Back to Jerusalem

by Jan Surasky

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Sparky’s parents were as cordial as could be. They sent a car round on a Sunday when they returned from their eight-week junket to Europe, part business, part pleasure, to bring Jenny and Josh to their home in a tony part of Long Island. The day was beautiful and sunny.

  As the car pulled up to the turn-around driveway in front of their home, a large, brick house that sat up on a rise a long way from the road behind a gated drive, they rushed from the doorway to hug Jenny and shake hands with Josh. Josh got the full tour of the grounds and the house as well, including a gift of a ball that was a replica of a real baseball from an earlier era that had won the World Series for the Yankees. Sparky’s dad was a fan.

  “Please call us George and Mary. We are very informal here.” Sparky’s mother rushed ahead of Jenny as she led them on to yet another room. This one a beautiful paneled study with a fireplace furnished with soft, leather chairs and a leather sofa. A vivid oriental rug gave color and design to the carefully polished original planked wooden floors.

  On the sofa lay a dog lazily licking her whiskers. “Broomhilda, come meet Josh.” Broomhilda refused to budge, staring at Josh as he ran toward her. Undeterred, Josh lifted his tiny hand to pet her. Broomhilda accepted the attention, eventually nudging Josh and licking his fingers. Josh laughed.

  “Well, I guess they made friends. We got Hildy when Amanda left home. She’s been a great comfort to us.”

  As they took tea on the sun porch, Manuel the all-round handyman showed Josh the grounds and roused Broomhilda to play ball with them both.

  “How does Amanda take to farm life?”

  “I think she likes it. She’s never happier than when she’s tending to her seedlings in spring and pulling in the harvest with her faithful, old tractor in the fall.”

  “Amanda was always a tomboy. She always preferred to play ball with George than to have tea with her dolls or dress for a charity ball. Her coming out party was almost a disaster. She hid in her room for hours.”

  Having tea on the sun porch of the beautiful home the previous owners had dubbed The Highlands, a facetious reference to the slight rise the home had been built on, and the few rolling hills behind it, the rest of the acreage being very flat, was a respite for Jenny. Never had she been in such a beautiful home, with such gracious hosts.

  The time passed quickly. As the sun went down, they prepared for dinner. The meal was served in the most beautiful dining room Jenny had ever seen. The crystal chandelier sparkled in the candlelight and the artwork, most of it modern, melded into the walls, the reds, some bright, some soft, surrounded by hues designed to let that color, like a beautiful sunset, stand out.

  Emilee, the cook, a refugee from the countryside of France, served the most exquisite roast duckling, complimented by a luscious port wine sauce and accompanied by a rice dish with morels her mother had shown her how to make. Josh was offered a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or a hotdog in deference to his age.

  The after-dinner brandy was very expensive. Jenny basked in the glow, and the intensity of the after-dinner conversation. Politics, world affairs, and the differences in European cultures the Parkers had just experienced.

  As Mary and George tucked them into the car for the return trip, Jenny thought of Aunt Gert. How she would have liked the recipe for the duck. How she would have enjoyed the intensity and smoothness of the very fine brandy. But, as they drove away, Josh asleep in her arms, Jenny couldn’t think of Aunt Gert in any other place than where she was.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Jenny was enjoying her job at Mallory, Hollander and Wexler. The long commute was still a force in her morning routine, and she hadn’t yet become as blase as the other passengers in meeting her connections. But, once in the office she was ready for work, the sunbeams still dancing on her desk, ready for an assignment to be even a small part of a global deal. The thought always heightened her excitement.

  Mallory, Hollander & Wexler concentrated on cementing the world through global trade. She had only read about that in her tenth grade social studies books. Mrs. Harper had glossed over that section. Here she could witness history in the making on a daily basis.

  “Jennifer, Rich Morelli stat. He needs someone to take dictation on a pending deal.”

  “Going right now, Alma.”

