Portraits (82 page)
Strangely enough, the thought of Michele living with this man didn’t really bother Doris. She didn’t advocate it, of course, but in Michele’s case there seemed to be a wisdom in it. If it were merely an affair she would have been strongly opposed. But under the circumstances, she felt Michele was being very wise, and mature.
“There’s only one thing, Michele. Your father must never find out about this, so from time to time you’re going to have to come home, just as you always have. I don’t want to deceive him, I never have, but this is one deception I think is necessary—”
“Mama, you’re really a remarkable lady.”
“Okay, I’ll buy that,” and she said it with a straight face as they embraced. “But, darling, I would like you to spend a weekend here at home with Eliot.” Smiling, she added, “In separate bedrooms. Your father and I will want to meet him, and I think the sooner the better.”
“No wonder I love you so much…how did I get so lucky?”
“I’ve no idea…Now the next chore that I have is trying to prepare your father for another member of the Levin family who isn’t Jewish.”
“You can do anything.”
“Hardly, but I’ll work on it.” …
While the plane was making its descent to the Reno airport Eliot ran onto the field and waited for the motorized stairway to be rolled up to the plane, then brushed by the passengers coming down as he went up and swooped Michele into his arms. “Welcome home, lady, forty-eight hours is a hell of a long time to take out of my life.”
“Next time,” she said when she’d regained her breath, “you’ll go home with me. Besides, I’ll try to make it up to you somehow—”
“Damned right you will—and tonight’s the night,” he said as he carried her all the way down the ramp and across the field and put her in the jeep.
Doris’ talk with Henry wasn’t exactly as jubilant as Eliot’s reunion with Michele. She was sitting with him after dinner, trying to appease.
“Henry, the important thing is that Michele seems to have found someone she really loves. Yes, I agree with you, too bad he’s not Jewish—but he’s not.”
Henry said angrily, “What are you, an apostle of mixed marriages?”
“That’s unkind, Henry, but the truth is the truth, whether you or I like it or not. Robin has turned out to be a wonderful wife for Gary. She worked and helped him through college, and look how devoted she is to the baby. Imagine calling him Mordechai. How Jewish can you get, Henry? Would we have named a baby Mordechai? We went all-American with Gary…Since they’ve been married, I haven’t seen one thing that I could find fault with. In fact, she’s become so Jewish that she puts me to shame. She goes through the whole thing, with the candles and the
Shabbes
and the recipes I gave her for
matzo
balls…to tell you the truth, she’s maybe going a little overboard. She even gets upset when people say she doesn’t look Jewish—”
“
Oy vay
, you keep talking so I can’t even interrupt. That’s always your best way of winning arguments—”
“I’m not arguing, Henry, merely trying to suggest—”
“Your suggestions are longer than the Bible. Thank God my mother didn’t live to see her grandchildren marry
goyim
…”
“I think that’s unfair.”
“What’s unfair? You think she would have been proud and happy?”
“I think she would have been very proud of Robin, yes. Your mother was a very fair-minded woman, never mind she came from the old country and could barely speak English.”
“All right, on Friday night I’ll go to temple and thank God because Michele’s marrying a
goy
.”
“I think you should go both Friday night and Saturday morning and thank God that Michele is marrying someone she
loves
, someone who’s going to be good to her, take care of her and protect her—”
“You sure you didn’t leave anything out? Sounds like a commercial to me.”
“No, I think I’ve just about covered everything, except…to let you know that Michele and her fiancé are coming home this weekend so we can meet him.”
“
Mazel tov
, I can hardly wait.
Naches
like this I’d never thought I’d have. Now I’m going to bed…and I think that
you
should write a story about how to be a Jewish mother.”
“I can’t do that, Henry, it’s already been done.”
“So sue me, I’m not up on my literature.” After kissing her on the cheek, he smiled and said goodnight before he went up to their room.
