by Angela Zeman
“Thanks, dear,” she said. “I don’t think you’ll regret it. And neither will we, I suspect.”
He hurried away and she shut the door behind him.
“What was that?” I asked.
“Speculation. Something that might come to nothing. Nothing to discuss at this moment, at least.”
I felt deflated. If it was nothing, then nothing had changed.
“What now?” Charlie asked.
Mrs. Risk looked up at him as if surprised at the question.
“Now we go to the lobby, where I’ll be meeting my escort.”
I felt my eyebrows go up to match Charlie’s. We followed her from the room.
Charlie pushed the elevator button. He said, “At least we know all the facts, now. We should at least pretend to enjoy ourselves, for Pearl’s sake. And Ilene’s.” People clustered behind us. Their obvious high spirits only emphasized our dejection.
“Ah, but we don’t know all the facts,” declared Mrs. Risk. “I must warn you, Charlie, Rachel’s instincts are sharper, and honed differently than most people’s. I’d neglected to remember that myself, until she so startlingly reminded me at the pool.”
“What?” I hesitated, not sure what to make of what she’d said.
“We must wait and see how things develop.” She glanced significantly at the crowd waiting with us for the elevator. “This is not the place to discuss such things, anyway.”
In the lobby, Mrs. Risk glided up to a short, ruffle-haired gentleman who wore his tuxedo more elegantly than I’ve ever seen anyone else manage. When he turned, I gaped. Everyone knew Eddie Miller, an international comedy star even bigger than Pearl had been at the height of her career.
Mrs. Risk turned to Charlie and me. “May I introduce Rachel, of whom I’ve told you, and Charles, her friend. This, as you both no doubt know, is Eddie Miller.”
Charlie greeted him and extended a hand, but I could only stand there.
“Nu, the lovely Mrs. Risk, when she calls, who could refuse? Especially to join her at Krasner’s for dinner and Pearl’s show. Krasner’s is my home away from home, you know.”
Mesmerized, I could only stammer, “I’m not surprised, Mr. Miller. The people here seem very nice.”
He cocked his head to one side and studied me, amused. “Please. Call me Eddie. And to you, anyone would love to be nice. But I assure you, Krasner’s is a one-of-a-kind place. People have been coming here for generations. The Krasners make us all feel like family. You know, by now the cocktail hour is over. Shall we find our dinner?” His Yiddish accent lilted every word he spoke.
“Oh, there’s no rush. We have a table of our own, Eddie,” I assured him, still too dazzled to think clearly.
He seemed amused at my reassurance. “No doubt. But let’s see what Nate has arranged for us, something maybe a little more intimate.” He twinkled at Mrs. Risk and took her arm. With his soft lips curving in a smile outranking Michael Hahn’s for sweetness, he led us upstairs to his suite. His rooms were larger than ours, but decorated much the same, with soft plush mauve carpet and pale wood. A table had been set up in the living room area, with elegant brocade upholstered chairs and a snowy cloth. A bottle of champagne reclined in an ice bucket, chilled to within an inch of freezing—the way I love it.
The food was Kosher, and in spite of my enormous lunch, I found many more things to sample. And with Eddie Miller’s aid, I slowly relaxed and even managed to forget for a few blessed moments the crimes of Ilene’s past and the misplaced justice to come. Eddie was a polished host, and an obvious admirer of Mrs. Risk. His dry humor touched every subject brought up during the meal, and his instructions to Charlie and me on the ins and outs of being Jewish made us roar with laughter.
Eventually, he passed around the coffee and crispy rolled-up rugelach cookies. “I have a new project to propose to Pearl after the show.”
Mrs. Risk nodded. “So you liked the idea I discussed with you the other day.”
“Terrific idea! Except, didn’t I think of it?” He winked at me. “Pearl should make Mrs. Risk her agent. She’s wasted as just a friend!”
My rugelach slipped from my fingers, having lost its appeal. “That’s right. Nobody can hurt you quite like a friend,” I said quietly. “An agent’s better.”
Eddie’s eyebrows went up at that. He sent a knowing glance to Mrs. Risk that made me realize she’d probably told him much, if not all about Pearl’s troubles, and maybe even our part in them. I wondered if he knew about Ilene.
