Unsafe Harbor (8 page)

I eventually had no choice but to go back inside the building. However, I wisely made tracks for Gerda’s rather than enter my own apartment.

Nailed to the right-hand side of her doorpost was the mezuzah I’d first seen as a child. I’d always loved its silver-and-blue rectangular case adorned with mysterious Hebrew lettering. Only later did I learn that two handwritten chapters of the Torah were tightly rolled up inside. I’d always wondered how someone managed to do that.

The mezuzah was nailed to the post at an angle, and I used to try my best to straighten it. Gerda had caught me once and laughed at my mistake.

“Rachel, not everything in this life can be exactly as you want it. Mezuzahs are supposed to hang that way. Do you know why?”

I shook my head, not having the slightest idea.

“Then I’ll tell you, my darling. The rabbis couldn’t agree on whether mezuzahs should be horizontal or vertical, so they decided to compromise. Remember that as you go through life.”

I touched the mezuzah and kissed my fingers before knocking on her door.

Gerda answered my tap looking particularly spiffy tonight. She wore a deep blue dress offset by a beautiful diamond brooch. The stones reflected the twinkle in her eyes, and she had carefully applied her makeup so that the rouge on her cheeks matched the color of her lips. They both complemented her freshly dyed hair, which was red as ripe strawberries.

She took one look at me and started to
tsk, tsk, tsk
with her tongue.

“Rachel. What’s the matter? You seem a little frazzled, my dear.”

I leaned in to give her a kiss, and a flood of memories washed over me. I took a deep whiff and realized it was the scent of Gerda’s skin. The smell was exactly the same as that which I associated with my grandmother. It was a mixture of powder, soap, and perfume. I wasn’t yet ready to release my breath, but rather chose to float on a soothing sea of remembrance. Though it was too comforting to immediately exhale, it was also too bittersweet to stay for very long.

My childhood hadn’t been all that easy. It had been filled with pain, loss, and regret. Only at my grandmother and
Gerda’s had I been able to escape into a different world—one filled with laughter and music and happiness.

I could still smell the tantalizing aroma of Passover meals cooking in their kitchens, and nearly taste the holiday sweets. My grandmother, my mother, and my sister were all gone now, and Gerda was the only family that I had left. It was one of the reasons why I had chosen to come home to New York.

“It’s those damn cockroaches,” I said, and stepped inside her door. “They’re driving me crazy, Gerda. I don’t know what your secret is, but I can’t seem to get rid of them.”

“I already told you what to do, my darling,” she replied, while fingering the diamond studs in her ears. “First you have to keep your apartment spic-and-span clean. Those cock-a-roaches will eat anything. Grease on the kettle, crumbs under your toaster, even food particles on a dishrag.”

Good luck with that,
I thought.

Between Spam, Santou, and myself, the roaches were clearly having a field day. Besides, I knew that nothing would ever totally stop them. The little beasties not only eat their own dead, but also dine on their living when food becomes scarce.

“If that doesn’t work, then stick some bread in a jar and smear the inside lip with Vaseline,” Gerda instructed. “They’ll climb down inside the jar, but they won’t be able to climb back out. After that, screw the top on and walk down to Chinatown, where you can spin the jar around and let them loose. They’ll be so dizzy that they’ll never find their way back home again.”

Gerda was incredibly humane, even when it came to something as miniscule as bugs. I wondered if it had anything to do with her time spent in a concentration camp. Though her homespun remedies were fun, I still preferred
my tried-and-true method—a few good shots of Raid. At least that way, I knew for certain that they were gone.

“You look so pretty tonight, Gerda. Are you going out?” I inquired.

“Yes. David is coming by and taking me to dinner. We’re going to Sammy’s Romanian. Why don’t you join us?” she suggested with a sly smile.

That would be terrific, if I was trying to boost my cholesterol level and wanted to risk
plotzing
from a heart attack. Sammy’s was famous for enormous slabs of beef slathered in chicken fat. Jugs of additional rendered
schmaltz
were placed on each table as if on a dare. Dinner required that a bottle of iced vodka be consumed just to help “Roto-Rooter” your arteries.

Gerda had an ulterior motive for inviting me to dinner. She knew that Jake and I were involved, but still hoped that one day her grandson and I would become an item.

“You’re a nice Jewish girl and David is a nice Jewish boy. Besides, he’s a gem dealer in the Diamond District. What could be better?” she’d ask with a shake of her tightly permed curls. “So what if you’re a little older? That doesn’t really matter. Men tend to die earlier. Think of it as a bonus. You’ll have him around a bit longer.”