  Jenny hurried down the hall, steno pad in hand, three carefully sharpened pencils, and new, fashionable loafers with a very slight heel which had replaced the high-heeled pumps. She waited outside the open door of Rich Morelli’s office waiting to be summoned inside.

  “Come in, Jennifer. This is Mr. Prolitov. From Moscow.”

  Jenny nodded slightly and slipped into a chair next to the Russian visitor. His expression remained humorless.

  “Are we ready?” Rich looked over in her direction.

  “Ready.” Jenny sat poised with her pencil and steno pad on her lap.

  Jenny tried to act invisible, but the Russian kept looking at her sidelong and shifting in his chair.

  “She’s clean, Boris. All our employees are subject to a rigorous investigation when they’re hired.”

  That seemed to make the Russian relax, but not completely.

  “We get the corn before we ship the vodka.” The heavy accent did not disguise the toughness in tone.

  “We can ship the corn as soon as we sign, but we need payment before we ship.”

  “I am authorized to give you full payment for the corn. Payment for the wheat will be delayed.”

  “Agreed.”

  “If your politicos block shipment, we cancel.”

  “We have only one senator dead-set against USSR trade. He’s making it tough, but we’re clear.”

  “Shipment must be immediate. We have problems in Russia as well.”

  “Will do. Let’s get on with the contract.”

  Rich dictated as fast as he could. Jenny didn’t try to understand the terms or the language, she just wrote fast and tried not to break her pencil point.

  “We’ll need four copies now. And, Jennifer, we’ll need to see a finished copy for signing before Mr. Prolitov leaves the building. He should be finished with his tour in about an hour.”

  Jenny jumped up. She left without acknowledging Mr. Prolitov, figuring this was better protocol from the Russian viewpoint. She hastened down the hall.

  Cathy’s note for today’s lunch greeted her from atop her typewriter. Jenny finished the contract and had it on Rich Morelli’s desk by eleven. She hastened to meet Cathy at the front door by noon.

  “How about a new New York experience?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay, we’re headed for Mama Leone’s. We’ll need a cab. My treat.”

  Jenny admired the way Cathy hailed a cab. Public transportation was all she could afford, but she took note of Cathy’s sophisticated ability. Someday, she might have to use it herself.

  Jenny’s calm was momentarily disrupted by the cab ride. Near hits and misses with the myriad of vehicles on the streets of New York forming the gridlock of The City lunch hour, and the strings of expletives from the mouth of the cab driver who barely spoke English, set her back a bit from the objectivity she had acquired in riding the train and the buses and trolleys. But, she recovered as soon as she and Cathy were settled at a table at Mama Leone’s, surrounded by tourists and native New Yorkers all bent on finishing their lunch by one.

  “How’s the job so far at our fast paced import export?”

  “Good. I had my first international experience this morning.”

  “Well, you’ve come up in the world. They don’t usually allow that for at least six months.”

  “Rich Morelli needed someone. Some of the girls were out sick today, so I guess Alma had me fill in.”

  “Good for you. You either make it or buckle under the pressure. Rich is a good guy to start with.”

  “He wasn’t the problem. It was the Russian on the other end.”

  “Well, they can be tough. They do
n’t have the government or the countenance we have.

  I can give you some books that might help. They’re filled with the highlights of some of the cultures we deal with.”

  “I’d like that, Cath. It might take some of the fright out.”

  “If you can get smooth with some of the difficult cultures, they sometimes decide to take you on international trips. That means more money, and sometimes a raise.”

  “I’ll study, Cathy. Right now I just want to collapse. It’s all I can do to take care of Josh after I get back at night. He needs someone to be awake.”

  “It’s tough, Jen. But, you’ll get used to it. How is the little guy?”

  “He’s turning two on Saturday. Will you come to the party?”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t want to miss it.”

  “Thanks, Cath. And, thanks for the survivor tips.”

  “No problem. When I got here, there was no one to throw me a rope. I had to navigate this jungle by myself.

