Claire Voyant

by Saralee Rosenberg

  How could our two families be so different? The Fabrikants’ hearts were humming like finely tuned engines, while my family was hopelessly disengaged. That’s when I realized I had to do whatever I could to comfort them. This kind of profound love and devotion should be celebrated, and I, Claire, was going to help, even if I had to lie about what really happened on their patriarch’s final journey.

  Unfortunately, each time I deceived Ben and Drew, I realized that the key to being a better-than-average liar was having a great memory. But I have Nouns Disease. Difficulty remembering persons, places, or things.

  So although we were sipping iced lattes at Starbucks, I was in a sweat. They wanted details. Had Abe said anything about not feeling well? Did he eat his snack? What was he reading? Did he happen to mention if he was happy in his new assisted living center? He wasn’t one to complain. Did he show her pictures of his five grandchildren and two great-grandchildren?

  Big problem. How would I remember everything that I was making up on the spot? It was hard enough remembering things that actually happened to me. On the other hand, thanks to my acting talent, I was a better liar than I thought. I not only answered their questions with a straight face, I concocted cute little stories, making it sound as though Abe and I had connected like dots.

  In fact, Ben and Drew were ecstatic when I told them how he had helped me finish the Times’ crossword puzzle in under an hour. They had no idea that he’d even liked crossword puzzles, but I said he’d mentioned that it was his favorite thing to do because it kept his mind sharp.

  Mind you, I hadn’t worked on a crossword puzzle since I was eight. So who knew if taking an hour to complete one meant we were qualified to join Mensa, or were borderline retarded? All I knew was that Ben was deeply moved. “My old man never ceased to amaze me,” he cried.

  Understand that this was difficult work, lying. At any moment I could mention something that would blow my cover. Reveal myself for the fraud that I was. My only hope was that in their fragile state of mind, anything suspect I said would bypass their antennas.

  Turns out I liked Ben and Drew. They were sweet and funny, and it would be the easiest thing to fall in love with either one. As I listened to their wonderful stories about Abe, and watched their eyes well up each time they realized that he was gone, I fantasized about which one would I prefer to date. The suave, handsome older man who appreciated the seductive qualities of moonlight and love songs? Or the young devil with bedroom hands who could get creative with whipped cream?

  I know. I have a really sick mind. These poor men were in mourning, and all I could think about was indulging my fantasies. But what stopped the ride on the love train were the constant interruptions.

  First an airline representative informed us that we’d been booked on the next flight to Miami, with Mr. Fabrikant’s white cardboard casket to be placed in cargo. It was a somber moment, but one we had anticipated. Then there was a barrage of calls.

  I heard from my mother, who had just heard from her mother, and was it true that an old man on the flight died on my lap, and did American plan to refund my airfare because I’d been so inconvenienced? “My friend Paula got two free tickets after their dog died on a United flight.”

  My father called to urge me to be careful about what I told the family, because if they sued the airline for negligence, they’d call me as a material witness, and I’d have to fly back and forth to Florida to testify. “I’m telling you right now, Claire. Once they subpoena you, you’ll be tied up in litigation for years.”

  My friend and former roommate, Sydney, called to see how my ass audition went, only to hear my strange tale and offer me advice. “Engaged means shit. If you like this Dr. Drew character, slip him your number. Maybe it’s an on-again-off-again-type thing.”

  But from what I could tell, the fiancée seemed to have a pretty good grip. She must have called six times in a half hour, and each time he ended the conversation with an “I love you.” Although by that last good-bye, he reminded me of a smitten Mr. Movie Fone. Robotic devotion.

  The best call, however, came from Ben’s sister in California, who had just heard the devastating news and was preparing to fly home. I could only hear his side of the conversation, naturally, but when I heard the words postproduction and director, my curiosity was piqued. Was his sister in the business?

  “This must be so hard for you,” I sighed. “But at least you have family to help you through. Is your mother alive?”

  “No,” Ben sighed. “I guess you could say we’re orphans now.”

  “So it’s you, Charlotte in New York, and the sister who just called from California?”

