On the up side, after years of decoding mother’s mixed messages, my interpretive skills were among the best, which had proven helpful since returning to the dating game. I didn’t need He’s Just Not That Into You. I already knew that “I’ll call you” meant “I’ve deleted your number from my cell.” “You’re great” meant “I’d prefer someone with boobs.” And “Let’s get together sometime” meant “I’d rather sleep with a lunch lady.”
So how was it possible that guess-what-I-mean Sheila was suddenly coming in loud and clear? And what had happened since Wednesday when everything was fine? The real question, however, was how could I handle my parents’ marital storm if I was still reeling from my own? A storm in which the wind gusts uprooted me from a luxury co-op on Central Park West and deposited me in the heart of the Maclaren Mommy Mafia: Park Slope, Brooklyn.
“Mom, what the hell is going on with you?” I followed her out of the ballroom.
“I’ve had it. That’s what’s going on.” She headed for the front entrance. “We’re together forty years and do you think maybe once in all that time he’d put a plate in the dishwasher or pick up his socks? Not Dr. Big Shot…He’s too busy studying maps of places he’s never going…”
“Sorry, but if you’re busting up a marriage, the law says you need one good reason.”
“I have plenty, starting with the man is crazy!”
“Then it’s a perfect match!” I quoted Yente the Matchmaker.
“Make jokes all you want, but I’m moving out of the house and moving in with you.”
“Ladies and gentlemen. Friends of Brandon. We have a very special treat for you this evening. Here to perform live is a great new comic. She’s headlined at Catch a Rising Star in LA, and Caroline’s in New York…Let’s give a big round of applause for Brandon’s cousin, the one, the only Robynnnnnnnnn Fortune!”
I’m walking. I’m smiling. Now what? Of all times for her to spring this on me. Oh God. Daddy’s right. I’m going to bomb.
“Thank you and good evening. [bow] Hey, you know what? Let’s give DJ Johnny a warm round of applause too. Isn’t he doing a fantastic job? [clap] And let’s thank our hosts Barry and Rhonda. [clap] Guys, this is the greatest bar mitzvah party ever! I don’t know how you did it. Free food. Free drinks. Free music and entertainment…. okay, anyone here get in for less than five hundred dollars?”
Yes! They’re laughing! Okay. Do the bit on young girls wearing Tiffany. Good to know babysitting pays more than prostitution. No! They’ll smack me with their Prada bags…
“Thank you everyone. Okay, first thing I have to tell you is that I cannot tell a lie. Actually I can. And I do…Yeah. Truth is overrated. Life is so much easier when you say whatever it takes to get you out of trouble…Robyn, have you been drinking? No Dad. Good. Go to your room…Robyn, is that your picture in the paper holding up the 7-Eleven? No Dad. Good. Go to your room…So that’s my philosophy. Lie and no one gets hurt.
“You know when DJ Johnny said I’ve headlined at the top comedy clubs? Never happened. I mean I’ve been to Caroline’s. Isn’t that the one over on Broadway and Forty-ninth? Now see, what harm was done by telling a little lie? [spots woman at table] Oh wow, ma’am. May I say how much I love your dress? I bet it’s a designer gown. And you paid like what? Four thousand dollars? [turns away] Designer, my ass. She got it at Kohl’s. Seventy-nine dollars less the coupon…See how easy that was? She’s happy, I’m happy…
“Of course, you ladies all know lying is the key to survival. You buy something really expensive, go to the trunk of your car, take out the bags from Target and Marshalls, do a little switcheroo, one, two, three, dumb husband sees the bag, asks if you remembered to pick up deodorant and chips, and boom, you’re in. [crowd laughs]
“Okay, where’s Brandon? [looks out] Come on up here Brandon…let’s give the bar mitzvah boy a huge round. Didn’t he do an amazing job today? No really. I’m being totally honest. You were super. [shakes his hand] And there was no lip synching involved, right? ’Cause I wasn’t sure. I thought I saw your mouth moving after the tape stopped…Oh, that was the rabbi?
