Brooklyn Love (Crimson Romance)

by Yael Levy

  Rachel suppressed a grin. Michael was Litvishe himself, though he mocked his roots. The plain tastes of the Litvak got on Michael’s nerves. Michael told anyone who asked that he was Hungarian.

  Abe smiled. “You’re putting on a few pounds from all those greasy Hungarian beans, Michael.”

  Michael patted his belly. “All I can say is that cholent beats stale kichel and herring any day.”

  Rachel and Macy laughed.

  Michael nudged Abe Shine. “Come on over for a real kiddush. Suri hasn’t seen you in a while.”

  Abe turned to Debby for her approval. Deciding that they could eat their lunch later, she told Abe to accept Michael’s invitation.

  “Sure, Michael. Sounds good!”

  Once they arrived at the Kaufmans’ home, Rachel carefully wiped her feet on the doormat so she wouldn’t mark up their spotless floor. The two families entered the three-story brick mansion through the grand oak doors, and Rachel followed her parents into the hallway, her heels clicking on the gray marble. Although she had been to the house dozens of times, she still enjoyed peeking into the living room, with its white leather couches and sleek black china closet displaying silver Judaica and porcelain collectibles. She paused to gaze at the fine artwork gracing the light-gray-papered walls. Rachel couldn’t imagine a greater contrast to her own simple Victorian-style home. The Kaufmans’ living room was immaculate, used only for company. Everything they owned was the chicest style, of the finest quality.

  “Suri, I brought the Shines home for kiddush!” Michael called up to his wife from the foyer and took everyone’s coats, hanging them in the front closet.

  Suri pranced down the mahogany stairs in her shiny black stiletto heels. “So wonderful of you to stop by!” She kissed the air toward Rachel and Debby. “Debby, you look stunning. Have you lost weight?” She ushered her guests toward the formal dining room.

  “Haven’t lost a pound since I saw you last.” Ma laughed. “Have you?”

  Suri twisted, her hands on her hips. “You noticed! I’m working with this fabulous personal trainer. Fabulous! But I’ve been so rude! You walk all this way, and I haven’t offered you a thing!” Suri motioned her company to the table. “Come for kiddush, and maybe we’ll all put on a few pounds!”

  Michael made the blessing over the wine in his huge silver goblet as everyone present stood silently around the imported Italian dining room table. Suri had her maids bring out plates of store-bought kugels, cakes, and a huge bowl of cholent.

  Rachel took a bite. “Suri, this cholent is great.”

  “Oh, it was nothing, really.”

  Everyone laughed; it was well known that Suri didn’t cook.

  Suri flashed another smile and ran her fingers through her long, sexy blond wig, ironically worn for modesty. The wig was a Jou Jou original, custom made of human hair, and had cost her well over three thousand dollars.

  The Kaufman boys went to the kitchen to help prepare lunch, and Rachel hovered in the doorway while the parents sat at the dining room table.

  “So what’s this craziness going on at work, Debby?” Suri asked.

  “Oy. Meshugah — you shouldn’t know from it,” Debby said as she drank a cup of Diet Coke.

  Suri leaned closer to hear the details.

  Debby continued. “So the owner of my company tells us all to sell Powers — these are unregistered securities — and I sold these investments by the droves. It was paying a huge dividend. Two-year commitments at eighteen percent.”

  Michael Kaufman let out a low whistle. “Eighteen percent? And you didn’t sell us any, Debby?”

  Abe shook his head. “I told you to do more research before selling them.”

  Debby glared at her husband. “What? I work for a reputable company. The owner was pushing this product like meshuga. How was I supposed to know it was a ponzi scheme?”

  Suri gasped. “But how can that be? Powers has an amazing reputation!”

  Debby nodded. “I know. They had two sets of books. The set my company analyzed — and another that the Feds are analyzing now.”

  Suri’s eyes widened. “So how was it a scheme?”

  Debby shook her head. “They were selling accounts receivables from the medical industry to factors. You know, keeping the doctors’ offices afloat until their bills finally got paid.”