  “Impressive.” Drew smiled. “It took me much longer to get the family straight.”

  “His mother was a young widow when we got married…. Buthe’s been my son from the day I held him…and my father was crazy about you. Right, Drew?”

  “That was my Pops.” His eyes glazed.

  I nodded sympathetically, too, but my mind was racing. “So, Ben. Your sister in California? Where does she live? It’s funny, because I just moved back from there.”

  Ben looked at Drew.

  “Uh, she’s in Southern California.” He cleared his throat. “But she also has a home here.”

  Bingo. Anyone who could afford two houses located in the priciest parts of the country had to be in the business.

  “That’s so funny,” I said. “I lived in Southern California. Just outside of Santa Monica, actually. I’m an actress. Well, I was. I’m sort of in between gigs right now. That’s why I moved home. But no kidding. One call from the coast, and I’d never look back.”

  “I thought you looked familiar,” Drew said.

  “Really? Because I felt the same about you. As soon as I saw the two of you it was like, whoa, where do I know them from?”

  “I know what it is.” Drew snapped his fingers. “You remind me a little of my Aunt Penny. Don’t you think, Dad?”

  Ben studied my face. “Maybe a little. It’s hard to say.”

  “Is she the aunt from California?”

  “Yeah. Although she’s a lot older than you, of course,” he replied. “I don’t know. It’s just something about your eyes….”

  Suddenly Ben stood and looked at his watch. “We should go check on our flight. Drew, you check to see if our tickets are ready. I’ll go back downstairs and make sure everything is set with…Dad. Claire, why don’t we meet up with you in a half hour by the gate?”

  “Fine. It’ll give me time to make some calls…. I was supposed to have this go-see at a modeling agency in South Beach.”

  “They’d be crazy not to hire you.” Drew winked.

  “Let’s go.” Ben hustled his demonstrative son out. “See you in a few, okay?”

  “You bet.” I waved.

  What just happened? All I did was ask a simple question about Aunt Penny, and off they went. Think. Who could it be? Penny Marshall? Puh-leese. I’d be really upset if Dr. Drew thought I looked like her. Penny Danziger, the president of Red Lion Pictures? No way. She was a beautiful girl, but from the Philippines. Penny Nichol? Now, that would be incredible. And come to think of it, until she had that last face-lift and came out looking like Alien Joan Rivers, people told me how much I resembled her. But how could she be related to the Fabrikants? By their name I knew they were Jewish. But Ms. Nichol? Definitely not a member of the tribe.

  My thoughts were interrupted by yet another call, and to my surprise, it was Grams. Until now she’d refused to dial my cell. Once Dan Rather reported cell phones were the leading cause of brain cancer, that was it.

  “There’s zero risk if you’re the one on the regular phone,” I would remind her.

  “So what’s with the dead guy?” she asked.

  “He’s still dead,” I laughed. And thanks for your deep expression of sympathy. “But I’m on a one-fifty flight, so figure by the time I get my bags, a cab, and stop at the modeling agency, I should be to you around seven-thirty, eight.
”

  “Oy. So late? What should I do with the meatloaf?”

  Do you really want me to answer that? “Freeze it, maybe? I’m not very hungry.”

  “Anyway, Rose down the hall asked me to ask the man’s name who died. She wants to make sure it’s not her cousin Sol, ’cause he was flying back from New York today, too.”

  “Nope. This man’s name was Fabrikant. Abe Fabrikant.”

  “Wadjasay?”

  Turn up your hearing aid. “Abraham Fabrikant.” I spoke louder. “From Miami.”

  Silence was followed by three oy vey is mer’s.

  “What’s the matter, Grams?”

  “Oy yoy yoy yoy yoy…. Gutenu…vey is mer…”

  “Enough with the oying already. Did you know him?”

  “That stupid son-of-a-bitch…. I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

  “Who is he…was he?”

  “I can’t say another word. Oy, oy, oy! I think I’m going to plotz! Of all people to die on you…. Claire, don’t say nothin’ to your parents about this, hear me?”

  “Okay, you’re starting to freak me out a little here. Are you saying we knew this man?”