“Thanks, but I already have plans with Terri tonight,” I told her.

“That
fagellah
?” she asked and wrinkled her nose, as if wondering why we were friends. “Oh well. What do I know about young people these days? The world is a different place. Who’s to say? Maybe it’s a good thing.”

“Would you mind if Spam stayed here with you while I’m gone? I just launched a roach attack in my apartment, and it smells like the inside of a Raid can.”

“Of course, he’s welcome. At this point, he’s the closest thing that I have to a grandchild.” Gerda leaned down and gave the pooch a pat. “For you, I have some pot roast,” she said.

No wonder her place smelled so good and brought back so many memories. Spam apparently felt the same way. He let out a bark and merrily wagged his tail.

I
walked into the hallway only to hear the buzzer insistently ringing from downstairs. I didn’t bother to let Terri in, but quickly raced down to meet him. He stood shivering in the cold as I headed outside.

“Hey, I thought you were going to buzz me up,” he complained. “What’s the problem? Cockroaches again?”

“Wow, you really
are
psychic,” I answered, duly impressed.

“Oh please. Don’t cheapen my psychic abilities. You know perfectly well it’s the fragrant scent of Eau de Raid that you’re wearing,” he wisecracked. “So, where are we off to?”

I glanced at my friend. Terri had on a heavy winter jacket and thick woolen cap. Dressed like that, I figured he could withstand a few blocks of hiking in this weather.

“What say we do a little shopping before dinner?” I suggested.

“Oh my God. Hell
has
frozen over. You’re finally going to hit some of those cute little boutiques around here that I’ve been telling you about,” he crowed.

“Don’t get so excited. This excursion isn’t for me, but for a woman who owns a luncheonette truck at the port. She’s in bad need of a decent winter coat, and I’ve decided to buy her one.”

Terri looked at me in surprise. “Well, aren’t you turning out to be the Good Samaritan. And here I thought all you cared about were creatures with a minimum of four legs and fur,” he replied, linking his arm through mine.

I would have loved to be viewed as genuinely benevolent, but my conscience wouldn’t allow it.

“I’m afraid it’s a bit more complicated than that. Magda had a beautiful warm shawl. The only problem was that the wool turned out to be illegal. I also suspect that it was taken off a dead woman. So, I had to confiscate it,” I explained.

“Your friend took it off a dead woman? Honey, maybe it’s time you start hanging out with a better class of people. So then, this is a pure guilt shopping trip,” he surmised.

“Well, yes. But there’s something else,” I replied. “I went to see a very wealthy woman today. I swear, she looked like an over-the-top ad for Tiffany’s. In fact, that was her name. Even her dog wore designer accessories. It made me wonder, What the hell’s wrong with this picture? I figure if her dog can wear an Hermès collar, then Magda shouldn’t have to suffer and shiver in the cold.”

“See? Now that’s more in line with what I’m talking about. People of that economic caliber. An Hermès collar? I’d love one of those things, myself,” he said, and gave my arm a squeeze. “Ooh, I’m definitely beginning to see exciting new things for you.”

“I hope so,” I replied, feeling less certain of my fate.

It was an emotion I’d been experiencing of late, and had yet to figure out why. I pushed it to the back of my mind, and instead tried to focus on all the stores around me.

Common wisdom is that the Lower East Side has already been fully co-opted, whitewashed, and stripped of its personality. That isn’t quite the case. True, the neighborhood is
going through a period of transition. However, there are still a few unique pockets to be found.

We passed by historic buildings that had been constructed to pack a maximum number of people into a minimum amount of space. Individuals now occupy the same tenements that once housed entire families.

Soon we wandered past a line of boutiques so ultra-cool that I couldn’t even tell what they were selling. Terri gave a disappointed sigh as we continued on and headed for a strip of bargain clothing stores. The owners stood outside where they hawked their wares like carnival barkers. It’s here that I entered a shop that had been around since my grandmother’s days.

“Great. They should call this place ‘
Schmata
Central.’ I should have known we’d end up at discount heaven,” Terri griped.

Terri might consider their wares to be rags, but to me they were hidden treasures. I went to the back and picked through the racks until I found exactly what I was looking for: a winter coat in Magda’s size.

“That coat is one of our most fashionable items and made of the very best material. Here, let me help you try it on. I’m sure you’ll look lovely in it,” the saleswoman schmoozed, turning on the charm.

