Murder At The Mikvah (14 page)

Lauren grabbed a cookie off another tray before Janine could cover it. “Then why did she put me on Howard's other side?” she asked, before realizing the question made it sound like she was actually interested in the guy after all.

“Oh, I don't know,” Janine said. “Maybe in case it didn’t work out with Howard and me. I guess even matchmakers have to cover their bases.”

“They do?” asked Lauren, chomping on her cookie.

“Sure,” Janine said. “She seated you between Howard and Jonathon probably because she doesn’t know you so well yet—she doesn’t know your
type
.” Janine laughed. “Well anyway, as soon as Jonathon tracks you down, the four of us can go on a double date!”

“What if I told you neither one is my type?” Lauren asked.

Janine thought for a moment. “Then I'd say, 'it's not me you should be telling this to, it's Hannah.”

“Impossible. There might be a conflict of interest.”

“What do you mean by
conflict of interest
?” Janine asked, narrowing her eyes.

Lauren scratched her head. “Haven't you ever been interested in the wrong person?”

“Wrong person?”

“Yeah, like someone who wasn’t
available
?”

“As in someone who was married?”

“Sure, like someone who was married,” Lauren said, looking away.

“I admit, I've been attracted to married men before,” Janine said. “But I would never go after them.”

“Why not?”

Janine looked completely surprised by the question. “Because they're off limits; that's why!” she said adamantly.

“But suppose it wasn’t a happy marriage…”

“I still think it's wrong,” Janine insisted. “Besides… how could you know for sure they weren't happy? People lie you know… to get what they want.”

Lauren took a deep breath. Janine was right. People did lie. She thought of Max and how she had been completely misled into believing the two of them had a future together. Deciding she no longer wanted to talk about relationships, Lauren grabbed a folding chair from under the table. “Where do these go?” she asked Janine.

“Oh, I leave them set up for the evening class,” Janine said. “It saves me time later. You
are
coming tonight, right? Yehuda's topic is
Pirkei Avos
—Ethics of our Fathers.”

Lauren shrugged. “I'd like to, but first I have to check the train schedule.”

“I thought you had a car.”

“I do, but it's old and unreliable. I never know when it's going to start.”

“Well, at least the train’s just a quick ten minutes or so…”

Which feels more like ten hours if you're sitting next to a homeless guy.

“Right,” Lauren said. She finished wiping the table and plopped down in a chair. “Does your job require that you be here for every single class, Janine?”

“How else would I get dates?” Janine said, laughing. “No, in all seriousness, I knew when I took this job, that I’d be a one woman show.”

“I thought you were Yehuda's assistant,” Lauren said.

“
And
office manager
and
receptionist
and
event planner
and
errand runner
and
custodian…”

Lauren held up her hand. “Stop! I get it! Whew! I’m getting tired just listening to you! Your hours sound worse than mine used to be.”

“But I’m
happy
!” Janine said. “I’m sure working in P.R. you made five times what I’m paid, but I feel like I’m making a difference here. Yehuda is good to me, and I know he appreciates me—I'm treated like part of his family.”

Listening to her words, Lauren was overcome. She could only imagine what it would feel like to be part of Yehuda's family. She saw the way he related to his children, his wife.

Janine was caught off guard at Lauren's sudden display of emotion. She grabbed a box of tissues. “Lauren, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to imply…”

Lauren waved her off. “You didn’t imply anything. I’ve just had a lot of upheaval lately.” She wiped her nose. “I’ve felt pretty alone this last month or so.”

Janine leaned in. “Look, if you ever want to talk… or if there's anything I can do for you… anything at all…”

“Thank you,” Lauren said, forcing a smile.

“And listen,” Janine continued, “I live less than a mile from here on Oak Lane. You’re more than welcome to stay over at my apartment. You know—if the weather’s bad, or you have car trouble, or even if you just want company.” Janine ran to get her purse. She sat down and rummaged through it. “In fact…”—she smiled and pulled out a single key—“this is a key to my place. Feel free to use it, whether I’m home or not.”

Lauren looked at her, doubtfully.

“Honestly, anytime.”

Lauren took the key, touched by the display of kindness. Janine barely knew her, yet she was willing to extend herself in this way. Lauren thanked Janine again and excused herself to use the bathroom. She returned minutes later, her face washed clean of makeup smudges. She glanced at her watch and pointed toward the closed office door. “Hannah and Sonia have been in there a while.”

Janine checked her own watch. “They don't usually speak for more than a half hour, so they should be out any minute.”