  “And don’t talk to the family again. Zip your lip. You don’t know nothin’ about nothin’…. And let’s hope it stays that way.”

  Chapter 4

  I SWEAR TO GOD, MY GRANDMOTHER COULD BE A CHARACTER IN A BOOK. According to my mother, Roberta—her eldest, and consequently the one who has had to live with her the longest—every day brought new battles with the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker. This one was a lousy son-of-a-bitch, and that one a narishkeit (yid-dish for “asshole”). And somebody was always trying to make a fool out of her, to which my Grandpa Harry would yell, “Believe me, Gert. You do that all on your own!”

  I had seen enough evidence growing up to suspect that between her long bouts of depression and her paranoid view of the world, Prozac would have been a helpful staple in her medicine cabinet. But in her day, who ever heard of being diagnosed with mental illness? People were written off as meshuginas. Oddballs you ignored when they started acting a little crazy.

  And, understandably, after the tragic death of her twenty-four-year old son Gary, she was even more difficult to deal with. She’d run to the cemetery every morning and curse God for sparing him from Vietnam but not keeping him out of harm’s way on the Long Island Expressway. Then she’d go to work and yell at the kids who came into their Valley Stream shoe store with no intention of buying.

  “Leave them!” Grandpa Harry would say. “Later they’ll come back with their parents.”

  My Aunt Iris and my mom pleaded with her to get help, but she’d go berserk at the mention of seeing a psychiatrist. “What’s to discuss? My only son is gone. Is he going to bring him back? No. So that son-of-a-bitch can rot in hell if he thinks he can sit on his fat heiny and judge me.”

  And so it went, until Gertie finally reached the age where craziness was standard fare, along with gout, arthritis, and high blood pressure. Particularly in Florida, where the state bird is a cuckoo.

  And even though her ranting and raving were annoying, and we dreaded taking her out in public (apologies to that nice waiter at the Cheesecake Factory who may never recover from being called a lazy fageleh whose brains fell out after poking all those holes in his head), it seemed like everyone else’s grandparents were just as crazy.

  That’s why the more I thought about her reaction to hearing the name Abe Fabrikant, the easier it was for me to blow it off. She was probably confusing the man with the son-of-a-bitch butcher in Canarsie from forty years ago who used to cheat by weighing the meat with the bones.

  Meanwhile, it was time to catch up with Ben and Drew, and although I felt out of sorts from all the stress and commotion, I hadn’t expected to start hallucinating. But as I got closer to the gate and saw Drew, arms around his sobbing father, I could have sworn I also saw the deceased hovering.

  I blinked a few times, but honest to God, I was looking right at Mr. Fabrikant. Surely his son and grandson were aware of his presence, as they were directly in his shadow. But something told me that this was my own personal aberration. My own exclusive sighting. Served me right for watching The Sixth Sense all those times. Now I was seeing dead people.

  “Boo!” I felt a tap on my shoulder.

  “Oh jeez!” I jumped. So this is what heart failure felt like.

  “Oh my God. It is you, right? Claire Greene?”

  “Julia?”

  “I can’t believe it.” She nodded like a bobble-head doll.

  “How are you?” I hugged her.

  “I’m sorry. Did I scare you? It’s just that I thought I recognized you over at Starbucks, but I wasn’t sure because it’s been like, what? Ten years? Anyway, I said to my mother, I think that’s my old friend Claire, from I.U. Mommy. Come over here. It was her…. What are you doing here?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. You?”

  “Well, my whole family was supposed to be getting together, then my dad got sick, and my sister couldn’t find anyone to watch her kids…. Wait. Are you on the flight to Kennedy?”

  “No. Miami. To visit my grandmother. I’m going to help her—”

  “Hello, darling.” Kiss kiss. “Look at you. Still looking like a sorority girl. Thin and gorgeous as ever. One day you have to tell me your secret.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Farber. You look great, too.”

  “So tell me, dear. How is your family? Are you married?” Detective Farber surveyed my ringless fingers.

