Hostile Makeover (17 page)

Shelley nodded and she sniffed one last time. Thank God for Howard Mellnick. “Work,” she said, “is a total disaster.”

“Now, is this because it’s so new, or—”

“Actually, it’s not the work that’s a disaster. As it turns out, the
work
is pretty great. It’s my new boss who sucks the big one.”

“And that would be,” he looked down and flipped back through his notes, “Ross Morgan?”

She nodded emphatically. “He’s so concerned with the bottom line, he can’t see what’s in front of him. And he doesn’t trust me at all.”

Mellnick listened and nodded, his solid presence offering its own form of encouragement.

“It’s clear that he’s trying to make me quit, even though I’m working my butt off and Judy and I have come up with a really novel approach to the Tire World campaign.”

“Is this your sister, Judy, you’re referring to? The baker?”

“Yeah, only she doesn’t have time to bake anymore. I’ve got her scoping out Tire World bathrooms and planning a grand opening party.”

Mellnick made a note on his legal pad.

“And she’s not the Goody Two-shoes I thought she was, either.” Shelley hiccuped and brought the tissue up to the corner of her eye.

He smiled and scribbled something on the pad. As always, Shelley wondered how he knew which things merited a notation when everything seemed to pour out of her mouth in one long, equally important, stream.

“And the worst thing is that even when I’m so mad at him I want to scream, I’m totally aware of him,” she sniffed, “you know, as a male. And he’s got these really incredible buns.” She did a sort of half snort, half sniff, and her voice trailed off. “Of steel.”

She started to cry again although she was fairly certain it wasn’t because of Ross Morgan’s rear end. Through the sheen of tears, she ventured a peek at the therapist and was relieved to see he wasn’t writing that part down.

“So.” Howard Mellnick sat back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other, studying her from behind his frameless glasses, his intelligent brown eyes both appraising and comforting. “What happens now?”

Shelley mirrored his body position and tried like crazy to imitate his calm. The crying had left her slightly numb, and she had to sort through all the soggy nerve endings in her brain to get to the possible options. As it turned out there weren’t a whole lot of them. “I guess I just have to keep slogging along, trying to do my best.”

She heard the words and considered them. They didn’t sound like nearly enough.

But Howard Mellnick froze for an instant. Then he broke out in a smile and did his own imitation of a, well, she thought it might be a bugle or a trumpet. “Da-da-da-dah!” he announced, “Shelley Schwartz has just had what we in the mental health field like to refer to as a breakthrough!”

“Me?” She looked around as if there might be another Shelley Schwartz somewhere in the room.

“Yes, you.” He looked, well, happy. Or at least incredibly pleased. Which might have made her feel better if she’d had any idea why.

“Do you realize what you just said?” he asked.

“That I have to keep trying?”

“Yes, that.” He smiled again. “Don’t you dare shrug that off as if it’s nothing. A month ago if you’d had a run-in like this with Ross Morgan you would have quit, or sabotaged yourself. Or ditched our appointment to go shopping.”

She wanted to deny it, but he was absolutely correct.

“But today you did none of those things. And you’re not quitting. You’re gritting your teeth, and soldiering on. That’s huge, Shelley. Absolutely huge.”

She wished she could feel as good about this as he apparently did. Howard Mellnick was practically glowing. She, frankly, still felt like shit.

And she really wished she hadn’t brought up Ross Morgan’s buns.

There was a noise out in the waiting area and they both turned toward the door.

“I don’t have any appointments scheduled after yours and I know Irene’s gone for the day,” Dr. Mellnick said. He rose.

The sound became more distinct. Someone was crying. There was a loud sob and what sounded like boo-hooing. Shelley was very glad no one had been outside while she was sobbing her guts out. At their next session, she was going to suggest soundproofing.

“Nina,” Shelley realized. “I asked her to meet me here.” Looking down at her watch, she realized the session was pretty much over. The crying grew louder. “Can we make sure she’s OK?”

Together they opened the door and walked into the waiting room. Nina sat hunched forward in a chair, her blond hair forming a curtain around her face. She looked up as they entered the waiting area and her hair fell perfectly back into place. Her blue eyes were moist and dewy and her lips, though quivering, still looked plump and pink. The nose against which she’d pressed a wad of tissue paper didn’t look even the tiniest bit red or runny. Shelley didn’t have to look in a mirror to know that her crying jag hadn’t left her looking anywhere near as tragically beautiful.

