Manny Gellar had been trying to get into my pants ever since I could remember. His pursuit of me began innocently enough the Friday night of my Bat Mitzvah. Only thirteen at the time, I hadn’t been ready for a relationship. If he really knew me so well, he would have sensed that.
For the ceremony, I wore a stiff turquoise shift dress with an empire waist, two accordion pleats down the front, a matching three-quarter-length silk turquoise jacket, and a watch with a turquoise alligator strap. My strand of pearls had been passed down from my Grandmother Rose. I was still as skinny as a beanpole, but I added width by teasing my hair at the top and turning it up in a flip. Then I topped my outfit with a turquoise yarmulke, folded in half and fastened with a bobby pin.
My mother and I lit the Sabbath candles to begin the service. Manny was in the very front row, listening to me chant the familiar prayers I had practiced so diligently. Something mystical must have happened that night, because Manny sat transfixed as I sang.
After services, he tried to approach me at the Oneg Shabbat, but I was surrounded by well-wishers. My mother’s friends in the Temple Sisterhood set out a beautiful spread with a braided challah, rainbow sherbet punch in a polished silver punch bowl, a tropical fruit platter, cookies as delicate as lace, a yellow cake with white icing, and all the traditional refreshments. Manny came back to my house that night to see me open presents, but again, there were so many people around, he got lost in the crowd.
He returned the next morning and called me to come outside and talk. But that day something was different. It was the way he looked at me—mournfully, soulfully, with an intensity that made me uncomfortable.
“You were great last night,” he began. “The way you sang, your voice is really beautiful.”
“Thanks.”
“No, I mean it,” he continued, staring into my eyes with longing. “You sang like an angel.”
“Are you okay?” I asked, concerned that he was coming down with something. I felt his forehead, and he shuddered when I touched him. “No fever,” I reported.
“Jewels,” he whispered, leaning over and pressing his lips softly to mine.
I pulled away abruptly, and swayed, flustered, but he reached out for my hand.
We were the best of friends, but I wasn’t ready for this unfamiliar thing that was happening between us.
“Manny, what are you doing?” I asked, and pushed him away again.
“It’s okay,” he assured me. “Really, Jewels. Would you go with me?” He whispered it so faintly, so tentatively, I wasn’t sure I had heard him correctly.
“Go with you, where?” I asked, puzzled.
“Go steady with me.”
“I’ve got to go…study,” I stammered. I couldn’t get away fast enough, closing the front door behind me as I sought the shelter of my house.
“But it’s Saturday,” he said, and his voice trailed off.
He sat under my window the rest of that day and the day after, gazing up at me, like a sad and lonely old hound dog, hoping I’d come out and throw him a bone. He didn’t even go home after it got dark. I was afraid he might start howling at the moon.
I didn’t know what to do. I was frozen, a prisoner trapped in my own house. I didn’t know what to say to him. Fortunately, it was the weekend, so I didn’t have to leave the house to go to school. After a few hours, I sent my older brother Joel out to test the waters and watched as they engaged in a spitting contest.
“When is Julie coming out?” I heard Manny ask.
“She’s afraid to talk to you,” Joel replied. “What do you want with my dumb old sister, anyway?”
“I love her,” Manny said.
“Man, you are crazy,” Joel said and left.
“Julie,” my mother said. “You’ve been in this house for two days. You can’t just ignore the boy forever. He’ll starve to death.”
“Not with you sneaking him food. Yes, I saw you.”
“A growing boy has to eat.”
“I can’t go out there. Please don’t make me,” I pleaded, peering through the Venetian blinds. Manny hadn’t moved from the spot under my window. I was mortified. I lived in fear that Joel or my mother would let him in the house and he’d find his way into to my bedroom, and then I’d have no choice but to deal with him.
Sunday night came and he was gone. I was so relieved I walked outside and around the block to stretch my legs, careful to avoid the Gellars’ house. It was awkward being around him after that. He was in almost every one of my classes, and we rode the bus to school together. Arranging to arrive late to class and leave early, I made my mother drive me to and from school in an attempt to dodge him.
