“No, just go to school.”
Naomi got out of bed after he left and made a cup of coffee. After crying for a few minutes, she flicked on the television in the family room and watched Last Chance Harvey. Not a good choice.
In a moment of pure aching, she pulled out her old photo album. The one she always kept hidden from Jake. It contained happy pictures from her youth. She flipped through the pages of goofy pictures taken with Becky and Miriam to the pages dedicated to her romance with Aaron. As she ran her fingers over the smooth cellophane holding down the pictures, tears dripped down her cheeks. Maybe part of her never did stop loving him.
***
Ezra arrived home from school and found her asleep on the sofa covered by the old afghan her grandmother crocheted for her before she left for college. Jake begged her to get rid of the ratty old thing for years, but Naomi clung to it.
“Mom, how do you feel?”
She stretched her legs out straight. “Okay, I want to sleep a bit more.”
Ezra tucked the blanket around her feet and tiptoed out of the room. What felt like five minutes later, she heard him say, “Mom, it’s time to get ready for dinner. We’re supposed to be at the Raz’s by seven.”
It’s Shabbat. She forgot and groaned, realizing she had to get up, get dressed, and smile. “No, I can’t make it. Take the car and go alone.”
“I’m not going without you. I’ll stay home and make you soup and tea.”
“No, go. Esther will be expecting you. I just want to sleep.”
***
Ezra bounded into the house at nine thirty, yelling, “Mom, you’ve gotta see this. Look. Aaron was at Esther’s house. He asked me to give this to you.” He held a book. The cover design was beautiful--weeping willow trees lining an empty country road. He thrust it out to her. “Aaron was there. He’s so cool. This is his new book. It’ll be in the bookstores in two weeks. This is one of the first copies.”
Ezra talked faster than she could listen as he handed her the book. She ran her hand over the jacket, enjoying the feeling of the smooth and cool paper against her palm.
“Open it, Mom. Open it.”
She lifted it to her nose first, taking in the wonderful smell of a new book. “It’s a lovely book.” She slowly opened the front cover, surprised by an unwarranted sense of nervousness.
Ezra’s eyes looked like they were ready to pop. “Speed it up.”
“Calm down, it’s just a book,” she said and began reading the copyright page.
He bounced on his toes the same way he did when he was five years old. “No, it’s not. Turn the page!”
She turned the page.
This book is dedicated to N and the long-held dream of a second chance.
Tears welled up in her eyes. He had to have written the dedication months ago, before they met at the Shul.
“Mom, you’re ‘N.’ Aaron dedicated his new book to you! Can you believe it?”
She shook her head. Underneath the printed dedication, it was signed in his artistic scrawl.
Always, Aaron
Ezra grinned all over his himself. “Guess you have a boyfriend, Mom.” He bounded out of the room, leaving her holding the book.
Chapter 18
Becky
Becky pulled a black dress from her closet and held it up. A blotch of something white marred the left shoulder. She didn’t care. Spinning the hangar, she examined the back of the dress. The same dress she wore to her father’s funeral. The back looked fine. She tossed it onto the bed. On a normal day, she would never wear black opaque stockings with a black dress, but today being wrapped in mourning colors felt right.
“Becky,” she heard David shout. “You need to leave soon.”
“I’m almost ready,” she whispered in a voice much too low for him to hear.
She descended the stairs slowly. Each step caused the clamp on her heart to squeeze tighter. By the time she reached the bottom, her eyes floated in moisture. He gave her the once-over and shook his head. “That’s just plain wrong.”
“No, it’s not. I just happen to like black--a lot.”
“I’m not going to fight with you. The shower starts in a half-hour, and it’s at least a twenty-minute drive.”
Becky pulled her bag and coat from the closet. “I’m going.”
She opened the door of the white sedan. With a flick of the wrist, she tossed her bag and the gold lettered invitation onto the passenger seat. After slithering into the driver’s seat and adjusting her skirt, she grasped the steering wheel.
The tears started, again. As she stared at the back wall of the garage, it turned into an imaginary movie screen...
***
The flowers decorating the bimah looked stunning, exactly what she wanted. As she walked down the aisle, she felt smug over winning all the arguments with the florist. Stupid woman tried to sell her fall flowers. Noah’s life was just beginning--his personal spring. Damn if she would drape the sanctuary in fall colors for her son, a young man with a bright future. She wanted colors that represented life--daisies, sunflowers, and lilies. This bar mitzvah would be an event people would remember forever.
Her son was becoming a Jewish man. He was already a mensch.
But, even as she gloated over Noah, she struggled to block out the thoughts of her mother--damn that woman. What would make her choose death over watching her grandson grow up?
***
Becky heard someone pounding and looked up to see David waving his hands. She watched him mouth the words “Get going.”
She turned the key and backed out of the driveway.
***
Naomi
The restaurant party room wasn’t very large, but the décor was beautiful and floral enough to make Laura Ashley smile in her grave. Naomi scanned the room, not to admire the leafy pattern of the wallpaper, but to locate something lost--Becky.