  Michael interrupted. “Only instead of reinvesting the bills into the company, some shyster must have kept all the money for himself.”

  Debby nodded. “This was an unregistered product, so they had more room for shtick.”

  Abe Shine pounded his fist on the table. “A bunch of shysters. Thieves. What a disgrace.”

  Michael shrugged. “Everybody does this kind of thing. Abe, you and Debby are the only straight arrows I know.”

  Debby waved a hand in protest. “No, Michael, that’s not true. Most people are honest. It’s these cheaters who hurt everybody else.”

  Suri sniffed. “Well they got caught now, so what’s the problem?”

  Debby stared at her friend. “What’s the problem? I had to be interviewed by four federal prosecutors at a huge table in the federal courthouse in lower Manhattan.”

  Rachel stifled a gasp. This was the first she’d heard of her mother’s ordeal.

  “They had me there for hours,” Debby continued, “with video cameras and recorders catching every single word that came out of my mouth. The attorney my company hired to represent me didn’t even let me talk in the bathroom. She said I couldn’t even cough — just be silent until I answered their questions clearly and to the best of my ability.”

  Michael laughed. “Sure gave you the run around, huh, Debby?”

  Suri pursed her lips. “It’s not funny, Michael. Not at all. They are all a bunch of Nazis, treating our Debby like that.”

  “I wouldn’t call them Nazis, Suri,” said Abe, wincing. “The SCC should be auditing companies and products to make sure people don’t get cheated.”

  Debby agreed. “It was just too bad that it was my turn. I have nothing to hide. But I feel terrible for my clients. I sold three-million dollars’ worth to Harry Green alone.”

  Michael stiffened. “So they’ll be auditing Harry Green’s accounts, then?”

  Debby shrugged. “I don’t know their system.”

  “System? They are a bunch of Nazis is their system,” Suri interjected. “Hunt down Jews and put them in jail. Take away their money. Get rid of them like annoying rodents.”

  Abe sighed. “Harry Green isn’t the cleanest guy.”

  “He’s a great guy, Abe,” Michael said evenly. “Do you know how many synagogues he’s built? How many people he’s helped? He built the entire Kaplinsky yeshiva.”

  Abe looked unimpressed. “With dirty money?”

  Michael glared at his friend and partner. “He does what he has to do, Abe.”

  Abe Shine sat stiffly. “Everybody knows he’s a white-collar thief, Michael, and anything touched by Harry Green will be destroyed. None of us should have anything to do with him.”

  The Kaufman boys emerged from the kitchen with platters of deli meats and salads, and the maid carried the hot potato kugel. The young people sat beside their parents at the dining room table.

  Michael dove into his cholent. “Business is business, Abe. You do what you have to do.” His comment seemed to close the matter.

  Tall and trim except for a small emerging belly, Michael sat at the head of the table. While eternally charming and officially handsome, he was starting to lose his hair. Rachel had known the Kaufmans all her life, and it hit her that time really didn’t stand still for anybody. Suri was at the opposite end of the table, dressed in a tight black angora sweater and tight black leather skirt that just about covered her knees. She wore a thick gold chain around her neck, several bangles, a
nd a precious ring on nearly every finger. Her long, manicured nails were polished a bright red. Her perfume was strong, overpowering the smell of the succulent cholent. Rachel glanced at her mother. Boy, did the two women ever contrast.

  Rachel’s thoughts were interrupted when Suri turned to her. “So, mamale, how is it going with your fellow?”

  Rachel shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

  Everyone at the table stopped eating and turned their attention to Rachel. Michael Kaufman shook his head in awe. “Dating now. I remember when you were born, Rachel. Remember, Abe? Remember after your three boys, you finally had a girl?”

  Debby laughed. “All pink. Someone gave me a blue baby gift, and I was insulted!”

  “Our first girl in Kaufman and Shine,” Michael said as if Rachel were his own.

  The mothers clucked like proud hens. “Like a sister to Leah,” Suri said. “But worlds apart,” she added under her breath. “Leah has to be headstrong and does whatever she wants.”

  Michael continued. “And now they’re dating. How time flies. Is it serious, Rachel?”

