Bess and Frima

by Alice Rosenthal

  Nevertheless, well before her test results came back, Frima had shed her initial dismay and had so settled the issue with herself that she knew she’d be disappointed if she weren’t pregnant. After all, what could be more special, more affirming of the love between husband and wife? Starting a family—this was what marriage was all about, wasn’t it? And the timing? Was it so bad? Not at all.

  “Healthy as a horse,” the doctor informed her, “the picture of a young expectant mother, though you could afford to gain a few pounds. You can start eating for two—I’ll tell you when to stop.” It was standard patter but very reassuring to Frima. Everyone will be proud of me, and I’ll be everyone’s pampered darling, she thought, secretly delighted.

  “And when will the baby be born?”

  “First week in November, though it may be a little later. First babies sometimes are.”

  Frima nodded and smiled. I don’t suppose you could make that January, she thought, but said nothing. That’s between me and the baby. And now for Jack. She’d wait until they were in bed, she decided. She already knew it was there that she would have the most influence.

  “You can forget those for a while,” she said, when she saw Jack fumbling in the bedside drawer. “We won’t need them.” She smiled at his quizzical look, and said gently, “I’m already pregnant, you see.”

  A brief but excruciating silence followed while Jack erased dismay from his face and substituted a tentative smile.

  “How? When?”

  “You know how. When, I couldn’t say exactly. You’re not unhappy are you?” (Oh, come on, Frima, how did you feel when you first suspected this?)

  “Just give me a minute, honey. This is quite a surprise. I thought we’d wait a while.”

  “So did I, but—”

  “But it looks like our kid can’t wait to be born,” he said grinning at her. “I admire his determination.”

  “It may be a her, you know.”

  “Determined, like her mother, which is okay with me.”

  She was keenly relieved and felt a burst of love for him. He was taking it like a man. Why did she ever think he wouldn’t?

  They told only Mama; the rest of them could wait.

  “It’s maybe a little early, but I don’t argue with this kind of joy, whenever it comes.”

  “We were kind of surprised ourselves,” Frima admitted.

  “Oh, I wasn’t,” said Mama. “And it all works out very well, in fact. The baby can have my room. When I baby-sit, I can sleep on the couch.”

  “What are you talking about? This is your place. We are not going to turn you out of your own home.”

  “You’re not. It’s not only work that brings me back to the hotel so often. I have an intended, you know, and we’re planning to make it official pretty soon now.”

  “Leon?” Frima asked carefully.

  “Who else?”

  “Well, I knew you were friends, but—I must be an idiot—I mean, I really didn’t pay too much attention. Too wrapped up in my own life, I guess.”

  “We were not particularly interested in your noticing. The second time around for both of us should be a quiet event. Besides, I didn’t want to steal your thunder.”

  Oh, really? Frima was skeptical of her mother’s modesty, but good humouredly so. She felt an accord with her mother that had too often been missing in this crazy year.

  She waited another two weeks before saying anything to Beth. It was all very well to tell herself that it was wise not to tell people too soon. But Beth wasn’t exactly people; she was her best friend and now, of course, sister-in-law. The thing was, she felt uncomfortable giving her this news. All that talk they used to have about doing creative, original things with their brains, talents. Marriage and children could wait, blah, blah, blah. What of all that? How much time had she spent at the piano since the advent of Jack? Why, she’d barely listened to any serious music. And with a baby? Was she kidding? Beth was braver and more true to her art than she, Frima, would ever be.

  Then there was her own hoity-toity response to Beth’s urgings about birth control. She had actually felt a little superior because Jack was taking care of things, taking care of her, and she was happy to let him do so. That way their sexual life could be romantic, spontaneous. She could tell herself she was swept off her feet. She didn’t have to worry about any of the un-fastidious, unromantic details of lovemaking, like Beth did. And so she was pregnant, and Beth was not. Beth was out there chasing her dreams.

