In the Unlikely Event (18 page)

Miri

Everyone Miri knew considered The Tavern, in the Weequahic section of Newark, the best restaurant in New Jersey. Some families, like the Osners, treated The Tavern like a club. They were Sunday regulars. Other families, like Miri’s, celebrated only the most special events there.

Miri wasn’t surprised to see the Osners lining up just as she and her family arrived. The Tavern didn’t accept reservations. Miri had
had Sunday dinners at The Tavern with Natalie and her family more times than she could count. She knew what they would order before they even sat down. Corinne, Natalie and Fern would start with consommé and they’d slice dill pickles into it. Slicing dill pickles into chicken soup struck Miri as disgusting but Natalie swore it was delicious. Every time Natalie said,
Have a taste
, Miri would say,
No thanks
. Miri supposed dill pickles in chicken soup was another tradition Corinne had brought with her from Birmingham, Alabama, like the Jewish Santa. Probably Tewky Purvis sliced dill pickles into his consommé, too.

When Irene had asked Rusty about the New Year’s Eve party, Rusty told her Tewky was the best dancer she’d ever danced with. “A lovely man.”

Irene brightened. “And…you’re going to see him again?”

“He lives in Birmingham, Alabama. His family owns a bank there.”

“A bank!” Irene sang. “So what’s a few miles between friends?”

“Unfortunately, he’s a confirmed bachelor.”

Irene paused. “He told you so?”

“He did.”

“Did you ever hear that meeting the right girl can change all that?”

“I’ve heard it but I don’t believe it.”

A confirmed bachelor? So Natalie was right. He was never getting married. Well, that was a relief.

At 4 p.m. the line to get a table at The Tavern was already long, extending down Elizabeth Avenue all the way past the Krich-Radisco building, where Fern would tilt her head back to see her reflection in the mirrored overhead. Families laughed and talked while waiting as if the wait were part of the whole experience, even in winter. Rumor had it the only person who never had to wait was Longy Zwillman. No one complained about that, either, at least not to the owner, Sam Teiger. They all wanted to stay on Sam Teiger’s good side. Not that Miri had ever laid eyes on Longy, but she listened when his name came up.

Miri introduced Leah to the Osners. “We’re celebrating our
engagement today,” Leah said, holding up her hand as if she couldn’t believe it was
her
hand, with polished fingernails, a white orchid wrist corsage and, to top it all off, the ring. Corinne called the ring a
truly elegant heirloom piece
. Leah looked pleased. “Yes,” she said. “It is, isn’t it? Thank you so much.”

“It was my grandmother’s,” Miri told Natalie.

Natalie said, “My mother wears my grandmother’s ring, too. But she had the diamond reset to look more modern.”

Miri would never change Irene’s ring. She hoped Leah wouldn’t, either.

After forty-five minutes of waiting outside in the cold, they made it to the heated vestibule of the restaurant, where they shed their winter coats. Ben Sapphire helped Irene out of her Persian lamb, worn only on special occasions. Miri had always liked the way it smelled from the cold. When she was little she once napped on it at a family party. Lately she’d been thinking about how before it was a coat it was a real lamb, a little black lamb, maybe more than one little black lamb, and that thought haunted her now whenever Irene wore the coat, which was older than Miri. Every few years the furrier on Bergen Street in Newark would update it, making any necessary repairs. Last year he’d relined it with black-on-black patterned silk, embroidering
IRENE AMMERMAN
in shocking pink just inside the waist, like a fancy name tape, in case someone went home with the wrong coat.

Both Irene and Leah’s aunt Alma had purple orchid corsages pinned to their suit jackets. Alma had never been to The Tavern but, like everyone else, she’d heard of it.

Sam Teiger greeted everyone. “Doc,” he said to Dr. O, “have a little something,” as a waiter passed around a tray of hors d’oeuvres in case a person got hungry while waiting for a table.

Alma helped herself, daintily wiping her mouth with a cocktail napkin. “Delicious,” she said.

Dr. O introduced Henry to Sam Teiger. “Henry is the star reporter who’s been writing about the crash of the plane in Elizabeth. If you haven’t read his stories, you should. I hear he’s considered
so good the paper is doubling his salary and giving him his own byline. Is that right, Henry?”

“Byline, yes,” Henry said. “Doubled salary?” He laughed. “Haven’t heard that one.”

