Portraits

by Cynthia Freeman

  The bell kept ringing, and Sara stood at the top of the stairs wondering how long this was going to last…

  Finally Murial came in with Sid, and it was just in time. Going into the livingroom, she gathered everyone around. “Okay, now when the bell rings and Sylvia and Henry arrive, wait till Doris takes their coats and when they come into the livingroom everyone sings ‘Happy Birthday.’”

  From then on, everything went as planned. Sylvia and Henry arrived at seven-thirty, and Sylvia was genuinely surprised and pleased that the party was for her. She was aware as never before that she was still unmarried, especially after she excitedly opened the small box Henry gave her and found only a small rhinestone pin. But this was her birthday, and she was determined to have a good time with the family and friends who had thrown this party for her.

  Her surprise and good spirits set the party rolling. The Victrola started to play the latest dance tunes. Someone brought the records of that wonderful new singer, Bing Crosby, and before Doris could protest, the punch was spiked. She prayed mama wouldn’t ask for some if she came down. But on second thought, that was unlikely. Mama go off her diet? Not if she was entertaining the Prince of Wales.

  The sandwiches were quickly eaten, and the girls went into the kitchen to fix another batch while Doris stood sentry, making sure no one was smoking. The lights were dimmed, and since the livingroom wasn’t large enough for twenty people to dance at one time, a little heavy necking was going on in the corners.

  Pearl Grossman sat on the sofa with one dainty leg tucked under her, while Ben Schwartz groped for her lips. When he finally made contact, his breathing rasped as though he were having a sinus attack. As diplomatically as possible Doris asked if Pearl would be kind enough to keep her feet on the floor—a request that did not endear her to Ben Schwartz, who was just getting ready to thrust a sweaty palm inside Pearl’s bodice.

  The evening was far from enjoyable for Doris. She was so anxious for it to be a success, but her concern over mama’s instructions had made her a policeman rather than a hostess. Exhausted, she stood ladling out the punch…The hell with it, she thought, she was going to have a piece of cake—

  “Would you like to dance?” Henry asked.

  Doris looked around to see whom Henry was addressing, but it could only be her. Sylvia was dancing with Mel Harris, who was the only extra fellow. And Mel, like herself, was not exactly beating off the competition. He wore thick glasses and was much too thin for his height. He and she had become known as the fill-ins.

  “Would you like to dance, Doris?”

  She looked at him. He was five-feet-eight, one hundred and twenty-five pounds. She hadn’t weighed that since she was four. He had curly black hair and a neatly-trimmed mustache and a nice face with a sweet smile. Somehow he didn’t seem quite thirty-three tonight in the navy-blue suit and white shirt. Nor did he seem to feel particularly out of place although the other fellows were only about twenty-two. Maybe it was just the punch she’d had, but she felt that things were beginning to look up for her.

  “I’d be very happy to,” she told him. Damn right, she would…

  She found Henry’s arm around her waist, and they were, miracle of miracles, dancing. “You look lovely tonight, Doris.”

  It must be the dim lights, or maybe he was too vain to wear glasses and was stumbling through life. If he was, she sure as hell wouldn’t want him to take out her tonsils.

  “Thank you, Henry. It’s very nice of you to say so…”

  “Well, it’s true, and I’ve always thought so.”

  Maybe it was Henry who’d had too much punch. Or maybe men of thirty-three began to get senile. Now she was terribly embarrassed, and she repeated the same scintillating words. “Thank you, Henry—”

  “What are you doing tomorrow?”

  She stepped on his toe and immediately hoped she hadn’t broken it. He’d never be able to stand up in surgery on Monday. “I’m sorry, Henry—”

  “It didn’t hurt.”

  “I’m glad…”

  “Now about tomorrow. I’d like to take you out.”

  There must be a touch of insanity in his family. She glanced over at Sylvia, who was doing the rumba to a Paul Whiteman record. The Silvermans had been filling Sylvia’s hope chest for three years now so that she’d be ready at a moment’s notice if Henry should forget himself in a weak moment and ask her to marry him.