“So this is a regular thing?”

Janine nodded. “With this kind of arrangement, I would imagine the first year is hard.”

Lauren scrunched her forehead. “What
arrangement
?”

“Oh, I thought you knew.”

“You thought I knew
what
?”

“About Sonia coming from Russia.”

“I do, but…” She paused and her eyes widened. “Are you saying Sonia’s a
mail order bride
?” She asked this in a tone louder than she would have liked.

“Shhh!” Janine held her finger against her lips. “You make it sound like she was ordered from a Sears catalog.”

“Well, isn't that what it basically is?”

“It's not like the men just look at pictures and have their wife
FedEx-
ed overnight—they actually spend time together before they get married.”

“Really?” Lauren asked skeptically. “How
much
time?”

Janine thought for a moment. “Hmm, I don't actually know. It varies, I guess. But the point is, they
do
get to know each other before the wedding ceremony.”

Lauren considered this. “Well, for whatever reason, Sonia doesn't seem very happy.”

Janine shrugged. “It's not fair to assume a person's unhappy just because they don't smile,” she said. “Sometimes it's a cultural thing. Russian women aren’t as demonstrative as American women. Besides, in all fairness, what couple
doesn’t
have problems once in a while?”

“True, but Sonia’s only been married a year…”

“Less than that,” Janine admitted. “It’s been more like ten months, I think.”

“Then that makes it even worse,” Lauren said.

“So, what did you think?” Hannah's voice boomed from behind them before Lauren could say anything more on the subject. With her head down, Sonia slunk toward the front door. Lauren prayed she hadn't heard them talking, though she was still curious about the entire mail order bride business. It didn’t make sense that someone as gorgeous as Sonia had to sell herself into marriage.

Hannah continued looking at Lauren expectantly.

“Oh…sorry…” Lauren said, snapping to attention. I really liked it—your class, that is.” But her eyes remained fixed on Sonia as she slipped out. Was that a bruise on Sonia's right cheek?

“What did you learn?” Hannah asked, moving a couple of steps to the left—enough to block Lauren's view of the front door.

“Oh… Right…” Lauren muttered. “What did I learn? Well, for one thing, I never really thought about the idea that clothes could be so empowering to women.”

Hannah nodded her approval. “Modesty in dress allows a woman to be seen for who she is spiritually, not who she is physically.”

“And the idea of covering up what is most precious,” Lauren added, “like jewels protected by a velvet cloth… that point was very profound.”

Hannah smiled, apparently pleased with Lauren's retention of the subject matter. “There is a saying,” Hannah said, placing her hand to her chest. “'The daughter of the king is dignified within'.”

Lauren nodded respectfully, though she found it ironic that Hannah spoke about modesty to an audience of spandex-clad, materialistic women. She wondered if it came naturally to Hannah to see only the good in people and overlook their flaws.

“So, you’ll be back for the next class?” Hannah asked eagerly.

“I’ll try,” Lauren said, though she knew it wasn’t true.

“Great… and on a separate note, how about spending this Shabbat with us?”

“Friday night dinner?”

“No. I want you to experience an
entire
Shabbat—Friday night to Saturday night.”

“You're inviting me for a sleep over?”

Hannah laughed. “There's no reason to drive on Shabbat if you can avoid it,” she said. “Besides, we have a very nice guest room.”

Lauren was still a bit surprised. “Uh, sure. That sounds great,” she said.

“Oh and just so you know,” Hannah added, swinging her bag over her shoulder, “a few very nice young men will be joining us for meals.” Then she looked at Janine and winked, like this was a private joke.

Lauren's face dropped.

Janine bit her lip, containing her smile.

 Eighteen

“It was absolute destiny that you came into our lives when you did—completely
beshert
!” Hannah told Lauren repeatedly after an early labor scare had confined her to bed rest. Though she didn’t necessarily agree with Hannah's theory of divine intervention, Lauren was more than happy to help. Ever since that first
sleep-over
Shabbat four months earlier, she had practically become an extension of the family, dropping by several times each week to run errands, help Hannah cook, or pick up the kids from school. At Yehuda’s insistence, Lauren had become a regular overnight Shabbat guest too, much to the delight of the Orenstein boys. Not everyone liked to play their favorite games of
stratego
or
tap tap trio
, but Lauren did; so each Saturday morning, she would routinely awaken to the feel of Eli and David’s warm breath against her face, and sounds of their muffled giggles as they hovered beside her bed, awaiting her tickles.

