“Be careful.” Simone touched my stomach. “That’s some virgin skin you’ve got there.”
Daniel was home by the time we returned from the beach. He insisted on making his special paella, so I took a long shower and spent extra time making my hair look nice. I was standing in front of the mirror in my bra and underpants when Simone appeared with a shopping bag. She took out a tube of mascara and some blue eye shadow and went to work on my upper lids. Then she brushed my lashes with her wand.
“There you go. You have eyes now,” she said.
She reached into the bag and produced a hot pink shirt with a brown and orange swirl design and a low neckline. “This will work.” She snapped my bra playfully. “But this needs to go.”
“I don’t know about that.” My breasts were small, but the rebbetzin had always complimented Tzippy and me on our modesty because we dutifully hid our bodies under baggy blouses and thick sweaters. I undid my bra tentatively. Simone made it into a slingshot and flung it into my laundry basket.
“Put these jeans on and try these platforms.” She tossed a shoe at me. “I think we’re the same size.”
The shoes felt heavy, and the heel was square and tall, maybe four inches. I wobbled around my room for a few minutes until I started to enjoy my new height.
“Let me introduce you,” she said as she ran down the hall. “May I present the lovely Barbara Pupnick,” she shouted from the kitchen. “Drum roll, please.”
Ollie thumped his hands on the table, and I walked carefully out of my bedroom so I wouldn’t trip. Daniel looked up from stirring his paella, and his eyes widened. I willed myself not to blush, but I couldn’t help it. The doorbell rang.
Simone looked at me mischievously. “We have a guest for dinner. His name is Brian.”
“His older brother and I were roommates at Berkeley,” Daniel said over his shoulder as he opened the door and hugged Brian. Brian was lanky and wore his black hair in a ponytail.
“Hey, man,” Brian said. “It’s been like forever.” He kissed Simone on the cheek, handed Daniel a bottle of wine, and patted Ollie on the head. “What’s up, little man?”
“Meet Barbara, Brian,” Simone said. “She’s our angel.”
“Hey, Barbara.”
Simone put Ollie to bed while Brian expertly opened the bottle of wine, explaining that he’d been waiting tables since high school. Simone sat me next to him, and he asked me all about Milwaukee as if it were some exotic African village.
After two glasses of wine, I regaled the table with an animated story about Samson the ape escaping from the Milwaukee zoo. I caught Simone and Daniel looking at me twice. Brian put his hand on my shoulder and said that he’d never met anyone like me before. Truth be told, I’d never met anyone like this me before.
I’d never met anyone like Brian before either. He told me all about how he was studying anthropology at UC Santa Cruz and how he liked that the university didn’t give out grades. After dessert, he yawned and said he had to “hit it.” He’d borrowed a car to come to dinner, and his friend needed it back.
“Thanks everyone for everything, man,” he said, shaking Daniel’s hand.
“Next time, crash here,” Daniel said.
“Goodnight, Barbara. ’Night, Simone.” Brian kissed each of us on the cheek.
As soon as he closed the door, Simone turned to me. “I think he was into you, Barbara.”
Daniel smiled. “Totally.”
My whole body blushed.
Under the covers that night, I imagined what it would be like to kiss Brian. I’d only been kissed once, during a game of Truth or Dare that Mira and I played with her cousins when we were fourteen. Her cousin Freddie, who had worse acne than mine, stuck his tongue down my throat until I thought I’d gag. His breath tasted like tomatoes. He grabbed my breast, but I shoved his hand away. That was it.
I imagined that Brian’s kisses would be smaller and dryer than Freddie’s, and then I thought about how embarrassing it was that Daniel had watched me flirt, and then before I could stop myself, I wondered what it would be like to kiss Daniel. I felt a surprising but sweet pressure between my legs. I opened my eyes and told myself that my fantasies were as harmless as my daydreams about Robert Redford after Mira’s parents took us to see Jeremiah Johnson, or about Grant, a dark-haired UWM student who helped my dad mow our lawn after he hurt his back. I listened to the sound of waves and Simone and Daniel giggling as they made their way to their bedroom.