“Okay, well now that you’re a man, let me give you some manly advice. Do you always tell the truth? [he nods yes] Really? You always tell the truth? [nods yes] You’re gonna have it very rough in high school my friend…Brandon, is that vodka in your Poland Springs bottle? [I move his head from side to side] Excellent. Now you’ve got it. You get good enough at this you can run for president…[crowd applauds]
“All right. Let’s talk careers. You like playing hockey? [he nods yes] And I bet you think you’re pretty good. [he shrugs] Well here’s a little reality check and I’m not making this up. It’s a statistical fact. Less than one percent of all Jewish boys grow up to be professional athletes. Ninety-nine percent of the time they grow up and buy the team…Write that down. Grow up. Buy a team.
“Got it? Okay, go sit down. It’s all about me now. Deal with it…Let’s give Brandon a big hand…. he’s a future owner of a hockey team!”
They love me! Only now I’m out of untested bits…Sorry Phillip.
“Remember being thirteen? You had friends, you had fun, you could use your allowance for drugs…No. Just kidding, kids. Don’t go home and tell your parents this lady at Brandon’s bar mitzvah told you how she saved up to buy these special plants you could smoke.
“But really. I had a great childhood. Grew up in Jersey. And I’m telling the God’s honest truth now because my parents are here tonight…My father is a retired dentist whose passion is cartography. Yeah. Map collecting. Very exciting. Other dads used to stuff Playboy magazines under the bed. Mine had maps of the thirteen British colonies…Funny thing was, he could tell you the exact distance between Peking and the Gobi Desert, but when I needed him to give directions to my friends’ parents, he’d say, ‘Sheila? What’s the street after Harrison?’ And she’d say, ‘You mean the one we live on?’
“And my mom? Now there’s a great lady. Taught violin for years. My dad said she could have been a been a concert performer but had to be realistic about how much they made. Translated: She never heard anyone say, ‘Wow. Look at the violinist’s Mercedes!’ But she was a wonderful mother. She’d call upstairs and say, ‘Kids, what do you want for dinner?’ and I’d yell back, ‘What are our choices?’ She’d say, ‘Yes or no.’ And talk about great teachers. She taught me about envy. ‘Pity the millions of less fortunate children who don’t have a wonderful mother like you.’ She taught me about religion. ‘You better pray your father doesn’t find out.’ And justice. ‘If there is a God, one day you’ll have a daughter just like you.’ But mostly she taught me about luck. ‘Of course there’s luck. How else do you attribute wealth to people you hate?’
“Yeah my parents are great…just not great with all the new technology. Bought them a cell phone a few weeks ago. Big mistake. My father tried to tune in to Radio Free Europe. My mom kept looking for the little answering machine that takes all the messages…They ended up bringing it back…damn thing couldn’t get a dial tone…and yet they want to look like everyone else so now they walk around with the garage door openers clipped to their belts…”
Crap! Mommy is leaving, Phillip looks like he’s going to kill me, Daddy looks like he’s going to kill Mom, Patti is gloating…Sorry you guys. You know I don’t mean any of this stuff…It’s just a comedy routine…You do remember how close I live to the Brooklyn Bridge now…
Chapter 2
“OKAY, THANKS GUYS. That wasn’t at all humiliating.” I found Patti, Phillip, and my parents in the parking lot. “My whole family walking out in the middle of my act.”
“I could have sworn I told you to leave them out of it.” Phillip puffed on Patti’s cigarette.
“Oh, so this is all my fault? Sorry. But this, whatever this is”—I pointed to my parents—“has nothing to do with me…Will you two please tell us what’s going on?”
“I told you inside.” My mother blew smoke. “Your father and I are through.
Over and out. And don’t try talking me out of it. I’m not changing my mind.”
“Nice of you to sit us down like adults,” Patti groused. “Show a little respect for the family.”
“Oh hello Carmela Soprano! I wasn’t ready to talk, do you mind?”
“Well, I knew it!” Phillip kicked a stone. “I said to Robyn you’ve been acting strange.”
