The Witch and the Borscht Pearl

by Angela Zeman

  Her love songs gave me goosebumps and when Charlie put his arm around me and pulled me a little closer, I nestled after only the slightest hesitation. If damaged, frightened Ilene could take risks at this moment, so could I.

  Speaking little, she moved from one song to another, slowly, no rush. She seemed to be showing us that we had all night in which to take pleasure in the music and each other,

  But eventually I began to wonder, if she could live so richly, so thoroughly through her songs, wouldn’t that keep her from reaching the explosion point where she could kill … again? I turned to ask Mrs. Risk.

  Her expression told me she wasn’t hearing anything but the machinations of her own mind. Her figure lounged in her chair in a graceful slump, Eddie’s arm draped negligently over her shoulder. She’d extended her long legs into the aisle. Fortunately, the waiters had stopped serving when the show started, otherwise she might’ve tripped one. Her face was a study in distraction, her eyes unfocused, that ringed forefinger tapping her lips.

  As I stared, I suddenly saw her eyes flick a glance to the right. I looked that way, too, and was chilled to spot Michael leaning against the wall near the stage wing entrance, a long manila envelope jammed under one elbow. A grey suited man and a plump uniformed policewoman stood close behind him, looking nervous. They commented to him from time to time to which he occasionally replied, speaking to them over his shoulder. He, to my surprise, was attired in a tuxedo. Then I remembered his unofficial status. Maybe the outfit was to reassure the minds of local authorities, who might’ve been defensive of their jurisdiction.

  I had difficulty breathing.

  This unholiday-ish trio was obviously poised to grab Ilene the second she exited the stage. Could Michael’s envelope contain her arrest warrant? How big were such things?

  I could no longer hear Ilene’s music, either, now. With fists clenching and unclenching on my lap, I watched the trio against the wall stare unwaveringly at Ilene. Then I watched Mrs. Risk brood and glance at the watchers.

  Charlie’s hand touched my shoulder, making me jump. “You okay?” he whispered.

  I turned around and, gazing up into those warm, only faintly mocking hazel eyes, felt suddenly alone again.

  “Fine.”

  He tilted his head toward the wing of the stage. “Michael,” he whispered.

  I nodded and turned away. After a moment, I felt him relax in his chair again.

  More minutes passed. Ilene finished another song I hadn’t heard.

  It shouldn’t be too long to the end of her set, surely? I wavered, then made a decision. At least I could get closer to Ilene. I darted from my seat. Mrs. Risk seized me by the forearm and swung me back into my chair. I dropped with a jolt. I heard Charlie hiss something but ignored it.

  “Not yet,” she growled at me. Mystified, but keyed even higher by this unexpected collaboration, I waited, vibrating impatiently in my chair. Then the emcee stepped up to the edge of the curtain.

  She pricked me painfully in the shoulder with her fingernail and I bolted.

  Threading through the tables and descending the last tier, I whisked past Michael and his company by ducking my head and twisting my body so that they saw mostly my back.

  Maybe the tumultuous applause following Ilene’s finish distracted Michael, and maybe in my unfamiliar clothes, he didn’t notice who I was. Or maybe Mrs. Risk put an invisibility spell on me. Regardless, I slipped past the trio unnoticed and was through the curtained opening in a flash.

  If I’d thought chaos reigned backstage before the show, now the uproar was complete. Of course, with the racket the audience was making, no one needed to worry about noise back here.

  Musicians, stage managers, and people who did things I’d never understand in this lifetime, were hustling, shouting, shrieking, knocking, hooting, pushing levers, tuning instruments, and hoisting bandstand equipment. Television technicians (identified by labeled baseball caps) seemed to be everywhere.

  Ilene gained the backstage area in the next moment.

  Afraid to touch her, not wanting to startle her in her fragile state, I inserted my body in her path and called out in a gentle tone, “You were marvelous. You were amazing, Ilene.”

  She looked at me as if surprised to be spoken to, but pleased by the words. Her eyes were faintly unfocused as if she still heard violins in her mind. “Did you really like me?” she asked.

  “I loved you. I hope I get to hear you sing over and over again.” Tears scalded my eyes.

  She blinked, seemed to realize who I was for the first time. “Thank you.” She turned away.

  “Uh, where are you going now?”