After about a week, we fell back into our old easy friendship. I had missed that. But we never talked about that incident and nothing was ever quite the same between us after that. The timing was off. By the time I realized I was ready for whatever he had in mind, it was too late. He never showed me his vulnerable side again. He remained friendly, but aloof. I had ruined my one chance with him, and I was sick about it.
From that point on, he seemed determined to pay me back for my rejection of him. Whatever Manny’s true feelings were for me, it didn’t stop him from taking every opportunity to make me jealous.
When we walked down the hall together, he made a point of looking at other girls and leaning down to whisper, “¡Caramba! What a set of castañetas on that one.”
I wanted to disappear, it hurt so much. My cheeks flamed, and I tried to hold back the tears.
During his “cheerleader phase,” Manny only seemed to be interested in being seen with the popular girls—Veronica “Ronnie Su” Lopez with her perfectly bobbed black hair, which matched her perfectly shaped figure and perky personality, and tiny Alexandra Renka, the coach’s daughter, with her white-blonde pageboy.
Sometimes he could be so cruel. Always maintaining the upper hand like he was trying to conquer me—acting as if he didn’t really care.
Right after my eighteenth birthday, when we were at his house studying for our American Lit final, I tried to test his true feelings for me in the language of love.
“You’re chattering, Julie.” Manny sounded annoyed as I continued reciting Emily Dickinson aloud.
“Por tu vida, cállate,” he hissed. Then he turned on the radio. “More rockin’, less talkin’.”
I laughed. My nerves were showing.
“Would you stop fooling around and put a lid on the laughing? I’m in the middle of something here.”
He bounced over and took the book from my hands, grabbed my shoulders, and guided me back toward the couch. Then he gently sat me down and started kissing me until I went limp in his arms. His tongue was hungry. I had never been French-kissed before. But I responded. It was our first real kiss, and it felt delicious. His hands were tight around me, and I responded by reaching out for him. I wanted to cling to him and never let him go. He was anxiously pulling me down on the couch and moving against me in a burst of passion.
“Julie, I want you,” he said, stroking me.
“No,” I answered firmly, unsure if his feelings for me were genuine. At the same time, I was involuntarily responding to his touch. I could hardly breathe, and I was spinning out of control. His body was so tan and firm. And tonight, at least, he was all mine. It was a delicious feeling.
He was on top of me, doing his best to launch an all-out invasion. I could feel his excitement build. Then he kissed my mouth again, hungrily, and probed it with his tongue.
“Are you ready for me, amada?” he asked.
I moaned but came to my senses just in time.
“Manny, you know we can’t. Not that…”
“¡Maldita sea!” he groaned. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.” I didn’t have anything to say for a change.
“It’s only a matter of time, you know,” he promised.
“That kind of talk went out with the cavemen,” I retorted, rolling my eyes. “Are you going to club me over the head, drag me off to you
r lair by my roots, and have your way with me?”
“Look around. You’re already in my lair. But I will, if that’s what it takes. I’m betting I won’t have to, and you’ll come to me.”
“I see your big ego is still intact,” I said furiously, throwing a pillow at him. “You’re about as subtle as a brick, Manny Gellar. And you’re such a Neanderthal. What am I going to do with you?”
He laughed. “Do you really want me to answer that question?”
He entwined his hand in mine and kissed me slowly.
“I am crazy about you, you know,” he said, sounding sincere.
“Yes, when we’re alone together,” I said flatly.
“No, all the time,” he insisted.
Later that evening I pretended to fall asleep on the couch. His parents weren’t home yet, and I wanted to see if he would try anything else or if he really respected me.
First, he kissed me lightly on the lips, and I wanted to kiss him back. When he began to glide his hand up under my T-shirt and tried to touch one of my breasts, I thought I was going to give it all away by giggling. Things were starting to get out of hand, so I yawned and stretched, and turned over so his hand slipped away from my shirt. Then he started to move his hands lightly inside my jeans. I tensed but waited a few seconds more to see if he would really go any further. I didn’t have long to wait for my answer. I bolted up from the couch.
