Washing the Dead (32 page)

“Do you think it’s Mommy?” He jumped out of his chair.

“Let’s see.” Daniel got up and answered the call in the kitchen. “Hey, babe. You’re just in time to wish your boy a good night,” he said. “Ollie, c’mere.”

“Guess what, Mom. Barbara took me to the candy store, and the funny-looking man told her she was a silly mom.”

Substitute. Substitute mom. I didn’t correct him. Substitute Simone. Daniel shot me a curious look, and I shrugged as if to say, Beats me.

“Here, she wants to talk to you.” Ollie handed the phone to Daniel and came back to the table. Daniel lowered his voice, and I told myself not to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help it. The kitchen opened directly into the dining area. “I’m sad too,” he said. He paused to listen to Simone on the other end, and then I heard him tell her not to give up.

“Eat a few more bites, big guy,” I said to Ollie, trying to drown out his father’s conversation.

A moment later, Daniel returned to the table. “Now let’s finish this beautiful food,” he said, but Ollie’s eyelids were drooping. Daniel picked him up and carried him off to bed. “Back in a minute,” he said.

I cracked the hard shell of a popover, releasing a cloud of
steam that licked my cheeks. By now, our family seder would have ended.

Daniel came back and sat down. “I wouldn’t have thought to put walnuts and apples together like this,” he said, taking a bite of salad.

“It’s fake charoset,” I explained. “A ritual food for Passover.”

“Passover.” He smacked his head with his palm. “I forgot. I’m so sorry, Barbara.”

“It’s okay.” I’d asked for the night off so I could do something to honor the holiday, although I hadn’t known what that might be.

“We blew it. Is there something you need to do?” he asked with concern. “You know, for Passover?”

“Just have a seder,” I said.

He shook his head. “Yeah, a seder. God, Barbara, I’m really sorry.”

“This is close enough.” I was happy right where I was.

We ate without talking for a few minutes, and then he asked, “What exactly happens at a seder?”

“You tell the story of the Jews’ Exodus from Egypt,” I said and went on to tell him the entire story, complete with the ten plagues and the parting of the Red Sea, and an explanation of the items on the ritual plate. When I got to the part about the four cups of wine, he stopped me.

“Hold on a sec,” he said, returning with two wine glasses and a bottle of Burgundy. “Let’s do this right.” He poured and raised his glass.

I eyed the wine, thinking about how my parents used to drive all the way to Skokie to buy kosher wine. “No toasting on Passover,” I retorted.

“Why not?” He clinked my glass, and we laughed as if we were sharing a private joke. This wine was much stronger than the Manischewitz my parents poured for me, and before long, I started to feel tipsy.

We cleared the table and went to the living room. Daniel pulled out an album and we sipped wine and read the lyrics
together. We sat side by side on the Persian carpet, our backs against the sofa. He brought one leg to his chest and dangled an arm over his knee. His fingers were long and tapered. We weren’t touching, but the heat of his outstretched leg warmed the side of my thigh.

“This is Lou Reed,” he said and proceeded to tell me about Lou’s friendship with Andy Warhol and how Andy manipulated the careers of artists who caught his fancy and how he told Lou Reed to write the song “Vicious.” Daniel used his hands a lot when he spoke, and he made this exotic world come alive for me. I pictured him describing his favorite book to a female customer who would stare dreamily at his Roman nose and eyelashes, a yard long.

“Do you like his music?” Daniel pointed to the stereo.

“Not sure yet.” I picked up the album and examined Lou’s photo. He looked like a cooler, clean-shaven version of one of Rabbi Schine’s brothers.

Daniel gazed at me. “Simone and I love that about you.”

“What?” Please tell me more about what you love about me, I thought.

“You’re who you are,” he said softly, taking me in, making me feel both uncomfortable and treasured.

“Thanks. I should go to bed.” I had to leave, or I would say something foolish. The wine had made me sleepy, and that night I drifted off to images of Daniel and Moses wandering through the desert, snacking on honey chicken and manna sandwiches.