  “Say, what about men, Jen? Are you interested?”

  Jenny reddened. “I hadn’t thought about it. It has been all I could do to get us both settled.”

  “Be wary. There are a lot of guys here ready to pounce and ruin your equilibrium.”

  “What about you, Cath? Do you date?”

  Cathy laughed. “Oh, heavens, no. It’s all I can do to study and get ahead in my job.

  Before I came here, I had a boyfriend I went with for almost thirteen years. Juan Carlos. He was twelve when his father came to work on our farm and I was nine. We were a pair ever since. Then, two years ago, he left for Mexico to help his people and work on a ranch outside a poor village. He left me a note. He said he couldn’t ask me to live a life of poverty.”

  “I’m sorry, Cath.”

  “Oh, I’m over it now, but it took a while. I studied and worked, with no time to think.

  “What do you say we get out of here? Alma will have our jobs.”

  Cathy pulled out the right amount of cash and dropped it on the check. “Let’s go!“

  As Jenny followed as fast as she could, Cathy pushed boldly to the front. Jenny watched admiringly, but was certain she would never gain that extra expertise that transformed small town to experienced New Yorker. But, she continued to take mental notes. After all, she would soon be Josh’s guide as soon as he was old enough to navigate these mysterious streets.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Jenny’s apartment was filled with parents and an under-five crowd. All of Josh’s day care friends were there, plus a few siblings as well. Crayoning books and rounded scissors and construction paper lined the small table in the corner. Games were strewn about the floor.

  Jenny had set out bowls of pretzels and chips, and an avocado dip that had been Aunt Gert’s favorite. Juice glasses were everywhere.

  She had chosen a red wine that was cheap but good, she thought. The jug had said table wine, but she thought it was close to a very good Pinot she had favored from a local winery back home. Everyone was busy and noisy.

  The second-hand chairs and sofa she had slipcovered were standing the wear. Their oranges and yellows and paisleys and florals from the fabric shop down the street were holding their own. Dee’s old but reliable Singer had helped with the transformation.

  Jenny cooked the hotdogs with Dee’s and Cathy’s help. The other mothers set out the salads and baked beans they had brought.

  Jenny, Cathy, and Dee squeezed around the only table with Josh in his high chair clearly enjoying a hotdog as finger food. He banged his spoon on the paper plate in obvious enjoyment.

  “Why the limp?”

  Jenny looked mortified. Dee directed her gaze at Cathy. Cathy seemed not to mind.

  “Country accident. Caught my leg in a thresher.”

  “We have city accidents, too. My friend lost her toe in a motorcycle accident when she was three. Her father was bringing her home from the grocery store.

  “Do you miss the corn?”

  “Sure. But, I like New York, too. Union Square market at 5 a.m. Central Park at dawn. A Village green grocer with so many heads of perfect lettuce it’s hard to choose.”

  “Me, I’ll take Brooklyn any day. Sitting on the front stoop on a summer’s night. Mrs. Polimini shaking her fist into the air as she curses Maloney in the next apartment and swears she will call the cops if he gets drunk one more time. Kids fighting over the bats and balls and who will pitch.”

  Jenny stood up. “Time for cake.” She marched to the refrigerator and pulled out a cake in the shape of a number two. She lit the candles and headed for Josh. His eyes grew big with excitement.

  Cathy led “Happy Birthday” and Dee pulled the paper birthday plates from the corner cupboard. Jenny helped Josh blow and they all clapped.

  Rosa helped him open his gifts and Jenny helped him to thank his guests.

  As they sat, Jenny wished Aunt Gert could be here. And, Sarah and Sparky as well.

  But, the one she missed most was Jake. She hadn’t really thought about him since they had been in New York. But, now she was reminded of how they had shared every milestone together.

  She hugged every mother as they left and thanked them for coming. She stuck an extra balloon or candy bag into the hand of every child.

  Cathy and Dee stayed for the cleanup and left. Dee had to work an early shift in the morning.

