In her desperation she turned for the first time to writing a novel. She gave few thoughts to its success—she knew that few novelists ever gained much recognition or financial rewards. The overriding concern for her was the necessity of saving her own mental health. So much besides herself depended on it…
Steven was twenty now, and had just married Pamela Rogers…
As Doris and Michele sat in Michele’s bedroom the morning after the wedding, Michele realized that her mother was not quite the exuberant, outgoing woman she’d known. “Mama, you’ve been here now for a week and I’ve noticed a change in you. Do you think you’re overdoing it? Too much work on the novel?”
“No, Michele, thank God I have that to fall back on—”
“Look, mama, something is wrong. I know it and you know it. You don’t have to be so brave. Talk about it.”
Tables turned, Doris thought…“All right, Michele, have you noticed any…change in your father? This week or the last few times we’ve been up to see you?”
“Yes, mama, I have—and I wondered if I should mention it…he doesn’t always seem to understand what’s said to him. I’ve had to repeat the same things over and over again to him, and there’s a sort of vagueness about him.”
Doris shook her head. “It’s that obvious?”
“Very, mama—”
Doris started to cry about it, for the first time. “Michele, I’m afraid it’s getting worse. I don’t know what to do. I’ve even thought of a nursing home, but I can’t bring myself to do it. It’s awful even to think about it…But how can I live in the same house and not communicate with somebody? It’s almost worse than living alone. Still, no question about it, I have responsibilities to the man who is my husband. God knows I don’t blame him, Michele, any more than I would if he had anything else wrong with him. And I hope I don’t sound like some damn martyr. But how do I live with this?”
“The one time you’ve asked me for help… and I just don’t have any answers.”
“Well, don’t feel so bad, neither do I. I may as well tell you, though, that I’ve started seeing a psychiatrist to help get me through this. It seemed to help you…”
“Has it helped?”
“Not especially, I’m afraid…I just feel so desperately sorry, for both of us, and I can’t find any answer.”
“Well, maybe things will resolve themselves, mama,” Michele said, knowing her father’s condition could only worsen.
Doris smiled briefly. “Well, it’s true, they usually do…But that’s not a subject we should be talking about today. The wedding was beautiful, Michele, and Pamela’s a lovely, lovely girl. Looking at you, it’s hard to believe that you could soon be a grandmother, and me a great-grandmother. If it happens very soon I might not look too bad for a great-grandmother. What the hell, next year I’ll only be sixty-five.”
Michele smiled. “Mama, I keep telling you, you’re more gorgeous and glamorous at sixty-four than you ever were. Not a wrinkle on the horizon—it’s scary, really, you’re incredible. In fact, you were hands down the most beautiful woman at the wedding yesterday. Everybody talked about you. More people came up to me and said, ‘I don’t believe that’s your mother.’”
Doris laughed. “Did they really? Must have been the candlelight and champagne…Getting away from the subject of my great beauty, I didn’t want to tell you this before the wedding, but my sister Rachel’s husband passed away last week. Not that you knew him, of course, and I’m not too worried about how Rachel will adjust to being a widow. She generally adapts pretty well…Still…”
“How did you find out, mama?”
“She called from New York. That’s my family…they usually get in touch, at least about the bad things. Anyway, I guess Rachel will survive. She told me in all her bereavement that she’s decided to mourn in the best of two worlds—she’ll divide her time between New York and Paris…Well, enough of the family hour…I’m thinking that with the help of God, when and if I finish the book, I just might take a little hike for myself to Israel. It’s about time I saw my kids. The pictures are getting stacked by the dozens and I’m running out of albums.”
“It’s a shame Gary hasn’t been able to come home. I know you miss them so much…”
But Michele didn’t know the extent of Doris’ fears. Gary had moved from the Negev to a kibbutz in the Hula Valley. It sat just below the Golan Heights and not a day passed that their lives were not in peril. Her grandchildren slept each night in a damp bunker. Doris subscribed to the Jerusalem Post, and every issue added another strand of silver to her hair. It seemed there was no end to the conflict. Israel had been besieged with one long war, ever since the War of Independence in 1948, and her son was fighting in many of the battles. He had fought in the Sinai campaign and in the war of 1967, to free the Golan Heights above so that in the Hula Valley below his children no longer had to sleep in a damp bunker. But above all, he fought for the survival of a homeland with a courage and determination that Doris found awesome. And most remarkable of all was Robin. She literally stood shoulder to shoulder with her husband, without a complaint. What extraordinary human beings they were and how proud she was that she had the privilege of being their mother. She sighed, “You’re right, I do miss them. But I promise you, even if I have to hock the old homestead, I’m going. I have faith. You wait and see, everything will work out.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
DORIS DIDN’T KNOW HOW prophetic her words to Michele would be. Things did indeed work out. It was almost like a Cinderella story.