  She looked around. “Isn’t Pearl out yet? Someone should tell her I’m off.”

  A passing young man who heard her shouted, “Commercial break. She’s been told.”

  “You’ll watch Pearl’s act, won’t you?” I forced myself to appear casual, unable to imagine what was keeping Michael, unless it was Mrs. Risk. I thought hard. Ilene looked too exhausted to be hurried anywhere. Where could I take her to be safe? I wasn’t sure whether I meant safe from her own distorted reactions or from Michael. And safe until when? Until Pearl’s act finished? Until Michael took her away, to install her in some lockup? He’d still get her in the end, wouldn’t he?

  Instincts. Mrs. Risk trusts my instincts. She says they’re differently-honed than normal people’s. It would be nice to think so, I thought to myself dryly.

  Okay, so follow my instinct to delay things. Get her somewhere out of Michael’s immediate reach. Maybe a solution would present itself later.

  “Did you know we’re with Eddie Miller? His table’s probably the best seat in the house. Come join us. He’d love to see you.”

  She looked at me, considering. Standing there enfolded in her beautiful clothes, she looked like a rare flower that could be damaged by a slight breeze. “Well, but I’d like to see her get onstage first. And I’d like some water. I’m thirsty.”

  “Okay,” I said, suddenly inspired. “Pearl’s got plenty. Let’s go there. And then you won’t miss her coming out.”

  I heard a familiar voice lift over the babble. Michael.

  “That’s a good idea, isn’t it?” I chattered, covering up my nerves. “You’ll see her, and then you can sit with Eddie and us.”

  “Sure,” she said, eagerly.

  Michael’s voice could be heard again. He sounded questioning. Asking directions to Ilene’s dressing room?

  With an extended arm, I forged a path to Pearl’s dressing room, maneuvering Ilene in front of me. Before I could knock, the door whipped open. I shoved Ilene inelegantly through the opening and slammed the door shut behind us. Zoë fell back in amazement. The rest of the room was empty.

  “Ilene!” she exclaimed. Then she said, smiling warmly, “You were wonderful, gal! A Grammy’s breathin’ down your neck, I know it. A female Perry Como, I heard one altekaker say.”

  I said, “She’s dying of thirst, Zoë. Can she have some water? Is Pearl still here?”

  Zoë hustled toward the makeup bench. Food, fruit, juices and bottles of various liquids littered most of it. “Here, baby. Have all you want. Pearl’s in the john, be out in a sec.”

  I shifted around the room restlessly while Ilene gulped at the water in obvious relief. I said, “Everyone else must be out in the audience, huh?”

  “Nah. They mostly hover around backstage, get in the way. Can’t drive ’em away, although I’d like to.” Zoë sounded sour, as usual. “The lure of the greasepaint, ever heard of it?” she finished without amusement.

  “I’ve heard of plenty of lures, guess I missed that one.” I didn’t care what I said. My thoughts raced furiously, trying to guess Mrs. Risk’s plan, for she surely had something in mind. I counted heavily on her having something in mind. Why else give me her blessing by shoving me on my way?

  Pearl’s emergence from the bathroom coincided with a sharp rap at the door. I jumped at the noise, then gaped at Pearl’s damp
green complexion.

  “Time,” boomed a deep male voice through the closed door. I breathed again. “Drink up, Ilene,” I said brightly.

  Pearl shifted her costume around her waist and licked dry lips. She looked like she might faint at any moment.

  “How do I look?”

  Zoë rushed to her side, patting and tucking. She dabbed a tissue at the damp spots on Pearl’s face, careful not to dislodge makeup. “Like a queen. Wait until you get out there. It’s home, honey. It’s home, and they’re your family. Breathe, baby.”

  Pearl looked like she needed the reminder. She breathed deeply. “Ack!” pantomimed Zoë, waving it away.

  Pearl dove back into the bathroom, emerged a moment later exuding mouthwash aroma. “Better.” Zoë grinned.

  Ilene stood quietly glowing at her. Pearl noticed her suddenly, and rushed over to grasp her hands. “You could hear a pin drop, they were listening so hard back here. You were better than I’ve ever heard you.” She beamed, then suddenly reverted back to a nerveless wreck. “Get me out there, Zoë,” she croaked.