“And I said, Really? How can you tell?…Now Daddy, tell us what’s going on.” I shivered. “There must have been something that—”
“It’s nothing…Nothing is ever right, nothing is ever good enough…”
“Oh, please.” My mother squished the butt. “Like I’m the only one who complains? You carry on plenty. The neighbors are too noisy, the kids are too selfish…”
“Whoa…I am not selfish,” I said. “Phillip may be, but I am a very good daughter.”
“Like hell I’m selfish.” Phillip puffed out his chest. “Who takes them to Shea Stadium for the Mets home opener every year? Who sends them Omaha steaks?”
“You get all that stuff from your clients,” Patti said. “It’s not like you actually pay for it.”
“Ladies and gentlemen. The model child.” Phillip turned to her. “You haven’t even seen your folks in six months.”
I wish I could say that after a few more minutes of Family Fireworks Night, cooler heads prevailed and we all went back inside and enjoyed the rest of the party. But no. It was as if someone had thrown a lit match at a stack of hay, and there went the whole damn barn.
My dad handed his stub to the parking attendant, which shocked me. The only time I remembered him leaving before dessert was served was when he had his heart attack. And even while being carried out on a stretcher, he was yelling for someone to save him a piece of strudel.
Patti and Phillip went inside, I assumed to fetch their kids, while I ended up seated next to my mother on a stiff loveseat in the ladies’ room, listening to her complain about her loveless marriage, and how unromantic it was to be in bed with a fat man who made the same noises as the coffeepot. “Honey, the Messiah will come before I do!”
At that point I realized all eyes were on us. And nothing like sharing your personal drama with a bunch of rail-thin Long Island girls in Mommy’s high heels who thought they’d tuned in to an episode of the OC, instead of the real-life unraveling of a forty-year marriage.
“Would you girls please excuse us?” I looked desperate.
“I had to wait for the right time to tell you,” she said when we were alone.
“And this was the perfect moment? In the ladies’ room of the Sands at Atlantic Beach?”
“I’m sorry. You’re so busy with your day job and your night job…Plus, how could I upset you while you were in the middle of your own divorce? At least now you’re settled, thank God.”
“This isn’t happening.” I closed my eyes. “What did Daddy say when you told him?”
“How should I know? When does he ever listen?”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this…All I hear is how much your widowed friends miss their husbands.”
“Now they can have mine.”
“Just tell me why now? It’s not like Daddy was ever any different. He’s always driven you nuts.”
“This may be hard for you to understand,” she whispered, “but all I think about is sex with a younger man.”
“Mental image, Mom…Not good.”
“I’m sorry, but I’d like to think I’m still young enough to enjoy a man’s company…”
“Don’t you know the only time you want a man’s company is when he owns it?”
“I thought you of all people would understand…because you’ve been through a divorce.”
“This is different. I was only married for three years. You and Daddy have been together for a lifetime.”
“Exactly. And now it’s time for me to get out there and live my life while I can still catch a man’s eye…Do you think I’m attractive?”
“I think any sixty-four-year-old woman who can still wear size ten jeans is hot stuff. And all my friends who saw The Notebook said you reminded them of Gena Rowlands.”
“I hear that a lot.” She fluffed her lemon souffle hair.
“But how do you just suddenly decide to throw everything away? Life in Fair Lawn, New Jersey, is all you’ve ever known.”
“No, not all…”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Yeah, but if you don’t have a house and Daddy to take care of, what will you do? Teach violin again?”
“Are you kiddin’ me? These kids are crazy today with the volleyball this and the community service that…Setting up lessons, then canceling last minute.”
“Fine. So then what’s the plan?”
“Maybe I’ll be your assistant.”
“My assistant what? The only thing you know about makeup is buy one, get one free. And trust me, you do not want to spend every morning with Princess Gretchen, the Royal Ass.”
“Then I’ll help you with your comedy work. Do you need costumes, because I still have my Singer sewing machine?”
“Mom, you’ve seen my act. I don’t dangle from the high wire in sequins and tights…Okay look. I know Daddy is very moody, and I’ll give you that he’s not the most exciting creature in the sea, but this little escape plan of yours is not going to work.”