It was mid June and school had recently ended; the Orenstein kids were still adjusting to their summer schedules. The plan was for Lauren to arrive each morning to help Yehuda wake the kids, give them breakfast, and see them off to their respective camps. David and Eli rode the bus to
Camp Rafael,
a full day sports camp about forty-five minutes away. Rachel walked Yitzi three houses down to the Goldman’s house, where she helped some local high school girls run a backyard toddler camp. While the kids were at camp and their father at The Jewish Learning Center, Lauren made the beds, folded laundry, straightened up the house, and tended to Hannah, who was permitted out of bed only to use the bathroom and join her family—legs propped—at the Shabbat table.

“I still cannot believe you aren’t married!” Hannah exclaimed one afternoon to Lauren who was sitting on the rocker beside Hannah's bed, which was cluttered with books and magazines. “You’re beautiful, smart, funny, great with kids, and you are an
amazing
cook!” As if on cue, she bit into a piece of the apple cake Lauren had baked the day before. “And, as if that wasn’t enough… you’re
traditional
too!”

Lauren looked down at the four rows of yellow garter stitch on her knitting needles and laughed, embarrassed by so many compliments. “Well, in all fairness, credit for this has to go to Sonia Lyman. She's the one who taught me.”

Hannah smiled. “Sonia's been spending a lot of time with you lately… I'm glad. I think she's lonely.”

Since she had no job, no children and lived close by, it was easy enough for Sonia to pop over; and from what Lauren could tell, she seemed to relish her time with the Orensteins. Lauren often wondered why Sonia didn’t just move in with the family altogether. It would be better than staying with that husband of hers. Lauren had met Gary Lyman recently. So much for a John Travolta look alike! Gary was at least twenty years older; he was an inch or so shorter than Sonia, had thinning hair, and instead of walking, he
shuffled
, like an old man.

“She's a sweet girl, but very reserved,” Lauren said. She had tried repeatedly to coax Sonia out of her shell, but had been only mildly successful. Sonia spoke openly about her family back in Kharkov and her old job as a hostess at the Hotel Kiev; but when it came to her husband, Sonia either welled up with tears or clammed up altogether.

Lauren groaned as she removed a row of stitches from the knitting needle. “Apparently, I can't yet talk and knit at the same time.”

“God willing, you’ll have those booties done before this baby is born!” Hannah said, laughing. She placed an open hand on her enormous abdomen. “Now about a husband…”

Lauren quickened the pace of her knitting. “Things aren't so simple in the real world, Hannah,” she said without looking up.

Hannah tucked a few stray hairs under her blue
snood.
During the warmer months, she favored this type of head covering to her
sheital;
it made the summer heat much more bearable. Besides, now that she was on bed rest, there was no need to dress as she did when she was up and about. Lauren remembered the first time she had been in Hannah's bedroom and noticed the wig resting atop its Styrofoam head. “Oh, you didn’t know?” Hannah had asked. The truth was, Lauren, like most people, had no idea that married orthodox women typically covered their hair. Now it made perfect sense! All the women in the community with their precision cuts, always professionally styled—what were the odds of so many women within a two mile radius
never
having a bad hair day? An added advantage to wearing a sheital, Lauren learned, was that a woman could select any color and style she wanted. Hannah had opted to keep her natural brown shade, but she had exchanged her curls for a sleek, straight cut.

Hannah lifted her cup of tea and took a slow sip as she studied Lauren, now carefully counting her stitches. Sitting cross-legged in her tan cargo pants and white T-shirt, Lauren was adorable. She was the same height as Hannah, but slimmer and with the long straight hair that Hannah—with her unruly spirals—had always yearned for.
She’s twenty-six! Surely she must want a man in her life!
Hannah suspected that Lauren was pining over someone from her past—someone named Max, specifically—but there was no reason to let that small complication get in the way. Besides, it was best for any woman to put past hurts behind them and move forward.

“Well, you're in
my
world now, and I have someone I’d like you to meet,” Hannah said, with the enthusiasm of a cruise director. “His name is Benjamin. He’s visiting from Chicago. His mother’s friend is married to someone my husband went to yeshiva with.” Hannah struggled to get all the words out. The combination of her size and enthusiasm for the subject matter left her breathless after each sentence, and she paused before making her final point: “He’d make a wonderful husband.”