“I can’t believe you, Manolo Gellar,” I screamed. “How far would you have gone if I hadn’t stopped you?”
He was laughing hysterically.
“Was this some kind of a test?” he wanted to know. “It was, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, and you failed miserably.”
“Yeah, right. I knew it all along. I was just seeing how far you’d let me go. You want me, you know you do, Julie. You are so ready for me. Well, the game is over. You win.”
He grabbed me roughly by the shoulders, pulled me toward him, and kissed me long and hard, slipping his tongue into my mouth. Then he pushed me down gently on the couch and kissed me slowly and thoroughly. I got a funny, tingly sensation between my legs I had never felt before. Then he moved his body over mine again.
Shaken, I tried to push him away, but he leaned down and kissed me wetly, softly, then insistently, probing my mouth with his tongue again. I managed to break free, but my mouth was open in surprise. I wanted to get up, but my knees were too weak. I couldn’t let him know, but I wanted him to do that again.
“How was that, Jewels?” He smiled. “Did I pass that time?”
“You’re an over-sexed jerk,” I replied indignantly, making a big show of tucking my T-shirt back into my jeans, trying to regain at least a shred of composure.
“If you think that’s sex, then you’ve got a lot to learn,” he teased. “And I’m a great teacher.”
I glared at him. That’s when our relationship moved to the next level, from friendship to something more. I knew I was hooked on him, but I couldn’t let him know it, not until he made it clear that I was more to him than just a girl to fool around with. Although I was inexperienced, I knew instinctively that once I revealed how I felt, the thrill of the chase would be gone for him.
I wished Manny would finally come to his senses and realize it was really me he was in love with. Manny could be maddening like that, always wanting what he couldn’t have. And then when he got it… Well, that was a different story.
Manny almost always got what he wanted because he could charm the skin off a snake. A chameleon who could change colors to fit his surroundings, his appeal transcended cliques. He could move comfortably between the popular crowd, the jocks, and the brainy crowd. Even teachers loved him. He was the funniest boy in school, and he knew all the right words to keep me hanging on his every word.
I thought he was practically perfect. He thought I was “predictable” and much too practical. I was as reserved as he was gregarious, as steadfast as he was restless. He was always “on” for everyone else he encountered. He could be himself with me. With the exception of his indulgent mother, Elena, and perhaps his twin sister, Estrellita, I was the one constant in his life. I was the only person he could count on to distract him when he was dark and moody, a side he rarely showed to anyone but me.
On the dark side, he was a moving target—impatient, egotistical, with the attention span of a gnat. Holding on to what was there was as elusive as touching a rainbow or grabbing the hot brightness of a shooting star. If you couldn’t spark his interest immediately, he was on to the next kick. However, when the entire package weighed in, the scales tipped in his favor. I thought he was definitely worth taking on. Somehow I managed to hold his interest and keep him coming back for more.
Which was remarkable, because anyone brave or crazy enough to risk dating me had to go through my father first. The boys in the neighborhood called my father “The Blue Demon” behind his back, because he was built rock-solid, with a professional wrestler’s body. He had been a boxer in the U.S. Army Air Force during the war. No one dared disrespect him to his face. My father kept a bow and a quiver of arrows in the laundry room, leftover from the days when he and my Uncle Arnie operated an archery range on the side of our house. If that didn’t frighten off the boys, my father’s arsenal of World War II weapons did. And whenever another boy tried to get close, Manny would flex his muscles and stake out a claim on what he considered his territory—me.
Manny was a favorite of my father’s because he showed respect when he walked through the “gate without a fence” in front of my house. Cars passing through the neighborhood typically slowed down just to gawk at that chain-link swing gate. My mother had once planted a hedge there. One winter, when the bushes died, my father cut them down, and left only the gate standing to “keep out the riffraff.”
Some of the neighborhood kids would swing on the gate, just for spite, causing my father to do a slow burn. Manny always made a great ceremony of opening and closing the latch and walking through the gate, under two facing palm trees, and onto the short concrete walkway leading to our house, when he could have just as easily walked around it.
