Too Jewish (17 page)

"That's hardly the point," Bernie said. "Your parents will eat
them."

I believed they'd blend right in and prove to be charming. It was going to be a packed house, and everyone would learn about everyone else. Our worlds would mix. Bernie would see; my mother would see, too.

* * *

I didn't count on different definitions of "on time." The party started at seven o'clock, so my mother expected the first guests to start drifting in around seven-thirty. The doorbell rang at seven on the dot. It was the Scheinmanns, Bernie's dearest friends, probably hovering on either side of age seventy. His adopted parents, if I thought about it.

My mother was still upstairs putting on her makeup. Daddy was in the solarium. He planned to be drunk by eight. He'd done his part: he'd offered money. Showing up was all he intended to do. Bernie was too nervous to be near the door; Louise was too proud to be near the door, so I was the one to answer. "Come in, come in," I said, figuring they knew that much English. I steered them away from the solarium. "Bernie!" I hollered. He was in the kitchen. He needed to hide the Scheinmanns for at least an hour, then he could mix them in nicely for our melting pot. The only people they could not melt into were my parents, and right then they were the only ones at the party.

Bernie didn't hear me. Louise was making a big ruckus in the kitchen: Aluminum pans and disappointment. My mother heard me, though, and she came down the steps at a fast clip. She stopped at the bottom landing, showing no signs of recognition, of course. Then she marched over with her hand outstretched. The Scheinmanns looked presentable, given that they were going to be the oldest people at the party. "Mama, these are our friends, the Scheinmanns," I said. I hoped for handshakes and moving on, but my life didn't work that way.

"I'm afraid I haven't heard Letty mention you," my mother said.

Mr. Scheinmann didn't change expression. He was stone-faced. Mrs. Scheinmann smiled socially, and her face froze that way. She didn't understand a word. "They don't speak English," I said.

"Letty, this is all very strange," my mother said.

I took Mrs. Scheinmann's arm to reassure her. My mother looked fierce. "You said to invite our friends," I said.

"But not so you'd embarrass us."

"I speak a little English," Mrs. Scheinmann, said. Her accent was thick, but her English was clear.

My mother reached out to shake her hand. "I'm so glad you could come to our party," she said. She suddenly saw something over the poor woman's shoulder, which was pretty good, considering that behind her was a closed door. My mother walked away and went through the door into the noisy kitchen.

"Not to worry," Mrs. Scheinmann said. "Bernie talks a great deal about your family."

"Then you know everything," I said.

"That's why we come," Mrs. Scheinmann said. "Don't worry about us."

For twenty minutes, it was Bernie's party. It was the longest twenty minutes of my life. The doorbell would ring. Friends of Bernie would apologize for being late. Bernie would usher them into the dining room. They huddled together speaking English, but in whispers. They didn't want to be heard. All they could talk about was seafood, so much seafood. Shrimp and, what is that? Crabmeat. My mother had hired a colored man to carve. The roast beef was perfect, medium rare. "Maybe a little brisket?" one of them said. "We can't be the first," another said. Bernie ran back and forth to the bar. My father had hired a bartender. He was a Negro, too, and he couldn't understand a word these people were saying.

My mother pulled me into the solarium. "Is this your idea of a joke?"

"You said to invite our friends."

"I meant Ted and his friends. Even that awful Shirley would look better than this," she said. "You know, kids you knew in school."

"I invited them. They're just not here yet."

"This is the way it always is," she said. "We try to be nice, and you destroy whatever we do for you."

"This is going to be a great party," I said.

"And we're not going to be able to go out in public for the rest of our lives."

By eight o'clock, the house was full of people. I'd been right on one count. At least I thought I was. It was impossible for Bernie to stand out: he was walking around, but not with either of my parents.

I cornered my father. "What good is this doing Bernie?" I said.

"He needs to work the crowd," Daddy said. Daddy had a jelly glass in his hand. It was almost empty, except for ice cubes. He'd emptied it of one big drink, and I could smell it on his breath. Scotch, possibly no soda.

"How's he know who's who?"

"If he doesn't know em, he needs to know em," Daddy said.