Lauren stared blankly at Hannah. As much as she had come to admire and maybe even envy Hannah's perfect life, there was no getting around the fact that no matter how much she learned in class, or how many
mitzvahs
she performed, Lauren could
never
be part of Hannah's world. Unfortunately, Hannah was extremely stubborn and wouldn't take
no
for an answer. Admittedly, Lauren had been mildly amused at that very first Shabbat dinner when Hannah had seated her between Howard and Jonathon. She even found it funny when the same thing happened with two different men during the subsequent overnight visit. And then Jonathon had stopped by for lunch the next day. “He lives half a mile away,” was Hannah’s explanation for the “surprise” visit. “Naturally, it’s convenient for him to stop by since he lives in the
eruv
.”

The novelty of Hannah playing cupid had worn off and had ceased being even mildly entertaining; yet, she persisted. Last week another single man
just happened
to drop by claiming to have an important letter for the rabbi. It was obvious to Lauren what his visit was really about when he asked for a glass of water, all the while checking her out. For all Lauren knew, the envelope was empty. But she was still polite; he was a nice guy; and it wasn’t his fault—not if Hannah had put him up to it. Yes, Hannah could be quite pushy when it came to this matchmaking business. How in the world could Lauren make the woman understand that she didn’t want to be set up? At least not like this. Hannah waved her off whenever she tried to broach the subject politely. “Just give me time,” Hannah would say. “You just haven't met the
one
.” Hannah had no idea how wrong she was. In fact, lately, the whole production had gone from mildly annoying to grating on Lauren’s nerves, and she had come dangerously close to letting Hannah have it. The most recent instance was after Hannah's comment that Lauren, at twenty-six, was “getting up there” in age. “I was barely nineteen when I met Yehuda!” Hannah added smugly.

Yehuda.
Did Hannah even consider that maybe Yehuda was different than most men?

For the past several weeks, each evening, before Lauren went home, she had been joining Yehuda and the kids at the park. He was such a great father, so loving and compassionate—the complete opposite of what her own father had been. Yehuda kissed
boo boos
and said
I love you
often and without flinching. Lauren couldn’t help but be drawn to him, his openness, his sensitivity. Lauren knew he was a child of divorce, raised by a single mom. Though she didn’t know much about Yehuda's sister Sunny, chances were, being raised in a house full of women had softened him.

Lauren didn’t say a word as Hannah droned on about finding a man for Lauren, but inside she seethed. It was obvious Hannah had no clue how lucky she was to have Yehuda—lucky to have someone like him to share her home, her life, her future—as opposed to Lauren who was utterly, completely alone.

When she returned to her empty apartment that night, the first thing Lauren did was the exact same thing she did every night: check her phone messages, in the hopes that Max had called.
Just in case you decide it’s time to leave Michelle and come back to me,
Lauren thought wistfully. And like those other nights, there was nothing. Not a word.
How long did it take for heartache to go away?
she wondered, pouring herself a stiff drink. She downed it in record time and poured a second. She put on a CD and collapsed on the couch, her location of choice for these nightly pity parties.

Reminiscing about her childhood, Lauren recalled the passionate dreams she’d once had. Yet even then, part of her knew she was deluding herself; a husband, two kids and a white picket fence were not in the cards for her. Even the proverbial dog hadn't happened. Just then, as if on cue, Rosie skittered by as if saying
a cat of my caliber is an obvious upgrade from any dog
,
thank you very much
. In grade school, Lauren and her girlfriends liked to plot their futures. “I'll marry Bobbie Kenya and you marry Stevie Addison and we'll live on the same block and our kids will go to the same school and…”

Ha! So much for that fairytale! Lauren refilled her glass and stretched out on her couch. Oh, if only miracles happened and she could change things! She knew her parents would suddenly be bragging to everyone about their beautiful, successful and
married
daughter. But for that to happen, she'd need a husband. “Let's see,” she said out loud to Rosie who was sitting, bowling pin-like, on top of the couch, “who would make me a good husband?” She laughed at both the absurdity of her question, and the serious expression on Rosie's face, but continued anyway. “How about Yehuda? What do you think, Rosie? Would you like a
rabbi
to be your daddy?”

To Lauren's chagrin, Hannah spent her final weeks of pregnancy in bed compiling a list of untapped prospects and making reference calls.
Who is his rabbi?
Where does he learn? Has he been married before? What type of work does he do?
Hannah would speak into her hands-free phone like a telemarketer while scribbling diligently onto a notepad. New faces appeared for dinner each Friday night—men in their thirties and forties wearing suits or jeans, y
armulkes
or baseball caps. On the rare occasion when Lauren wasn’t annoyed at all this nonsense, she found the whole concept fascinating, this complex process of betrothal in the orthodox world.