17
Angie Dickinson is so fucking fearless,” Simone said as we huddled together on a damp March night, our eyes glued to the latest episode of Police Woman. Angie retrieved her pistol from her purse just in time to knock off a big thug wearing a light blue leisure suit.
“So are you.” It still gave me a jolt to hear Simone say the “f” word.
“I’m not fearless at all.” She sounded weary.
“You’re always so sure of yourself.”
“Angie’s fearless and lucky. She should have gotten knocked off by now.”
“But then there’d be no show.”
“True.”
I adjusted the blanket we’d thrown over our legs and took a sip of cocoa, hoping she’d confide in me about her fears.
She touched her flat abdomen. “Daniel and I haven’t been so lucky lately.”
Something I’d overheard the rebbetzin say to a congregant popped into my head. “You do your very best, and God will take care of the rest.” This seemed like the wrong thing to say to Simone, and I regretted my words as soon as they left my mouth.
“I don’t know about God, but maybe I’ll ask Marci to give me another reading.” Simone got up to turn off the television. She was so different from anyone I’d ever met that it was no wonder the rebbetzin’s words failed to comfort her. They still made sense to me in spite of everything that had happened.
I went into the kitchen and rinsed the pools of dark chocolate from the bottoms of our mugs. For the first time since I got back to San Diego, I missed home. The next evening was the first night of Passover, and my mother always made a big seder. She’d usually invite some of the Schines’ recruits, and we’d drink four whole glasses of the festive wine and belt out every verse of “Dayenu.” I’d lied to my father when he inquired about my Passover plans during our last phone call. I made up a story about Simone’s Jewish boss inviting us to his family’s seder, but truthfully, I didn’t have any place to celebrate the holiday. The Levensteins were clearly not an option after I’d run away from Sari and Benny at the mall.
April 5, 1975
B”H
Dear Tzippy,
I live with a Gentile family. Simone and Daniel and their little boy Ollie. They eat bacon and play music on their hi-fi, mainly albums by Jefferson Airplane, Janis Joplin, and Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. On Friday nights we watch reruns of a show called Bridget Loves Bernie about a Jewish man who falls for a pretty blond lady, kind of like my mom and the Shabbos goy, but reversed.
I’ve been someone else since I’ve been here, someone more beautiful and smart and useful. I still feel awful about missing your wedding. I know you’ll never forgive me. I hope you like being married.
Your best friend (?),
Barbara
I crumpled up the paper and tossed it in the trash.
The next morning Ollie helped me stir batter for banana pancakes.
“Surprise, Daddy!” he said when Daniel entered the kitchen. “We’re making you banana pancakes.”
Daniel scooped Ollie up and nuzzled his neck.
Simone walked in and kissed Ollie’s ear. “I’m working a double shift today, so I won’t see you until tomorrow morning.”
“Can I come with you?” Ollie asked, disappointed.
“No, big guy. I’d just want to play with you the whole time if I brought you to work with me.” Her eyes were puffy, the irises a muddy green.
“How soon?” Ollie pouted.
“One lunch and one dinner without me.”
“Ollie, we’re going to have the specialest day ever,” I said.
Ollie crawled into Simone’s lap and nestled his cheek against hers.
I gave them a few minutes before I presented him my plan for the day. “First we’re going to eat these delicious pancakes. Then we’re going to say goodbye to your mommy. And then we’re off to Point Loma to watch the surfers. You don’t like watching surfers much, do you?”
He pulled his head away from his mother’s neck and peeked at me with one eye.
“Nice work on the pancakes, guys,” Daniel said.
Ollie ate a few bites and went off to play with his Legos. Daniel and Simone exchanged sad looks, and he went to her and held her. “Next month,” I heard him whisper into her hair.
“Maybe,” she said, and then hoisted her backpack over her shoulder and left.
Daniel’s shoulders sagged as watched her go. “I’ll ride my bike to the store. You take the car.” He handed me his keys.
Remember, one lunch and one dinner without her, I wanted to say, but I just thanked him instead.