Eddie said to me quietly, “Did you ever notice how, if you stumble and fall, it’s better to be with a friend than alone? And who doesn’t stumble sometime in this life?” He laid his fingers lightly on the back of my hand. I gazed at him, troubled, but didn’t withdraw. Was he saying he would join me to stand up for Ilene if—when she fell? No matter the consequences? My throat tightened and Mrs. Risk’s face blurred unaccountably as I stared at her. I turned my head aside, unable to ask. She nudged Charlie with her foot.
“What’s the project?” asked Charlie brightly in response.
“A movie,” effused Eddie.
“I knew you’re always looking for a good movie idea,” said Mrs. Risk to Eddie.
“Mrs. Risk suggested an almost, but not quite, documentary. A simple fictional story-line to illustrate the rise and now,” Eddie suddenly paused and sighed, “the approaching demise of a rich, but fading era—the Borscht Belt era. All the talent that came out of these mountains. Remember Woody Allen’s movie, ‘Broadway Danny Rose’? Not to copy him, but in that style.” He shook his head. “It needs doing. The success of ‘Catskills on Broadway,’ the showcase of Borscht Belt comedy, proves it. But that was theater. A movie would be forever.”
“Pearl’s already proved herself a terrible actress,” added Mrs. Risk, “so I thought she could just play herself in a cameo role. Eddie would be the star. Plus others he can get. Pearl’s career would skyrocket from the exposure.”
“And it couldn’t happen to a nicer comic.” He looked around his elegant suite. “Besides. Krasner’s was always here for us, lending us their shoulders to stand on. We must give some back, you know?”
I wondered, with rising hope, if my shoulders would be of any use to Ilene.
“Let’s go see Pearl, shall we?” Mrs. Risk glanced around the table. “After all, that’s really why Eddie’s here. To be a good friend to Pearl. Bringing only good things,” she added with a troubled look at me. “I promise.”
29
CHARLIE LED THE WAY with Eddie, who waved and smiled as people recognized and called out to him. No one paid attention to the rest of us. Mrs. Risk, leaning close, whispered to me, “I know you’re still upset. Is there anything I can do to help?”
I shrugged miserably, then whispered back, “Can you tell me why Ilene seemed fixed on the abortion more than the rape?”
Mrs. Risk muttered, “I noticed that, too. She must blame herself for it somehow. I don’t imagine it was a rape at gun-point. Solly probably saw how innocent and defenseless she was and pushed until he got what he wanted. He may not have even thought he ‘raped’ her, although at the least he had to realize he was guilty of statutory rape. Solomon Mansheim not only raped her body, he gutted her life,” she finished in a fierce whisper.
Eddie turned around, switched Charlie for Mrs. Risk, taking her arm. He said firmly to me, “Steady, chotchke,” and turned back around. I noticed with gratitude that he hadn’t wasted his breath to tell me everything would soon be fine.
We turned a corner, then began the long trek down the broad windowed walkway towards the nightclub. Hoards of guests drifted with us, many of them family groups containing three generations arrayed in all versions of evening dress, chattering and calling out to each other in a holiday mood. I heard Pearl’s name sprinkled among the conversations. Now and again, Ilene Fox’s name popped up.
We entered the nightclub through the broad padded blue, now wide open doors that I remembered from earlier this afternoon. Th
at time seemed days ago, not hours. Eddie led us to his reserved table in the middle section’s second tier, close to the stage. Waiters appeared to take drink orders, then bustled away.
Then Mrs. Risk and Eddie led us to the right side of the circular stage. At the wing entrance, he held the heavy curtain back for us, and we ducked through, to emerge into a swirl of activity which seemed only a nervous milling to my inexperienced eyes. Eddie, greeted in hushed joy by bandmembers, waved a genial hand at everyone but didn’t slow his progress toward a small door with a star on it. He knocked.
“Who is it?” came Roselle’s familiar shrill voice.
“An old friend calling on Pearl.” Eddie stuck a hand into one pocket.
“She’s not available.”
“Tell her it’s Eddie,” he added good humoredly.