“I just want to make sure that it’s warm,” I said, slipping my arms through the sleeves and zipping it up.

“Trust me. Nothing will keep you more toasty. And check out the price. You’ve got yourself quite a bargain there,” she added, piling it on.

“Hmm. I have to be honest with you. The material feels a little chintzy. My aunt said I could probably find a better deal a few doors down,” I replied, making my opening gambit.

“How can you say such a thing? You might as well cut my heart out right now and get it over with,” the woman groaned.

“Don’t get me wrong. The coat is fine. It’s just a little too expensive for the quality. Can you possibly do better?” I asked, hoping to snag her on my line.

The woman folded her arms across her chest and firmly shook her head. “I’m sorry, but you’re already getting a very good deal. You’d be wise to buy it at that price.”

“Thanks, but I’ll take my aunt’s advice,” I replied, and began to walk out of the store.

“All right. Perhaps I
can
take off just a few dollars more,” she said before I passed through the doorway.

I waited as she checked the coat’s tag and then entered some numbers into a calculator. I would have thought the woman was figuring the speed of light as she ran through a series of complex mathematical equations. She finally wrote down a number and slid the paper toward me.

I looked at it, crossed out the figure, and replaced it with one of my own. We went through another round of haggling before each of us was satisfied. Then I paid the woman, took my package, and Terri and I left the store.

“I never knew you were such a world-class bargain shopper, Rach,” Terri said in admiration as we set our sights on Chinatown.

“And here I thought you would have seen that in your crystal ball,” I answered with a grin.

No two ways about it. Bargain shopping was what I liked best, after catching smugglers and poachers.

There’s something about the air on a night that’s cold. It brings back the area’s ghosts. A beguiling sound began to float toward me on infinitesimal flakes of snow.

It was the faint tinkling of show tunes that Gerda used to play. She and my grandmother had liked to boast that Al Jolsen, Irving Berlin, and the Gershwin brothers had all once lived in the neighborhood.

Goose bumps pricked at my skin as the distant echo of a scratchy recording reached my ears. I glanced around, curious as to its source, and found myself suddenly transported back into Old New York.

I blinked and discovered that all the cars had mysteriously disappeared. In their place, the street was now jammed with a series of pushcart peddlers hawking their wares. Their wagons were filled with every imaginable item, from hot potatoes to fish, from produce to dry goods and clothes.

“A quart of peaches for a penny! ‘Damaged’ eggs for a song!”
vendors trilled, as I looked on in stunned amazement.

Something hard bumped against me, and I turned to find a laundryman heaving a sack filled with wet, clean towels and sheets onto his back. He delivered them door-to-door, where women hung them to dry on their fire escapes. But that was only part of the hustle and bustle of this city within a city.

Men in long coats and hats had their shoes shined by bootblacks, as cheeky young newsboys stopped to shoot craps in the middle of the street.

Near a sweatshop, a rag picker scavenged for junk to be resold, while a peddler sang of tin cups and bandanas for sale at only two pennies a piece. The stench and the noise of it all were nearly overwhelming.

I became lost among a crowd that jostled and shoved, as people shouted to each other in a Babel of foreign tongues. And for one crystalline moment, I felt sure I’d caught sight of my grandmother—or a woman that looked remarkably
like her. She was as she must have appeared upon first arriving in New York—heartbreakingly young and filled with boundless hope. I could almost have sworn that the woman smiled at me. And then she was gone.

Just as quickly, the vision vanished as we entered Chinatown.

It struck me that Chinatown was exactly the same as the Lower East Side must have been nearly a century ago. Vendors and stores stood tightly crammed around the ramparts of the Manhattan Bridge as we picked our way through a never-ending stream of pedestrians. Most were Asian immigrants speaking in their native tongue—Mandarin, Cantonese, Cambodian, Thai, and Vietnamese, with Laotian and Filipino thrown in for good measure.

Turning on to Canal Street, we were swept up in a colorful bazaar of knock-off Louis Vuitton bags, Gucci wallets, and Chanel sunglasses. Terri was torn between purchasing a “Rolex” watch, or an “Hermès” scarf, when my cell phone rang.

“Hey, there. What’s all that racket I hear in the background? Don’t tell me that you’re out trying to pick up some guy in a bar, are you?” Jake teased.

“I make no promises when you leave me alone at night,” I returned the banter. “Are you home yet? Terri and I are in Chinatown. We’re on our way to grab something to eat. Why don’t you come join us?”

