“Amen to that, ladies,” MC Lenny says, swooping down over our little huddle and making me jump.
“Lenny!” Jodi smiles, embracing him. “I was getting worried!”
“Because…he’s supposed to be here?” Kat asks, putting her phone into her bag.
“That’s what I was wondering.” I quickly scan the hallway for signs of Doug. This is very wrong. I feel faint. I glare menacingly at Jodi, who seems oblivious to my pain, her arm tucked neatly into the crook of Lenny’s elbow.
By making her plans for tonight, whatever they are, Jodi has unwittingly fucked with the space-time continuum of my universe.
“See, Lauren?” Lenny says, turning toward me. “I told you at the airport yesterday that I had a feeling I’d be seeing you again soon.”
“Oh yes, I see!” I smile painfully and take two baby steps away from him. “So very soon!”
“And why is that again?” Kat asks.
Lenny smiles. “Ah, Kat. How I’ve missed you.”
“Don’t tell them, Len. I want it to be a surprise until the very last moment!” Jodi says, jumping up and down like a cheerleader. “Lee and the kids don’t know, my parents don’t know, only the rabbi does…it will be amazing.” Motioning to Kat and me, Jodi says, “Now, you guys go in and let me work with Lenny, here.”
Great. My husband and my crush at the same temple event with a woman who wants to kill me. I’m not a very religious person, but I’ve got to believe that Someone is seriously testing me.
Chapter 31
I’m not sure what I expected, but the temple’s ballroom is underwhelming. Try as they might, there is little a decorations committee can do to hide the fact that the place was constructed in the late 1960s, with parquet wood floors, low-grade ceiling tiles, and few windows. Fifteen or so large, round tables circle the dance floor, each draped in a gold tablecloth. A lone, sad-looking mirror ball dangles from the ceiling.
I find Doug wilting patiently in line behind mostly old people at one of the beverage stations set up in the dank corners of the room.
Kat slinks off to say hi to the side of the family that binds her to Leslie.
“Would you care for some Mt. Eden chardonnay?” Doug says, handing me a plastic cup with a urine-sample-sized amount of yellow liquid in the bottom. “Apparently, it’s being rationed.”
Doug and I are good. We had a heart-to-heart followed by makeup sex.
Then why do I suddenly feel so ill at ease around him?
“Lauren.” Doug clears his throat, as if he has something important to say. My stomach clenches involuntarily.
“Mm?” I say, downing the entire shot of wine in one gulp. It’s sickly sweet and will probably give me an instant headache, but I hold my cup out for a refill anyway. Doug takes the bottle of wine from the bartender and fills my glass to the top.
“Promise me something.” He places the bottle back on the bar and meets my gaze.
“Mm,” I say, taking a kosher egg roll from a passing waiter and popping it into my mouth. It’s hard to swallow with my heart lodged in my throat.
“No matter how tempted you might be…”
“Mm?” I ask, taking giant gulps of wine while scanning the room for signs of Lenny.
“…do not bid on or purchase anything at tonight’s auction.”
“Oh!” I exhale. “I can so promise that!”
Doug does not look convinced. “You say that every time we attend one of these functions, and then you drink some wine and peruse the silent auction table, and the next thing I know, we’ve won a three-hour tented party with a DJ.”
“In my defense, that was a good idea. But I did not see the fine print that read ‘Good only on a Tuesday between the months of December and March.’”
“And…?”
“And there was no way of knowing that Making Moves LLC was bankrupt and would fold the following week.”
Doug gives me a lopsided smile. “You know what I mean.”
“Fine,” I say. “No bidding and no buying. I swear.”
We move toward our assigned table, where we are seated as guests of distinction with Jodi’s family. I give my condolences to Jodi’s three daughters, who are all dressed in shades of pale pink perfection, one prettier than the next. Lee is setting up a tripod that’s cradling a video camera directed at the center of the ballroom. He makes one final adjustment, then takes Doug’s arm in a masculine, handshake-like greeting.
“Dudes! How the heck are you?” Lee’s laid-back manner is reflected in his casual dress of jeans and an untucked button-down. His blue eyes sparkle as he surveys the room.
