Too Jewish (18 page)

"All right," she said. "I think you and Bernie need to remember how much we do for you."

I thought for a second. Mostly I thought about what Bernie would want me to do. Then I ignored Bernie. Staying in New Orleans was difficult, but I was staying for dignity. "We didn't ask you to come over to our apartment that night," I said.

My mother stood up. "I think you need to go home now."

"Okay," I said, with an "if that's what you think you want" tone. "Okay."

I hollered for Louise to bring Darby into the solarium. I didn't think this was a farewell of any sort, but I wanted to see what my mother would do. As I took Darby into my arms, she leaned over and gave her a dry little kiss on the shoulder. "See you soon," she said to Darby.

Bernie did well—until he faced the fact that he was doing well.

It was easy to mark off time: that's what happens with a small child. I can picture where I was with Darby almost month by month. Tiny toddler Darby the night we had Chinese. Petulant Darby at two in the office: that didn't work. The merchandise was shiny, the boxes were toys, the paper rustled and crackled, being inky was mystifying. Darby at three when we could afford a real apartment. Linoleum nursery rhyme figures on her floor. "Humpty Dumpty," she said, clear as a bell. I wrote it down. Bernie's life, charted in Darby's baby book.

Then Bernie asked me about the rent. "I have a financial decision we need to talk about," he said. Well, sure. We always talked over money. We never had any, but we always talked about it. No, he said, this was about the business, specifically the rent. My father was paying the lease; his name was on the lease. "I actually have a tight feeling in my gut every time I think about the landlord getting a check from him," Bernie often said. "How am I supposed to ask for even a light bulb? Why should I expect any respect?" I believed that a business that looked good got public respect. Bernie's business looked good. He had gold leaf lettering on the window, he had deliveries every day, his shirt always was ironed. But public respect wasn't enough.

"I can afford the rent," he said. We were affording a lot, not a lot by my childhood standards, but a lot by our Krauss's standards. Our apartment had walls and a bathroom we didn't have to share, we had our own telephone, we ate meat every night. We even went to Wise's Cafeteria. Once a month, but we went. We never chose Thursdays because it was rich Jews night on Thursdays, maid's night off.

I had to think about Bernie and the rent. That's why he brought it up. It was a can't-win-for-losing deal. Paying the rent would be thrilling independence, but independence would surely cost us. Stripping my parents of power was dicey when it involved money because they'd find it another way.

There were other uses for the extra money. I didn't tell Bernie; I asked him.

We could live better, he said. He could expand the business, or he could save the money.

"But your first thought was to get Daddy out of the picture," I said. I said it with amusement. It would have been my first thought, too.

"Priceless," he said.

"We definitely can't use it for our own lives," I said. That would mean my parents could take credit for everything. That already was why we didn't go to Wise's on Thursdays. They might see us.

Expansion was a possibility. "Your father could claim he was an investor," Bernie said. "He wouldn't want a return on his money. Just credit for the rest of his life. Look what I did. Without me, Bernie is nothing.'"

I saw no reason to save, at least not that much. Bernie was frugal: he saved something every month, but saving was too abstract.

I realized Bernie and I were a couple, but sometimes we had to be individuals. This was one of those times. Even though I wanted to prove myself, I needed to backslide for his sake. Not because I wanted him to feel comfortable staying in New Orleans, but because I loved him. "Let them control me for a while," I said. "If Daddy's off your lease, he'll find one for me."

"This wouldn't be happening in New York," Bernie said.

"Oh, yes, it would," I said. I couldn't imagine my parents disappearing, no matter where I went. They would be there, they would phone, they would phone our friends, they would visit, they would
move.
The only way to escape them was right in front of them. "I love you and respect you, now you may go." That's what real parents would say.

Bernie decided he would go to Daddy. It was tempting to go to the landlord. He would call to make an appointment, after the market closed. Bernie was the busy one of the two because Daddy didn't really work, at least as far as I could tell. He had become a sort of clerk. "You want to sell some Union Pacific? How many shares? All right." Then he'd mumble to himself that no one should sell Union Pacific. He didn't give advice, he didn't pay attention, he did paperwork. He'd made his clients think they all were smart. They all thought they could read the Dow Jones. He could have been replaced by a girl straight out of high school, but he had to be at his desk. Bernie needed to be all over town, and an appointment at three o'clock chopped up his day, but he was being respectful. "I don't respect him; I'm showing him what respect looks like," Bernie said.

