Max was still in the kitchen, still struggling with the cork. You’d better not get cork in my wine, I thought, rolling my eyes.
“What wedding?” he had the audacity to say.
“My dad’s wedding, silly. Next month.”
Finally, he returned with the opened bottle and two glasses. “Oh, that’s right. I meant to tell you. I won’t be able to go after all.” He put the glasses down on the coffee table and filled one, then the other.
“What?”
“I’m going to Antwerp to buy diamonds. I’ll be gone that whole week.” He handed me my wine, which I proceeded to gulp down.
Coming up for air, I stared at him. “How can you do this to me?”
“I’m sorry, Shosh, I have to go. It’s important to the business. But wait until you see what we bring back.” He was trying to cheer me up, but it wasn’t working.
What was I going to do?
Nodding at the glass, I waited for him to refill it. When he did, I drank that down also and put the glass down before I got up off the couch. “You’re an ass,” I said, heading for the door.
“What? Where are you going?” He stood up.
“Fuck it. It’s over.” Grabbing the door handle, I realized my shawl was draped over the sofa. Turning back, I stomped toward the couch.
“What’s over? What are you talking about?” He fell back onto the couch, afraid. I think he thought I was going to hit him. It felt good, him being scared of me.
But instead of slapping him like I sort of wanted to, I leaned over him and snatched my shawl from the back of the couch. “This is over,” I waved my arms around as though I was shooing away flies. “You and me. I’ve had it.” Grabbing the bottle of chardonnay, I brought it to my lips and took a long swig.
“Just because I can’t go to the wedding? You know, my work is what keeps you stupid with jewelry, you spoiled fucking princess.”
“Fuck you,” I said over my shoulder, slamming the door behind me.
I was so over him. I looked down at my tennis bracelet and then back at Max’s closed door. He wouldn’t actually have the nerve to ask for any of his gifts back would he? I wondered.
Just in case, I got moving. As best I could in three and a half inch heels and holding a sloshing bottle of wine, I trotted down the stairs and out of the building before I could get out my cell and call a taxi.
While I waited, I went inside the bodega on the corner. I asked for a pack of cigarettes; it was the one thing that Max had abhorred. Because of him, I’d been tobacco-free for three whole months. Then I realized starting up again wasn’t worth it. Changing my mind, I told the clerk to put the smokes back and give me a package of Gummi bears instead. They would go great with the chardonnay.
Chapter 7
It was the one meal a week that I really let myself go. Bacon, eggs, greasy hash browns and white toast slathered with butter and jam. Sunday brunch with Dad.
It was something we’d done since before the divorce. And thanks to my diligence in going to the gym and good genes, my size two frame was none the worse for wear, so I allowed myself the one pig-out a week.
Like the Tuesday evenings I spent with my mother, Sundays with Dad were almost as predictable, but still way better. It was weird, but since the divorce and our regular weekly ‘dates’ (as he called them), I saw my father more now than when I lived at home and he and mom were still together. It was nice hanging with him, especially now that he was with Susan. He was a lot less…clenched.
He sat across from me in the booth of the diner that had that old fifties vibe, wearing a pair of jeans and a crisp button-down shirt likely borrowed from his weekday wardrobe. The button-down looked normal on him, but jeans were a new thing. Susan had bought him his first pair only a few months ago. Before then, he had worn suits even on weekends. He never seemed to know how to wear anything else. Susan was definitely a good influence.
He loved the diner and never wanted to go anywhere else. The first time we had come here, he had told me how he used to bring Mom when they were first dating. Why he wanted to keep coming now that he was divorced was beyond me. I didn’t pretend to understand my parents’ motivations anymore.
“How’s your mother?” he asked, predictably. At least, when he asked, he really wanted to know.
“The same,” I dipped the triangle of toast into the yolk, breaking it and mopping up its contents, catching it before it became a cold sticky mess on my plate.
Dad shook his head, scratching at his goatee, another new thing, thanks to Susan. “I feel badly.”