When I entered the kitchen the next morning, Simone and Daniel were hugging and Ollie had scooted between their legs and wrapped his arms around their knees.

“Family hug,” Ollie announced.

They parted, and I tried not to make eye contact with Daniel, who smiled warmly as if we’d never shared an intimate moment. Maybe we hadn’t.

Simone walked over. “Barbara. I’m an idiot. We totally forgot Passover. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“No, I’ve been too wrapped up in myself. I’m going to make it up to you, I swear.”

“You’ve been so good to me. Please, forget about it.”

After I went back to my room and showered, I found Simone waiting for me in the kitchen, keys in hand.

“I’m taking Barbara on an adventure,” she told Daniel.

“Simone’s a master at coming up with adventures,” he said.

“We’ll take your car, baby. Mine’s out of gas,” she said as we walked out of the house. “Hop in,” she said, and I did. She adjusted the rearview mirror, fiddled with the radio, and backed the car down the driveway while accompanying Elton John on “Bennie and the Jets.”

Halfway down the drive, she slammed on the screeching brakes.

“Shit.” She turned around. “I almost hit that dog.”

A bouncy black mutt had darted out from one of the two Torrey pine groves that bookended the house. A beleaguered-looking young woman pushing a buggy screamed, “Brandy, come back here! Brandy!”

Simone got out of the car and ran toward the woman. “Where’s her leash?”

The woman was holding the leash in her hand. “I was just about to put it back on. I’m so sorry.” The baby started crying. Simone leashed the dog while the woman knelt down and found a pacifier. She continued to apologize, but Simone just looked longingly at the baby and walked back up the driveway, waving her hand in the air.

Daniel rushed out of the house with Ollie on his hip. “Is everything okay?” He put Ollie down and held Simone, who was shaking.

“I almost hit that puppy. These brakes are shit.” She looked like she was about to cry.

Daniel wrapped his arms around her. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispered.

Ollie tugged at the leg of Simone’s jeans. “That was a big noise, Mommy.”

“Nobody got hurt, big guy,” Daniel said, and kissed Simone before he released her.

When Simone returned to the car, I patted her knee awkwardly. She said little during our drive along the coast. I stared out at the horizon, daydreaming about Daniel telling me that I was who I was. I didn’t know what that meant exactly, but whoever I was seemed to be okay with him and Simone.

Her mood shifted. “You’re going to love Old Town,” she said enthusiastically. “It’s so kitschy.”

“I’ve loved every place you’ve taken me.”

We drove toward the white, red-roofed, Spanish-style buildings. She parked far away from the other cars and reached into her big cloth purse for a cigarette that looked like it had been made by hand. “You up for trying something new?”

The odd cigarette made me nervous, but Simone was a nurse, and if she was going to smoke it, then I could. “I guess.”

“Every once in a while, you know, I get the urge for a joint.” Simone flicked a lighter in the shape of a banana and took a deep puff, eyes half closed, lips pursed as she held her breath. “You’ve got to wait until it goes down your lungs,” she croaked.

I took the joint from Simone and pinched it between my fingers just as I’d seen her do. It burned my lips a little, and the smoke twirled down my esophagus like a lit match. I coughed and coughed until my eyes watered.

Simone pulled a thermos from the back seat. “Here.” She unscrewed the cap and handed it to me. “It’s a little stale from sitting in the car for two days.”

The old coffee tasted bitter, but it cooled my throat.

“Small puffs this time.” She demonstrated another hit.

I was determined not to disappoint her, so I took the joint back and inhaled briefly. Although I still coughed, I didn’t feel like my insides were on fire.

“There you go.” Simone clapped her hands as she did when
Ollie figured out a puzzle. “Come on, I’ll show you Old Town.”