  “I don’t think so, Henry, really.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re engaged to Sylvia…”

  “Who said I was?”

  “Well, you’ve been serious for a long time.”

  “Serious? Who told you that?”

  “Well, haven’t you?”

  “Not to my knowledge…”

  Was it possible Sylvia had been keeping it a secret from him?

  “You’ve been going steady with Sylvia for three years, Henry,” she said indignantly.

  “Steady? I just take her out sometimes.”

  “Well, anyway, Henry, I just couldn’t.”

  “Because of Sylvia?”

  “Yes…Besides, Murial is my best friend and it wouldn’t be right.”

  “If I had had any intention of being serious with Sylvia, it wouldn’t have taken three years.”

  If Doris was ever grateful to her mother, it was at this moment, as she whispered in Doris’ ear, “It’s time to break up the party. Your father’s complaining about the noise.”

  “All right, mama…Excuse me, Henry.”

  Sara left and Doris went to find Murial. “Listen, my folks want us to call it a night. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, no problem, everyone wants to go to Checker’s for waffles anyway.”

  Murial got on mama’s chair, which almost made Doris faint, and announced, “All right, gang, the party’s over.”

  Doris was pleased with how well the party had gone. Mama and papa had been so decent. But now she was exhausted, and really happy to be free of Henry.

  “You’re coming, aren’t you, Doris?” Murial asked.

  “No, I don’t think so, Murial.”

  “Come on…”

  “No, really.”

  “Well, you’ve been swell. I can’t thank you enough…and Sylvia was so thrilled…”

  On the way out, everyone said the party was great, Doris had been great, the punch was great…

  Sylvia kissed her, then said, “I’ll never forget what a wonderful party it was. You’re a doll, Doris. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yes…goodnight, Henry.”

  “Goodnight. Sure you don’t want to come?”

  “Real sure, Henry, but thank you.”

  When the door closed she leaned against it, trying to remember what waffles tasted like with real butter and maple syrup. She dismissed the thought as she turned on all the lights and worked until four in the morning getting the house in order.

  She finally plopped into bed at four-thirty, thinking what a louse Dr. Henry Levin was. And he had to be the first man who had ever asked her out…

  It was ten o’clock in the morning when Lillian came into Doris’ room to announce: “Doris, get up. There’s a man on the phone who wants to speak with you.”

  She bolted up in bed. “And what’s his name?”

  “Dr. Levin.”

  She hesitated, then, “Okay, tell him I’ll be there in a minute—”

  She went to the bathroom to wash the sleep from her eyes and then walked wearily down the stairs and picked up the receiver. “I’m sorry but we already have a family doctor.”

  “Now that’s not very nice, Doris. I called to ask if I could take you out.”

  “The answer is still no, doctor.”

  “Listen, Doris, if I thought I was doing anything dishonorable I wouldn’t be calling. But I’m not going steady with Sylvia or anyone else.”

  “But you have been taking her out for three years—”

  “And several other girls as well. Sylvia knows that.”

&nb
sp; Doris paused, really wanting to accept the date but feeling very guilty about it.

  Lillian had been standing close enough to understand what was being talked about. She whispered, “Go, go…”

  Doris hushed her. She had to have time to think. “Call me back in half an hour. I just got up.”

  “Okay, in half an hour…”

  Doris padded into the kitchen, where mama was eating her grapefruit. She sat down, slumping forward with both elbows on the table, and wondered how mama could eat that without sugar.

  “I want to compliment you, Doris. The house was immaculate this morning. I was worried but I must say you handled it better than I ever would have thought.”

  Maybe mama was mellowing in her thin age. It was the first real compliment she could remember in a long time. “I appreciate your saying that, mama.”

  “Well, it’s true and I think the girls were wonderful to stay and help you, just as they promised.”

  “Oh, yes, they were terrific…”

  Taking a bite of grapefruit, Sara asked, “What’s wrong?”

  When Doris remained silent, Lillian answered for her. “This doctor wants to take Doris out and she doesn’t want to go—”

  “A doctor wants to take you out and you don’t want to go?”