“Oh, Shelley,” Nina wailed as she stood and wobbled over to throw her arms around Shelley’s neck.

“What is it, Nina? What happened?”

Her friend drew in a ragged breath. “I saw Rabbi Jordan today.” She looked up and her face crumpled ever so delicately as Howard Mellnick looked on. “He won’t let me join his conversion class. He said I don’t have a good enough reason for wanting to be Jewish.”

Too drained for serious drinking, they left Nina’s car in the parking lot and Shelley drove the two of them to her parents’ for Friday night dinner.

“Don’t you worry,” Shelley soothed on the way. “You heard what Dr. Mellnick said. You just have to do a little research on your own so that you can express your reasons for wanting to convert more . . . convincingly. You probably shouldn’t have been quite so honest with Rabbi Jordan.”

“But I couldn’t lie to a rabbi!” Nina looked horrified. “I might burn in hell for that!”

Shelley smiled, her first real smile in hours. “There’s no hellfire and brimstone in Reform Judaism, Nina. That’s one of the best parts. But I didn’t mean you should
lie
, exactly. You just need to come up with a few more reasons than snagging a husband.”

Nina nodded slowly.

“You do have other reasons, don’t you?”

“Um, sure.”

Shelley didn’t press the point. Chances were, once Nina grasped the realities of conversion, she wouldn’t be quite so eager to become one of the “chosen people.” “Mom’s setting an extra place right now. I bet we can get her to help with your Jewish education. And maybe we could get Dad to speak to the rabbi on your behalf.”

Nina sniffed one last time and smiled. Despite all her crying she looked like a movie star ready for her close-up. It was a good thing she was such an old friend.

Shelley spent the rest of the drive complaining loudly about Ross Morgan, but her session with Howard Mellnick and the flood of tears she’d released seemed to have extracted some of the poison. If the good doctor thought she’d made some kind of breakthrough, who was she to argue?

When they arrived at her parents’ they found the usual cast of characters preparing for dinner. Craig and her father sat in the living room debating the economy while Shelley’s nephews argued about which one of them was going to fill the water glasses.

In the kitchen Delilah, their longtime maid, ladled out matzo ball soup and passed the bowls to Judy and Great-aunt Sonya. Her mother flitted in and out supervising the final touches to the table, refilling drinks, and hunting down a pack of matches to light the Sabbath candles.

Shelley and Nina plunked their purses on the kitchen table. “We’re here!”

Delilah turned from her place at the stove. The affection reflected on her mahogany features was in direct contrast to her flippant tone. “Well, look who the cat done dragged in.” She motioned to both cheeks and Shelley and Nina, used to this ritual, came over to the stove to peck the spots she pointed to. She studied their faces for a long moment, and Shelley was glad they’d repaired their tear-streaked faces in the car. “You two been up to mischief again?”

Shelley filched a black olive from a bowl of crudités on the counter. “Who, us?”

“Don’t you pull that innocent face on me. I’ve known you girls since you was wearing pigtails.” She turned to the others. “What you think, Aunt Sonya? You think they’re up to something?”

“That’s a pretty safe bet,” Sonya replied.

Shelley accepted her great-aunt’s hug and did a quick scan for any sign of excessive baked goods. “So, what’s for dessert?” she asked the room at large.

Judy smiled over the bowls of soup she was juggling. She was still dressed from her day at the office, and it was a trifle disconcerting to see Career Barbie in their mother’s kitchen. “I don’t know. I think Delilah made an apple pie or something. Between the kids and my slave-driver boss I don’t have time to bake.”

As if summoned by their mother’s words, Sammy and Jason stormed into the kitchen and accosted Judy at the counter. She looked like a pygmy in the center of them; a tired, harassed pygmy.

“Mom, why do I have to do the water? Jason was supposed to do the ice cubes and he hasn’t done anything.”

“Why do we have to do it at all?” Jason countered. “I want to play Game Cube. It was my turn.”

Judy set the bowls on the counter. “Stop this right now,” she said. “You have to do it because I asked you to. It’ll take you two minutes.”