I looked for my mother. Time was running out. People would be drunk soon, and then they'd go home. Everybody thought this was just a party. A party meant filling up and going home.

I told her the same thing I told my father. She wasn't drunk. She wasn't even a drinker. Alcohol didn't affect her because she couldn't let go. So she never bothered to try. But her answer was the same as my father's: tell Bernie to work the room.

This was a set-up, but not for success.

I was going to be the Adler for the night.

I came up behind Bernie. I slipped my arm through his, and with one drink in me I started to lead him around. The crowd stopped being a mass of faces. Women from shops. "Remember me? My mother loves Bernie's new line of merchandise. She's right over there. Yes, that's my mother." Daddy's clients. "Yes, it's little Letty. And this is my husband. Can you believe it? We've got a terrific business. Based in New York. Bernie would love to come talk to you. Or better still, what about your buyer?"

Over and over, we interrupted them. They were talking to the Germans.

On the way home in the car, I asked Bernie why the Germans were so popular.

"Oh, they were my best ally," he said. "Turns out most of the men have met your father's clients at the office. They sit around watching the ticker tape board at lunchtime. They already have brokers in his office.

"And the women? They spend more money shopping than your mother does. All my friends vouched for me."

* * *

My mother didn't answer the phone on Sunday. Louise was off on Sunday. Daddy didn't answer, either, but Daddy went to Lakewood. Daddy didn't like golf, but he liked to hang around. I figured he didn't like being home. So he wasn't answering because he wasn't there. I knew she was there.

She was avoiding me, I knew that. It must have taken uncommon will power because it was the day after a party. Everyone wants the giggly calls after a party. "The food was so wonderful!" "I loved your dress!" She had frozen when I kissed her goodbye. She was sacrificing all the happy calls. Or delaying them. I'd won something, but I wasn't sure what. It definitely wasn't a warm, happy feeling.

"Your mama not here," Louise said. Now it was Monday. That cost me a nickel. Mama was there, and Mama would take giggly calls.

"Tell her I called to say thank you," I said

"That's not no message you just go leaving, no."

"It's about why I called," I said. "It's not the thanking." I didn't say,
I know she's right behind you.

"I'm a tell her you call, all right?"

I was a grown woman with a child to teach. I didn't know why Louise was still trying to teach
me.
My child who was picking up invisible dirt, hallway dirt. I couldn't reach down to her because the phone was on the wall.

I told Louise I'd call again tomorrow. Tomorrow would be my last try. Or maybe Wednesday.

Bernie came home an hour late. I was popping with indignation, but I let him go first. He was mildly pleased. I was terribly pleased with my indignation, so I could wait. "The block is excellent," he said of the location of his new business. "It's a ghetto, but I'm not surprised." For Bernie, a ghetto meant struggling Jews, Eastern European. None had names like Cooper, which had been Kuper before he got off the ship. Names like Shirley's parents'. Lubritz, Watsky. They would be marginal until they died. So would their children and grandchildren. Bernie couldn't speak Polish with them—or Russian. "But I'll eat lunch with them," he said. "Daddy will hate that," I said. "
Daddy
planned that," Bernie said. That was true: my father was the one who chose South Rampart.

Bernie was going to take a while. He'd given notice, but he couldn't completely quit Krauss's, at least not yet. Axel was willing but not ready. Axel needed those reptiles. Axel had to admit, alligators were a great idea. If Bernie got set up, he'd be Axel's skin man. Bernie didn't mind: he was going ahead. Bernie came home that day with plans. So I told him about my mother.

"She's not speaking to me," I said.

"How can you tell?"

"I know my mother." It was true. Usually I was in the house when I was shut out. She enjoyed the silent treatment. My mother wasn't one to say, "I'm angry." She preferred to be punitive, as though her silence hurt me. When I was in my teens, I liked it, but it never lasted more than a day or two. Then I'd have to apologize; Louise wouldn't let me have anything to snack on if I didn't.

"Let me guess," Bernie said. "This is about inviting my socially unacceptable friends to her elegant house and embarrassing her. Something I suggested was a bad idea."

