Brooklyn Love (Crimson Romance)

by Yael Levy

Hindy stared at her spreadsheet and tried to sort out what had just happened.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Rachel watched Daniel move his king across the chessboard in his Long Island den. She sat on the Golds’ plush creme-colored couch, resting her head on a gold embroidered cushion. Daniel sat a few feet away at his antique game table; opposite Daniel sat his friend Frisch.

  Frisch studied the move with deep concentration, and then responded by moving his black bishop diagonally across the board.

  Daniel eyed Frisch’s move. “I am so going to get you, buddy,” he laughed.

  Daniel’s mother, a small, lithe woman with bleached-blond hair, came into the den and sat beside Rachel. In looks and demeanor, Mrs. Gold could have been Suri’s twin. “Sweetie,” she said to Rachel after a few minutes, “it must be so dull watching the boys play chess. Would you like to help set up for the party?”

  “Sure.” Rachel got up to help her future mother-in-law, and they walked together to the Golds’ stately dining room. A rich mahogany dinner table rested on a dark red Persian rug, surrounded by twenty-two Louis XIV-style chairs. Parallel to the table stood a huge baroque china cabinet laden with Fabergé eggs, Mr. Gold’s collection of clocks, and some silver Judaica. On the opposite wall hung a large original Chagall over a heavy wooden buffet. On top of it lay an ornate silver cornucopia of fruit, along with glass cups, sodas, and a crystal bowl full of punch.

  “I so love collecting beautiful things,” Mrs. Gold remarked as she opened the heavy red drapes to let in the light.

  Rachel and Mrs. Gold walked through the butler’s pantry toward the kitchen, where Rachel stood ready to assist Mrs. Gold in her preparations. To complement the three-course meal Mrs. Gold had made, Rachel arranged wines and spirits on the buffet, along with traditional hamentaschen cookies for their annual Purim party, which fell in March this year. It was a festive occasion, commemorating Jewish salvation from genocide during the time of the Persian Empire. As a child, Rachel always looked forward to the springtime holiday: She would dress up in costume and give out baskets of treats to neighbors. But now that she was almost married — an adult — she wore a pretty cream silk blouse and a salmon-colored woolen skirt, and looked forward to a party.

  Mrs. Gold took platters of veggies and dips from the fridge, and placed them in a row on the black granite kitchen countertop. “Did you see Daniel’s award collection, Rachel?” she asked, pointing to the den, where framed documents and shelves full of awards were hung.

  “Yes, Mrs. Gold, a number of times.” Rachel stood at the counter cutting slices of seven-layer cake and arraying them on a platter.

  “You know he also won the tennis championship at the Y.”

  Rachel nodded.

  “Three years in a row.” Mrs. Gold smiled. “The fourth year he would have won too, only I’m sure it was fixed.”

  “Right.”

  “There’s nothing he wants that he doesn’t win,” Mrs. Gold said pointedly, handing Rachel a platter for the table.

  “Oh, come on!” Rachel heard Daniel challenge Frisch from the other room.

  The guests began to arrive, bringing huge baskets of goodies wrapped decoratively in cellophane, and some of Daniel’s friends brought bottles of liquor.

  Mrs. Gold sighed. “I hate all that drinking, but it’s that time of year.” She handed Rachel a crystal bowl of salad to carry to the table.

  Rachel agreed. “They say the wine goes in and secrets come out.”

  Mrs. Gold laughed. “I’m not sure if I want to hear any secrets!”

  Rachel could hear Daniel arguing with Frisch over the game while groups of their friends egged them on. Someone turned on a CD of Jewish music — loud, jumpy, tunes. Daniel’s platonic girl friends came into the kitchen to greet Mrs. Gold and give Rachel the evil eye.

  “How are your wedding plans coming along?” asked a short girl with short hair.

  “Great!” Rachel plastered a frozen smile on her face.

  “Did you get your gown yet?” another girl with numerous freckles dotting her face asked Rachel point-black, tapping her foot and expecting an immediate response.

  “We’re working on it!” Rachel exuded a confidence she did not feel.

