Washing the Dead (31 page)

I pulled the small bench in the dressing room from the wall and lay down on it, face up, fingers grazing the carpet. I imagined Sari, the rebbetzin, my mother, and the Shabbos goy stacked on top of me. One by one, I took four deep breaths and with all my strength hurled them into the air, pretending I was one of those Olympic weight lifters who wore leotards and grunted as they heaved hundreds of pounds over their heads.

Now I was ready to return to the cashier and spend some of my first paycheck from Simone and Daniel on my new underwear.

When I got home, the house was eerily quiet. I missed Simone’s wild energy and her devotion to redoing my look. I devised one-liners I’d toss off to Daniel should he ever engage me in another conversation. I’d been gobbling up the Coxes’ attention as though they’d been offering me a taste of cream when I’d been drinking powdered milk my whole life.

The next Sunday, the Santa Ana winds blew in, and Simone and I took Ollie to a beach in Del Mar, a few miles north of where we met. Simone let me borrow her red bikini, and when we passed a group of college boys, I felt like I was parading around in my underwear.

“Just so you know, those guys are checking you out,” Simone said.

“I doubt that.” They were staring at her, but I had to admit that I’d come a long way from the girl skulking along the beach in a long skirt.

I swallowed my grin and lay back on the sand, feeling the warmth of the sun on my ribs.

“Be careful.” Simone touched my stomach. “That’s some virgin skin you’ve got there.”

Daniel was home by the time we returned from the beach. He insisted on making his special paella, so I took a long shower and spent extra time making my hair look nice. I was standing in front of the mirror in my bra and underpants when Simone appeared with a shopping bag. She took out a tube of mascara and some blue eye shadow and went to work on my upper lids. Then she brushed my lashes with her wand.

“There you go. You have eyes now,” she said.

She reached into the bag and produced a hot pink shirt with a brown and orange swirl design and a low neckline. “This will work.” She snapped my bra playfully. “But this needs to go.”

“I don’t know about that.” My breasts were small, but the
rebbetzin had always complimented Tzippy and me on our modesty because we dutifully hid our bodies under baggy blouses and thick sweaters. I undid my bra tentatively. Simone made it into a slingshot and flung it into my laundry basket.

“Put these jeans on and try these platforms.” She tossed a shoe at me. “I think we’re the same size.”

The shoes felt heavy, and the heel was square and tall, maybe four inches. I wobbled around my room for a few minutes until I started to enjoy my new height.

“Let me introduce you,” she said as she ran down the hall. “May I present the lovely Barbara Pupnick,” she shouted from the kitchen. “Drum roll, please.”

Ollie thumped his hands on the table, and I walked carefully out of my bedroom so I wouldn’t trip. Daniel looked up from stirring his paella, and his eyes widened. I willed myself not to blush, but I couldn’t help it. The doorbell rang.

Simone looked at me mischievously. “We have a guest for dinner. His name is Brian.”

“His older brother and I were roommates at Berkeley,” Daniel said over his shoulder as he opened the door and hugged Brian. Brian was lanky and wore his black hair in a ponytail.

“Hey, man,” Brian said. “It’s been like forever.” He kissed Simone on the cheek, handed Daniel a bottle of wine, and patted Ollie on the head. “What’s up, little man?”

“Meet Barbara, Brian,” Simone said. “She’s our angel.”

“Hey, Barbara.”

Simone put Ollie to bed while Brian expertly opened the bottle of wine, explaining that he’d been waiting tables since high school. Simone sat me next to him, and he asked me all about Milwaukee as if it were some exotic African village.

After two glasses of wine, I regaled the table with an animated story about Samson the ape escaping from the Milwaukee zoo. I caught Simone and Daniel looking at me twice. Brian put his hand on my shoulder and said that he’d never met anyone like me before. Truth be told, I’d never met anyone like this me before.

I’d never met anyone like Brian before either. He told me all about how he was studying anthropology at UC Santa Cruz and how he liked that the university didn’t give out grades. After dessert, he yawned and said he had to “hit it.” He’d borrowed a car to come to dinner, and his friend needed it back.