The first publisher the book was submitted to accepted it, and no one could have been more surprised than Doris. It was an old-fashioned story about Jewish immigrants who worked themselves up from starvation to poverty in one generation, and she couldn’t imagine what the ingredient was that made it a success. All she knew was that people seemed to like it, and before long she found herself going in a million different directions. It was funny, really…in her old age she was becoming a sort of celebrity, and she was making money that came in very handy. She was even going to be introduced to the press in New York and she needed to buy a few outfits that would be appropriate to the occasion. She bought a smashing cocktail dress and a black mink coat, if you please.
When her publisher asked her to come to New York, she had invited Henry to take the trip with her, but he’d said no, he didn’t like flying and the memories…sensations…of New York and the lower East Side were too painful. It was ironic, Doris thought. He couldn’t remember the names of some of their oldest friends, but he could remember his early childhood, being bathed in a pickle barrel…
She hired a competent housekeeper for Henry, and rather than put him through the task of seeing her off at the airport she took a taxi and set off on her own. On her own…
When Doris arrived at Kennedy Airport she still couldn’t accept the reality of what had happened to her. The fat, curly-haired kid who used to go to the Orpheum and say, “Someday I’m going to be a star,” found the doorman at the Plaza Hotel in New York City opening the door for her. The suite of rooms her publisher had reserved left her speechless. Before taking off her coat, she walked over to an enormous bouquet sitting on the French desk, took out the card and read it. “We’re so happy you’re here. Welcome.” She stared at it. Publishers were real people after all, it seemed. Imagine being thoughtful enough to make such a beautiful gesture. And all of this happened because she’d written some funny little book about a Jewish family that didn’t make it from rags to riches. Thank you, Ida Cohen, my favorite character. I really have you to thank for all this, because you’re what every Yiddish mama wanted to be…
In the next twenty-four hours Doris found herself catapulted into an unknown world. A cocktail party was given for her. She was interviewed on television, had her picture taken, met a lot of very important people whose very important names she couldn’t remember if her life depended on it…However, there was one lady this evening she did remember. Her name was Anne
tte Mayer.
“Any relation to Louis B.?” Doris had asked, trying to sound smarter than she felt.
“That’s not my claim to fame, sorry to say.” Annette was taken with Doris, and wanted to arrange a dinner party at her apartment on Central Park West for the following Tuesday, provided Doris was available. Doris was available…
She arrived at seven-thirty, dressed in a Pucci print and her black mink coat and toting two pounds of Lady Godiva chocolates for her hostess. Annette introduced her to all the guests. Considering that they were sophisticated New Yorkers, Doris was more than somewhat surprised by how excited they apparently were to meet her.
“I’ve read your book and adored it” was what she heard over and over again. Funny, the thought, at home I’m just good old Doris Levin, and here on Central Park West I’m a big star, yet—Her thoughts were interrupted when the doorbell rang and she overheard Annette’s greeting to the latecomer.
“Aaron, why do you insist on being a prima donna? You’re always late.”
“That’s very unkind, Annette, and the traffic was horrible as usual. Besides, I didn’t come here to argue with you but to meet your author. That’s what you invited me for, right?”
“You’re incorrigible, I don’t even know why I put up with you. But come on…”
Leading him to Doris, Annette said, “I want you to meet a very dear and constantly late friend, Aaron Brauch…Doris Levin.”
“This is a pleasure I’ve been looking forward to, Mrs. Levin.”
Doris smiled uneasily. “Next thing you’ll tell me you read the book—”
“I’m not only going to tell you I read it, but even reread it.”
“Well, Aaron Brauch, I can tell you have extremely good taste in literature.”
“Indeed I do. As a matter of fact, if you don’t mind comparisons, I think it comes as close to Sholom Aleichem as anything I’ve read in a long time.”
Doris laughed. “Thank God you didn’t say Tolstoy.”
“Well, Sholom Aleichem wasn’t exactly a piker either.”
“Thank you, I accept that as a great compliment.”
Aaron was seated next to Doris at the dinner table and she found herself enjoying his company, to say nothing of his good looks. In fact, she hadn’t met a man this good-looking in a long time, or even seen one. He was of about average height, but was well-built and gave the impression of being taller. He had a thick crop of salt and pepper hair and the loveliest brown eyes. When he reached for his knife and fork, the cuffs on his sleeves rose above his wrists and exposed what promised to be masculine, hairy arms. Doris was surprised to find herself even thinking about such a thing…
The evening passed much too quickly, and since Doris had an early interview, she begged to be forgiven for leaving before the party was over.
After a very busy day, when she returned to her suite she found several messages. And one was from Mr. Aaron Brauch. As she sat down and kicked off her shoes to relax for a moment she thought, Oh, go ahead, Doris, what the heck, be brazen, call. She dialed for an outside line and then quickly hung up. Doris, don’t be brazen…Look, maybe you’ve never had a huge lot of fun in your life, but then you never got into trouble either. So be a good girl, put yourself together and get on with your appointment tonight.
Her appointment that night was with her publisher and some “media” people…Watch it, you could get to like this life…but it was also very tiring, especially after the kind of existence she’d led. When she returned to the hotel after dinner she removed her makeup, took a fast shower and hopped into bed, thinking how glad she was that tomorrow was Sunday. A day of rest…
But Doris’ morning of sleeping in was interrupted at ten o’clock. When the phone rang she wasn’t sure if she didn’t want to just pull the cord, but then she realized it could be Henry’s housekeeper. Sleepily, she took the phone off the cradle and said, “Hello?”