“Hey, Jude? Can we get some more of that snack mix out here?” Craig’s voice carried into the kitchen, his tone as petulant as his children’s. Judy sighed and went to the pantry to look for the snack mix.

“Are his legs broken?” Shelley joined her sister in front of the pantry. “Why does he need you to wait on him? You worked all day, too.”

Judy’s smile was not a happy one. “I think that’s the point. All three of them seem totally pissed off that I have anything on my mind or in my life besides them.” She located the box, poured out the snacks at the counter, and turned to take them out to the living room.

“Don’t you dare,” Shelley said, snatching the bowl out of her sister’s hands. “
I’ll
take them.”

She carried the snacks out to the living room. Craig looked up as she bent to put them on the table. His smile fell when he realized it was her. “Oh.”

“Your wife’s busy in the kitchen. And tired.” She didn’t wait for a response but set the snacks as far away from him as possible, then moved to give her father a passing hug. Her next stop was the dining room, where her nephews were now arguing about the ice-to-water ratio.

“Hey, chill out,” she admonished as she surreptitiously checked the number of place settings against the number of people already present, sighing with relief when the two jibed. The last thing she wanted to deal with tonight was one of her mother’s marital candidates. “And cut your mother some slack. She worked hard today.”

When Jason and Sam left, grumbling, for the kitchen, Shelley poured a glass from the bottle of Mogen David Concord grape wine that would be used for the blessings, and downed it in one gulp. Its sticky sweetness slid down her throat and warmed her belly, its very lack of sophistication comforting in a way that defied explanation.

At the table the traditional blessings over the candles, bread, and wine were quickly dispensed with. They moved more slowly through the soup course, conversing easily while Delilah cleared their empty bowls. Shelley continued to help herself to the Mogen David. It was Miriam who raised the issue of Nina’s husband hunt.

“You know,” she said as she reached for a slice of challah, then passed the basket of twisted egg bread around the table, “if you really want to convert, we’ll do what we can to help. But whatever you end up being, you’re going to have to find your own men; no more going out with the ones I dig up, er, find for Shelley.”

“But I don’t want those men, Mother,” Shelley pointed out as her Mogen David glow began to kick in. “So there’s no reason for Nina not to date them. They’ll just be going to waste.”

For some reason this struck her as excruciatingly funny. “You’re always telling me not to be wasteful.” She giggled. “Waste not, want not.” She poured another glass of the sacramental wine.

“I certainly hope you’re not getting tipsy like this when you’re out on dates.” Her mother’s tone was disapproving.

“It’s a real turn-off,” Craig observed.

Shelley looked more closely at her brother-in-law. He’d always been a little too acceptable for her personal taste, but she didn’t remember him seeming so . . . stodgy. “I try to keep the Mogen David guzzling to a minimum when I’m out.” She dissolved into a fit of giggles as she pictured Trey Davenport ordering a bottle of Mad Dog at a favored Buckhead eatery. “Here, Nina.” She refilled her friend’s wineglass. “If you want to be Jewish you’re going to have to learn how to drink this stuff; it takes the edge off the religious holidays. And certain family gatherings.”

“Shelley, that’s enough,” her father said. “Let’s find another topic of conversation.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, noticing for the first time how avidly her nephews were watching her. But there was something driving her that she didn’t quite understand. “And what about you?” she asked her nephews. “What kind of husbands will you be if you make things so hard on your mother?”

“Shelley.” Judy’s voice held a warning tone that Shelley totally disregarded.

Craig sat up and leaned in closer.

“You could make things easier on her, you know,” Shelley said, somewhat amazed that she was trying to use guilt in the same way that her mother did. And that she felt so protective of her sister. “Let her enjoy the project she’s working on. She’s always been there for you guys.”

“It’s not like she
needs
to work,” Craig pointed out reasonably, which for some reason put Shelley’s teeth completely on edge. “Why are you dragging her into the office all of a sudden? It’s not like you’ve ever taken your job all that seriously.” It was a long speech for Craig Blumfeld. And not at all the genial sort of conversation he normally put forth.

Shelley looked at her brother-in-law, then at Judy’s stricken face. “People change,” she said quietly. “I have it on good authority that breakthroughs are possible at almost any stage. If somebody wants to change and you try to hold them back, you can get left behind.”