She glanced toward the door--still closed. Naomi took a gulp of her chardonnay and tried to fight off the tension seizing control of her brain and body. After another big swallow, she moved toward the buffet table where Esther and Laurie stood filling their plates.
Esther loaded Caesar salad onto her plate. “Isn’t this room beautiful?”
“The food looks fabulous, too bad we can’t eat most of it,” Laurie said. “Aren’t you going to eat something, Naomi?”
Once again, Naomi strained her neck to see the door. “She’s not going to show up. If she’s not here yet, she’s not coming.”
“Who, Miriam?” Laurie followed Naomi’s lead and gazed toward the door.
“No.” Naomi shook her head. “Miriam’s not coming. She decided not to come because it would cause Maria too much stress. I’m talking about Becky. She’s not coming.”
“Poo poo, of course she’s coming.” Esther flicked her wrists as she always did when using her favorite all-purpose phrase, poo poo. “She’s the mother of the chatan. The groom’s mother must be here.” Esther turned back to the buffet and bent over a bowl of pasta salad. After plunging the serving fork into the bowl, she flicked at something that could have been a small piece of bacon or a bizarre looking dried cranberry.
“Maybe she got lost. Did you try calling her?” Laurie asked before popping a forkful of quiche into her mouth.
“Yes, I’ve called and texted,” Naomi replied. “She’s ignoring me. I even called David. He said she left the house almost an hour ago.”
Both women stared at Naomi. “She would never do anything to hurt Noah,” Laurie said, breaking the silence.
“I’ll call her. She knows better than to ignore me,” Esther said, pulling her phone from her purse.
The two women stood, watching as Esther held the phone to her ear. “Becky,” Esther said.
Naomi and Laurie exhaled.
“You’re late,” Esther said. “Are you lost? Do you have a flat tire? If not, you better get here fast. This is wrong, and you know it.”
The three stood in silence. Esther listened to the voice
coming through the phone as Naomi and Laurie fidgeted.
“Bullshit. Get here or I’m going to come and find you. And I’ll tell Noah what you did. Now, get into your car and think of a good excuse for being late. And you better walk through the door looking happy.” Esther hit the end button on the phone.
“She’s in a bar. She decided to stop for a drink.”
“Do you think she’ll come?” Laurie asked.
Esther looked at Laurie and twisted her mouth. “Of course she’ll come. She’s afraid of what I’ll do if she doesn’t. Trust me, she will stomp through that door within five minutes. Now, let’s smile and be friendly.” Esther returned to scooping food onto her plate. “I just love quiche, but what’s a lunch without bagels?”
***
Becky
Becky pushed the end call button, shoved the phone back into her bag, and raised her arm to signal to the bartender. The tired-looking, middle-aged bartender walked over to her.
Becky held out her empty rocks glass. “Give me another.”
The bartender shifted on his feet. “Lady, it’s none of my business, but since you’re my only customer, I couldn’t help overhearing. I gather you are supposed to be at bridal shower for your kid’s future wife. Why are you sitting here?”
Becky sneered and shook her glass.
“You and I are old enough to know that when it’s your kid--well, it’s your kid. Don’t mess up. It’s easier to bite your tongue than it is to live without your kid.”
“Excuse me, I don’t recall asking for advice, just scotch.”
“You’re right, you didn’t ask, but unfortunately, in my old age, I’ve developed a conscience. I don’t want to go home tonight wishing I had said something. I’m paying dearly for my own mistakes. You need to get up and go to that shower, or I’ll bore you with my story.” The bartender shook his head. “Don’t hurt your kid.”
“Ah, shit,” Becky replied, slamming down the glass and gathering up her purse. She looked at the bartender and his flat expression. “Fine, I’m going.”
***
Naomi
On Monday morning, Naomi stared at her computer monitor, thinking about the weekend. Fortunately, the shower was saved when Becky arrived breathless, claiming to have missed the exit off of Route 79. Maria’s mother bought the story. Maria didn’t, but she had the class to let it go.
On Naomi’s desk sat a stenographer’s pad covered with her shorthand notes. Some days she really regretted taking that shorthand class in high school. Back then, she thought it necessary skill for a journalist, who needed to take down information fast. Instead, it turned out to be the death of her career dreams. She didn’t like transcribing notes, but opened a new Word document anyway.
The blank document made her think about Aaron and his challenge to write something--anything. She wondered. She wished she could. Instead, she pulled the steno book closer and began transcribing the boring meeting notes.
She finished a half-hour before lunch time and checked her cell phone. There was a text message. She opened it, expecting something from Ezra. Instead, she saw the name, Aaron.
Sorry, I shouldn’t have walked out. If you just want friendship, I’ll try to live with it.
Naomi bit into her bottom lip. What did she want? Why was he offering anything? She wasn’t in his league. When they were young, they both had big dreams. He achieved his, and she gave up. Naomi inhaled and looked around the office. Maybe it was time for a change. Maybe, deep down, she still did have the ability to write something people would want to read. But she knew this wasn’t the real reason she held back. It was time to stop lying to herself. When she was with him, the hole in her heart disappeared. She missed being in love, and she absolutely missed sex. It was impossible to think about Aaron without quivering with lust. Yes, the possibility of the relationship ending with a crash into a brick wall existed. But maybe, the bricks were fake, made from a spongy material like in the movies--a theatrical illusion. Maybe her fear was just an illusion.