“He’s being too modest,” Dr. O said. “And this is Henry’s fiancée, the lovely…”

“Leah Cohen,” Henry told Sam Teiger. “We’re celebrating our engagement today.”

Leah held up her left hand so Sam Teiger could admire her ring, which he did. “Heirloom,” Leah told him.

“Lovely,” Sam Teiger said. “And so are you.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Teiger,” Leah said, looking up from behind her bangs, with her most Debbie Reynolds look. Miri half expected her to burst into song. Then they’d all dance as if they were in a movie musical.

“This calls for Champagne!” Sam Teiger snapped his fingers and a captain appeared, like a genie out of a bottle. Sam asked, quietly, “How many in your party, Henry?”

“Seven,” Henry answered. “But we can squeeze around a table for six.”

“And we’re five,” Dr. O said, though no one had asked. “But we could squeeze around a table for four. Back-to-back tables would be good.”

“Let me see what I can do,” Sam Teiger said, nodding to the captain.

Two minutes later both families were being shown to their tables, one a table for six with an extra chair added, the other a table for six with one chair removed. The big room was attractive, but simple, noisy, but not too noisy. At their table Miri sat between Rusty and Aunt Alma, who was skinny, and, Miri thought, nervous, her hands trembling slightly.

Across the dining room Miri caught a glimpse of Mrs. Stein with her husband, who wanted to travel to exotic lands, and their son, Phil. She hoped Mrs. Stein wouldn’t come over to their table. She didn’t want to have to introduce her to Rusty. She didn’t want to risk
how Rusty might react—all that insecurity about not being a good enough mother. She didn’t have to worry. Mrs. Stein acknowledged her with a small smile and a slight gesture of recognition that could have been missed by anyone but Miri. She was grateful to Mrs. Stein for that.

Sam Teiger sent over Champagne, as promised. “A magnum!” Ben Sapphire was impressed. “Sam Teiger is a real sport.”

The waiter popped the cork and poured it, filling Miri’s glass halfway before he realized she was underage. But no one took it away from her.

Irene made the first toast. “Thank you, Henry, for choosing Leah. I can’t imagine anyone I’d rather have for a daughter-in-law.” They all clinked glasses.

“Thank you, Mother Irene,” Leah said. Miri had never heard Leah refer to Irene as
Mother Irene
, as if she were a nun. Or would that be
Sister Irene
? She’d have to ask Suzanne, even though Suzanne was Protestant, not Catholic.

“Please, call me Irene.”

“Or Mama,” Henry said. “Because she’s a wonderful mama.” He leaned over and kissed Irene’s cheek. “There’s never been a better mama.”

“Such a son!” She hugged Henry.

Alma said, “My sister, Leah’s mother, is also a wonderful mother. It’s a shame she can’t be here today. But it’s such a long trip from Cleveland and with Sy’s arthritis…”

“But they’ll come for the wedding,” Leah said.

Leah

She was embarrassed her parents weren’t here, leaving Aunt Alma to cover for them. She knew darn well it had nothing to do with her father’s arthritis, which was mild, and everything to do with his pocketbook. He was such a cheapskate when it came to his wife and daughters. And not just with money, but with time, with affection. Now that he was retired it was all about playing the ponies at Thistledown,
kibitzing at poker with his buddies or hanging out in the bookie’s room behind the paint store. His daughters never stood a chance with him.
Girls, what good are girls?
he’d supposedly said when she, and then her sister, were born. Her mother had no guts, never stood up to her father, kept her mouth shut to keep the peace. She’d had to scrimp and save out of her weekly allowance, serving hamburger instead of steak to buy her girls a pair of shoes. She felt sorry for her mother but she’d learned from her, too, learned to speak her mind, to make sure she would have a life apart from her husband’s. Sometimes she hoped her parents wouldn’t come to the wedding. Her father would only make trouble. She’d already told him they didn’t expect him to contribute to the cost, and he hadn’t argued. She and Henry were going to foot the bill and Irene was taking care of the liquor and the cake.

Henry’s family was so close. It worried her sometimes that she was fourth in line after Irene, Rusty and Miri. Not that they hadn’t welcomed her into the family. But he was so attached to them. She’d learned quickly never to say a critical word about any of them. As far as Henry was concerned, they were perfect. A hard act to follow.

