On Tuesdays, They Played Mah Jongg (11 page)

“NOT THOSE!” the girls screamed, and Rona grabbed the bottle before Florence could empty it.

11

“Remember how you asked when I come into the story, Dr. Mikowksy?” Michael began. “You are about to find out.”

The doctor scooted to the back of his chair and sat up straight, checked the sharpness of his pencil and braced himself for Michael’s debut.

Michael took notice of the doctor’s posture, smiled and said, “It is not
that
exciting, Doc.”

“Well, I have waited quite a while for you to enter the story, and I don’t want to miss a thing,” he told his patient, smiling.

Michael sat back, took a deep breath and continued the unfinished story.

~~~~~

In April 1985, Florence entered Tranquility Lodge for drug rehabilitation. We used to make a joke every time their commercials would come on television and imitate the announcer, saying, “Tranquility Lodge, Happy Hour every night from four to seven.” Although she had quit her pill-popping habit on her own, she felt she needed extra help in sustaining her sobriety.

I decided to pay Aunt Flossie a visit. Aunt Flossie was my nickname for her by the way.

On my way home from school after graduation, I took the exit for Tranquility Lodge. It was located in a secluded area in Yorktown, Virginia, and the setting was as the commercials promised, bucolic and tranquil. As I parked my car and walked toward the entrance, I expected to find a bunch of strung out teenagers, but once inside, I discovered an entire enclave of middle-aged, prescription drug addicts, most of whom were women.

I inquired at the front desk about Florence’s room, introducing myself as a family friend, and they told me she was in the Sunrise Wing to the right, Room 610. As I arrived at the room, I noticed the door was open, so I peaked in, and Florence was sitting by the window reading the newspaper. She was in a pink sweat suit, and she was wearing her signature large purple reading glasses that always made her look like a praying mantis. I noticed her hair was not teased and shellacked, but combed back and longer than usual. And, it was gray. Four weeks without a color, cut and set, and she looked so different. But somehow, even with her gray hair, and no makeup, except for lipstick of course, she looked ten years younger than she did the last time I saw her at spring break.

“Aunt Flossie?” I said softly. She looked up and smiled from ear to ear.

“Mickey!” she screamed. Mickey was her nickname for me.

She dropped the paper, ran over and gave me a big hug. She guided me to the chair facing the bed, and she hoisted her four-foot-eleven-inch frame onto the foot of the bed with her Keds-clad feet dangling.

“I am so sorry I couldn’t make it to your college graduation,” she said. “I cannot seem to get a day-pass from this prison to save my life.”

I assured her that it was fine and that her health was more important than anything to me.

“It isn’t exactly Betty Ford, but they know what they are doing, and I feel better than I have in years. So, did your mother enjoy the graduation ceremony?” she asked.

“She didn’t make it,” I answered.

Florence looked at me, and she reached out her hand for mine, and asked, “Why not?”

“She and Karl Stein are taking a cruise, so they came up two days before to congratulate me, and then they left,” I continued. “Her only son graduates from college, and she cannot plan a vacation around it. I guess I should be used to it by now.”

“You know how I feel about Hannah’s mothering skills, so I need not say anything,” Florence confided. “What do you think of Karl?”

I got up and walked over to the window without answering her. She scooted off the bed and grabbed my arm and said, “Let’s go take a walk and get some fresh air.”

We exited the room, and Florence introduced me to just about everyone in the hallway as her college graduate godson who was going to be a famous screenwriter. All the residents were impressed and remarked how proud Florence was of me and talked about me all the time.

~~~~~

Dr. Mikowsky interrupted Michael, “Did Florence give you the love you didn’t get from your mother?” This was the first time Dr. Mikowky broached the subject since Michael’s breakdown the week before.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Michael asked.

“I guess since she had no children of her own, she felt a closeness to you, being that you were her godchild,” the doctor continued.

Michael looked puzzled and asked the doctor, “Did I say Florence was childless?”