  A petite girl with big glasses and tight mousy-brown curls grabbed Rachel’s hand. “How did you know it was right?” she asked in a squeaky voice.

  Rachel’s smile felt so tight she thought it would crack. “Oh that! Well, uh, you just know. Right. You just know when it’s right — you know?”

  Another girl, tall and thin with long raven-colored hair and wide green eyes, hunched her shoulders to reach Rachel’s ear. “He’s such an amazing guy. You are very, very lucky to have caught him,” she cooed. “All of us who grew up with Daniel — we love him.” The girl whispered again slowly and with emphasis. “We love him.”

  As suddenly as the girls had appeared, they left Rachel, disappearing to the den where the boys were partying and raucously taking sides over Daniel and Frisch’s chess game.

  Mrs. Gold smiled and whispered conspiratorially, “You know they all want him, my Daniel. But he only has eyes for you!”

  Rachel smiled. Mrs. Gold could be really sweet. “I still don’t know why.”

  Mrs. Gold shook her head, handing Rachel a bucket of ice for the buffet. “Don’t you know, Rachel? You played the game well.”

  “Checkmate!” Daniel’s voice resounded from the other room as Rachel watched.

  • • •

  “Can you believe Shayna is marrying Shimshon Kaplinsky?”

  Shimshon’s mother, Zipora Kaplinsky stole a glance at the boys talking about her future daughter-in-law as she stood in line at the pizza parlor, listening intently to their conversation.

  The blond one dressed like a yeshiva boy, in black pants and white shirt, sported a five o’clock shadow and reeked of cologne. He grunted as his friend, short and squat with red hair, checked his Blackberry. With their cigarettes, their jangling keys, and the way they held themselves with a cocky self-importance — they weren’t yeshiva boys. They were bums who hung out all day and told their mothers they were in yeshiva.

  The blond one answered. “I can’t believe it. Not Shayna. I mean, anyone but Shayna.”

  Zipora leaned against the cold metal counter, getting her bearings while the bushy-haired server who stood behind the counter took her order.

  Next up, the boys ordered their pizzas from the server, laughing in deep guttural tones that resembled the sounds of a rushing subway.

  The pizza man gave Zipora her slice, and she pretended to look through the glass-enclosed refrigerator for something to drink to give her a reason to linger.

  The sexes were purposely segregated to avoid any trouble between teenagers before they were married off. How did these bad boys know her future daughter-in-law?

  The blond shifted his tray of pizza to his hip and took a puff on his cigarette. “Boy, Woodbourne will miss that babe.”

  Zipora froze. Woodbourne was a block of pizza parlors — and back rooms — in the Catskill Mountains, where a good part of Brooklyn spent the summer. Where rebellious teens made trouble. It was inappropriate for a young lady to be there, unless in a group or chaperoned by her parents.

  “Excuse me. Can I get a drink?” the blond one asked Zipora Kaplinsky as he nonchalantly reached into the refrigerator and grabbed an Arizona Iced Tea.

  Zipora was barely able to move.

  Then the short one spoke. “She definitely was a hot one.”

  “The hottest.” The boys continued chatting as they walked toward a table with their trays of pizza.

  Is Shayna Goldfarb used goods? Zipora asked herself. She didn’t want to know the answer.

  • • •

  Reb Goldfarb sat with Hindy and Shayna at breakfast before they all
ran off to work.

  “Tatty — ” Shayna ate her puffed wheat “ — when will you give me money to buy Shim’s watch?”

  Reb Goldfarb pinched the bridge of his nose and frowned. “Financially, it’s a bit tight right now with the wedding.”

  Hindy tidied the kitchen table from the previous breakfast shift, and then placed a cup of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal in front of her father’s place setting.

  Shayna pushed her puffed wheat around in her bowl in short, forceful movements. “I bet you’d find the money if Hindy was getting married!”

  His spoon frozen midway between the bowl and his mouth, Reb Goldfarb paled. “How can you say that?”

  Shayna glared at her sister. “It’s always been clear that you love Hindy more than me.”