Doris went to her desk, rolled a sheet of paper into the typewriter and began an article:
ON BECOMING THE PERFECT JEWISH MOTHER-IN-LAW
1. Keep your ladle out of your daughter-in-law’s chicken soup.
2. Ask for
her
delicious chicken liver recipe but eliminate the mayonnaise and use the traditional chicken
schmaltz
. If you keep your Jewish mouth shut, she’ll never know the difference…
High literature, she said to herself, and settled in for the night…
D
ORIS HAD RARELY BEEN
in better voice or form than this day. While Maria, the cleaning lady, went about her chores, Doris was busy in the kitchen, working amid a clutter of mixing bowls and pots. She sang happily as she poured the noodle
kugel
into the casserole. To strains of “On the Sunny Side of the Street,” she took the sponge cake out of the oven and sliced it for the base of a strawberry shortcake.
When the table was set, she stood back and observed and was taken back to a long-ago afternoon…she’d just left Rachel’s, and she recalled now the longing she’d felt wandering through the china department at Gump’s, never daring to hope she’d have anything. But God had been generous to her, the talent she’d been given had helped make today’s luxury possible…The service plates and crystal goblets, the silver bread-and-butter dishes, the Minton china, the candelabra, the epergne filled with roses…all had been bought with the money she had earned, and the feeling was good. But the greatest luxury of all was that her children were going to be together with Henry and herself tonight. This was a very special
Shabbes
indeed.
At four that afternoon she went upstairs to shower. As she looked at her reflection in the mirror she also thought how far she’d come from that fat, frustrated, curly-haired girl of eighteen that Henry had married. She’d come to terms with life since then. The hope of being reunited with her family had been put in its proper place; she knew after all these years that there would never be a great reconciliation. She had shed tears but she had also built a life from them. It wasn’t a question of resignation, but of facing the realities of her life. She accepted Henry as he was. If, after all this time, he had not developed intellectually or grown financially, it would be foolish to think things would change now. Dreaming was self-defeating. No, the compromises, the adjustments to reality were better.
Tonight Henry would sit at the head of his table as the father and man of the house. Although she and Henry had little in common, he was still a kind man who loved and adored her as always, and it was a very good and treasured feeling. His obstinacy about Gary was something she just couldn’t seem to help him to overcome, but there too she met Henry on his terms, as she did herself. For all the struggles, she had managed to hold onto the house and to help send Gary to college—and now, with the help of God, Michele would at long last find a happy life for herself. Today she felt a sense of peace. Her stories were more in demand than ever and her contribution to the family income had increased accordingly. She was hardly the female counterpart of Shakespeare, but she accepted herself and recognized her own limitations. When a story was good she knew it, and when it wasn’t she tore it up. The standards she set for herself were hers, no better, no worse…
A little after five o’clock Henry found her with an apron on over her chiffon hostess gown, arranging the
gefilte fish
with a sprig of parsley and a piece of carrot on top. She looked radiant and excited. Kissing her, he said, “Why don’t you let Maria do it?”
“Oh, darling, she’s filling the water glasses and thank God she’s here to serve. Now, Henry, please be a darling, go upstairs and get washed, then set up the bar…Oh God, Henry, I’m so nervous I can’t stand it. What time is it, dear?”
“About five-fifteen. You know something, Doris? I have to give myself a little credit…I always knew you were beautiful, but you’re even improving with age.”
“With the steel-gray hair I still look young and beautiful? I was thinking of changing it to red.”
“Do that and you’ve just lost the most wonderful husband in the world.”
She kissed him once again. “In that case, I’ll keep this color. Now, please hurry up. Michele should be here soon.”
She put the fish back into the refrigerator, turned down the temperature of the oven, basted the chickens, and stood thinking for a moment, wondering if there was anything she’d forgotten. Then she took off her apron, washed her hands and walked into the den.
“Henry, you want me to get you the ice?”
“Honey, calm down. I’ll take care of everything.”
“I’m calm, Henry, I’m really very calm.”
“I could tell the minute I came home.”
She walked from room to room, fluffed up the pillows, arranged one daffodil that seemed to be a little out of place, then went back to the den. “You think everything looks all right, Henry?”
“What are you making such a big thing out of this for? When did anything not look all right?”
Before she could answer, the doorbell rang.