“Well, I assumed since you did not mention any children …” Dr. Mikowsky said.

Michael leaned forward, furrowed his brow, and with intent in his voice said, “Dr. Mikowsky, Florence had four children. They are all married, successful, happy, well-adjusted adults. She was a great mother, and her children’s ability to lead independent lives was a testament to her skills as a parent. Florence may have had her problems with prescription pills — and alcohol later in life — but she was probably the best parent of all my mother’s friends. Her children were the most self-confident people you ever met, and she never spanked any of them.”

The doctor was surprised to hear this. In his years of practice, he had assumed that individuals with problems with addiction made the worst parents, but Michael had proclaimed Florence the best parent among these five women. This piqued the doctor’s curiosity, and he wanted to know more about the other women as parents.

“Michael, other than Myra, did Rona have any other children?” Dr. Mikowsky began.

“Yes, she had a son, who eventually took over the delicatessen.”

“How about Arlene?” the doctor asked.

“She had two children. One lived at home and worked on her master’s degree for about 18 years, and the other worked in Feld’s Department Store with Arlene and William, selling mattresses. He was never management material.”

The doctor wrote all this down and asked, “And, Doreen’s children?”

Michael had to pause before answering this one, “Let’s see. Two of her sons are working in sales, and one drives a garbage truck. One took over his father’s real estate business. They mostly manage low-rent apartments and parking lots now.”

“Any other children?” the doctor asked.

“She had a daughter who is a very well-known porn star,” Michael added. “Strange isn’t it, Doc. I grew up hearing these things only happened to the
goyim
.”

Dr. Mikowsky could not believe what he was hearing. He had drawn personality sketches of each of the women and speculated how their children would have turned out, but Michael had managed in answering his questions to turn his predictions upside down. He looked down at the pad, jotting down the last thing Michael said.

“The weirdest part of all of this is that Florence was always being criticized by the other women behind her back, yet her kids were all perfect,” Michael said.

Dr. Mikowsky was growing more fascinated by the dynamics of this group of women, yet he was developing a fondness for Florence and could understand why Michael adored her so much.

The doctor looked up and smiled at Michael, thinking to himself, “Look at him. One would assume he came from the most well-adjusted and stable environment. He is personable, even-tempered, handsome, intelligent, successful, yet he comes from one of the most screwed-up environments I have ever encountered.”

“What are you thinking?” Michael asked.

