green color stayed with her. It was the color of the heart chakra, the fourth of seven major energy centers in the body. Jasmine had taught her that each chakra has a color and a function. If one is blocked, the body is unbalanced.
She lay back and inhaled, expanding her heart, the chakra center for acceptance, love, and compassion. She breathed out, sending energy to the base of her spine. She breathed in, moving energy back to the heart center. She breathed this way for a longtime, letting her breath move energy. Her mind was void except for the deep emerald-green color she floated in. At last she fell asleep.
The next morning, Leah, Jolie, Zack, and Sarah sat at the kitchen table planning the vintage clothing shopping spree. Zack knew a route to SoHo with only one train change. Leah’s mom hovered, trying to figure out the attraction to old clothing. She looked happy to have Leah back for a few days and the house full of life.
Jolie slipped out of the kitchen and went to the phone in the living room. She dialed the phone number Will had given her and asked to speak with Leon. He came on the line and they arranged a meeting two blocks from Leah’s for later that afternoon. She wanted to get it over with. Will had instructed her that she had to deliver it that day, the Fourth of July.
The foursome bade their good-byes and promised to be back for the late afternoon prayer service. When they got off the subway in SoHo, the temperature hovered near eighty-five degrees. The sidewalks swarmed with people.
They found a string of vintage stores and went into each, combing through the racks of clothes and accessories. Leah squealed in delight when she found a 1920s flapper dress. Zack stood inside the door of the shops, making faces at their finds, sometimes approvingly. Jolie held up a delicate sleeveless dress in white cotton and lace for Sarah, who tried it on.
“You look like an angel,” Jolie said.
Jolie tried on a silk blouse with intricately layered white lace stitching on diaphanous material; the bodice hugged her breasts. It was pure art. She came out of the dressing room.
“Ooh la la,” Leah said.
“Is it too tight?”
Zack shook his head. Her face grew hot.
Jolie bought the blouse, a 1930s black beaded cocktail purse, and a silk peacock print scarf in brilliant blue, green, and turquoise hues. She wore it around her forehead, tied at the side.
In the last store, Jolie held up a navy-blue military jacket, Sergeant Pepper style, to Zack. “Try it on.”
“I can’t wear that.”
“Yes you can, go ahead, try it on,” Jolie said.
He slipped it on and they stood side by side, looking in the mirror. The jacket transformed him. Leah and Sarah came over.
“Wow, you look so handsome,” Sarah said.
“It’s you,” said Leah. “You have to get it.”
Jolie and Zack smiled at each other.
“You’re corrupting me,” he said, holding her gaze.
“Me?” She reached up and ran her hand through his curls, smiling back at him in the mirror. She loved those curls.
Zack bought the jacket, and they headed down the street, hot and sweaty in the July heat. They passed a pizza joint and went in and bought large slices of pepperoni pizza and Italian sodas. Sitting in the window on well-worn stools, they ate and watched throngs of people pass before them. Women were dressed in jumpsuits, and hot pants. Couples wore stylish designer fashions, despite the heat. Shirtless men in jeans wearing beads and bandanas walked with their chicks dressed in cut-off jeans or miniskirts, colorful blouses, bangles, chokers, and love beads. Jolie had her camera poised, snapping shots of the circus around her.
“Here comes a midi,” Jolie said.
A fashionable couple walked by. The woman wore a white pleated midi, a sleeveless white silk top and a white beaded choker around her neck.
“What’s a midi?” Zack asked.
“The opposite of a mini, but shorter than a maxi,” Jolie said.
The girls laughed. Zack shook his head, baffled.
On the train back to Brooklyn, they made a pact to wear some of their vintage finds to the dinner after the prayer service.
Back at the house, Leah’s mom was finishing cooking, and everyone scattered to bathe and get dressed. Upstairs, Jolie sat on the edge of Leah’s bed. “Are you sure you don’t want to join us?” Leah asked.
“No thanks. I’ll stay here and meditate and maybe take a walk around the neighborhood and take some photos.”
When Leah and her family left, Jolie reread the letter to her family, addressed the envelope, and slipped it into her purse along with the envelope for Leon. What was inside Leon’s envelope and why did it have to be delivered that day? She wanted to read it, but it was sealed.
Jolie walked to the corner where she had arranged to meet Leon. She stood and waited, looking at all the passers-by. A man in his mid-twenties approached. She noticed his clothes first. He wore a tall black top hat and a long dark coat. He looked like the mad hatter. He was tall and had brown hair but she was sure she had never seen him before.
Her eyes darted around the street, her stomach in knots.
“Are you lost?” he said.
“No, I’m waiting for a friend,” she said.
“I could be your friend.”
She backed away. Where was Leon? She noticed a man across the street watching them, a newspaper under his arm. The mad hatter shrugged and walked on. She turned and walked down the street. The other man had crossed the street and was walking toward her. He had short brown hair and was smiling. He looked vaguely familiar.
“Jolie?” he asked.
She nodded, too anxious to speak.
“I’m Leon.”
She exhaled.
“You have something for me?”
She pulled the envelope from her purse and handed it to him. He put it i
n his newspaper. “Tell Will thanks for the support.”
Still unable to find her voice, she smiled briefly.
“The agency he’s created is amazing. Stay cool.” He turned and walked off.
She watched him disappear around the corner. Lightheaded from unconsciously holding her breath, she exhaled deeply, the delivery was done. But her relief was short lived. The phone call would be much harder.
She continued on to the phone booth she’d seen by the corner store, a few blocks from Leah’s. She slid in, closed the accordion door, and pulled out her coin purse filled with quarters, dimes, and nickels.
She dialed the operator and after depositing the coins according to the operator’s instructions, the call was placed. The phone rang once. She envisioned the dining room where the phone sat on a corner table. The French doors would be open overlooking the ocean. It rang twice.
On the third ring she heard, “Hello?”
“James?”
“Yes?”
“It’s Jolie.”
“Jolie! Where are you?” Her brother’s voice sounded so close and wonderful. Her pulse surged.
“I’m out here…somewhere.” She wanted to tell him but thought of the private detective in Eugene.
“We’re worried sick about you.”
“I’m fine. I’m safe. How are you?”
“Where are you?”
“Can I talk to Mom or Dad?”
“They’re not here. They’re out of town for the weekend. They’re so torn up about you. Dad has been searching everywhere. He’s been traveling, trying to find you.”
He’d been traveling? She thought of him searching for her.
“He thought he found you in Eugene but you vanished.”
Had it been her dad in Eugene? “I know.”
The operator broke in requesting another coin deposit. Tears blurred her vision as she dumped out the coins onto the shelf and deposited the required amount.
“Jolie, come home.”