She glanced down at her hands, gripping the phone in her lap, and felt something new. Her fingers began hitting the buttons. No, I’m sorry. I panicked. Can we pretend that dinner never happened? Will you forgive me if I write something and submit it on time, professor?
She smiled to herself as she hit the send button. Maybe second chances existed.
Moments later the phone rang, not Aaron, but Miriam.
“Naomi, I bought the most stunning dress for the wedding. Please, stop by after work, I’m dying to show it to you. What are you wearing?”
Naomi rolled her eyes. Dresses were the last thing she wanted to think about today. She needed to focus on a story idea. “Sure, Miriam. I’ll stop by on my way home, but I don’t have much time.”
“No problem. What are you wearing?”
“Miriam, I haven’t even thought about it.”
“Well, you better think about it. The wedding is two weeks away. I’ll let you get back to work. See you soon. Tootles.”
Ugh, Dresses cost money. She didn’t want to think about money. She returned her phone to her bag.
***
Naomi stopped at Miriam’s house and confirmed that the dress was, in fact, stunning--seven hundred and forty-eight dollars’ worth of stunning. The visit ended up lasting an extra hour due to Miriam’s insistence that Naomi go closet shopping. Miriam had always been skinny and the post-divorce Naomi matched her, protruding bone to protruding bone. The only problem was the length. At five feet seven, Miriam towered over Naomi.
“Have it cut down. I don’t care. I’m not going to wear it again,” Miriam said, standing in her bra and underwear, examining the dress. “The color is perfect for you. Makes your eyes look...I don’t know the word. Doey, that’s the word. In that dress, you don’t look as cold.”
“Gee, thanks. You think I look cold.” There were occasions when Naomi really detested Miriam’s lack of brain-mouth filter.
Miriam pulled her jeans on and buttoned her blouse. “Yeah, now that I think about it, since Jake left, you wear too much black. It’s not really your color. This dress is your color.”
Naomi did a slow turn in front of the full length mirror and couldn’t lie to herself. It was the most beautiful thing she had put on in years. The fabric felt sensual against her skin. A moment later, she shook her head. The cost of alterations exceeded her budget.
She let the dress slip to the floor. “I can’t take it.”
“Yes, you can.” Miriam picked up the dress and hung it on the hanger. “And, you are.” She pulled the plastic over the length and thrust it at Naomi. “Take it.”
Naomi really wasn’t in the mood to argue. She just wanted to go home and think about story ideas. “Fine.”
Naomi drove the short distance, occasionally glancing at the expensive, slinky, salmon colored fabric draped over the passenger seat.
She exited the garage and stepped into Ezra’s man cave. The elegant dress shrouded in clear plastic hung over her arm. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t think of one decent explanation to give to Miriam when she showed up at the wedding dressed in something old and, of course, black.
The man cave looked like--the home of--cavemen. She glanced around the room and smiled. At last, the answer to the missing cereal bowls mystery. There must have been five of them littering the floor and ottoman, which served as a coffee table for teenage video game addicts. She set the dress over the arm of the sofa, began gathering the remains of the cereal festival and hummed.
Her thoughts kept returning to the dress. It had been so long since she wore something sexy. It was amazing how dramatically a simple dress could alter self-perception. Maybe, just this once, splurging for the alterations would be a good investment. She set the bowls on the ottoman, turned around, and headed back into the garage.
As Naomi slid into the driver’s seat, her cell phone buzzed. A text from Aaron. Does this mean sex is back on the table? :)
She smiled and typed. On the table, under t
he table, beside the table...
She was still smiling when she walked into the tailor shop. She put on the dress and climbed onto the old milk crate her tailor, Tony, used as a platform. He pinned up the bottom four inches. “Naomi, this fabric is fantastic.”
The words were difficult to understand. Tony’s words often sounded like gibberish when his thick Italian accent combined with his habit of speaking with a mouthful of straight pins.
“This dress is so sexy, and the color is perfect for your skin tone. I would kiss you and try to take you home in this dress.”
“Thanks, Tony,” she replied, wondering what was it with her and gay men.
“Turn around.”
She obeyed his instructions and caught a glimpse of herself in the full length mirror hanging on the wall. Her heart did a little leap. Tony wasn’t lying. The dress looked stunning. It clung around her middle and hip area, emphasizing her still flat stomach and draped over her breasts, giving them the appearance of being more voluptuous than the reality hiding under her padded bra.
Tony stood and began grabbing at the fabric under her arms. “It is good in all of the right places. You can pick it up next Monday.”
She handed him her Visa and surprised herself by not cringing. He made a few more comments about the luxury of the fabric. She smiled as she signed the credit card receipt. Before walking out the door she took another glance at the dress. The color, backlit by the sun shining through the plate glass reminded her of another dress...
The Kiddush Ladies Page 18