“She’ll get over it sooner or later.” Trying to help the conversation along a little, I changed the subject. “So, I’ve bought a dress for the wedding.” It was a lie. But I couldn’t think of anything else to say. And I wasn’t about to tell him about Max.
His brow crinkled up. “Really? Susan wanted to help you pick out your dress. Didn’t I tell you it would be my treat?” He picked up a slice of bacon with his fingers and took a bite.
Playing dumb was one of my specialties. “Oh yeah,” looking up at the grease-stained ceiling (okay, ew, never doing that again), I pretended to remember. “That’s right. I can take the one I bought back. I guess I’d better call Susan to see when she wants to go.”
Dad put down his fork and sighed and for half a second, I thought I was in trouble. “You know, honey, I wanted to thank you for how wonderful you’ve been to Susan. She really appreciates you not being like… You know, not holding her responsible for…” he was really stumbling on what to say. He threw his arms up, “You know what I mean. For being supportive of us being together. And the wedding.”
I took a sip of my coffee and shrugged. “I’m not Mom. I just want to see you happy. It doesn’t matter how heinous it is that you cheated on her.” The last part had just sort of fallen out of my mouth and I regretted it as soon as I said it, but too late; it was already out there. Anyway, it was harsh to throw it in his face, but that didn’t make it any less true.
Dad stared at me for a long minute and I was about to apologize, but he shook his head and looked down at his plate. “I guess I deserved that.”
I bit into the bacon, wondering how Mom could ever go kosher. Seriously, how could a person survive without bacon? And don’t even get me started on the ‘no shellfish’ thing.
“What you said, about it being heinous that I cheated on her...”
I looked up at him, wondering where he was going with this. “It was heinous. I’m just over it, she’s not. You didn’t do it to me.”
“You really think I’m that bad?” he asked, looking down into his plate.
I was beginning to think I’d rather talk to my mother about Susan—the whore who she was convinced had ruined their marriage; at least, I had those answers memorized. This was new territory with my dad and was making me very uncomfortable.
“Dad, I wasn’t your wife. Everything I’ve heard about your marriage has been since the divorce and from Mom, so I’m sure it’s been biased. I’m not going to sit here and tell you that you were a schmuck in your marriage. But what I do know is that you cheated on Mom. That’s shitty. But it’s between you and her.”
One look at his face and I started to feel the beginning of tears. I hadn’t meant to make him feel horrible. I swallowed and said, “Anyway, I’m assuming that you’re not cheating on me and taking someone else’s kids out on, say, Wednesday mornings?”
He sort of smiled. “No, just you on Sundays.” His hand rose to scratch at his beard.
I squirted some ketchup on my potatoes. “Well then, that’s all I care about at this point. You’ve said all you can to Mom. If she can’t forgive you, I guess you have to accept that and move on with your life.”
Finished with his breakfast, Dad pushed his plate to the center of the table. “How did you get to be so smart?”
I shrugged. “You sent me to the shrink for all of my ‘volatile’ teen years.”
“Money well spent, I think.” He waved at the wai
tress for a coffee refill.
I would have much preferred a trip to Europe, I thought but kept my mouth shut.
* * *
Later that afternoon, Susan called. No surprise there; I’m sure my dad was behind it.
“Hi Shoshanna, your dad tells me that you’ve bought a dress for the wedding, but um…I was hoping that you and I could find something together since you’ll be standing under the chuppah with us…” She was trying to be diplomatic, obviously. I felt bad; she must have thought I was a giant bitch for going out and buying a dress. But I couldn’t go back on the lie, so I tried to be extra nice to make up for it.
“It’s no problem,” I said. “The tags are still on it, so I can take it back. It wasn’t on sale or anything.”
Susan’s sigh of relief was audible. “That’s good, I’m so glad you’re open to this. You know, with your mother…”
I sighed. “I don’t want to talk about my mother, if you don’t mind.” Not that Susan had ever bad-mouthed Mom. I’d just had enough. More than enough. Anyway, I had my own real problems. The wedding was just over a month away and I didn’t have a date.