I drove Ollie to Sunset Cliffs, and we sat on a bench and watched the surfers negotiate the big waves. Every time a pelican flew over our heads, Ollie would quack and we’d laugh. We ate the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches I’d packed, and when we were done, he gave me a wet kiss, leaving a glob of strawberry jelly on my chin.
When Ollie grew restless, we drove to Ocean Beach and made a beeline for the candy store, where I couldn’t resist buying both of us grape lollipops.
“Where’s your mom?” the man with the handlebar mustache asked Ollie.
He looked down at the floor. “She’s working. She’s a nurse and she fixes people.”
“Well, your substitute mommy is very pretty too,” he said, and winked at me.
“How much do we owe you?” I asked, trying not to act as flustered as I felt.
“These are on the house.”
I put two quarters on the glass and thanked him, wondering if he really thought I was pretty or if he was just a flirt. We walked to the pier, licking our lollipops, and we took off our shoes and socks and played in the surf until our toes grew numb. I didn’t want Ollie to miss his nap, so I cajoled him into accompanying me to a grocery store that I’d noticed carried a few kosher items. I wanted to buy a couple of boxes of matzoh and some ingredients for dinner.
When we got home, Ollie danced to the Irish Rovers singing about unicorns and chimpanzees while I made my mom’s honey chicken, a big salad with apples and walnuts—a cousin, albeit twice removed, to the ritual charoset—and “kosher for Passover” popovers.
I startled when I heard Daniel walk through the back door. We’d been alone in the house before, but Simone could always have arrived at any minute. This felt different.
“Hi,” I said, buzzing around the kitchen. “Ollie, your dad’s home.”
Daniel knelt down to hug his son.
“You’re sweaty, Daddy.” Ollie touched Daniel’s cheek with his little hand.
“Hello to you, big guy.” He got up. “Something smells great.”
The kitchen was starting to smell like honey and garlic.
Daniel took Ollie to wash up while I set the dining-room table with bright yellow cotton napkins. My mother wasn’t a skilled cook, but she did know how to make the food look good, and she’d taught me how to garnish: red apples in the salad, parsley dressing the chicken, and the golden popovers nestled under a napkin in a basket. The presentation was so pretty that I wanted to take a picture.
Daniel came back with his wet hair grazing his shoulders. He wore a thick brown leather belt with the letters of his name etched into the back. “Excellent,” he said as he and Ollie sat down.
The three of us rarely ate dinner together without Simone. Ollie had taken only a short nap that afternoon, and he was so tired his head was almost falling in his plate. After he took a few bites, the phone rang.
“Do you think it’s Mommy?” He jumped out of his chair.
“Let’s see.” Daniel got up and answered the call in the kitchen. “Hey, babe. You’re just in time to wish your boy a good night,” he said. “Ollie, c’mere.”
“Guess what, Mom. Barbara took me to the candy store, and the funny-looking man told her she was a silly mom.”
Substitute. Substitute mom. I didn’t correct him. Substitute Simone. Daniel shot me a curious look, and I shrugged as if to say, Beats me.
“Here, she wants to talk to you.” Ollie handed the phone to Daniel and came back to the table. Daniel lowered his voice, and I told myself not to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help it. The kitchen opened directly into the dining area. “I’m sad too,” he said. He paused to listen to Simone on the other end, and then I heard him tell her not to give up.
“Eat a few more bites, big guy,” I said to Ollie, trying to drown out his father’s conversation.
A moment later, Daniel returned to the table. “Now let’s finish this beautiful food,” he said, but Ollie’s eyelids were drooping. Daniel picked him up and carried him off to bed. “Back in a minute,” he said.
I cracked the hard shell of a popover, releasing a cloud of steam that licked my cheeks. By now, our family seder would have ended.
Daniel came back and sat down. “I wouldn’t have thought to put walnuts and apples together like this,” he said, taking a bite of salad.
“It’s fake charoset,” I explained. “A ritual food for Passover.”
“Passover.” He smacked his head with his palm. “I forgot. I’m so sorry, Barbara.”
“It’s okay.” I’d asked for the night off so I could do something to honor the holiday, although I hadn’t known what that might be.