“So sorry about Sonia,” I say.
Lee nods solemnly. “She was quite the lady. Jodi’s family will miss her. On one side, she had a Holocaust survivor, and on the other side, a Ziegfeld Girl!”
My mind flashes back to the Hebrew Home for the Aged in Miami and the images of Sonia in elaborate dance costumes crowding her room. I have a pretty good idea which history was hers.
“Oh, also, Mazel Tov!” I add, kissing Lee’s cheek and sitting next to him.
Lee reaches for a huge camera outfitted with a telephoto lens and begins to fidget with it.
“Hi-yyy!” Jodi, making the rounds, has arrived at her own table.
“Hey! My beautiful wife. I made a plate of apps for you.” Lee motions to a mound of kosher egg rolls to his left.
“Ugh! Are you crazy? I’ve been too nervous to eat all day, Lee, you know that.”
“I do.” He winks at us, head nodding in agreement. He then raises a glass of water to toast her. “As I was saying: to my beautiful, skinny wife!”
Jodi rolls her eyes, her anxiety palpable. “I can’t take another minute of this. I’m going to get changed.”
“Changed?” Doug whispers my way.
“Yeah. The dress she has on now is just for the ‘meet and greet’ portion. She bought something off the Internet for the main event.”
“I think I’m starting to like this evening a bit more now,” Doug says.
Leslie enters the room and scans the crowd, no doubt looking for her family, with Lenny walking in right behind her. I hide behind Doug’s shoulder.
A man with an elaborately decorated tallith grabs a microphone and stands on the podium set up at the front of the room.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome. I am Rabbi Cantor—and, no, I don’t sing!” There is a smattering of tired laughter from around the room; he probably feels compelled to tell the joke every time he introduces himself, poor guy. “If you will take your seats, we plan to begin the evening’s festivities in about five minutes.”
“Awwwright,” Lee says, rubbing his hands together. “Time to do one last check on my AV setup.”
Kat stops by on the way to her assigned table, waving hello to Jodi’s daughters and then to Doug. “Shalom,” she says. “You guys have room for me at your table?” she asks. “I’m flying solo. I decided not to invite the estranged Peter tonight, for reasons linked to his obvious douchebaggery.”
Doug smiles back at her. “Hi, O’Connell. How was your trip?”
Kat looks at Doug and, without missing a beat, says, “Mr. Worthing, I don’t know what the eff you’re talking about. Excuse me for a moment, will you?” Then she pushes past a nearby couple and disappears from view.
Now, that’s one way to avoid the truth. I guess she’ll be sitting at her assigned table instead of squeezing in with us.
Doug and I settle into our seats as the lights dim. Someone pulls down a video screen, and the rabbi speaks into the microphone again. He takes a small slip of paper from his pocket, unfolds it, and puts on his bifocals. “If an MC Lenny could please come up to the front?”
Lenny is dressed in dark-washed jeans, crisp white shirt and a midnight-blue velvet blazer that instantly sets him apart from the rest of this crowd. He adjusts a neon-yellow yarmulke on his head that reads Livin’ on a Prayer in Hebraic-type font. He sort of leaps onto the podium and grabs the mic from the rabbi
, easily moving into a greeting of “Yo, yo, yo, Temple Beth El! The Jews are in the house!”
This gets a tepid response, with only slightly more applause than Rabbi Cantor’s joke about his own name. Lenny smiles at the crowd and changes course. “What I mean is, what’s up? Mah koreh?”
“This kid, he’s Jewish?” Lee’s great-aunt leans over and whispers to no one in particular. “He’s some kind of entertainer, like a magician?”
“He’s an accountant,” I clarify. “With a penchant for popular culture.”
She shrugs and waves her hand across the space, like it doesn’t really matter what I say; she’s already decided that he’s an ass.
Lenny continues. “As many of you may know, this week, we lost a wonderful member of our Jewish community, and the Moncrieffs—located at table nine, can I get a spotlight on them, please, thanks—lost a beloved member of their family. That is why Temple Beth El would like to dedicate tonight’s events to the memory of Sonia Goldberg, beloved great-grandmother, grandmother, mother, and friend.” He pauses as real applause fills the room. “Jodi?”