  Reb Goldfarb sadly shook his head. “A parent can’t love one child more than another. Right now I’m strapped, Shayna. Can’t Shimshon wait two months for his watch while I pay off some credit card debts?”

  Hindy swept crumbs from under the Formica table, dumping the debris into the trashcan.

  Shayna stood up suddenly from her scuffed wooden chair, nearly knocking it over. “How can I make him wait like that? There are other gifts we have to buy him. And what about the furniture? You’ll ask us to wait for that, too?”

  “Shayna, your mother and I have been saving for this since you were born. But still, it takes a lot of financial juggling. With all the saving we’ve done, I’ve still had to borrow thousands of dollars from gemachs. Free-loan societies may not charge interest, but I’ll still need to repay them, and I’m maxed out on our credit cards. Please, let me recoup a bit before I have to buy more gifts.”

  Shayna stomped her foot. “No! Tatty, if I don’t give Shimshon his gifts immediately, he’ll get embarrassed and break off our match! How can you let my fiancé get away over money matters?”

  Hindy stopped sweeping. “Shayna, I’m sure Shimshon won’t leave you for asking him to wait two months for his watch. If it’s so important to you, why don’t you pay for it? You work.”

  “Shut up, you stupid pig,” Shayna snapped. “You want Shimshon to leave me just because he didn’t want you. You’d love to see our match break up because he chose me over you.”

  Reb Goldfarb, usually a peaceful man, banged his fist on the table. “Shayna Goldfarb, you don’t speak like that to your sister in my house!”

  Hindy’s face turned white.

  Shayna stood up. “No, I speak the truth. Maybe it’s not what people want to hear. But if Shimshon doesn’t get his watch within the week, the Kaplinskys will either think you are stingy or else realize just how poor you really are, and they’ll make Shimshon break up with me. They’ll see that you can’t support their son in his learning, and the match will be off. I have to go to work now.” Shayna stormed out of the room without even saying her Grace after Meals.

  • • •

  Leah sat erect in front of her interviewer. Columbia had rejected her; NYU, too. They wouldn’t even grant her an interview. She had perfect grades, excellent scores on her MCATs. She’d volunteered in hospitals and had even published research papers at school, all while majoring in a subject she hated. Yet the only New York medical school that would give her a shot was one state university.

  She sat with the doctor in charge of her application.

  “Ms. Bloom,” he said, “you have an excellent G.P.A.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled. It had been a grueling day of meetings and interviews. Leah wiped the sweat from her brow.

  “You can’t beat a 3.8 from an Honors Program.”

  Leah modestly averted her eyes.

  The doctor drummed his small, pointy fingers on his desk. “Great research papers.”

  Leah looked up. She wondered why he was reiterating what they both already knew.

  He looked over her application. “Excellent MCAT scores. Truly excellent.” He nodded.

  Leah stared at him.

  He looked up. “But you understand, we have a number of qualified applicants.”

  Her mouth felt dry. Leah swallowed hard.

  He continued. “I’m sorry, but we can’t accept you.”

  Leah felt numb. It wasn’t possible.

  “That’s it?” she asked. All those hard years of work. Of pushing herself through unknown territory in science, while juggling work and a major in computers. Of parties missed because she had to study. Of volunteering in hospitals and working in labs, and late nights when she would rather have gotten some sleep. Of hiding her ambitions from her mother and forging ahead — against every obstacle and contention that she couldn’t do it. Her grades proving that she wasn’t stupid, that she had a brain — that she had a worth. All those years of anxiety came down to one man sitting in front of her, telling her, “no.”

  “Well,” the doctor said and squirmed in his chair, “you could always try again next year.”

  Leah nodded. “Tell me why.”

  The doctor was taken off guard. “What do you mean?”

  Leah folded her arms against her chest. This man had just crushed all her dreams of becoming a doctor. If she tried to apply the following year, medical schools would hold it against her that she hadn’t been accepted earlier. It would be nearly impossible to ever get into medical school. “Why?” she asked again.

  The doctor’s cheeks turned a deep red. “Well, you understand,” the doctor looked away. “We’ve already accepted four like you.”