  Rachel toyed with her cholent. “If I have anything to report, Michael, you’ll be the first to know.”

  Suri shook a perfectly manicured finger. “No, mamale, that would be me. It was my idea.” As though rehashing her niece’s foolish insubordination by not securing a match with Daniel, Suri repeated, “Leah didn’t think she and this fellow had chemistry. Chemistry! You’ll see, Rachel, you are going to be crazy for him.”

  Debby interjected, “Rachel tells me they’re going to a comedy club.”

  Suri wrinkled her nose. “A comedy club? We sure didn’t do that in our day.”

  Yossie gave an exaggerated wink to Aryeh and Macy. “Rachel seems to be holding out some important news, huh?” he teased.

  Macy took the bait. “Think so, Yos. It must be very serious, or else she wouldn’t be so secretive.”

  Rachel sighed. “I’m not being secretive.”

  Macy nodded sagely. “She’s being defensive.”

  Yossie agreed. “Absolutely. Defensive.”

  Tall and handsome, with black hair like his father and blue eyes like his mother, Yossie had an MBA from NYU, lived in Manhattan, and worked as an options trader on Wall Street. Like his father, Yossie was a natural charmer and had a number of interests. Cycling, skiing in the winter, boating in the summer. An all-American, yet a religious boy. He even learned Talmud daily before work. And as the mastermind behind Rachel’s new beau, he took advantage of his right to tease her.

  Rachel put down her fork. “Do you mind? Is my personal dating life everyone’s business?”

  Everyone sitting at the table emphatically chorused, “Yes!”

  Yossie goaded, “Could the mystery man in question possibly have the initials of D.G., as in … oh, I don’t know, Daniel Gold?”

  Michael’s eyes widened. “Yeah? Rachel is dating Daniel Gold?”

  Macy laughed. “So, Rachel, when is the engagement party? I need to schedule your vort into my calendar.”

  As close a friend as Macy was to Rachel, he was the most merciless teaser of them all. But she could give as good as she got. “Macy, lay off,” she told him, and then went on the offensive. “I guess you’ll have to find out if Freda Fish could make it, too?”

  Macy turned red. “Hey, that’s not fair! We’re just friends!”

  Rachel nodded sagely. “Right. How many girl friends do you have, Macy?” Like a herd of bulls corralled in a different direction, the pressure turned from Rachel to Macy.

  “What’s this?” Suri wrinkled her nose with alarm. “You are seeing Freda Fish? That girl from the hotel? Her parents know about this?”

  “Actually,” Macy said as he winked at Rachel, “I’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

  Rachel smiled, knowing that he was referring to Ilana. She also noted Suri’s concern. Macy was her wild one; no one ever knew what he’d pull next. Suri had always compared herself to Macy. He had her blond hair, her quick smile, and blue eyes — but there was more: His whole spirit, his essence, was like hers. Rachel knew that Macy had no barriers, no limitations. But he wasn’t tough like Suri, hadn’t had her experiences …

  Rachel knew that Macy had been thrown out of two yeshiva high schools, both times for being caught with girls. But thanks to Michael’s charitable donations, Macy had managed to get his diploma anyway and was now a junior at Brooklyn College. But what kind of boy talked with girls in front of the rabbi’s house? If he was going to make trouble, couldn’t he have been discreet? Couldn’t he understand that in Brooklyn, appearances were everything?

  Suri and Michael were tough on him to go to college. He was studying accounting, which he hated. He said he wanted to be a musician. But Suri repeatedly refused Macy’s dreams. “What kind of profession is that for a Jewish boy?”

  “But Rachel is studying art, and she loves it,” Macy had argued. “Why can’t I study music?”

  “Rachel isn’t expected to support a family. And you are,” Suri had stated firmly. She’d always made her position clear: Macy needed her direction or he would make terrible mistakes with his life.