Jodi emerges from behind the ballroom doors. The spotlight finds her and there is a collective intake of breath.
Because, ladies and gentlemen, she is breathtaking.
Picture a petite version of Cindy Crawford with a dash of Fran Drescher thrown in for attitude. Toss in a black-fringed micromini spandex dress, fishnet stockings, and patent leather fuck-me pumps, and you’ve got one-tenth of the idea.
“This is a memorial?” Jodi’s great-aunt asks. “For my sister, Sonia?”
“And so much more, Aunt Elaine,” Lee adds.
With a hand from Lenny, Jodi manages to step up to the podium without showing much of her black lace underwear. Under the spotlights, her makeup sparkles and her hair cascades in a shiny burnt-red mane. “Thank you all so much for coming this evening to support us here at Temple Beth El.” She pauses and lets her gaze travel meaningfully around the room, milking this moment for all that it’s worth. “As Lenny just mentioned, we lost my grandmother this past week in Miami.”
And then we found her, I feel like adding.
“It was a tremendous blow to us all, softened only by the fact that I had traveled to Florida to see her the day before.”
“As they say, timing is everything!” Lenny adds over Jodi’s shoulder.
Jodi is only momentarily flustered by this unexpected outburst and quickly silences Lenny with a death stare before turning back to her adoring fans. “As many of you know, my grandmother, Sonia Goldberg, was a Ziegfeld Girl in the 1930s. She was passionate about Judaism, gardening, and borscht-belt comedians.”
“Which is why Morris eventually left her,” Great-Aunt Elaine adds, none too softly.
With tears welling up in her eyes but not quite ruining the mascara, Jodi comes to her conclusion. “And so, I have asked my very talented friend here, MC Lenny Katzenberg, to put together a video montage with musical accompaniment as a dedication to Sonia’s rich and varied life.” Applause follows, with standing ovations. “Lenny, if you will?”
“Of course, Jodi,” Lenny says, taking over the coveted spot at the mic.
And so, the lights dim once more and the video begins.
Surprisingly, it begins with an image of the entire Cubix-Richmond family, seated on a couch in what looks like the living room of their home.
“Lex Sheridan!” Jodi calls out to the darkness, to Lenny, to the screen, to God.
“Is this a service announcement from the United Nations?” Great-Aunt Elaine wants to know.
“Yes,” I say.
“Hi, Jodi,” Tim starts. “My family and I would just like to express our deepest condolences to you and your entire family. It has been a privilege and a pleasure to get to know you, and I’m sure so many of the people in that room tonight can attest the same. Yours may not be a household name, but trust me, you are famous to those who love you and need you so very much in their lives.”
Jodi scans the crowd and catches my eye. I wink and give her the thumbs-up simultaneously. I see Kat across the room doing the same.
“And, Jodi,” Ruby says, “the Richmond-Cubix foundation would like to help support your temple’s efforts to assist impoverished orphans in Somalia, and have decided to pledge fifty thousand dollars in Sonia Goldberg’s name to this great cause.”
“Thank you, thank you!” Jodi says, blowing kisses at the screen, although there’s no one really there to respond. I’m pretty sure her thanks are for the notoriety as much as—if not more than—for the funds.
“Have a wonderful evening!” Slim, Leo, Leyla, Bette, Bubba, and Didi say, waving as the camera fades out.
A low murmur of voices starts humming around the room as people ask, “Was that really…?” and “How does Jodi…?”
Jodi’s mom reaches across the table to tap me on the arm. “What was that?” she asks. “Do you know anything about it?”
“Not a clue,” I say.
Doug smiles. “Ditto here.”
I whisper to Doug, “See? Isn’t it kind of fun to lie like that?”
“To Jodi’s mom, sure. To each other? No, not at all.” He takes another sip of kosher wine and grimaces as it goes down. Turning back to the crowd, I notice Doug watching Lenny.
I’m paranoid, certainly. I mean, everyone in the room is eyeing Lenny. He’s over six feet tall and is standing at a podium with a spotlight in his face and a microphone in hand. He’s just brought Rubix Cube to Temple Beth El, for crying out loud. Everyone is watching him for a reason. And that reason has got nothing to do with me.