“Take a hike!” The door whipped open and Roselle, seeing Eddie Miller standing there with his soft smile, opened and closed her mouth like a door with a broken hinge. She stepped back and he glided in. As soon as he’d achieved entrance, he blocked the door open and held out a hand for Mrs. Risk, Charlie, and myself to enter also. No one could refuse us entrance on the tail of the great one’s arrival. Already jammed into the modest little room were Steve and Melissa Graham, Leeann, Dr. Savoia and his wife Fran, the Lutz’s, and even a bleary-eyed Vivian.
Simon heaved himself up from the sagging couch (the only furniture, other than a small wooden chair at the makeup bench) and held out a hand. “Simon Lutz, you might not—”
Eddie gave his hand a quick shake. “Simon. Sure, I remember. Three years ago, Tahoe. You and your wife were with Pearl. Nice to see you again.”
Zoë popped out from a little side room, with Pearl two steps behind her.
Zoë said nothing, just beamed up at him. With a soft cry he swept her up in a fierce hug that she returned with interest. “You gorgeous doll, been too long,” he said. He kissed her cheek, then turned to Pearl.
They looked at each other, affection and memories dancing in both pairs of eyes. “My God, you look like a new woman,” said Eddie after an emotional pause. He took her hands and held them wide, gave her a slow turn and then pulled her back again. “Vavoom, what an outfit. Zoë, like always, you make magic schmattas!”
Zoë had created a deep blue sleekly fitting tuxedo jacket over a matching long slim skirt, slit very high to expose flashes of Pearl’s trim thigh. Sequined, of course, but very sophisticated. She glittered under the harsh overhead lights. Her short hair was immaculately arranged, with pearls at her throat, wrists, and ears. I realized with a pang that her stolen necklace would’ve looked perfect.
“Sexy, svelt like a snake she looks,” continued Eddie. “I’m in love all over again. What diet did this for you?”
“Trouble and pain, works every time,” growled Roselle, but somebody hissed at her to shut up.
Pearl flushed hot crimson. Like an aging queen her stature lent her an elegance, a grace, and she looked tunelessly, majestically beautiful. Her rough hair coiffed, groomed to her toenails, and gowned, she now resembled Bella much more—if Bella could ever learn to be less reserved. Less cold.
“How’re you going to get laughs, looking like that?” mourned Eddie over her. “You could build a city, or inspire an epic poem, but to make like a yiddishe joker, like me?” He shook his head. “We gotta fatten you up. Hey, Zoë, fetch Bubbeh some halvah. Over the lips and straight to the hips.” He pulled her grinning face down to his level and kissed her tenderly on both cheeks. “Yum,” he murmured. “Hey, meet me in my room after? Some etchings up there you gotta see.”
Zoë laughed delightedly. Like a happy child, she danced around him and Pearl. Love quivered in her old eyes and poured out like a benediction, for some reason my heart twisted within my chest at the sight.
“Eddie’s here, Eddie’s here for you, Pearlie,” she babbled.
“Yes, darling. Just for you. Couldn’t miss seeing you perform again. You always make me laugh. Where’s Ilene? Isn’t she here, too?”
“She’s in her own dressing room, warming up her voice,” put in Simon.
“Ah, we won’t disturb her, then. I’ll see her after. You’ll all see me after, won’t you?”
Zoë said, “Come to Pearl’s suite. We’ve arranged a party. Celebration!”
“I’ll be there.” He squeezed Pearl’s hands again, then dropped one and turned to Mrs. Risk. His attitude seemed to say that it was her turn now. Pearl went rigid.
Silence dropped into the room like a boulder.
“Her again,” said Roselle. The good will that Eddie’s presence had generated died away as everyone but Pearl looked directly at us.
“You look sensational, Pearl,” said Mrs. Risk. No wariness, no reminder of former unpleasantness touched her warm smile.
Dislike for us filled the room, as visible as smoke. My chin lifted and my body tensed. No matter what lying, cheating, stealing, or sexual agenda occurred among them against each other, on hearing Mrs. Risk’s voice they’d instantly bonded together to focus their ill will on Mrs. Risk and me.
Flustered, Pearl said, “I told you I didn’t want to see you again.” A long moment passed, during which no one spoke, but her friends’ expressions were smug, full of, ‘We told you so.’
Mrs. Risk merely kept her warm smile. Suddenly Pearl reddened. Realization crossed her face. “You brought Eddie here.”