  Zoë hustled to the door, jerked it open. I lunged in front of Ilene, in a futile attempt to shield her from outside view. I needn’t have bothered. Michael was nowhere in sight and a herd of mustangs couldn’t have gotten through, the chaos outside was so complete, but oddly subdued, mindful now of the listening audience. The emcee was speaking.

  “Go, if you’re going.” Zoë flapped her hands at us as I hesitated on the threshold.

  Remembering Mrs. Risk’s statement that Pearl’s well-being would be supremely vital to Ilene’s stability, I suddenly grabbed Pearl by the arm, nearly yanking her off balance. “Listen, uh, Pearl, when you go out, don’t talk to anyone. Don’t let anything distract you. Go straight to the stage.”

  Zoë froze at my warning. She looked suddenly stricken as she stared at me. After a short silence, she instructed, “She’s right, Pearl. Focus on the act, the audience. Don’t let anybody talk to you before you start. Don’t worry about being rude. I’ll be right behind you, I’ll explain.”

  Pearl hardly listened. Tension swelled, grew in her visibly. “Sure,” she said, maybe not even knowing what she said.

  We followed her out. Head down, first went Pearl, then Zoë, short arms extended ludicrously around Pearl’s waist from behind, as if her tiny figure could block any opposition to her tall friend’s progress. Ilene went next. And helplessly following wherever Ilene led, came myself.

  As we neared the stage, I began to understand the emcee’s patter. He’d spun out Pearl’s introduction, filling it with illustrious references. Eddie Miller’s name was mentioned again, mixed in with a small joke. A very small joke, if the audience reaction was any indication.

  When Pearl was about eight feet from the lip of the stage, Michael stepped out of nowhere and intercepted our group. We had no choice but to stop. His associates hovered close behind, peeking around him as if intimidated by their proximity to a ‘star.’

  Pearl’s fingers fluttered as she waited. She paid Michael no attention.

  Zoë flicked a look at me, then stepped in front of Pearl.

  “Nobody can bother Pearl now. It’s time for her to go on. You gonna make an ass out of all of us on national television? Schmucks,” she muttered under her breath.

  He looked over her head at me. “Rachel.”

  Zoë interrupted, “Don’t drag her into this. She’s busy, we need her. Tell it later, bub.”

  Zoë won my admiration.

  Michael took a deep breath, looked pained. But he also looked like what he was. A compassionate, very bright guy. He examined Ilene, who stood tucked between Zoë and me, glowering silently at him, teeth slightly bared. Deep purple slashes cradled her eyes and she swayed on her feet. Michael took in her condition.

  “Where will the rest of you be during the show?” His voice was cold.

  Good question. I wanted Ilene to be where she could get skilled loving help. I wanted her to be safe from tonight’s possibility of further disaster. Give her a year or so, then maybe he could arrest her. If he could find her. I heard the stupid bravado in my thoughts. Bluster, that’s all I was. Wasn’t I?

  The stage manager came by, clipboard in hand, headset buzzing. He pointed a finger at Pearl and stabbed it towards the stage.

  Zoë gave Pearl a little push. “Break a leg.”

  Michael sighed and backed down.

  Pearl stared at the stage as if it were an abyss into which she must cast herself. Hollows I’d never noticed before deepened beneath protruding cheekbones. Time seemed to rush suddenly. The emcee wound down his introduction, turned to the band and signaled the beginning of the musical intro. He glanced appraisingly at Pearl as if gauging the state of her readiness, picked up the tempo for the band, and counted under his breath. “Four, three, two, one,—” He stared fully at Pearl. ‘Now!” his widened eyes silently urged her.

  One last deep shuddering breath. She faltered, then plunged out onto the stage. Her walk became brisk. With each step her energy and charisma increased until her toe settled on the brass star.

  At that instant, she burst into full bloom. Her arms spread wide. She gathered in the audience’s emotion as if its energies were what fueled her performance, which maybe it did. At least tonight.

  She was fully alive.

  Her laugh boomed across the thousand upturned faces. The audience responded, screaming incoherent love for their very own Pearl. Borscht Pearl. Those two words repeated.