  “Family is good, thanks, and almost.” I giggled like a schoolgirl. “I’m here with my fiancé and his father. They came to speak at this big medical convention.”

  “Oh my God. He’s a doctor?” Julia squealed. “That is so amazing. So is my fiancé, Joel Goldstone. He’s specializing in male infertility. He’s in this big practice in the city.”

  “Really? That’s unbelievable. Mine is a…brain surgeon.” You didn’t just say that. “So wait. Tell me again. Why are you here?”

  “Remember my little brother Jonathan?”

  “Sure.” The brat who stuffed the toilets with Play-Doh during parents weekend.

  “Well, he’s not little anymore. He’s six-three, and he graduated law school yesterday, and next month he’s moving back to New York to work down on Wall Street. Can you believe it?”

  “Yeah. It’s a shame you’re involved,” Mrs. Farber pouted. “He’d go wild for you.”

  Yup. The day just keeps getting better and better.

  “Claire? Come on.” I turned around and Drew was signaling me. “We really have to go.”

  “Drew, honey. Come over here. I have friends I want you to meet.” I prayed he couldn’t hear me.

  “Oh my God. That’s him?” Julia squealed. “He’s adorable. You must be so happy.”

  I looked over my shoulder, and miraculously he signaled that they were getting on the plane.

  “Damn! I guess he wants to get his father seated. We think he picked up a bug at the hotel or something. He wasn’t feeling well this morning…. Anyway, it was great seeing you.”

  “Well, hold on,” Julia said. “Let’s exchange e-mails. Or write down your phone number.”

  “Actually, I’m back home right now…until, you know, Drew and I finalize our plans.”

  “So wait. Do you still live in Plainview? Because do you remember my cousin, Elyce Fogel? She’s from there, too. In fact, weren’t you two really good friends at one time?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I don’t know if you heard, but she just got engaged.”

  “I did hear that, actually. I think to an Ira somebody.”

  “Right. Ira Berg. And it’s the most amazing thing, because he was one of Joel’s best friends at Cornell, and they just asked him to stand up at the wedding. So maybe when we get back, I’ll call you, and all of us can go out. Wouldn’t that be so much fun?”

  “Absolutely!” If I haven’t followed V
irginia Woolf into the River Ouse with rocks in my pockets.

  Just call me Pinocchio. I had lied more in this one morning than in an entire lifetime. And these weren’t just ordinary, everyday fibs like the kind that kept you out of trouble with your boss or your best friend. This was outright deception of mythical proportions.

  Not only had I befriended an elderly gentleman and convinced his family that he adored me, I was also engaged to a man I met an hour ago, who unbeknownst to him, had earned a medical degree, and was so respected in his field, he was speaking to colleagues at a convention.

  It made me wonder if I’d missed my true calling. Maybe I should have tried my hand at screenwriting instead of acting, as I certainly didn’t seem to be at a loss for material. But who was I kidding? I had gotten in way over my head with my Good Samaritan charade, and now it was spiraling out of control.

  It’s no wonder that by the second leg of my journey, I was feeling completely unhinged. My saving grace was that as a courtesy, American had bumped us up to first class, the free drink capital of the world. Ben and Drew downed vodka and tonics like they were pouring out of Buckingham Fountain. And on the other side of the aisle, I had requested three white wine spritzers and a straw.

  So you can imagine that when Ben dozed off and Drew leaned over to whisper something, I wasn’t my exactly on high alert. I was actually trying to nap myself, while trying not to drool with my mouth open. But when I heard him say the words “Aunt Penny” and “you’ll never guess,” I sat up.

  “Remember before when you asked about her, and my dad just got up and left?”

  I nodded.

  “It’s because he didn’t want to tell you who she is.”

  Well, thank you, Captain Obvious. “Are we talking America’s Ten Most Wanted list?”

  “No. Nothing like that.” Drew chuckled. “The thing is, she’s sort of a famous celebrity.”

  “Sort of? You mean it’s like a part-time thing?”

  “No, it’s definitely an all-the-time thing.”

  “So should we play charades, or can I start taking wild-ass guesses?”