Eddie squeezed her hand. “If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t’ve known about your show, about anything. I’ve been in Israel for months, Bubbeh. She called me. We’re friends, too, you know.”
Pearl murmured, “Yes, but I forgot.”
“Anyway,” he continued, “I had to come backstage and say hello. We’ll let you get ready now.”
The rigidity melted from Pearl’s face, and she suddenly appeared to drop about ten years from her age. “Mrs. Risk, could you ever forgive—?”
Mrs. Risk gave her head a quick dismissive shake. “It’s forgotten already. You know, in spite of all your problems with Solly—”
My heart almost literally stopped. Why bring up his name now that everything seemed so good? Pearl was expected to perform in just a few short minutes. Why throw away with careless words the all too fragile happiness engineered by her through Eddie? All for nothing. I would’ve been enraged with Mrs. Risk if I—if I didn’t love her so much. I suddenly understood that.
“Solly was very proud of you, wasn’t he?” Mrs. Risk was continuing to say.
Somehow, insidiously, I must have begun to trust her. I felt a chill, as if my back was exposed and I was in some kind of danger. I guess I was in danger. Of being hurt. A position I’d sworn never to allow myself to be in again.
And suddenly I noticed to my surprise—Pearl, instead of being devastated at the mention of Solly’s name, was nodding, her eyes soft. “I was always ‘His Pearl’. Always. He put this night together for me, you know.”
“Remember that while you’re out there,” advised Mrs. Risk.
Pearl, her eyes suddenly alive and energetic again, said, “Yes.”
“All the rest is not important any more. Just remember that one thing,” finished Mrs. Risk. She leaned back on her heels as if satisfied.
Pearl said softly. “Thank you.” And her face shone with gratitude.
Mrs. Risk’s comment replayed in my mind, ‘good friends bring good things.’ Mrs. Risk had known what her friend needed to hear. She understood more about Pearl than the rest of us.
Vivian moved to the dressing bench and leaned on it. Not surprisingly, she had a drink in hand. She said loudly to Eddie, “Better get a move on.”
“She’s right,” said Eddie. “Ilene’ll be a smash as always, and you, lady, break a leg. Afterward I might just let you break my heart—again.” He kissed and hugged Pearl carefully, accommodating her makeup and sequins.
When we reached our table again, the lights dimmed. After a blessing, some announcements and greetings by the emcee (that was not televised), including a spec
ial mention of Eddie’s presence—received with whistles and applause—and with explanations about the television cameras that hovered about on cantilevered dollies, the orchestra filed in and the house lights went completely dark.
Over the sound system, reverberating throughout the cavernous room, boomed the emcee’s voice. “Krasner’s is pleased to present on this happy Thanksgiving weekend, Miss Ilene Fox!”
Not knowing what to expect, I found myself unable to breathe. Then, serene and with a glowing smile, Ilene strolled onstage.
The music started.
30
WHEN THE APPLAUSE BROUGHT on by Ilene’s entrance began to break up, the violins hovered on a single note in anticipation. The spotlights settled on her slim form and she moved to the brass star embedded into the stage. Her place.
She gave us all a slowly broadening smile. Slipping the waiting microphone from its stand, she extended her other arm in welcome and breathed a husky, throbbing ‘Hello, everybody. Happy Thanksgiving,’ at the crowd. They went wild.
A stage genie in black tights scrambled in from offstage, bringing her a stool on which to perch. She wore creamy white loose satin trousers and collarless jacket. Lacy white feathers touched here and there with sparkles draped across the deep vee neckline, drooped down one arm, and then edged down one trouser leg. An elemental vision. She stroked back one dark curtain of hair where it draped across a cheek and smiled at the crowd as if they were all old friends. Gradually, the room settled.
The band picked up the tempo, launching a melody, and she began an upbeat ballad. If her anguish showed, it was only in the throaty catch in her voice, the underlying sadness that exposed depths of feeling no matter the words of the song. I caught myself blinking back tears.
The room closed around us, no longer enormous, no longer full of strangers. She connected us all within her magic. Her voice was low and pure emotion, no frills, only living notes pulled up from her heart. She must’ve lived through her music all these years, because here she opened herself, offered herself up for us all to share.
