Gotta Getta Get
Religion is always a touchy issue, especially in an age where interfaith relationships are far more common than same-faith ones. Keeping a clear head and finding common ground is essential to merging your feelings about a person and your spirituality. It is closely interwoven in more aspects of your life than you can imagine, and if you are considering a serious commitment, having a very honest dialogue about religion and expectations will be as important as the dialogues you will have about money and family. This is particularly true for Jews, where the differences in types of practice can make the chasm between two people of different sects as divergent as if they were from two different faiths altogether. While Judaism embraces many ways of practice, when two Jews get together, it cannot be assumed that they both have the same relation to the faith as the other.
—From an article about inter-interfaith marriage for the JUF News, Jodi Spingold, May 2003
“Jodi?” The intercom squawks at me.
“Yes, Benna?”
“Mr. Summit is here to see you.”
“Tell him I’ll be right out.”
I look up at Jill across the office. “Were you expecting Brant today?” she asks.
“Nope. The king of the drop-in strikes again.”
“Want me to vacate so you can have the office?”
“Nah. If it’s more than just hello, I’ll take him to the conference room.” Brant and I are going to have to have a little discussion about his new habit of popping in on me without calling.
“Okay,” Jill says, turning back to the budget she’s going over. “Tell him I said hi.”
I head out to the reception area and accept the kiss on my cheek from Brant. He has a new haircut, courtesy, I assume, of Mallory.
“Hey, Jodi, hope this isn’t a bad time,” he says.
“Not at all. Just in the neighborhood?”
“Yep. And I had something I sort of wanted to talk to you about. Do you have a few minutes?”
“Sure.” Interesting. “Come on back.” I lead him to the conference room and shut the door behind us. “Want something to drink?”
“Nope, I’m fine, thanks.”
“So, what’s up?”
“Okay, this may be a little weird, but I wanted to talk to you about us getting a get.”
Fantastic. A get. A get is a Jewish divorce. Civil divorces aren’t recognized by the faithful, if you had a Jewish ceremony. If you split up, you need to get a Jewish divorce, which, according to custom, can only be sought or granted by the husband. This is an ancient exercise that, frankly, can be pretty misogynistic. The woman has to come before a tribunal of rabbis, and in some cases, announce her failure as a Jewish wife, circle the husband seven times in the opposite direction of the seven times she circled him when they married, face the wall . . . a horrible and humiliating exercise. Which is why Brant and I had agreed, despite having signed a Jewish marriage contract and having had a fairly traditional ceremony, not to seek a get. In fact, at the time, we laughed about how archaic it was and that our Judaism was so nontraditional anyway, what did it matter?
I take a deep breath. “A get? I thought we agreed not to pursue that.”
“I know,” he says sort of sheepishly. “And I wouldn’t ask, but Mallory says she feels uncomfortable dating someone who is still married in the eyes of Jewish law.”
Mallory. That self-important, manipulative twat. “Well, that seems incongruous.”
“In what way?”
“Well, she clearly isn’t so Orthodox as to pay attention to the no sex before marriage edict.” Brant had shared the fact that the relationship had indeed moved into the realm of the intimate shortly after he brought her over to my place. I had finally gotten up the nerve to suggest that I did not need to be introduced to all his women friends unless something was getting serious, and he replied that things were serious with Mallory, a fact that seems to be horribly reinforced by this latest development.
“She isn’t Orthodox, more sort of conserva-dox. But she’s getting me in touch with my Judaism, and she seems really adamant about the get thing. I know it’s a pain, but it would mean a lot to me if you would do this with me.”
“Brant, I’m going to be honest. I’m not thrilled. You and I are the ones directly involved, and we agreed when we split up that this was not something either one of us needed to do.”
He looks crestfallen.
“I’m not saying no; I’m just saying I’m not happy about it, okay? I’m allowed to have an issue with your new girlfriend dictating something this personal to me.”
“Mallory isn’t trying to make things tough for you; she just has her own beliefs, and they include this area of Jewish law.”