“Just how one should never assume anything,” he told him. “Continue with the story.”

~~~~~

Florence and I walked the grounds and looked at the scenery without saying much of anything for a while. We spotted a secluded bench and decided to sit down. I looked over at her and realized how happy and healthy she looked. I never remembered her looking so content.

“Do the girls visit you, Florence?” I asked.

“Oh yeah,” she answered. “But, to tell you the truth, they get on my goddamn nerves. Rona is so loud and that laugh of hers. One of these days those teeth are going to come flying out, and someone is going to get hurt. I have a headache every time she leaves. Doreen spends most of the time flirting with the doctors and orderlies and forgets why she came to visit, and Arlene is so depressed that I find myself cheering her up.”

“What about my mother?”

“Did I tell you my kids come down every weekend?” she said, avoiding the question.

“Aunt Flossie, has my mother visited you at all?” I asked again.

“Once,” she answered.

I could not believe it. Her best friend could not visit her more than once. It was only a 20-minute drive from Hannah’s house, and she could not find the time to say a quick hello.

But, I should not have been surprised. The summer before, when I was in the hospital having surgery, my mother visited for only 30 minutes and thanked me for not costing her too much money above and beyond her health insurance. I had to ask a friend of mine to drive me home from the hospital because she did not want to miss her daytime Mah Jongg game in one of the waterfront mini-mansions.

“Look, Mickey,” she continued, “I have known your mother for many years, and I am not surprised. Besides, she is busy dating Karl now, and she spends her time with him.”

Florence was so forgiving.

“Aunt Flossie, I am going to speak to her. This is unforgivable,” I said.

Florence grabbed my hand, looked up and said, “It is fine. It is better she not come.”

What was this? Florence, who spent so much time with my mother over the years, who was like a sister to her, preferred that my mother not visit. I didn’t understand.

“Mickey, I never realized how much your mother bothered me until I was sober. She always tells me what to do, what to wear, how to act, what to say, when to say it and criticizes my driving.”

“Really?” I answered, “I thought she only did that to me.”

We both laughed, and it was comforting to know that someone else saw her as I did.

“And, Karl is no day in the park either,” Florence said, putting her hand over her mouth and looking away after she said this, thinking she may have gone too far. She did not want to get involved in my mother’s love life, nor did she want for me to take sides.

At first, I wanted to let the comment pass, but I was never capable of that much self-control. So I asked, “Aunt Flossie, you are the one who pushed them together. Now, you are telling me you don’t like him?”

Florence continued to look away and remained silent. I sensed she felt horrible about what she said, but I needed to know what she was thinking.

“Aunt Flossie, is there something I need to know?”

“Mickey, you know I am not one to gossip,” she answered, but I gave her a look of disbelief. “Hey, it was worth a try. I just don’t want to get involved.”

“Too late,” I said.

“I guess it is,” she said. “There is something about him that does not sit right with me. I cannot put my finger on it, but I don’t trust him, and I have a feeling that Hannah is in over her head.”

Wow. When I met Karl, I thought there was something not right about him. Who retires and moves to Newport News? Then, there were the two dead wives. My mother had two dead husbands, but I knew the circumstances of their deaths. Of course, I always had a suspicious nature.

Florence looked at her watch and realized she had ten minutes to get to her afternoon group therapy session, so we walked back to the building.

We said our goodbyes and hugged each other, and I headed home to an empty house.

Four weeks after I visited Florence, she was released from Tranquility Lodge, and the first place she went was Donald’s Follicle Forum.

On that June day in 1985, she asked Donald to do the unthinkable. She instructed him not to set or color her hair — just wash it, cut it, and blow it dry. Thus, Florence was the first of the girls to go to bed at night without her hair in curlers and wrapped in toilet paper — an event that last occurred in a menopausal Jewish woman’s bedroom in Newport News in 1949. She was free at last!

My mother hosted the first Mah Jongg game after Florence’s return, and when she arrived at Hannah’s, the girls’ mouths dropped open. They were shocked to see Florence out in public with short gray hair, sans makeup except for a light shade of red lipstick, and she was four-foot-eleven again. Gone were the platforms and stilettos, and in their place, were pink canvas Keds.

Rona was sitting on the couch, and the cigarette she was about to light, fell from her lips. Arlene and Doreen, who were sitting at the Mah Jongg table, stood simultaneously, and my mother almost dropped a pitcher of iced tea as she entered the den. I ran downstairs as I heard the front door open and ran up to Florence and gave her a big hug.

Rona spoke before I could, “Florence, how can you leave your house looking like that?”

“You don’t have any makeup on,” Doreen scolded.

“What happened to your hair?” my mother asked.

“You girls don’t know what you are talking about,” I shot back. “Aunt Flossie, you look fantastic. You look decades younger, and you have a glow about you.”

If only I had a camera. You should have seen the looks those three gave me. I was practically branded a traitor.

Arlene reacted differently. She slowly walked over to Florence, put her hand on her shoulder, kissed her on the forehead, and hugged her. Neither said anything, and Arlene started to cry. I knew going without makeup and big hair was considered unthinkable to a southern, Jewish, menopausal woman, but I never thought it would bring someone to tears.

I watched as Arlene continued to hug Florence and quietly wept, and then I looked at Rona, Doreen and my mother, and saw each of them get teary eyed. Were they happy? Sad? Disappointed? Shocked? Who knew? I did not know what to say, or whether I should say anything at all, and this went on for quite a while.