Finding someone to take me to dinner on a Saturday night wasn’t a problem, but this was different. You can’t invite just anyone to your dad’s wedding. Especially when your dad is a prominent attorney who knows lots of people. I would be seen, and I needed to be seen with the right man. This was very important business.
“I’m sorry, you’re right,” Susan said, bringing me back to the situation at hand. “So, is there a day or evening when you’re free that we might go?”
Opening up my calendar app, I scanned the screen for any scrawled appointments. Nothing jumped out at me. “I’m off next Friday or Sunday. Either day is okay with me.”
“Let’s do Friday. How’s about we go for lunch first?” she asked, the waver in her voice telling me she was nervous.
“Okay.”
“I’ll pick you up at noon and we’ll go from there. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Sure, Susan. See you then.” I hung up the phone. What kind of dress was I going to have to wear? Hopefully nothing ghastly. Susan always seemed to do well for herself. She was no fashion maven like me or my mother, but she did seem to have a penchant for Chanel outfits that suited her nicely.
Whatever, I thought. As long as the dress wasn’t totally hideous. I had bigger things to think about: my date. Picking up my cell, I began the task of rifling through it to find a suitable (could I hope for better?) replacement for Max. It was less than a month away and it was a wedding.
Guys get scared by the wedding invite; meeting your date’s entire family all in one go is a big commitment. It was not going to be easy.
Chapter 8
I had my work cut out for me, that was for sure. After I scribbled down the names from my phone in order of preference, I got a bottle of water out of the fridge (to stave off dry croaky throat) and sat down on my sofa. Pad and paper in hand, I picked up the phone to begin my mission.
The first six numbers I called ended with voicemail. I left vague, but hopefully intriguing messages at all of them, hoping for quick turnaround times. I wasn’t working with a lot of time. Finally, number seven: Matt Morris, answered.
“Hey, Mattie, how’ve you been?” I asked, my voice smoother than silk.
“Shoshanna?” he was definitely caught off guard.
“Yes, I was thinking about you the other day…”
“Why? Do you need a new necklace? Pair of earrings?” his words were like sharp little icicles jabbing at me.
I was silent for a moment until I realized it was time for some damage control. “No, silly, I was just thinking about all the good times we had. Remember when we went to Niagara Falls?” I was hoping to take him back to the time when we had made out at the falls; maybe evoking some nostalgic feelings in him would help. Maybe even give him a hard on when he thought of the circular bed in the honeymoon suite where I showed him I was no virginal bride…
“You’re a piece of work, Shoshanna,” he snorted, his voice hard. “What do you want?”
What was with the attitude? We had parted amicably, or so I had thought. He had gone away to school and it had just fizzled out. Okay, well I’d had a bit of a temper tantrum when he had chosen law school over me, but I couldn’t see how he would hold that against me—that I wanted him to be with me so badly. And anyway, it had been two years: plenty of cool-off time.
“No,” I said, trying to salvage the conversation. “I don’t want anything. I just wanted to see you.”
“I’m engaged. And even if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t want to see you. You’re like a leech, sucking blood from any poor sap you can get your claws into.”
Now that was harsh. And completely uncalled for, so those proverbial claws he’d just mention came out. “You’re a loser, Matt. I don’t even believe you’re engaged, who would have you?” It was a stretch, knowing that a good-looking lawyer from a wealthy family probably had lots of offers of the romantic kind, but I had to say something.
“Fuck you, Shoshanna,” he said before he ended the call.
I stared at my phone for a few moments, like it was to blame. “What an asshole,” I said out loud. Apparently Armani thought it was an invitation and came running down the back of the sofa to shove his butt into my face. Picking him up, I deposited him into my lap, stroking his soft fur. Suddenly, it didn’t matter that clumps of cat hair became electrostatically charged, sticking to my hands; what I needed was the comfort of someone who loved me. Armani always seemed to know when he was needed.
Unwilling to risk another call like that, I figured I’d just wait and see who called me back from the messages I had already left.