I lived in constant fear that a coconut would fall on my head every time I passed between those two giant palms. Maybe if I had been hit by a falling coconut, it would have knocked some sense into me where Manny Gellar was concerned.
Chapter Nine:
The Waiting Game
The College Years
It didn’t take a knot on the head from a flying coconut to predict what would happen next. Just when I thought things might finally work out between us, Manny blindsided me, again.
In his sophomore year of college, he became obsessed with a golden-skinned, dark-haired beauty named Harmony Weiss. But there was a problem. Harmony Weiss was lavaliered to Tony Abrams, the most popular senior in the house and Manny’s big brother in the fraternity. Sweet and beautiful, Harmony’s features were a lethal combination of perfection with which I could never hope to compete. I knew I could never match Harmony’s tiny frame and ingrained sense of style. Manny followed Harmony around hopelessly, a little lost lamb. Tony was tolerant. He saw it for the harmless crush it was.
When Manny asked me out on a double date with Tony and Harmony, I accepted, although I suspected I was just a front—an excuse for him to gaze dreamily at Harmony from a safe distance. Now that I was actually going out with Manny on an official college date, I was rattled and full of doubts. Harmony is so beautiful. They could make beautiful music together. Manny is obsessed with Harmony. And I’m not Harmony. Vowing to be as Harmony-like as possible, I sat out on the rooftop sunroom at the dorm in an attempt to tan to perfection. But since it was almost the dead of winter, the only thing I got was a bad case of windburn. I never even came close to my rival’s natural tan. And I couldn’t wear high heels because I didn’t want to tower over Harmony.
During our double date, I chattered away, while Manny looked at Harmony with bare-naked longing.
“Doesn’t Harmony have tiny f
eet?” Manny whispered in a trancelike state as he stared unabashedly at the object of his affection on the bleachers next to us. Harmony’s size-four shoes had somehow slipped off, leaving her perfectly shaped, perfectly pedicured, slender, delicate, stockinged feet exposed.
While Manny gazed at Harmony, there I was, an ungainly giant, with my size-eight-and-a-half shoes, which I didn’t dare remove, though my blistered feet were aching from the long walk from the parking lot.
“Yes,” I had to admit, trying to change the subject. “Harmony is beautiful and so are her feet.”
When Manny dropped me off at my dorm, he didn’t seem to be concentrating on me. I suspected he had a lingering hard-on for Harmony and was somehow subconsciously trying to fashion me into his ideal. But when he kissed me softly on the lips he was kissing me, not Harmony, and I responded, melting into his arms.
He put his arms around me and tilted my face toward his. He kissed me so softly I could barely breathe. Then he probed my mouth with his honey-flavored tongue. My tears blended the salty-sweet taste. I waited for him to say he loved me, but he never did. I knew he must have strong feelings for me from the way he was kissing me.
Unfortunately, those strong feelings only lasted until his next crush. When Harmony was history, Manny had a brief fling with Anna Ruby Robicheaux, Miss Mississippi State. Miss Mississippi State proceeded to break Manny’s heart when she dumped him for Robbie Bazemore, editor of the Florida Law Review. I was left to pick up the pieces in the latest of Manny’s long line of failed relationships.
Eventually, Manny latched on to a tall, big-boned, loud, rich, sorority girl from Savannah, Georgia, named Bonita Weinstein. Mackie and I nicknamed her “the White Witch of the South,” because of her long frosted white-blond hair, her even frostier demeanor, and her trademark year-round winter white wardrobe.
I was furious. I had been waiting years for Manny Gellar and trying too hard to get him. I had wasted my whole life on that boy, and I was finally coming to the conclusion that it was never going to work out for us. Even when he played Romeo to my Juliet in high school, we didn’t end up together. In fact, we both ended up dead. Did he think I was going to wait around forever, always at his beck and call? Was I supposed to put my life on hold while he worked his way through every other girl at the university? It was becoming clear that I was going to have to get a life of my own, apart from Manny, or die a frustrated old maid.
Stones Page 8