I felt like I was Meg Murry, the space traveler from my favorite teen novel, and I’d been catapulted back to a mission in a far part of the world. The fact that I knew nothing about Christianity didn’t faze me.

Simone took me to a gallery where brightly colored blankets hung on the walls. I fingered a striped blanket woven with blue, purple, and green yarns. “This is the most beautiful blanket I’ve ever seen.”

Simone laughed. “You’re stoned. We could buy that in Tijuana for about a dollar.”

“A dollar?” I found this fact fascinating.

“Let’s go.” She led me to an old Mexican restaurant where we ate on the veranda under a big umbrella. A plump waiter with an accent and wavy black hair placed a basket of chips in front of us. Simone spoke to him in perfect Spanish, and he returned a few minutes later with a bowl of guacamole. I wanted to take a picture of the lush waves of green with little red onion bits sticking out of each crest. When I spooned half the bowl onto my plate and began eating it with a fork, Simone started laughing uncontrollably.

“It’s Passover, Simone,” I said in my practiced Tzippy Schine let-me-enlighten-you-about-Judaism voice. “No chips, no corn products.”

“I have a lot to learn,” she said earnestly.

“I’m going to take Spanish when I go to college. And then I’m going to become a teacher.”

“You should apply to San Diego State. You can’t go back to the cold.”

“No, I can’t go back, but not because of the cold.”

“Why can’t you go back?”

“My mother is having an affair with the Shabbos goy.” What had I just said? And so casually?

“Huh?” Simone jerked her head up and stared at me.

I should have stopped talking, but I had her attention, and her interest in my story enticed me to talk more. “The Shabbos
goy. The person who turns on the lights and does all the things you’re not allowed to do on the Sabbath.”

She waved her chip at me to continue.

“Use the oven, use the phone, use electricity, drive.” I took a spoonful of salsa. “Rip toilet paper.”

“Are you serious?”

“But he’s not the Shabbos goy anymore. He’s still seeing my mom, though.”

“Where does he live?”

“Who knows? Pewaukee or someplace.”

“Pewaukee?” Simone repeated, exaggerating my accent.

We started giggling so hard that she almost choked on her chip.

“Do I talk like that?” I asked.

“Sure you do,” she replied, mimicking me.

She flagged the waiter and asked for something else in Spanish, and a minute later he returned with two glasses the size of Frisbees, rims salted and filled to the brim with a yellowish slush.

Simone raised her glass. “To Pewaukee!”

We both took a big gulp. “What am I drinking?”

“A margarita. A day of firsts.” She took another sip. “So tell me more about the Shabbos goy. I’m way into this.”

The room was starting to spin a little, and I couldn’t stop talking about my fascinating self. By the second margarita, I was telling Simone every detail about the mikveh, Tzippy, my mother, and the Shabbos goy. I left nothing out. After I told her what happened before Tzippy’s wedding, she drained her third margarita and shook her head.

“That’s heavy shit,” she said.

Why we thought that was so funny, I couldn’t say, but we laughed so hard I almost wet my pants.

Simone pounded her fist on the table. “We need to eat something without corn.”

“Or yeast, or legumes,” I added.

She spoke to the waiter, who returned to the table with
another bowl of guacamole, two more margaritas, and a large slab of beef.

After a few bites, I asked, “What am I eating besides more non-kosher meat?”

“Carne asada,” Simone said.

Everything was funny. We burst into another fit of laughter.

“Okay, so let me get this straight.” Simone took a bite of her carne asada. “The Robertson knew about your mom?”

“Rebbetzin,” I corrected, suddenly feeling defensive about the Schines. It was one thing for me to question or criticize them, but I wasn’t so sure how I felt about an outsider attacking them.

“That’s bull,” Simone declared.

“It’s complicated,” I said, knowing that was true and that I didn’t fully understand why. But hearing Simone’s assessment also confirmed my own anger, and the half of me that wasn’t defending the Schines and their rules was dying to echo her outrage. I got up and went to the bathroom.