“Am I really that bad?” I asked Armani, contemplating what Matt had said. “Do I come across as that shallow?”
Armani didn’t answer.
Am I that shallow? I asked myself silently, afraid to say the words out loud.
* * *
Six messages was not a very wide net, but I did catch one fish. Phil Silver, computer genius, self-made millionaire by the time he was twenty-four. I had snapped him up in the beginning, seeing his potential. He had moved down to Silicon Valley, causing our breakup, but I’d heard through the grapevine he’d returned home after setting up some protégé at the helm of his West Coast division.
“Shosh! It was so great to hear from you,” he said, as soon as I answered an hour or so later. I’m no rocket scientist but I could tell this guy was happy to hear from me.
I put the smile in my voice, trying not to sound as relieved as I felt that he’d called. “Great to hear your voice! What’s it been? A year? Eighteen months?”
“About that. Hey, why don’t we get together tonight? I’d love to see you.”
This was going to be easier than I thought. “Sounds great. How about at Starlight at nine?” I liked picking the rendezvous spot; being on comfortable turf was a good thing. And the lighting at the Starlight lounge, one of my favorite places in the world, was exceptional.
Perfect. I’m looking forward to eating you, whoops, I mean meeting you!”
We both laughed. His Freudian slip had been one-hundred percent intentional and as cheesy as it gets, but I loved it. It was like he’d never left. And, if memory served me, computers weren’t his only skill.
Chapter 9
Sitting in my favorite booth with a good view of the door, I sipped my martini, waiting for Phil. It was a well-rehearsed strategy to be early: that way, I had my choice of tables in my favorite waiter’s section. I had filled the waiter in on the evening’s requirements (long pours for him, short pours for me: I needed to stay alert) and was ready to go. Now I just needed the final ingredient: Phil.
On time as always, Phil arrived at one minute to nine, wearing a well-fitted suit and a great pair of shoes (never neglect to look at a man’s shoes: shoes tell you everything). Disappointing was what he hadn’t bought in a store: his thinning hair. Well, maybe he coul
d get plugs or a shorter cut in time for the wedding, I thought. Either way, Phil Silver was a name everyone knew so hair or no hair, people would be impressed.
Getting up from the booth, I allowed the right corner of my mouth to turn up. I’d forgotten how short he was; in my stilettos, I was at least two inches taller than him.
“Shoshanna, oooh mama!” Phil put his hands on my hips and kissed me full on the lips. “You are looking good,” He said as he pulled back and motioned for me to sit.
“You’re looking good too, Phil,” I said. It didn’t matter that I was referring to his ensemble; no need to split hairs. Whoops, pardon the pun. “Love the shoes,” I added, not able to help it; the shoes were sublime.
“Dolce & Gabbana,” he said casually as he slid into the booth across from me, his eyes dipping to my cleavage.
I leaned forward to afford him a good look. “They’re stunning.”
“Oh yes they are,” he said, still staring at my chest. Then he looked up, chuckling as he did. “Oh wait, you meant the shoes? I got them at Caesar’s last time I was in Vegas. I just love Vegas. Ever been?” He was showboating, but that was okay. He was throwing around his money like I was throwing around my body. We’d make a good pair at the wedding.
I lifted my glass. “Yes, but you could still take me, show me around.”
He raised his eyebrows and stared at me a moment before flagging down the waiter who was waiting for his sign.
Within seconds of his signal, Phil had in front of him a shot The Macallan (never forget to call it The Macallan, Phil had always said) courtesy of my explicit pre-game instructions.
He smiled down at the glass as the waiter announced what it was. “You remembered. So, tell me, Shoshanna. How are you not married off yet?”
“No one can afford me,” I said with a one-shoulder shrug. Of all the boyfriends I’d ever had, Phil would take this joke with good humor. Maybe because he could afford me.
He chuckled. “Ah, you haven’t changed a bit. If it weren’t for the fact that there’s a scotch in front of me, I’d take you back to my place this instant.”
Dating Kosher Page 4