  Doris glared at Lillian. “You’ve got a big mouth, Lillian. That’s one of your most unredeeming qualities.”

  Sara repeated, “Did I hear right? You don’t want to go out with a doctor?”

  “Well, yes…”

  “Why, do you have a date with Cary Grant?”

  “You don’t understand. Big Mouth here didn’t tell you he’s practically engaged to Sylvia Silverman.”

  “Practically! Instead of taking you to a doctor for your weight, I should take you to a doctor to have your head examined. What, you’re so popular you can turn down a date, and with a doctor?”

  “Mama, I just got through telling you—”

  “I know what you told me. But if he was so crazy about Sylvia he wouldn’t be calling you. How long have they been going together?”

  “Three years…”

  “Three years! My God, how could I have a daughter with so few brains? When a man wants to marry a girl, he doesn’t shlep around with her for three years.”

  “But Murial is my best friend and it wouldn’t be right…”

  “To hell with what would be right. Murial isn’t going to be your husband.”

  Doris was shocked. Husband? She hadn’t even been out with him…“Well, I’m not going.”

  “Yes, you are, Doris. You certainly are.” …

  When the phone rang, Doris told Lillian to tell Henry she was sick.

  “You go to that phone, Doris, and tell him you’d be happy to go out with him.”

  Doris sat looking at mama. God, hadn’t she ever heard of loyalty to one’s friends?

  “Well,” mama urged, “by the time you get to the phone, he’s liable to change his mind and ask Sylvia.”

  Let me make up my own mind, Doris thought, but she knew her mother wouldn’t give her a moment’s peace unless she went out with Henry. Impatiently, she picked up the receiver.

  “Hello, who is this?” As if she didn’t know…

  “Henry. Henry Levin.”

  “Oh. Yes, Dr. Levin?”

  “You told me to call back about today—”

  “What about it?”

  “As I said, I’d like to take you out. And I’m not going to say it again…”

  “Okay, Henry…”

  “What? Oh, good…What would you like to do?”

  “Anything…” What do you do with a man on a Sunday afternoon? Big Mouth Lillian. Mama always pushing. Poor Sylvia…“I don’t know, Henry, I suggest you suggest something.”

  “Well, I thought it might be nice to take a ride down the coast to Santa Cruz and have lunch.”

  Everything seemed to revolve around food. What would she do, sit there and watch? She was sure that after last night she must have put on easily nine pounds, which would bring her to one hundred and fifty-nine. God…but she had to give him an answer. “That sounds fine—”

  “What time can I pick you up?”

  In about twenty years. “Twelve will be all right?”

  “Great.”

  “Yes, great. Well, I’ll see you then.”

  “I’m looking forward to that, Doris…”

  The man was absolutely not well. “Thank you. At twelve then.”

  Doris turned around and saw her mother and sister standing behind her. Her mother was all smiles. The dialog must have gone exactly according to her script.

  “Oh, Doris,” she said, “I’m so thrilled. Now, let’s go upstairs and see what you can get into.”

  What a nice way to put it. Let’s see, out of my large wardrobe I think I’ll wear my simple little size-sixteen silk, the demure and adorable little dress that all the fellows at the Saint Francis so admired as they waited their turn to dance with me.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  AT TWELVE NOON ON Sunday, Dr. Henry Levin was invited into the livingroom to meet mama and papa and Lillian.

  “It’s a pleasure, doctor,” Sara said in her most gracious manner. He was good-looking, she noted with surprise, quite dapper in the white flannels and the double-breasted blue jacket. Imagine him asking Doris out…

  “And this is my father,” Doris said. “Papa, this is Dr. Levin.”

  Jacob shook hands, thinking that at least this one he could be proud of—not only Jewish but a doctor too. Doris should grab him. “Nice to meet you, doctor.”

  “Henry. It’s a pleasure, Mr. Sanders.”