Yeah, right. I’m sure that’s it. “Okay, look. If you can do the research, find a rabbi to make it reasonably painless, I’ll do it.” Good grief. What am I getting into?
“That’s great, Jodi, really. I appreciate it. Mallory’s rabbi is—”
“No.”
“No?”
“Brant, Mallory isn’t a part of this. Mallory’s rabbi is really not a part of this. I’m not doing this for Mallory. I’m doing it in good faith for you, so you find a rabbi, you make the arrangements. Mallory has no place in this endeavor, all right?” I know I probably sound a little harsh, but the idea of Mallory hanging out while Brant and I go through this farce is more than I am willing to deal with.
“Fine. No problem. I’ll figure it out. Thanks, Jodi, really, it means a whole lot to me.”
“Well, I know you’d do it for me, so what the hell. But you owe me huge for this, you do know that . . .”
He laughs. “Of course. Anytime, just call in your favor.”
“Oh, I’ll think of some appropriate punishment for you.” We are back to our old, comfortable banter. The tense moment seems to have passed.
“I know you will. I’m going to head back to work, and I know you’re busy. I’ll get some research done and be back in touch about things.” Brant gets up and gathers his coat and briefcase.
“Okay, I’ll talk to you later.” I walk him out to the front, accept the kiss good-bye, and go back to my office.
Jill looks up when I push open the frosted glass door. “How’s Brant?” she asks, putting down her highlighter.
“Oh, fine. Work is busy, the cats are getting fatter . . . oh, and Mallory needs us to get a get.”
“A get?” Jill looks flabbergasted.
“Yep. Ye olde gette of yore.”
“The whole flagellating yourself in front of all the old rabbis sort of get?”
“Apparently.”
“Mallory needs this.” Jill is shaking her head.
“She, and I quote, ‘doesn’t feel comfortable dating a man who is still married in the eyes of Jewish law.’”
“But the premarital fucking is pretty much no problem?”
In case it has been remotely unclear up until now, this is concrete proof that Jill and I share a brain.
“That’s what I said!” We chuckle together. “But what can I do? I can’t speak out against her; it makes me the bitchy ex if I do.”
“Which is clearly what she wants.”
“Do you think? I mean, far be it from me to denigrate the way that someone practices their faith. But it does feel really weird and kind of manipulative, doesn’t it? Especially so early in their relationship. I mean, they’ve only known each other like three months!”
“Oh, come on, Jodi! Wake up and smell the insecurity. She obviously is trying to take some sort of control over Brant, and she’s scared that he’s still hung up on you.”
“Brant is so over me. C’mon, we broke up almost five years ago!”
“Yeah, but you wanted the divorce, not him, and you know he doesn’t have that many other friends. I’m sure he talks a blue streak about you and how awesome you are. And you know she’s Googled you to death. She’s intimidated by you, and has set her mind on Brant, and she’s going to do whatever she can to drive
a wedge between you guys.”
“Do you really think so? I’m hoping that this will be the end of it, you know, if I get the stupid get, she can feel like I’m not a threat.”
“Well, think about it. She waits until he’s all smitten and in a sex haze, and then springs this on him. What is she, the second woman he’s ever slept with?”
“Third. Don’t forget the twenty-two-year-old right after the divorce.”
“Okay, third. He’s thirty-five. He’s had sex with three women in his life. And the current one is making demands. He’s going to say no? It’s a test. She’s fucking testing him. If he asks you for the get instead of honoring his original agreement with you, it shows that she has power over him. Then if you refuse, you’re the shrew.”
“Oh, I fucking hate this!”
Paige knocks on the door, and Jill waves her in.
“Hey, I just saw Brant leaving. What’s up?”
“He had a very important thing he needed to discuss with Jodi,” Jill says, affecting a serious manner.
“Is everything okay?” Paige asks.
“Just fine. Except we need to get a get. A Jewish divorce,” I say.
“Why?” Paige asks.