  Leah rose from her chair. “Four like me? In what way?”

  “We need to keep our classes mixed, you know. We take students from all over the country, from various socioeconomic backgrounds.”

  “In what way, Doctor?”

  “We can’t have Jewish kids taking up every seat in every medical school. That wouldn’t be fair, now would it?”

  “Quotas?” Leah raised her voice incredulously.

  “Of course not — we haven’t had quotas in years. But these spots have to go to kids who otherwise wouldn’t have a chance at bettering themselves. Not like you, with all of your advantages … I’m sorry. If it were up to me … ” The doctor rose to show her to the door.

  “Every advantage?” Leah felt as if someone had just punched her in the stomach. Hard.

  The doctor shook his head. “It’s not about you, or your grades. Other races, ethnicities, and nationalities have to be able to compete, too. Our hands are tied.” The doctor opened the door for her. “Don’t bother with any lawsuits, Ms. Bloom. I’ll deny this conversation ever took place.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  It was a Saturday night in March, and Ilana sat with Macy at South Street Seaport, their eyes fixed on the water. Docked ships rocked quietly in the sea, glowing silver in the moonlight reflected off the water. The air felt mild and smelled salty as couples strolled beside the boats and through the well-lit mall. Macy had bought drinks and asked Ilana if she’d like to stand by the railing to hear the waves rolling near the port. Now they were walking together quietly, enjoying the evening as they listened to the sounds of the waves mixed with pedestrians’ chatter, which occasionally erupted with laughter. All at once, quite gently, Macy tried to hold Ilana’s hand.

  Ilana smiled and pulled her hand away.

  Macy looked stricken. “It’s not natural, Ilana. We’ve been together so long, and you won’t touch me at all.”

  Ilana sighed. “I didn’t write the rules, Macy. But let’s be consistent.”

  Macy nodded, sulking. “What kind of girlfriend are you, anyway?”

  Ilana smiled at his impetuousness. “Well, that’s one reason we don’t date like other people. If we love each other, we get married.”

  Macy looked her in the eye, and then he got down on one knee and said, “Ilana, will you marry me?”

  She laughed.
“No, Macy, absolutely not.”

  He jumped up, angry. “Why not? Don’t you love me?”

  She stopped laughing, realizing she’d hurt his feelings. “Macy, you know I love you. But you are so immature! You aren’t ready to take on the responsibilities of marriage.”

  “Oh, so now you’re the one who decides who is and isn’t ready?”

  “No. But as much as we love each other, I do feel that you want to marry me now just to — to satisfy your physical urges. And when you aren’t nineteen anymore, then what? Then you’ll resent the fact that I ‘reined you in’ and you weren’t ready.”

  Macy shook his head incredulously, reaching for Ilana’s hand, and then forced his hand into his pocket instead. “Ilana, you’ve got that all wrong. I’m not as religious as my family. If I just wanted to satisfy my ‘physical urges,’ I wouldn’t have to get married to do that.”

  “Oh?” Ilana said and smiled.

  “Yeah, that’s right.” Macy ran his fingers through his hair, and then met her gaze. “In fact, I’ve been keeping the laws and not having any contact with you only out of my respect for you.”

  “All for me?” Ilana teased.

  Macy shoved his hand back in his pocket. “Yeah. All for you. And you know what? It’s not easy being close with the woman I love and not being able to express that.”

  Ilana lifted her hand and almost brushed a hair off his sweater. Instead, she ran her hand through her own thick, black hair. “Macy, if you are going to guilt me into not following the Law, forget about it. Of course I’d like to be close to you. I’m human.”

  “I’m not trying to guilt you.”

  “So what are you doing?”

  “I’m doing nothing. That’s the problem.” Macy moved his palm toward her face but then forced his hand back down.

  Ilana frowned. “Macy, it’s hard for me not to express how I feel, too. It’s really, really hard. But I also value the laws. And if you let one go, then the others follow. And then what makes you Jewish? I’ve had that lifestyle, Macy. No thank you. That life was unbearable for me.”