“We blew it. Is there something you need to do?” he asked with concern. “You know, for Passover?”
“Just have a seder,” I said.
He shook his head. “Yeah, a seder. God, Barbara, I’m really sorry.”
“This is close enough.” I was happy right where I was.
We ate without talking for a few minutes, and then he asked, “What exactly happens at a seder?”
“You tell the story of the Jews’ Exodus from Egypt,” I said and went on to tell him the entire story, complete with the ten plagues and the parting of the Red Sea, and an explanation of the items on the ritual plate. When I got to the part about the four cups of wine, he stopped me.
“Hold on a sec,” he said, returning with two wine glasses and a bottle of Burgundy. “Let’s do this right.” He poured and raised his glass.
I eyed the wine, thinking about how my parents used to drive all the way to Skokie to buy kosher wine. “No toasting on Passover,” I retorted.
“Why not?” He clinked my glass, and we laughed as if we were sharing a private joke. This wine was much stronger than the Manischewitz my parents poured for me, and before long, I started to feel tipsy.
We cleared the table and went to the living room. Daniel pulled out an album and we sipped wine and read the lyrics together. We sat side by side on the Persian carpet, our backs against the sofa. He brought one leg to his chest and dangled an arm over his knee. His fingers were long and tapered. We weren’t touching, but the heat of his outstretched leg warmed the side of my thigh.
“This is Lou Reed,” he said and proceeded to tell me about Lou’s friendship with Andy Warhol and how Andy manipulated the careers of artists who caught his fancy and how he told Lou Reed to write the song “Vicious.” Daniel used his hands a lot when he spoke, and he made this exotic world come alive for me. I pictured him describing his favorite book to a female customer who would stare dreamily at his Roman nose and eyelashes, a yard long.
“Do you like his music?” Daniel pointed to the stereo.
“Not sure yet.” I picked up the album and examined Lou’s photo. He looked like a cooler, clean-shaven version of one of Rabbi Schine’s brothers.
Daniel gazed at me. “Simone and I love that about you.”
“What?” Please tell
me more about what you love about me, I thought.
“You’re who you are,” he said softly, taking me in, making me feel both uncomfortable and treasured.
“Thanks. I should go to bed.” I had to leave, or I would say something foolish. The wine had made me sleepy, and that night I drifted off to images of Daniel and Moses wandering through the desert, snacking on honey chicken and manna sandwiches.
When I entered the kitchen the next morning, Simone and Daniel were hugging and Ollie had scooted between their legs and wrapped his arms around their knees.
“Family hug,” Ollie announced.
They parted, and I tried not to make eye contact with Daniel, who smiled warmly as if we’d never shared an intimate moment. Maybe we hadn’t.
Simone walked over. “Barbara. I’m an idiot. We totally forgot Passover. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“No, I’ve been too wrapped up in myself. I’m going to make it up to you, I swear.”
“You’ve been so good to me. Please, forget about it.”
After I went back to my room and showered, I found Simone waiting for me in the kitchen, keys in hand.
“I’m taking Barbara on an adventure,” she told Daniel.
“Simone’s a master at coming up with adventures,” he said.
“We’ll take your car, baby. Mine’s out of gas,” she said as we walked out of the house. “Hop in,” she said, and I did. She adjusted the rearview mirror, fiddled with the radio, and backed the car down the driveway while accompanying Elton John on “Bennie and the Jets.”
Halfway down the drive, she slammed on the screeching brakes.
“Shit.” She turned around. “I almost hit that dog.”
A bouncy black mutt had darted out from one of the two Torrey pine groves that bookended the house. A beleaguered-looking young woman pushing a buggy screamed, “Brandy, come back here! Brandy!”
Simone got out of the car and ran toward the woman. “Where’s her leash?”
The woman was holding the leash in her hand. “I was just about to put it back on. I’m so sorry.” The baby started crying. Simone leashed the dog while the woman knelt down and found a pacifier. She continued to apologize, but Simone just looked longingly at the baby and walked back up the driveway, waving her hand in the air.
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