Miri

Rusty gave a little cough to get the attention back to the toasts. She held up her glass. “Here’s to the best brother a girl could ever have. And you know I mean that, Henry. May you and Leah enjoy health and happiness always.” Then she choked up.

“Here, here…” Ben Sapphire said. Miri was surprised when he held up his glass because it wasn’t like he was one of the family. Still, no one stopped him from speaking. “Leah,” Ben Sapphire said, “you are joining a kind, generous, loving family. They rescued me when I thought my life was over and helped me find a reason to keep going.”

Now Miri was really surprised. She’d never heard Ben Sapphire say much of anything, let alone something so deep. At least it sounded deep to her. She was trying to think of what she could possibly say after that when Alma clutched her arm. Miri could tell
she was growing more and more anxious. Now her hands shook as she passed Miri a note card. “I can’t make speeches,” she whispered. “Will you do it for me?”

So Miri held up her glass the way the others had, and read, “Aunt Alma is so happy that Henry and Leah are marrying.” Miri glanced over at Aunt Alma, who gave her a nod and a small, grateful smile. “And she looks forward to the day you bring your children to her house to play in her yard.”

“Please,” Irene said. “Don’t rush them. They’re not even married yet.” Then everyone laughed, except Alma, who was embarrassed by what she had asked Miri to say for her.

Miri didn’t say any of the things she might have said to Henry alone. He was just thirteen years old when she was born. All of her childhood memories involved him. He was gentle with her and always kind. He never lied, never shied away from taking her questions seriously. When he went away to war she couldn’t stop crying. Every morning and every night she prayed for him. She prayed to a god she didn’t know, not the god from the High Holidays, but some other god, who wouldn’t be too busy to listen. Every night when she sat down to supper with Rusty and Irene, they joined hands, bowing their heads and closing their eyes. That meant they were thinking of Uncle Henry, who was
over there
.

Irene pasted a blue star in her window, signaling she had a son in the military. When they had air raid practice at night, when the sirens went off and they lowered their blackout curtains, Rusty would lie next to her in bed and tell her stories about Uncle Henry when he was a little boy. She’d always end by promising Miri the war could never come to Elizabeth and no enemy could harm them or any of America. Miri believed her until recently. The day Henry came back from the war was the happiest day of Miri’s life.

—

WHEN HENRY ORDERED
broiled lobster, Alma surprised everyone by saying she’d have one, too. “My friend has a cottage in Maine and when I visited we bought lobsters right off the dock.”

“I’ve never been to Maine,” Rusty said.

“I highly recommend it,” Alma told her.

Miri watched, fascinated, at the way Alma dissected her lobster, meticulously removing every bit of meat before eating a bite, dipping each piece into butter, uttering small sounds of satisfaction as she did. She was the last to finish her meal.

As the waiter was clearing their plates, Miri saw a tall man come up to Dr. O. Dr. O jumped up from the table. The men shook hands warmly, the taller one squeezing Dr. O’s shoulder. Then Dr. O guided the tall man over to their table. “I’d like to introduce you to Henry Ammerman,” he said. “He’s been covering the crash for the
Daily Post
. He’s about to become famous.”

“You should write for the
Newark News
,” the tall man said. “You want an interview, I can set one up.” Then he put out his hand and introduced himself. “Abner Zwillman. Abe, to friends. Very pleased to meet you.” His suit and tie and polished shoes looked expensive. His dark hair was threaded with silver and slicked back. In his hand he held an unlit cigar. He looked around the table. “And who is this ravishing young lady?”

Miri thought he was talking about her because of the
young lady
business—but then she realized he was focused on Rusty.

“Rusty Ammerman,” Dr. O said, making introductions. “Henry’s lovely sister.”

Abner/Abe took Rusty’s hand and kissed it.
“Enchanté,”
he said, making Rusty blush.

“You know who that was?” Henry said to Rusty, when Abner/Abe was gone. “That was Longy Zwillman.”

“Oh, my gosh,” Rusty said, blushing an even deeper shade of pink. “That was Longy? Longy kissed my hand?”

“Yeah,” Henry said, “but that wasn’t all he was thinking of kissing.”

“Henry, stop!” Rusty pretended to swat him with her pocketbook.

Aunt Alma looked shocked. But not so shocked that she wouldn’t have liked a handsome man to be
enchanté
over her, too.