“Thanks everyone for everything, man,” he said, shaking Daniel’s hand.

“Next time, crash here,” Daniel said.

“Goodnight, Barbara. ’Night, Simone.” Brian kissed each of us on the cheek.

As soon as he closed the door, Simone turned to me. “I think he was into you, Barbara.”

Daniel smiled. “Totally.”

My whole body blushed.

Under the covers that night, I imagined what it would be like to kiss Brian. I’d only been kissed once, during a game of Truth or Dare that Mira and I played with her cousins when we were fourteen. Her cousin Freddie, who had worse acne than mine, stuck his tongue down my throat until I thought I’d gag. His breath tasted like tomatoes. He grabbed my breast, but I shoved his hand away. That was it.

I imagined that Brian’s kisses would be smaller and dryer than Freddie’s, and then I thought about how embarrassing it was that Daniel had watched me flirt, and then before I could stop myself, I wondered what it would be like to kiss Daniel. I felt a surprising but sweet pressure between my legs. I opened my eyes and told myself that my fantasies were as harmless as my daydreams about Robert Redford after Mira’s parents took us to see
Jeremiah Johnson,
or about Grant, a dark-haired UWM student who helped my dad mow our lawn after he hurt his back. I listened to the sound of waves and Simone and Daniel giggling as they made their way to their bedroom.

17

A
ngie Dickinson is so fucking fearless,” Simone said as we huddled together on a damp March night, our eyes glued to the latest episode of
Police Woman.
Angie retrieved her pistol from her purse just in time to knock off a big thug wearing a light blue leisure suit.

“So are you.” It still gave me a jolt to hear Simone say the “f” word.

“I’m not fearless at all.” She sounded weary.

“You’re always so sure of yourself.”

“Angie’s fearless and lucky. She should have gotten knocked off by now.”

“But then there’d be no show.”

“True.”

I adjusted the blanket we’d thrown over our legs and took a sip of cocoa, hoping she’d confide in me about her fears.

She touched her flat abdomen. “Daniel and I haven’t been so lucky lately.”

Something I’d overheard the rebbetzin say to a congregant popped into my head. “You do your very best, and God will take care of the rest.” This seemed like the wrong thing to say to Simone, and I regretted my words as soon as they left my mouth.

“I don’t know about God, but maybe I’ll ask Marci to give me another reading.” Simone got up to turn off the television. She was so different from anyone I’d ever met that it was no wonder the rebbetzin’s words failed to comfort her. They still made sense
to me in spite of everything that had happened.

I went into the kitchen and rinsed the pools of dark chocolate from the bottoms of our mugs. For the first time since I got back to San Diego, I missed home. The next evening was the first night of Passover, and my mother always made a big seder. She’d usually invite some of the Schines’ recruits, and we’d drink four whole glasses of the festive wine and belt out every verse of “Dayenu.” I’d lied to my father when he inquired about my Passover plans during our last phone call. I made up a story about Simone’s Jewish boss inviting us to his family’s seder, but truthfully, I didn’t have any place to celebrate the holiday. The Levensteins were clearly not an option after I’d run away from Sari and Benny at the mall.

Dear Tzippy,

I live with a Gentile family. Simone and Daniel and their little boy Ollie. They eat bacon and play music on their hi-fi, mainly albums by Jefferson Airplane, Janis Joplin, and Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. On Friday nights we watch reruns of a show called
Bridget Loves Bernie
about a Jewish man who falls for a pretty blond lady, kind of like my mom and the Shabbos goy, but reversed.

I’ve been someone else since I’ve been here, someone more beautiful and smart and useful. I still feel awful about missing your wedding. I know you’ll never forgive me. I hope you like being married.

Your best friend (?),

Barbara

I crumpled up the paper and tossed it in the trash.

The next morning Ollie helped me stir batter for banana pancakes.

“Surprise, Daddy!” he said when Daniel entered the kitchen. “We’re making you banana pancakes.”