  Rachel shook her head, thinking about Macy’s antics. The girls were always crazy about him, even with his bad reputation at the yeshiva. Or maybe because of it. He wasn’t the type to sit and learn Talmud; he was too busy playing his electric guitar or riding his motorcycle. Although Leah didn’t seem to care for him, Rachel found him charming, with a poet’s soul, so full of life. She realized that here was a boy who knew the meaning of passion. But shouldn’t passion be tempered with reason and balance?

  Watching another family storm brewing, Rachel felt a twinge of guilt for bringing Suri’s wrath upon her friend.

  Macy held up his palms defensively. “Freda is just a girl from college. She’s smart. I study with her. I don’t like her. And she doesn’t like me, either. She only wants a ‘learning boy.’”

  Michael Kaufman pounded his fist on his long mahogany table. “That nonsense again! Who ever heard of this ‘learning boy’ shtick?”

  “Crazy,” Abe agreed.

  Michael launched into one of his well-rehearsed rants. “In our day all the boys worked. Only the best and the brightest, the dedicated elite, learned Torah for the entire community. Sacrificed for it to become our rabbis. And now every Tom, Dick, and Harry — no matter how dumb or unqualified — sits in yeshiva full-time. No profession, no prospects for a future. And an attitude! They all want to marry rich girls to take care of them! And the girls are just as bad. Every Bais Yaakov girl is trained in high school to want to marry a ‘learning boy.’ You think these spoiled American kids know what learning is? They’re sold a bill of goods, and God forbid if their parents try to tell them what life is really all about.”

  “You’re telling me,” Abe chimed in. “I had to fight with the rabbis that each one of my sons should go to college. The rabbis abuse their power; they make the boys feel like they are failures if they — God forbid — want to train for a profession and work for a living.”

  Michael nodded. “They did this with my Aryeh. Aryeh wanted to stay in yeshiva. Remember this, Suri? You remember?”

  Suri nodded emphatically.

  Aryeh, who’d been sitting quietly and observing the conversation, stopped smiling. Tall like Michael and Yossie, though thin and lithe like his mother, Aryeh had his father’s dark hair and coloring. But his personality and values shared little in common with the rest of his family. He couldn’t stand their preoccupation with money, or their ideas of what constituted success.

  Aryeh had always wanted to be a “learning boy.” He wanted to sit and study the Talmud full-time for the rest of his life. He was willing to undertake a life of hardship — of poverty, even — if that meant he could study his beloved Torah, the passion of his life. The truths, the
intellectual rigor, and the close relationship he felt with God — all those appealed to him like nothing else did. True, there were guys “warming the bench,” sitting in yeshiva for their reputations. To get a rich girl, a good match. But that didn’t negate the truth of the Torah, the joy and happiness he felt from learning. Rachel realized that Aryeh, too, had his passion.

  But the Kaufmans had their own views about the system and their own decisions about Aryeh’s future, and Aryeh did what was expected of him. He had graduated from Touro College with high honors and a degree in accounting and business. He worked now as an accountant in the Manhattan import and export company owned by Harry Green, and Rachel wondered if he had overheard any part of the heated conversation about his boss. Aryeh could have been at a Big Six accounting firm, making double his salary — though at double the hours. No! He’d refused the fancy job offers because he didn’t want to be owned by a company. Now his parents were pressuring him to go to law school and join the family practice, and so far he had refused. If he couldn’t be a scholar and had to work to support a family, that was one thing. But to devote three more years to school instead of learning Torah was another.

  The maid circled the table, clearing dirty plates, pouring water for the company.

  Michael cleared his throat. “I tell you, Abe, it’s all the fault of you Litvaks. The Litvishe rabbis spread their cold elitism to the masses.”

  “What are you talking about?” Abe demanded vehemently. “Thousands of young men sitting in yeshiva, not preparing for a career, is not a Litvishe approach! It’s the Hungarians who changed the style.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “What? Communal pressure pushes this lifestyle, even though it can’t support itself. The girls go out to work at some garbage job to support the husbands’ learning, and babysitters raise the kids. This is Jewish? This is ethics and values?”

  Michael raised his voice. “These pious kids get to sit and learn, and they look down on us lawyers. While we working men are the ones who support them! I’d love to sit and learn and have someone support me!”