  The smell of gin wafted by, indicating that Vivian had stepped up behind me. I turned. Behind Vivian, Roselle stood with Leeanne, the tiny Roselle shoving to see better. Steve Graham hovered close, too, accompanied, to my surprise, by the hotel manager. Bruce Altman stood shifting from foot to foot behind everyone, but two sturdier old faithfuls were edging their way forward—Simon Lutz and Doctor Savoia. Fran, the doctor’s wife, was there, too, probably taking care of her husband, who looked like he needed some care. Worry over Pearl had taken its toll on everybody.

  “Move over, bitch,” Vivian growled, elbowing me sideways. My personality revolts at being pushed around, but for Ilene’s sake I gave her room without comment. Leeanne began jumping on her tiptoes to see over Vivian. I wondered where Bella was.

  Pearl took a couple of steps forward, bent deeply at the waist, blew a few kisses, then stepped back to her mark. Her sequined jacket glittered as the spotlights finished cruising the stage and walls and settled on her. The microphone, one of those huge technological relics as old as her career, lowered jerkily into place in the air above her head. I wondered if it worked or was it really only a prop, for old times’ sake? The band skidded to a halt.

  The applause faded. Currents of anticipation darted through the room. Pearl stood there. For a long silent moment, she just looked around the room, bliss and gratitude plain on her face. Then suddenly, in the audience, emotions exploded and applause burst out again. And this time the whole house pushed back their chairs and stood. A standing ovation. The house manager, inspired, brightened the house lights to show Pearl her fans.

  Everywhere I looked, ladies in evening costume and men in tuxedoes pounded hands together in adoration of Pearl. Even the children clapped excitedly. Everywhere I looked, tears hovered, trembled, then rolled from people’s eyes.

  Pearl’s lips pressed together. She cast a helpless glance over at us in the wing.

  “Are they always like this?” I asked Zoë. “Or is it from knowing Pearl’s problems?”

  “They know what she’s been through.” Her voice sounded fierce. She wrapped her arms around her torso and squeezed as if she longed to run out on stage and embrace Pearl instead. “They’re showing how much they care. That’s how much she means to them. To all of us. You probably wouldn’t understand.”

  Mrs. Risk spoke from behind Zoë, surprising us both because we hadn’t noticed her approach. “You underestimate Rachel, Zoë.”

  I turned to look at Mrs. Risk, but anything I might’ve sai
d was overridden. The audience, finally satisfied, settled back in their chairs. Pearl would begin her act at last. And that was when I spotted Bella at the back of the highest tier, slightly to the right. I was unaccountably glad to see her.

  “My friends. My friends.” Pearl’s voice quavered, so she paused for a steadying breath. She added, “I love you all.” Cheering threatened to sweep into another mass demonstration but she raised a hand and it died.

  “If I sound a little weak, I hope you’ll forgive me. I’ve been away from you a long time. Your welcome was a little overwhelming.” She ducked her head and flashed a mischievous smile. A knot loosened in my stomach.

  “On this special family holiday, lot of mothers here tonight. Of course, mothers know about sounding weak.” She paused, glancing wickedly around the room. “The son calls his mother on the phone. She answers,” and here Pearl’s voice swept out across the audience in a wobbling falsetto, “Hellloooo?”

  “The son says, ‘Ma, you sound terrible! What’s the mattah, why do you sound like that? Are you sick?’ His mother answers,” and again Pearl’s voice strained high, ‘I suppose I’m a little weak. I haven’t eaten in 8 days.’

  “‘Ma! Omigod, Ma! What’s wrong? Why haven’t you eaten in 8 days?’

  “‘I didn’t want to have food in my mouth in case you should call.’”

  The audience screamed in delight. Indeed, some of them had shouted out the punchline in unison with Pearl. Zoë’s giggle bordered on hysteria. Her clasped hands were jammed tight under her chin. “They love it when she does the old jokes,” she whispered at me.

  As the noise died, Pearl opened her mouth, but for some reason, she closed it again without saying anything. Then it happened again. She cast a fuzzily distressed glance our way. “I’m sure you all ate a magnificent Thanksgiving dinner earlier tonight in Krasner’s dining room. I heard Joan Krasner’s mother did the matzoh stuffing for the turkey, herself.”

  Mrs. Risk’s hand gripped my shoulder. “Something’s wrong,” she muttered. Her fingers dug painfully deep into my flesh, but I had no time to complain. I was focused on Pearl. I willed her to be fine, to be excellent, to console us because pain explained by Pearl became something to laugh at and thus bearable. All of us here needed Pearl.