Daniel scooped Ollie up and nuzzled his neck.

Simone walked in and kissed Ollie’s ear. “I’m working a double shift today, so I won’t see you until tomorrow morning.”

“Can I come with you?” Ollie asked, disappointed.

“No, big guy. I’d just want to play with you the whole time if I brought you to work with me.” Her eyes were puffy, the irises a muddy green.

“How soon?” Ollie pouted.

“One lunch and one dinner without me.”

“Ollie, we’re going to have the specialest day ever,” I said.

Ollie crawled into Simone’s lap and nestled his cheek against hers.

I gave them a few minutes before I presented him my plan for the day. “First we’re going to eat these delicious pancakes. Then we’re going to say goodbye to your mommy. And then we’re off to Point Loma to watch the surfers. You don’t like watching surfers much, do you?”

He pulled his head away from his mother’s neck and peeked at me with one eye.

“Nice work on the pancakes, guys,” Daniel said.

Ollie ate a few bites and went off to play with his Legos. Daniel and Simone exchanged sad looks, and he went to her and held her. “Next month,” I heard him whisper into her hair.

“Maybe,” she said, and then hoisted her backpack over her shoulder and left.

Daniel’s shoulders sagged as watched her go. “I’ll ride my bike to the store. You take the car.” He handed me his keys.

Remember, one lunch and one dinner without her, I wanted to say, but I just thanked him instead.

I drove Ollie to Sunset Cliffs, and we sat on a bench and watched the surfers negotiate the big waves. Every time a pelican flew over our heads, Ollie would quack and we’d laugh. We ate the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches I’d packed, and when we were done, he gave me a wet kiss, leaving a glob of strawberry jelly on my chin.

When Ollie grew restless, we drove to Ocean Beach and made a beeline for the candy store, where I couldn’t resist buying both of us grape lollipops.

“Where’s your mom?” the man with the handlebar mustache asked Ollie.

He looked down at the floor. “She’s working. She’s a nurse and she fixes people.”

“Well, your substitute mommy is very pretty too,” he said, and winked at me.

“How much do we owe you?” I asked, trying not to act as flustered as I felt.

“These are on the house.”

I put two quarters on the glass and thanked him, wondering if he really thought I was pretty or if he was just a flirt. We walked to the pier, licking our lollipops, and we took off our shoes and socks and played in the surf until our toes grew numb. I didn’t want Ollie to miss his nap, so I cajoled him into accompanying me to a grocery store that I’d noticed carried a few kosher items. I wanted to buy a couple of boxes of matzoh and some ingredients for dinner.

When we got home, Ollie danced to the Irish Rovers singing about unicorns and chimpanzees while I made my mom’s honey chicken, a big salad with apples and walnuts—a cousin, albeit twice removed, to the ritual charoset—and “kosher for Passover” popovers.

I startled when I heard Daniel walk through the back door. We’d been alone in the house before, but Simone could always have arrived at any minute. This felt different.

“Hi,” I said, buzzing around the kitchen. “Ollie, your dad’s home.”

Daniel knelt down to hug his son.

“You’re sweaty, Daddy.” Ollie touched Daniel’s cheek with his little hand.

“Hello to you, big guy.” He got up. “Something smells great.”

The kitchen was starting to smell like honey and garlic.

Daniel took Ollie to wash up while I set the dining-room table
with bright yellow cotton napkins. My mother wasn’t a skilled cook, but she did know how to make the food look good, and she’d taught me how to garnish: red apples in the salad, parsley dressing the chicken, and the golden popovers nestled under a napkin in a basket. The presentation was so pretty that I wanted to take a picture.

Daniel came back with his wet hair grazing his shoulders. He wore a thick brown leather belt with the letters of his name etched into the back. “Excellent,” he said as he and Ollie sat down.

The three of us rarely ate dinner together without Simone. Ollie had taken only a short nap that afternoon, and he was so tired his head was almost falling in his plate. After he took a few bites, the phone rang.