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to. I almost hate to say it after your warning, but I have to work late again tonight,” Santou informed me.

My stomach automatically tightened into a knot. Most of Santou’s time was spent on counterterrorism and homeland security these days. But I was beginning to worry there might be another reason why he was continually coming home late.

“Is everything all right?” I asked, even though I knew he’d never be able to tell me.

“Yeah. All’s quiet on the New York front. There’s just something I have to check out,” he replied.

I only hoped whatever it was didn’t have voluptuous curves and two legs.

“What’s the color code tonight?” I asked, attempting to lightly jest, though my heart was beginning to ache.

“How about blue for missing me?” Santou replied, with a low, sexy growl.

It didn’t matter how long I’d been with the man. He always knew exactly how to make my pulse race.

“That goes without saying,” I responded, trying out my best imitation of Angelina Jolie. “See you later?”

“I’ll be home as soon as I can,” Jake promised.

By the time I hung up, Terri had settled on both the watch and the scarf, and I firmly put any doubts about Jake behind me.

“Maybe bargain shopping isn’t so bad after all,” Terri declared, as we headed off to Doyers Street.

This was the heart of old Chinatown. The tiny alley curved with the insouciance of a charming European lane; its storefronts filled with restaurants and barbershops. But it hadn’t always been so quaint. The bend in the road had once been known as the Bloody Angle, due to all the bodies that lined its gutters—the victims of violent ambushes and Chinese gang fights. Perhaps their ghosts were here tonight.

We entered our favorite Chinese restaurant and slid onto a plastic red banquette. The place didn’t look like much. The décor comprised the usual black velvet paintings of tigers, white Formica tables, and bright bare bulbs. But the food was terrific, even if the waiters hardly spoke any English. Two large bowls of Shanghai dumpling soup were placed
before us, followed by a platter of kung pao shrimp. I only picked, however, finding that I wasn’t really all that hungry this evening.

“So, how are things going with you and Eric these days?” I asked, attempting to delicately broach the subject.

“What do you want to hear? The good, the bad, or the ugly?” Terri glumly responded, in his own unique version of Clint Eastwood.

“How about all three?” I suggested.

“Well, the good thing is that I’m not alone, I suppose, although Eric is rarely at home anymore. The man seems to do nothing but constantly work all the time. And when he is around, we no longer have very much in common. I’m all glitter and boas, while he’s into button-downs and J. Crew,” Terri complained.

“Well, you wouldn’t want a clone of yourself, would you?” I responded, hoping Terri wasn’t about to jump ship as he did once before.

“No. But I also have no intention of growing old gracefully, whatever the hell that means. Whoever came up with that sad-ass saying must have been trying to sell annuity funds,” Terri griped. “I mean,
really
Rach. These days, Eric’s idea of a good time is sitting at home and watching
The Apprentice
on TV. I’m not ready to spend my evenings bundled in a blanket and drinking hot chocolate. This is the Big Apple. I want to have fun!”

Actually, a down comforter and a cup of hot cocoa sounded pretty good to me. However, I wisely kept my mouth shut.

“And then there’s Lily. That girl is getting way out of line. Granted she’s a teenager, and has had her fair share of problems, but she has more than a dozen different boyfriends and
is out partying all night. For chrissakes, she’s having a better time than I am.”

“Hmm. I wonder which one of you she takes after,” I joked, but decided maybe it was time that I had a talk with her. “I have an idea. Why don’t you tell me about some of Eric’s good points?”

Terri took a sip of his tea. “Well, he’s kind and certainly generous. And he believes in my psychic ability. In fact, he thinks I ought to quit Psychics on Call and go freelance. He wants to come up with an advertising campaign and market me as the Psychic to the Stars. Can you imagine it, Rach? I could tell Whitney Houston to cut out the drugs, drop that lowlife Bobby Brown, and put her daughter on a diet,” he said with glee.

“Eric doesn’t sound half bad to me,” I responded. “In fact, he really seems to care about you.”

Terri smiled and the worry lines on his brow began to soften a bit. “Yeah. I guess when I look at it that way, you’re probably right. Maybe things really are better than I imagined.”

I felt as if I’d done my good deed for the day.

“And what about you and Jake? Is he happier now that he’s back at work once again?” Terri asked.

“Yes. Everything’s fine,” I said, and stopped any further conversation by popping a shrimp in my mouth.