“How do you know? You haven’t even thought about it.”
“I’m primal. I survive on instinct. Besides, we both know my place will never be clean enough for you, my extra bedroom was actually a closet in a last life, and what if I want to bring a guy home? Don’t mind my mother? She’s blind and deaf.”
“Well I’m sorry you feel this way, because you have no idea what I’m going through.”
“Look. I want to be supportive. But you still haven’t given me one good reason to—”
“Oh believe me. I have plenty.” She sniffed.
“Daddy isn’t…” I leaned in. “He’s not having…is there someone else?”
“I wish! Then maybe every once in a while I’d see a little fireworks. Instead it’s every morning with the green tea and the Shredded Wheat. Every night with the gargling and the toenail clippers…I tell you, Robyn, I can’t take it anymore. I wake up thinking, Damn. Still here!”
“Then let me help you find a good therapist.”
“But I’m not crazy. Did you know that according to the AARP, more and more women over the age of fifty are leaving their husbands? Remember your friend Susan’s mother? She left Hal six months ago, met a man on that Internet, and now she’s going on cruises and—”
“That’s what you need. A cruise. You and Daddy had such a great time when you went to Mexico. Remember? You came home with all those great little ceramic bowls?”
“Ceramic bowls do not save marriages. Great sex saves marriages.”
“Okay. That’s it. I can’t take the chance that you and I are about to start competing for men on JDate. We’ll have a family meeting. Daddy will hear what you have to say, you’ll hear what he has to say, you’ll both go for counseling, I’ll take you shopping for thongs…”
“I tried those, dear. Very uncomfortable. I don’t know how you gals walk around with two pieces of thread and a loincloth.”
“Don’t look at me. I donate money to raise awareness for big, cotton underpants.”
“I don’t want new underwear. I want a new life. One that doesn’t have me married to a man who likes the bathroom better than the bedroom.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Not that I’d grown up confusing my parents with Bogie and Bacall. The only romantic getaway my parents ever took was that Mexican cruise, and come to think of it, my father invited his cousins from Toronto to join them.
It was also true that growing up, there was endless bickering about home repairs, vacations, and, every Passover, whose turn it was to make the Seder—my mother, or my dad’s sister Fran, the lazy ganef who catered half the meal and a
sked her guests to bring the rest.
But at least Phillip and I never woke up to find broken dishes on the kitchen floor, or worried that finding our father asleep on the couch meant he’d lost admitting privileges to the bedroom. Frankly, his snoring rattled the teacups, so we assumed his sleeping in the den was out of pity for our mother.
And though there were times I wondered why he never lavished her with expensive gifts like my friend’s fathers did their wives, I figured it had more to do with his frugal nature than a plot to withhold love. For years he drove an old Toyota, rather than fall into line at the Cadillac dealer like the other doctors and dentists he knew.
Besides, he knew that anything my mother ever wanted she bought for herself. In fact, he often joked that her three favorite words were not “I love you,” but “Sale starts Saturday.”
And even when they did argue, we never felt threatened. Somehow they raised two nice kids, paid their taxes, and kept the lawn so perfectly groomed, we could have hosted the running of the Kentucky Derby.
And unlike the neighbors who spent the seventies getting high on everything but life, at least my parents weren’t the ones trying to break the marital monotony by exchanging keys, partners, and the names of clinics where one could be discreetly tested for syphilis.
Clearly they were meant to stay together, like swans who mated for life. Come to think of it, swans were just like my parents—aggressive and territorial, but in it for the long haul. Only difference between the two species was that humans understood guilt.
“Daddy could have another heart attack over this…He loves you very much you know.”
“Ha! The other day I’m in the shower and he starts singing, ‘Mrs. Brown you’ve got a lovely walker.’”
“That’s cute. He still wants to make you laugh…Maybe you need more time to think.”
“Are you kiddin’ me, Toots? I’ve done nothing but think.”
“You’re serious about this.”
“Dead serious. And stop looking at me like I’m ruining your life. You’re my inspiration.”
Fate and Ms. Fortune Page 2