“Did I wake you?”
“Who is this?”
“Aaron Brauch. Did I wake you up?”
She shut her eyes and shook her head. “Well, as a matter of fact, Aaron Brauch, you did.”
“I’m very sorry about that—”
“You don’t sound a bit sorry.”
“I really am. But now that you’re up, how would you like to go roller skating?”
This I’m going to put in my next book. “Roller skating? Are you out of your mind? I take my car to mail a letter across the street. Athletics don’t happen to be one of my passions.”
“Don’t knock it if you’ve never tried it.”
“I’m not knocking it, but I’m not going to try it either.”
“Okay, if you want to be difficult, how about lunch?”
“Now that was a good suggestion. You just made yourself a deal, Mr. Brauch. Food used to be one of my big hobbies, but I’ve reformed.” Sort of…
“You haven’t given it up entirely, have you?”
“Not likely.”
“Where would you like to go to lunch?”
“Tavern on the Green? It’s been a long-time fantasy of mine.”
“Well, fantasize no more, my dear. Is twelve-thirty all right?”
“Could we make it closer to one?”
“Pick you up at one…”
Sure enough, one o’clock came and Aaron Brauch was standing in the lobby, dressed in a Russian-style beaver hat and a fur-trimmed overcoat. The smile on his face was genuine. He seemed pleased to see her again, and she certainly didn’t find that offensive. In fact, there was a distinct excitement about just walking alongside him as they walked out of the lobby and hailed a cab.
Seated in the restaurant having Bloody Marys, Doris said, “I don’t know whether you know or appreciate it or not, but you live in the most fabulous city—”
“You like Manhattan?”
“I adore it, there’s an excitement and energy I can’t describe. The other day I stood at Rockefeller Center and looked from the skaters below to the skyscrapers above. An awesome sight.”
“You come from a magnificent city too, you know. Probably one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen, and I go there quite often.”
“I can’t argue with that, but there’s a magic about this place I’ll never forget—”
“And there’s a magic about you that nobody could forget—”
“Aaron Brauch, I’ll bet you say that to every rubberneck lady author you take to lunch.”
“No, as a matter of fact, you’re the first author I’ve ever had lunch with. Not the first lady, true…but none as special as you—”
Doris was actually blushing. “You’re not going to believe this, but you’re embarrassing me.”
“Never get embarrassed at the truth—”
“You’re right, but I wasn’t exactly raised on compliments by—”
“By men?”
“Yes…well, sort of.” No one would guess she was a middle-aged grandmother with a successful career. She was acting more like a schoolgirl with her first crush. My God, Doris, you’ve lived in a cloister for too long…
Quickly changing the subject, she said, “How about lunch?”
“Would you like another Bloody Mary?”
“Please, but I tend to get sloshed on two drinks, so I really think we should have something to eat.”
“Do you have a preference?” Aaron asked. “The eggs Benedict are very good.”
She heard the echoes of Santa Cruz in the far, far distance…her first date with Henry, when he had suggested what she order at that restaurant on the pier. “Sounds marvelous,” Doris said, and felt herself beaming like a ridiculous teenager. Good Lord…
Lingering over coffee, he asked her how she had started to write.
“I just didn’t have anything to do one day, so I got up and I said, ‘You know, Doris, I think you should write a book, either that or get into basket weaving.’”
He laughed. “I’m glad you didn’t opt for the basket weaving. Otherwise I might never have met you.”
“You think you would have missed so much?” Now, for God’s sake, she was even fishing. Doris…
“I do.”
“You do? Oh, yes…well, what about you?”
“What about me? Am I married? No, divorced, for ten years now.”
“How did you get away with that?” And now she was flirting…?
“Never met anybody I was interested in.”
“Do you have a family?”
“Yes, two grown daughters. One in Florida and the other in Westchester.”
Aaron watched as she stirred the remains of her coffee. “Do you see them often?” she asked, suddenly subdued.
“As much as possible, but they have lives of their own and I have mine. Occasionally I get a terrific desire to visit my grandchildren. I have four of them now.”
Without looking up, she said, “Well, you’re one up on me, I have three.”
“I noticed a change in that beautiful face,” he said, watching her intently.
“I’m not much of an actress…I have a son and daughter-in-law living in Israel. And would you believe it? I’ve never even seen my granddaughter, and she’s almost fourteen.”
“How is that? Israel isn’t that far away, you know.”
“Oh, you keep promising yourself you’re going next summer, and next summer never comes around.”
He reached across the table and took her hand. “Well, Israel will be there this summer. Just got to make up your mind to go.”
Looking up at him now, trying to be offhanded, she said, “I think maybe I’ll take your advice. You’re not in the travel business, are you?”
“No, advertising.”
“That must be fascinating.” Dumb remark, Doris, but it beats thinking about how much you miss your kids.
“Like they say, it’s a living. Tell me about you, how did you really get into writing?”
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