  Josh fell immediately to sleep as she laid him in his crib. As she looked around at the remains of the paper-laden party, she realized how tired she was as well.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Jenny pushed the button for the eighteenth floor as she arrived early for work on a Monday. She yawned and scanned the lobby. The display in the exhibit case in front of the first-floor deli had been changed from miniature cartons and cases displaying the products of the fourth floor manufacturing firm to brightly colored photos of cities and villages high in the mountains and barren but beautiful distant lands. Jenny was smitten.

  “Change Your Life. Travel.” boasted the small inked sign above the photos, announcing the birth of a travel magazine newly housed on the fourteenth floor. Jenny quickly changed her elevator request to fourteen. The elevator announced its arrival with its usual curt but pleasant ding.

  The fourteenth floor differed from the eighteenth by a lot. The carpets were threadbare and the doors were made of pine or luan. The simple signs announcing the firms that did business within were often owner-created. Jenny knocked on the magazine’s door.

  “Hi, come in.” A sleepy-eyed young woman with a pony-tail held the door open. Jenny stepped inside.

  “Welcome. Would you like to look around?”

  “Thanks. I’m early for work and I thought I would stop in.” Jenny thought that a little lame, but wasn’t certain that had come out of her mouth. She was too entranced by the brightly colored photos lying on the one desk and all around the floors, very helter-skelter.

  “We’re just getting started, so please excuse the mess. We’ve just finished our first issue, and we’re trying to paint the walls at the same time. Feel free to look around.”

  Jenny took a tour of the only other rooms, two very small ones, that were presently occupied by ladders and a few people with paint brushes trying to change the drab and dingy formerly beige walls to a bright orange and yellow. The three other people nodded as they tried to keep a balance and wield a roller or paint brush at the same time.

  “We’re trying to start this on a shoestring, as you can see.” Jenny’s host had come out of the front room to fill her in. “We’re four CCNY grads who love to travel. We’ve got our families’ and some of our friends’ backing, but it’s a struggle. But, we’re going to make it. We’ve got enough enthusiasm to make up for the lack of funding.”

  Jenny was entranced. The photos lying everywhere depicted so many parts of the world she had never seen. Small, cramped, dingy yellow quarters, with buildings stacked upon one another vied for space with modern office buildings and skyscrapers and centuries-old
buildings with lots of stone and pillars and scrolls and huge, stone animals guarding the long flights of stairs that led to the pretentious entranceways. Barren hillsides and rocky mountains, all without civilization as we know it, lay pristine though helter-skelter.

  “Where do you get these photos?”

  “These are all ours. But, soon, we’ll have to start buying. As soon as we get a budget.”

  “I’d sure like to be able to take photos like that.”

  “You can. How good are you with a camera?”

  “I’m just an amateur. I’m actually more of an artist.”

  “Well. Use your artist’s eye. It’s all the same thing.”

  “I haven’t really traveled.”

  “You don’t have to leave home to make it a destination.

  Lots of people who have never been here find New York fascinating.”

  “Thanks.” Jenny glanced at her watch. “I better run. Don’t want to be late.”

  Jenny’s host stuck out her hand. “Edith Morris. Edie for short.”

  Jenny took Edie’s hand. “Jenny Thompson. I’m up on the eighteenth floor. Import-export firm.”

  “Nice digs. We’ve been up there looking around.”

  “They do well. But, it’s pressured up there.”

  “No doubt.” Edie fished in her jeans for a card, coming up with a bent but readable one. “If you get good with a camera, give us a holler.”

  Jenny bolted for the door. She didn’t want to risk Alma’s wrath. “Thanks, Edie, will do.”

  She raced for the elevator as she pulled the door shut after her. The comfortable loafers with the sensible heel she had invested in were cooperating. She just made the elevator as she rounded the corner and heard it open to let off a fourteenth floor worker bound for the other direction. She quickly squeezed in before it closed.