"That would be my guess," I said. "Though it wasn't a bad idea. Did you notice? What would have happened if they hadn't come? Would you have made any contacts? My parents kind of threw you to the wolves. They were testing you. And you would have had a hard time. Who goes up to strangers at a party? Unless you're drunk?"

"That was the purpose of the party. Wholesale failure. Retail failure is next. Hey, that's a good joke."

I gave him an appreciative smile.

"This isn't really funny," Bernie said. "I've made a bad decision. At work it feels like a good decision, but I come home, and I'm sorry we're still here."

I regretted I'd told him. The little battle with my mother would blow over. My mother knew she was wrong, and she knew Bernie's friends did all right. She knew they
were
all right. "She'll be sorry soon," I said. "Not talking to me hurts her worse. She won't get to see Darby. I can hold out longer than she can." I fought a smile as soon as the words came out of my mouth. Seeing Darby was no fun unless she could dress her up and show her off.

Bernie grinned at me.

At least he didn't say,
I wasn't born yesterday.

"Letty, if you make your parents angry, your father's going to take back his offer," Bernie said. "He's waiting for a reason."

"They're not that mean," I said.

The look we exchanged made us both start laughing. I didn't know about Bernie, but I had no idea why I was laughing.

* * *

I didn't call her because Louise would starve me. Bernie certainly didn't pressure me. I called because I couldn't resist. I was right, and I couldn't wait to find a way to say it, even if it meant making a qualified apology first.

Louise answered the phone. "I'm calling to apologize to my mother," I said.

"Just a second," Louise said. I knew Louise believed in an afterlife, and one day I was going to talk to her about her chances of sitting on a cloud with a harp. Louise had reared me more than my mother had, and many times I'd thought she had other options after she died. She was rough.

"Hello?" my mother said, sounding like she had no idea who was calling.

I said I was calling to apologize.

"Do you have any idea what you're apologizing for?"

"Does it matter?" I said.

She was silent for a moment, and I knew she was smiling. I sure was. "Well," she said, "I would hope you'd come over here and say a lot more than just, I'm sorry.'"

"I'm sorry, and I'll never do it again."

"Letty, I'm not playing games with you."

I apologized. It was going to be worth it. I said I would come over after Darby's nap.

"Why don't you bring her over now, and she can sleep while we talk?"

I'd planned the exact opposite. Well rested, Darby would scramble around, so we'd have to leave quickly. Unless Mama pawned her off on Louise, who deserved her. Either way, I'd win. Of course, there was a third possibility. Darby would fall asleep in the car, and she'd wake up when we arrived and make everyone's life a living hell. "I'll be right over," I said.

Instead, Darby chose option four. She stayed awake on the way over, and she saw no reason to nap in a strange place, a place with no crib or playpen for a grandchild. "Tell her to take a nap," my mother said. "Right," I said. My mother looked disgusted. Louise volunteered herself and her pans.

"You thoroughly humiliated me," my mother said. She wasn't going to let me guess.

"At the party," I said.

"How could you bring those people into my home?" she said. "You knew what kind of people I wanted to invite. Do not play wide-eyed innocent with me on this."

"I thought maybe everybody could meet and get along and learn something," I said. "It turns out I was right. They all knew each other." She was making this easier than I imagined.

"That's what you think. Is that what you think?"

I nodded. It was what I knew. I saw it, but my mother didn't see it. She was too busy staying away from helping Bernie.

"Well, my friends were horrified. Just horrified. You wouldn't believe the calls I got the next day."

I didn't need to be a genius. She didn't get any calls the next day, unless she had supernatural powers. How did she know it was her friends calling and not me?

"What'd they say?" I tried to sound shocked.

"That they couldn't believe we had people like the Schein-whatchamacallits at our party."

"Oh," I said. That didn't sound like anything but surprise, very skeptical surprise. But she couldn't argue with my tone. "Tell me more," I said, as nice as you please.

"I don't really remember."

"Oh," I said again.

"I don't like where this conversation is going," my mother said.

"Then let's just drop the subject of the people at your party." I called it her party on purpose, but she didn't notice. It had been her party all along.