  Oh, Frima was happy she was pregnant. She really couldn’t help it. She was eager for her still-flat belly to grow and announce her achievement to the world. But when she thought of Beth, there was this nagging guilt that she, Frima, would be a disappointment to her, someone who had capitulated too soon. She saw with a momentary clarity that, being pregnant, she didn’t have to put her talents, her ambitions, to a test. She could relax into the sheltering arms of her immediate family, let nature take its course, and put her other dreams on the back burner.

  Okay, enough stalling. She picked up the phone and called Beth.

  “Are you sitting down? Congratulations, you’re going to be an aunt.”

  “What are you talking about? Who? Jack?”

  “Who else, you pinhead?”

  “Of course, sorry, but I’m barely used to your being a married lady, yet. And you’re happy about this, right? I can hear it in your voice.”

  “I am. I’m very excited.”

  “Well, then, I’m happy too. Wow, Aunt Bethie, I like the sound of that. And Jack?”

  “Ready to hand out cigars, like a proud papa!”

  “Now, that I’d like to see. He is one appealing guy when he’s feeling good, isn’t he?”

  An odd thing to say, Frima thought, but nothing she could argue about.

  “Uh-huh. And you can tell Vinny.”

  “Will do—he’ll be very happy for you, I know. He’s not exactly an uncle, but he’ll act like one, if he’s allowed to.”

  “Absolutely, and any time,” Frima said heartily. She’d handle Jack if there were problems.

  “The grandmothers, I take it, are thrilled, which is all to the good. My mother, she’ll be so wrapped up in her grandchild it’ll take the pressure off me to reproduce. The grandfather? Well, too bad he doesn’t know what joy means.”

  “I suspect that’s true, but the great-grandfather is delighted; never thought he’d live to see the day—you get the picture.”

  “So, when’s the happy arrival?”

  “Oh, around December.” Frima knew her tone was vague, a little too casual.

  “Not quite sure, are you?” Beth said good-naturedly.

  Frima, feeling relaxed again, didn’t bother to respond. “So how’s with you?”

  —

  They were in the country again, back at Eisner’s and preparing for the season. Mama and Jack were frantic with responsibilities, while Frima felt far less so. Mama stopped rushing in and out of her office to watch Frima as she walked up the steps to the porch.

  “Now look at you! You have that proud, yet careful, walk of a woman expecting, like you’re carrying something oh so precious and fragile—which you are. I love to see it. Why, you’re positively blooming. Not the least pale and tired. And didn’t I say it would get better?” Mama smiled. She seemed to be smiling all the time these days.

  Frima smiled back. Gone were those first months when it was an effort to get herself out of a bathrobe she was so tired; and the nausea, the morning sickness made her think the cool rims of the sink or toilet were the only places she could lay her head. Now it had all passed, and in the middle months of her pregnancy, she was filled with a sense of well-being and self-importance, more like a shared self-importance really: she and the baby. She savored the attention and smiles she received up here at the hotel where she was the only pregnant woman. Not only Jack but the hotel guests and staff were tender and solicitous. Full of advice, comfort, and happy-ever-after stories. Now she lay back on the long cushi
oned porch swing, listening to the music on the radio in Mama’s office. It came through the window, just loud enough for her to hear every note if she concentrated. The baby kicked energetically. “Do you hear that, baby? That’s Beethoven, one of his early string quartets. Isn’t he wonderful? Listen carefully to this last movement.” She talked a lot to her baby these days, and took any opportunity she could to expose her unborn child to this special world she, herself, loved. There might be something, after all, to prenatal influences.

  Mama came out to the porch and joined Frima on the swing, lifting her daughter’s feet into her own lap to make room. She gently massaged Frima’s feet as she spoke. “Frima, darling, you know we talked about you and Jack taking over the apartment in the Bronx when the baby comes. Well, maybe you can move in a little earlier. I’ve decided to stay up here after the season. I’m sending you and Jack home with the car, so you can easily get back and forth from here to the Bronx. A young couple needs some privacy. So now that you’re feeling good, I’ll stay up here with Grandpa, and with Leon, of course.”

  “Are you going to get married here?”