“Oh, my God, they’re here.” She ran to the front door and there was Michele, dressed in a Kelly-green suede pants suit with a black mink coat hanging over her arm. Doris was about to say, “You look gorgeous…” But then she saw Eliot, dressed in his best cowboy finery, including high-heeled tooled boots and a Stetson that sat on his head at the perfect angle.
The two of them looked so incongruous that it took every bit of Doris’ self-discipline not to break into laughter. For a moment her thoughts went back to the little girl who had sat in the Golden State Theater, watching William S. Hart and knowing how much she loved him.
Michele was kissing her mother and saying, “Mama, I want you to meet Eliot.”
Who immediately planted a big juicy kiss on Doris’ cheek, then held her at arm’s length. “You got to be kidding, this isn’t your mother. Why, she’s the most beautiful thing I ever saw in my life.”
Laughing, Michele said, “That’s what you said about me. Can’t you make up your mind?”
“I did that the first night I met you…but to think there are
two
of you. Boy, this is a shock. I wasn’t sure what I was going to call you, but it sure isn’t going to be
ma
.”
Doris laughed delightedly.
“I knew I was going to like you a whole lot,” he went on.
“Same here. Now let’s go into the den. I want you to meet Henry.”
Henry was just preparing the bar glasses when he looked up at Eliot. Oh, my God, he thought, we’ve got Gene Autry in the family. He looks like he just came from the rodeo.
Michele embraced her father. “Oh, dad, I’m so glad to see you.”
“Yes…me too,” still staring at Eliot.
“Let me introduce you to Eliot.”
Any further thoughts of likes or dislikes were banished when Eliot shook his hand warmly and said, “Michele talks about you a lot. I’m very glad to finally meet you, doctor.”
“Thank you…likewise. What would you like to drink?”
“Just anything, bourbon, gin, vodka…anything.”
“Daddy, can you make martinis?”
Doris was already into the kitchen to bring back a jar of olives.
As Henry began mixing the drinks, Michele said, “Dad, Eliot makes great martinis. Would you mind?”
“Not at all, but I’ll have bourbon and Seven-Up.”
“Doris, how about you?” Eliot asked.
“I’ll have one of your specials.”
When the drinks were served, Doris raised her glass in a toast. “Congratulations to both of you. I can’t tell you how happy Henry and I are that you’re with us this evening.”
“Well, Michele didn’t have to urge me too much. I couldn’t wait to meet her family.”
“Thank you,” Doris said, her face suddenly very serious.
As she went into the kitchen to get the chopped liver, Michele followed her.
“What do you think of him, mama?”
“He’s everything you said and more.”
“I’m so happy you like him.”
While Doris and Michele were in the kitchen Eliot went to work on thawing Henry out. What every man liked best was to discuss his business, so…
Before Henry had realized Eliot’s strategy he had launched into the saga of how he had arrived in San Francisco with twelve dollars in his pocket, started the office and…Henry had succumbed to Eliot’s charm. In fact he had almost forgotten he was a
goy
.
A little after six-thirty Michele said, “Where are Gary and Robin?”
Doris laughed. “They’ll be here soon. Robin had to wait until sundown before leaving, so that she could light her candles. She’s turned into a regular
rebbitsin
, but they should be here any minute.”
As predicted, the doorbell rang minutes later and Doris hurried to the door. She kissed Robin and Gary then led them to the den, carrying little Mordechai in her arms.
After all the introductions were made, Robin said, “Here, mom, let me take the baby and put him to bed upstairs. He’s already had his
Shabbes
dinner.” …
When they were seated, the
gefilte fish
was already on the table.
Eliot took a bite and said, “Boy, these are the best damn fish cakes I ever tasted.”
Henry paused momentarily, then continued to eat without looking up.
“It’s
gefilte fish,
dear,” Michele whispered.
“Is that so? Well, best damn
gefilte fish
I ever tasted…”
Maria removed the fish plates while Doris carried in the silver tureen of chicken soup and
matzo
balls and ladled it out.
“You’ve got to get the recipe for this, Michele,” Eliot said when he tasted the soup. “These are the best dumplings I ever had.”