  “The pleasure is mine…”

  I’ll bet, Doris thought. Hadn’t papa noticed he was a little bit old? Well, any port in the storm for little Doris. Papa had complained that Jim was too old for Rachel, but the eminent doctor was only ten years younger. Mama, on the other hand, never let the girls forget that she was only seventeen years older than Rachel. Well, at least the doctor had outdone mama; he was a mere child, only fifteen years Doris’ senior. “Henry, this is my favorite sister, Lillian.”

  Lillian ignored Doris’ sarcasm; after all, she had performed a mitzvah. “How do you do, doctor.”

  “Nice meeting you, Lillian. Please call me Henry.”

  Mama was right for once, Lillian thought. Doris should have her head examined. The doctor was handsome. He looked like Clark Gable. Well, sort of…

  Now that all the introductions had been made, Sara asked, like any normal Jewish mother, “When will you be back, Doris, dear?”

  “I don’t know. Does it matter—?”

  “No, only that I thought if the doctor—”

  “Henry.”

  “Yes, Henry. If you’d like, we’d be pleased to have you join us for dinner.”

  Well, mama didn’t waste any time initiating the doctor—Henry—into the intimacy of the Sanders’ close-knit family circle!

  “That’s really very nice of you, Mrs. Sanders.”

  “Sara…”

  “Sara. I’d like that, that is if Doris would.”

  Anything to bring a little sunshine into everybody’s life. “Sure, what time do you want us to be back, mama?”

  “Oh, would seven give you enough time?”

  “Oh, that’s more than enough time. Let’s make it six, mama.”

  “Then six…Have a lovely day, Doris…Henry.”

  “It’s been a pleasure meeting all of you,” Henry said.

  “The pleasure is ours.” Sara smiled, devoutly meaning it.

  When the door closed Sara took a deep breath. “If Doris could get a date, we’ll live to see a bridge built across the Bay. How do you think she looked, Jacob?”

  “Nice.”

  “Nice?” Lillian echoed. “She looked beautiful.”

  “Who could tell,” Sara said. “The dress looked like it was made at the American Tent and Awning Company.”

  Lillian wanted to say that this was unfair,
but she held her tongue.

  “All right, Lillian, go change your clothes. I want you to help.” Let’s see, Sara thought, soup or salad? Soup. Every good Jewish boy likes soup. They’d have chicken, her noodle kugel, fresh peas…And for dessert? Strawberry shortcake. Wait! Was he kosher? Well, in case he was she’d bake an extra sponge cake.

  “Lillian, take out the good dishes…Jacob, pick the roses.”

  “What am I, a gardener?”

  “Forget it. Lillian, go pick the roses.”

  “I can’t do everything, mama. What do you want me to do first?”

  “Set the table—and don’t get fresh. Then pick the roses.”

  Lillian was already taking the china out of the diningroom cupboard.

  Henry helped Doris into his new De Soto, and she sat rigidly as he shut the door. When he started the engine up Doris asked, “Please don’t go down Webster Street.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’d die if any of the Silvermans saw us.”

  “Doris, please, I’m going to ask you not to be worried. I have no understanding with Sylvia.”

  But I do…she’s Murial’s sister and Murial is my best friend. Damn mama for putting her in this position. If Murial ever found out it would be the end of their friendship.

  Her unease grew with each mile. She didn’t notice the sky or the lovely waves that lapped against the jutting rocks. All she could think of was her betrayal, forced or not…

  She answered his questions woodenly and asked none in return.

  Finally they arrived in Santa Cruz and strolled silently along the boardwalk. By now Henry was disturbed that she was being so quiet. He’d observed her at the Silvermans’, where she had been open and lighthearted. Well, maybe it just took her a while to warm up to people. He intended to give her every chance.

  “Doris, are you ready for lunch? It’s almost two.”

  “If you like…”

  “I could eat if you could.”

  Her one hope was that God would let her go to heaven on a full stomach…“Yes, Henry, I could.”

  “There’s a great place at the end of the pier. Let’s try that.” …

  Seated at a table near the window, they found the view spectacular.

  “It’s lovely, isn’t it, Doris?”