  “Well, yes, eventually. We thought early spring. We’re in no hurry—after all I’m not pregnant.”

  “And you’re hinting not so subtly that I had to get married in a hurry?”

  “Darling, you started throwing up only a few days after you were married, and it’s a little soon to be feeling all that kicking. But don’t worry. Nobody’s counting. By the beginning of November I’ll be ready to come down and help you when the baby comes.”

  “December, you mean.”

  “November. I’ll wager you an ice cream soda.”

  “At Krum’s, on the Grand Concourse?”

  “It’s a bet,” said Mama.

  CHAPTER 18

  “A Broadway for me,” Mama said, wasting no time. “That’s coffee ice cream and chocolate soda, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the waiter replied. “And for the young lady?”

  “The same—no, make it vanilla ice cream for me.”

  “Double scoops and extra whipped cream, please,” Mama added. “And oh—I almost forgot—the check goes to the little mother. I mean, the young lady.”

  Frima grinned. “Go on and rub it in a little more.”

  “Ah, well, it isn’t often a mother is proved right these days. Well, we might as well enjoy these goodies while we can. If we get into this war, who knows? Rich cream will probably be hard to come by.”

  They were silent for a moment, the almost obligatory silence that followed mention of the looming war.

  “Of course, I’m surprised that a daughter of mine would choose vanilla when there is coffee or chocolate available. So bland!”

  “Vanilla is the choice of the discerning palate,” Frima answered, burlesquing an upper class accent. “Don’t you know, Mother, that professional ice cream tasters always choose vanilla to determine quality. Now, you want to talk about bland? I’ll tell you what’s bland—that music someone is listening to on the radio.”

  Krum’s was quiet this early on a Sunday afternoon, its seemingly endless soda fountains and seductive display counters relatively empty, and they could hear a sentimental foxtrot wafting from the tinny radio in the back rooms, hidden from the customers. The waiter, bringing their sodas had overheard them.

  “Does the music bother you? I can ask them to turn it off.”

  “No, it’s fine, thank you,” mother and daughter answered almost as one. They were old hands. They knew how important a little entertainment was to kitchen workers.

  “‘Sammy Kaye’s Sunday Serenade,’” said Frima with a little smile. “My mother-in-law likes to listen to it. She’s probably listening right now, while the baby is sleeping. What’s that crooner singing? ‘The Shrine of Saint Cecelia?’ Oy vey, she’ll love that!”

  “Better Sarah should listen to Danny Kaye.”

  “I thought you didn’t like Borscht Belt comedians.”

  “Not true, I like anyone with talent. I just don’t want to hire any of them. But on second thought, he’s such a fast talker, I don’t know if Sarah would understand his patter. Perhaps it’s better if she listens to ‘Soothing music for a Sunday afternoon.’ That’s what Sammy himself says, so let’s just blend him into this soda shop atmosphere.”

  They sipped their sodas slowly, stirring the ice cream around to make it last, and slipping into a comfortable silence. Frima sat back savoring the quiet of the place. It must be around two, she thought. All the crowds at the Loew’s Paradise for the matinee will come rushing through those doors in a couple of hours and the place will be jammed far into the evening. She smiled, thinking of the Loew’s Paradise, the Grand Concourse’s answer to the downtown movie palaces. Its most celebrated feature was a high-domed ceiling displaying a firmament with blinking stars and gently moving gauzy clouds. Very romantic. The ultimate Saturday night date for the Bronx teenager was a double feature at the Paradise and an ice cream soda at Krum’s. But Frima hadn’t known any boys rich enough to treat a girl to such luxuries. Still, it was the ultimate treat for kids, too, a reward for good report cards or to celebrate birthdays. How much fun it would be if she and Mama could just go across the street and catch a double feature at the Paradise, as if she were a little girl again. But she had her own little girl now—Lena, beautiful and demanding—and she couldn’t possibly leave Sarah with the baby that long.