"Subtlety doesn't usually work," I said. "But I like it anyway."

He came home early that day. He'd seen my father, and he didn't have any spirit left for selling. He'd have it back the next day, but he was too droopy right then. "I was giving him fifty dollars a month to cover the lease," Bernie said. "I realize that's less than he pays Louise, probably less than your mother spends on shoes, but it's real money. And do you know, he argued that there was no way for me to pay the rent?"

I didn't understand. Well, I understood my father, but I didn't understand the reasoning.

My father's name was on the lease. It was a binding legal document, and he couldn't change the lease into Bernie's name. The landlord was a friend of Daddy's. Of course he was a friend of Daddy's. Anyone who owned anything was a friend of Daddy's. The man had told Daddy he was giving him a special deal. If Daddy dropped the lease, the rent would go up.

"Money's money," I said.

"I am not going to bring the rent to your father every month," Bernie said. "I don't even want to give it to the landlord, now that I know he's a friend of your father. I would feel like a beggar, getting a special deal because I'm the poor son-in-law. I'm trapped."

The lease had eighteen more months to run. Bernie could move. Bernie was miserable. He had such a good location, he had all his printed invoices, all his business cards, even his gold-leaf name on the window. Trapped.

He did the only thing he could think to do. I couldn't blame him. He called Axel. And Axel did the only thing he could think to do. He had a beautiful girlfriend who probably would get a kick out of New Orleans, so he booked a flight.

* * *

I thought they would stay with us. I was ready to move furniture. I was ready to buy furniture, so we could have three bedrooms. One for the three of us, one for each of them. Bernie, Darby, and I would sleep in the living room. But Axel was going to stay at the Pontchartrain Hotel. They weren't married. How could he do that? They would register as Mr. and Mrs., Bernie told me. "Well, aren't you a man of the world," I said. Bernie said it like he did such things.

"I already went through the whole ordeal with him," Bernie said. "Yes, they sleep together. Yes, they've traveled together. Why not? Axel's a little too old to be a virgin."

"So how old is the girlfriend?"

"That's not a question I could ask," Bernie said. "Does it matter?"

I had to admit it didn't. It wasn't like I grew up with morals. I was a good person, but I didn't have a
code.

We entertained them one of two ways. At dinner time, all four of us were together, with Darby along, of course. I wasn't going to use my parents as sitters. They didn't need to know about Axel's presence. The other way was paired off in twos. Not as couples, but by gender. Bernie and Axel spent the day poking around in business, and I played tour guide.

The girlfriend was not what I expected. I thought Axel had tissue-paper girls. Marie-Elise was not tissue paper. For starts, she was Paris-born. She had earned her degree at the Sorbonne, but she wanted to study law at Columbia. That brought her to New York. She was no fool, and yet she had to be a fool. She was with Axel, who had no intention of growing up. This was my thinking. She called him Ahck-
sell,
as if his name were a rebuke. If anyone could rein him in, she could.

I took her for the requisite coffee and doughnuts at Café du Monde. I was giving her the French Quarter. It was loaded with history, some spelled out in French, much inscribed in Spanish. But this is where I met Bernie. I could narrate. At Café du Monde, mostly I could sit. She had Parisian energy, skinny-woman energy. She was the type to eat half a doughnut and then be able to report on the full experience. Darby ate a whole one, but I had ordered six. I ate three aggressively. "Why are you with Axel?" I said.

"Because he's a good man," she said.

I loved her accent. I should have been quiet all along. I wanted to hear her talk.

"Why do you stay with Axel?" I said.

"Why not?"

I felt like I was in high school French class. I wasn't pronouncing correctly. "Do you think about the future?" I said. I sounded like an American, one who wanted extreme ordinariness.

"Not now," Marie-Elise said. She looked around at the most European part of my city. She enjoyed it, but not enough to stay more than another couple of days. "Not now."

* * *

I didn't get to talk to Bernie until the evening after they left.