Right?
MC Lenny is hushing the crowd and tapping on his computer to bring Sonia’s video onto the screen.
The sound of Sister Sledge’s “We Are Family” fills the room with its familiar disco beat, and I feel a little disappointed in Lenny for selecting such a conventional tune to accompany the memorial montage of such an unconventional woman like Sonia Goldberg. Then the music begins to blend with something else, and suddenly, a rapper’s voice sings out “You could never be replaced…to have one more dance with you, Mama…”
I’ve never heard this song before, but it’s perfect for this moment. Tears fill my eyes.
The lights come up to thunderous applause. “Thank you, MC Lenny, for that heartfelt homage to Sonia Goldberg.” Lenny gives a wave and a curt bow from the front of the room. He then goes about dismantling his electronics. “Now, to the main event!” Rabbi Cantor cheers.
“Give it up for the main event, people!” Leslie calls, standing on her chair, wobbly. Her husband gently pulls her down.
“About time,” Great-Aunt Elaine yawns.
I try to make eye contact with Lenny, but he’s not looking up. I lose track of him on the other side of the ballroom as the lights dim once again.
“I want to thank you all for coming tonight for this very special event. As you know, each year, the temple tries to find creative ways to raise funds to support our community. This temple provides so many Jewish individuals and families with cultural and educational activities, from our wonderful preschool to our bar- and bat-mitzvah programs to our adult learning and travel opportunities. Why, this year alone, we visited Israel, Turkey, and Boca!” Cheers and whistles follow from table six. “Okay, Dave, that’s enough. We know how you like those Turkish baths!” More hoots from table six ensue.
“Enough,” the rabbi continues. “Let’s get to the moment you have all been waiting for.” People begin to applaud, but the rabbi holds up his hand to delay them. “First, I need to say thank you. Without these seven brave and talented volunteers from our very own Beth El congregation, this night would not have been possible. They have each been matched with an appropriate dance partner and teacher, with whom they have been practicing and preparing for several months now, taking time away from their families in order to learn and grow.
“Now, many of you may think you know what is coming, because you enjoy watching the television versi
on of this event and are familiar with the concept. But believe you me, you have never seen anything quite like this. Ladies and gentlemen, from the glamour of Hollywood straight to the Beth El ballroom: Welcome to Dancing with the Stars of David!”
Thunderous applause, of course, follows his words. There is no holding back; Great-Aunt Elaine, getting a second wind, stands and starts stomping her rubber-tipped cane against the floor. People go as wild as possible in God’s house, some even standing up or putting their fingers near their incisors to whistle.
“Jodi’s gonna rock!” echoes through the room just as the lights go completely dark and the first couple enter the room. Lee, realizing he has spoken too loudly, grimaces. He whispers to Doug and me, “She’s on second.”
“I know,” I whisper back. “I’m a little bit nervous for her.”
“Relax, she’s a pro,” Jodi’s mom says. “I put her in dance competitions and pageants from the time she was three, like JonBenét.”
“That’s scary,” Doug says.
“No, actually, it explains quite a lot,” I say. Like one’s personal quest for fame and fortune. Imagine being told your whole life that you were a star? And then you didn’t become one. Unless you pretend that chairing the book fair for the PTA is akin to being Miss Universe.
Not that becoming an educational guru like Georgie was quite as big as that for me, but still. I can identify with the feeling of unfulfilled ambitions.
I find a roving waitress and request a double shot of Baron Herzog chardonnay.
Having downed that like it was Gatorade after a four-mile run, I motion to Doug. “I’m going to the bathroom quickly, before the first so-called contestant.”
Doug looks up from the photos in his hand and manages a pained smile in my direction. Lee must be showing off pictures of his new Porsche again.
In the hallway, I run into Kat, who is deeply focused on her preferred mode of communication, typing furiously on her phone. “How’s Shay?” I ask in annoyance, sure that she’s flirting with disaster.
She stops what she’s doing, slowly crosses her arms across her chest, and gives me a Look. “And how’s Doug?”
Lauren Takes Leave Page 30