“Jewish law doesn’t recognize civil divorce.” I shrug.
“Oh come on!” Jill explodes. “Stop being so calm. You know you’re seething.” She turns to Paige. “Mallory suddenly doesn’t feel comfortable dating someone who is still married in the eyes of the temple.”
Paige barks out one of her deep-throated laughs. “How did I just sense that Malevolent was behind this? What a cow.”
“I’m trying to be calm about this, guys,” I say, attempting to explain myself. “I mean, everyone is entitled to their own level of faith. It’s what we always say we love so much about being Jewish, that you can find whatever way of practice is meaningful for you as an individual. So, Mallory is entitled to believe what she believes. I can’t argue with it.”
“You are so full of shit.” Paige snorts.
“Give it up. You aren’t that Zen about this, and you know it!” Jill says, pointing a manicured nail in my direction. “What is with you and the need to be the perfect ex-wife? Why do you have to prove that you are all twenty-first-century sensitive about everything with Brant? The man is a very nice, reasonably benign idiot! He wasn’t worth your time when you were married to him and is worth even less now that the relationship is over. Go ahead. Be angry. Be irritated. But stop being so fucking accommodating and understanding. It is seriously working on my nerves!”
Paige and I look at each other when this explosion is over and then burst into hysterical laughter. Benna peeks around the corner and enters the office gingerly. She is a teensy-tiny girl, no taller than four ten or eleven, built like a ten-year-old boy. She is half Japanese and half Portuguese, and this unusual combination has resulted in a delicate beauty that is pretty breathtaking. She keeps her black hair in a simple and sleek pageboy, her skin is the color of caramel, her wide eyes are only slightly almond-shaped, a sparkling golden hazel, and she has the most perfect pink rose-bud mouth anyone has ever seen. She is thirty-two, looks sixteen even on a bad day, and has been with us for just over a year. She, like Paige, came to us organically, calling in to the show. Then calling back. Then making an appointment to see us privately. She had always fancied herself as an old-school executive assistant, wanting to be the foil for the right CEO, and her skills are staggering. But after a series of staid corporate gigs, none of which were the right fit, she offered to take a 20 percent pay cut to come work with us. She is a godsend, and we all love her.
Unfortunately for her, men seem to take her petite frame and delicate features to mean that the girl herself is a withering flower, when in fact she is badass to the bone. So she’s forever in the midst of a guy crisis, because the guys who want her all have a need to protect and coddle, and the guy she really wants is the one who would treat her like the hellcat she actually is. Benna drives a sixty-three Mustang she restored and maintains herself. Benna was an undefeated amateur featherweight boxer with twenty-three fights to her career. Benna is hiding two full sleeves of intricate tattoos under her Donna Karan suit. Benna skis the double black diamonds metaphorically and literally, and she is desperately in need of a like-minded fellow to sweep her off her size-five feet.
“No fair you all having fun in here while I am wrestling with the fucking copier.” She has a smudge of toner on the tip of her button nose. Jill hands her a tissue and gestures for her to clean herself up. Kim rounds the corner, all slim efficiency.
“Please tell me there is something in here related to anything except PR. I’m cashed.”
Benna wipes her nose and plops onto the couch next to Paige. “What’s up?”
Kim perches on the arm of the couch, and Jill fills them in on the Brant situation, Paige fills them in on the Mallory situation, and pretty soon they are laughing along with the rest of us.
“Just when I think my husband is the biggest idiot and that I should leave him, you make me think he’s a godsend!” Kim says.
“What a mess. Makes my guy crap look like nothing!” Benna shakes her head.
“Come on, dish. What’s the latest?” Paige says. “I thought the new guy was sort of great?”
“Gino? He is great. Almost too great. Smart, fun, not soppy, and so far doesn’t seem to want to paint me as some sort of damsel in distress.”
“So?” Kim says. “What’s the catch?”