I told him I was sure Axel was glad to go. The night before we'd had dinner in the Caribbean Room. Darby had been with us, of course. Her idea of a restaurant was Wise's Cafeteria. Roll along in a high chair. Point at bright green and yellow and orange food. Load it on a tray. Go straight to a table and eat it. No one cares about knives. Forks are a nice thought. Paper napkins are on the bus table. In and out. No fuss. The Caribbean Room meant an empty table with ice water, then a dry roll. Darby did well for a while, then Darby went from lap to lap. Marie-Elise did well: she sang the alphabet in French, and that was a great joke to Darby. It was supposed to be. Axel did well. Axel put a spoon on his nose. But I couldn't imagine they thought it was a good evening, even with wine.

"Oh, last night made a difference, all right," Bernie said.

He had driven them to the airport. Bernie had eaten breakfast with Axel first. They met in the coffee shop. Marie-Elise preferred to sleep. "They enjoyed the hell out of Darby," Bernie said.

I was relieved. Marie-Elise did not seem like the baby type because babies had a lot to do with the future, and Marie-Elise was not a plan-maker. Especially not a plan-maker with Axel. She might run off to Sweden and have a baby by herself, but not with a plan. "I thought she'd find Darby proletarian," I said.

"She might find a baby proletarian," Bernie said. "But Darby's a person. Give her credit."

I liked Marie-Elise. I liked Axel, too. And Axel? Axel thought Darby was aces. "Darby's got a great little sense of humor," Bernie said. "Axel was kind of jealous, to tell you the truth." Of Darby? Of us.

This was good. I was not studying law at Columbia. I was sitting home with a small child, but I wasn't judged harshly. Having Darby with her funny little mind was something. I was all right. But Axel had come to measure Bernie. Really, he had come to measure my father. Then he would tell Bernie if my father was worth anything. This was a feat he'd have to perform without seeing his subject. It didn't matter: my father left his mark.

And what was Axel's take on Bernie's life here?

"I asked him to come down to see whether I should move up to New York," Bernie said.

Bernie could have said he was having an affair: it would have had the same impact. I really could feel the blood drain from my head. I really stopped breathing. He had cheated on me, a cheat of omission. He hadn't told me what was on his mind: New York was on his mind. It was Daddy's fault, but it was still a betrayal. And I wasn't breathing, because I didn't know what Axel said. I know what I'd have said: come to New York. I know Marie-Elise would have said it. She saw all of New Orleans in a day.

"Surely you knew," Bernie said. He could see my face. "What were my options? Your father has me backed into a corner. The lease is a form of indentured servitude. I can move my office, which is like starting over. Then I'm free of him, but it's a pyrrhic victory. Or I can stay indebted to him. I invited Axel down to tell me to come to New York."

I didn't say what I wanted to say. Bernie knew we'd have a battle. Bernie knew everything about me, explicitly and implicitly. What kept me in New Orleans, what kept me out of New York. I didn't have a job tying me here. I had good friends, but they weren't reason enough. What about me and Bernie's German friends? His choices of friends weren't my reason for fearing New York. I didn't fear New York. I needed to stay in New Orleans because it was where my parents were. I wasn't a mommy's girl. On the contrary. That was the point: I needed to stay in New Orleans precisely because I wasn't a mommy's girl. Much less a daddy's girl. Bernie knew that.

"I think you'll be surprised," Bernie said.

I knew right away this was going to be all right, though maybe only for me.

"Axel came down here to check on my situation," Bernie said. "Instead he saw his own."

"He seemed to have everything a man could want," I said. At least according to Marie-Elise.

"It was Darby," Bernie said. "We're married. We have a life. Axel said I had no idea what I had."

He was looking in my eyes. He was willing to look in my eyes. He accepted what Axel said.

"Is this good enough?" I said.

"Hearing it from Axel was what I needed."

Now I could ask him about the business because I didn't have to be afraid of New York. I was back to where I'd been five minutes ago.

Axel was pleased. Bernie was his man in the South. Bernie could be his man anywhere, but Bernie needed to be in New Orleans. Axel didn't think that until dinner in the Caribbean Room, then everything changed. Bernie was an adult, and that's what Axel saw. Bernie was home. Bernie had
survived.
Bernie had
survived.