  Lena. A lovely name. It had just popped into her head, and she knew instantly it was right. The baby was named for Papa. Jack and Frima had agreed that if it were a girl it would be Frima’s choice, Jack’s choice if it were a boy. Papa’s name, Lou, brought to mind Louisa. Frima was partial to feminine names ending in a, but it also conjured up Louisa May Alcott, which was unfortunate. Not that Frima hadn’t loved her books, but she envisioned the writer as lean, dark, somewhat homely, and constricted by her life in the last century. Frima’s baby had been beautiful from the start. Everyone said so, of course, but Frima could see how true this was. Yes, it was a musical name, Lena, lilting, whimsical. So fitting for this peaches-and-cream beauty. Her skin was neither rashy nor irritated, her head a pretty shape, and she was long and filled out (not like some of those wrinkled monkeys). Supposedly this was because Frima had an unusually fast and easy labor for a first-time mother. Or so they told her; she hadn’t been aware of much at the time. The baby had practically popped out as if she couldn’t wait to get out of there, yelling her head off to let everybody know about it. Frima was in total agreement with her. Big, beautiful, and brash, this child would prove to anyone who bothered to think about it that she was full term.

  Then came the days in the hospital, with nurses bringing the baby to her at exact intervals, instructing her about bottles and formula, lecturing about “regular schedules for baby,” and sterilizing practically everything. All those rules and regulations, the timing of everything, it all seemed positively nuts. Frima had seen calves born and raised at the farm. They nursed when they were hungry and mama cow ate placidly or gently butted the calf away when it was annoying her, and the calf didn’t expire because the barn wasn’t as sanitary as an operating room. Yeah, yeah, no one had to remind her that human infants weren’t as developed as calves at birth and were much more fragile and precious. But still, it was food for thought. Secret thought. She had thought about nursing, but she found no encouragement for this at the hospital—quite the opposite—so she was quick to give it up and accept without protest the advice of the medical profession and government pamphlets.

  Both she and Jack were baby-obsessed, naturally, and were weary from interrupted sleep. Every too-early morning was greeted by schedules tacked up on the kitchen walls, bottle sterilizers on the stove. The apartment always seemed steamy and too warm, even though Mama had given them a diaper service, thank God. Jack, who had not had the privilege of almost endless prenatal advice from the ladies in the neighborhood and postnatal lectures from hospital personnel, was more nervous and over-caut
ious than Frima, and very likely just as tired. It wasn’t easy trying to study and work with an infant in the house. For once, both new parents were truly glad to have Sarah so close by.

  “These hotsy-totsy rules and schedules—meshugge!” said Sarah. Mama, more subtle, simply nodded and raised her eyebrows.

  Grateful as she was for the help, these exchanges made Frima cross. It was irritating to have her own rebellious thoughts so openly expressed. She, who needed to do everything science and the medical profession advised in these critical first weeks. Besides, Jack, the science lover, would have been far too uncomfortable with anything else.

  And then there was this secret Frima had: she knew in her heart that she would never qualify as mother of the year. Oh, she would cherish and defend her child to the death, all right, but that seemed to have more to do with biology than conscious thought or feeling. Some of the time she was positively entranced with her baby; when Lena slept, or even more so when she was full and content, busy flailing her arms and legs around and producing sweet little noises for her own purposes and amusement, or looking ridiculously critical and deep in thought when she focused on Frima’s face. But there were other times when the infant was a demanding little tyrant that sucked in formula with the sole purpose of producing pee and poop from the other end. And she was barely five weeks old. How long would Frima have to be imprisoned by the four Ps as she thought of them: pee, poop, park, and playground? The fifth P was, of course, the piano, and had nothing to do with imprisonment. It was her release, but it was reduced now to a half hour, if she were lucky, between the demands of her baby and her overworked student husband.

  “Now what is all this hubbub?” Mama broke into Frima’s thoughts. They both looked around, startled by a roar from the back of the place and seeing waiters, soda jerks, and customers rushing toward the sound of the radio. The waiter hurried to their table.

  “Did you hear? The Japs have bombed Pearl Harbor!”