“Well, the ink is barely dry on his divorce, and so I think he isn’t in a place to be thinking seriously about anyone, which is fine for the moment, but you know, I can’t hang too long if he isn’t ever going to get serious. I mean, tick tock and all that.” Benna is very certain about her desire to have kids, and while she isn’t exactly testing the DNA of the gents she dates, she does have a strict four-month rule. If by the fourth month they don’t have daddy potential, she kicks them to the curb, even if she is having fun. Which, usually, she isn’t.
“Well, it hasn’t been four months yet, right?” Kim asks.
“Not yet. But I really do like him, so that always makes me nervous.”
“Just let it flow, kiddo. It seems like it has potential,” Jill says soothingly.
“Ditto,” I say.
“Me, too. Follow your bliss,” Paige says. “Enough girl talk for me. I have to go return some calls.” Paige gets up, and Benna and Kim follow her out of the office.
Jill and I turn back to our computers.
“Do you really think I’m that bad about the Brant thing?” I ask.
Jill looks up from her monitor. “I think sometimes you act like you can pretend that the marriage wasn’t a mistake by keeping up appearances. But you know and I know that if you met Brant at some function tomorrow, you’d never choose to be friends with him. You guys have nothing in common except your history together. And you know that you’re still doing this whole friendship thing for his sake, not your own. You don’t need him in your life; you never really did.”
“But I did genuinely love him, once. I mean, I was really happy with him.” Which I was.
Jill pauses. “Here’s what I think, for what it’s worth. I think that you tended to be more involved with your boys than they were with you. When Brant came along, you were full of your own power, you got to play teacher, which you love, and you got to have everything the way you wanted it, which you also love. I think there was a huge rush in being the one who was loved more than the one who was in love for a change. And I think his eventual inability to be anyone other than himself was a disappointment not only in him but in yourself. You couldn’t make him what you needed, and that made you something of a failure. But you’re just human, and you can’t change anyone. Your marriage ended because you married the wrong guy. Period. Perpetuating this friendship, worrying about what he thinks of you, worrying about what his new girlfriend thinks of you, that is just stupid.”
“So you really haven’t thought about it at all
,” I say. I know she’s right. I have a pathological need to be a good person. Or rather, for people to think I am a good person, which isn’t exactly the same thing. I don’t know why.
“You know me. I never really think about anything for any length of time; I just say whatever comes to my head!” Jill laughs. “Look, don’t get me wrong. I think it’s commendable that you are so concerned about the whole thing. Just know that you’ll never win in this Mallory situation, so don’t do anything that goes too far out of your way or too far beyond your comfort zone. Fuck her. She’s gonna hate you regardless, and the sooner you get over that, the easier it is going to be for you to make decisions. And if you end up losing Brant as a friend because of his need to submit to her will, that isn’t ultimately much of a loss. That’s all I’m saying.”
“I hear you. I do. Onward and upward.”
“Good girl. In the meantime, I can’t wait to hear how this get thing plays out. Should be a hoot!”
“Oh, yeah, I can’t wait.”
“Hey, speaking of marriage stuff . . .” Jill says.
“Yeah?”
“Will you come with me to look at dresses this weekend? Maybe Saturday afternoon?”
Oy. So it begins. So far, since Hunter is the most excited groom ever, I have been off the hook on decision making. But obviously, the dress is key, and he can’t be a part of it.
“Of course I will! Do you have an idea of what you want?”
“Mostly what I want is a different, more dress-friendly body, but all I know for sure is that I want it to be simple, elegant, and not require foundation garments made of steel.”
“Shut up. You’ll be the most gorgeous bride ever.” Which she will.
“You shut up. You were a pretty stunning bride yourself once upon a time.”
“I was young. My boobs were up where they belong, my skin was flawless, and I had fourteen ounces of shellac keeping my hair in place.”
“You were gorgeous. Even if you were marrying an idiot.”
We both crack up.
“Okay, okay, Saturday afternoon. Now really, shut up. I’m working now.” Which I really should be.
The Spinster Sisters Page 12
