Modern Girls (32 page)

Saturday, August 31

EARLY that morning, I remembered twelve more things that needed to be done. From my bed, I called out, “Bring me my list and a pen. Dottie left them in the front room.”

For once, Alfie jumped. “I got it, Ma!” I cringed hearing him stomp around the front room, looking for them.

“Look on the credenza,” I said.

Last night I had tackled the chore that rankled me the most: I wrote to Molly Klein. As much as it churned my stomach, she was now my daughter’s mother-in-law, and basic courtesy required we invite her family for
Shabbes
. This marriage might not have been made under ideal circumstances, but manners were manners, and I would do what was right. Certainly that Molly Klein would never think of it herself.

“Got it!” Alfie burst like a firecracker into my room.

“Thank you,” I said, reaching for the pad and pencil, but when I went to pull them toward me, he held fast.

“I can write down what you need. I can help you, Ma.” His eyes were wild, and I realized for the first time how terrified he was seeing me as an invalid. And why wouldn’t he be? He was young when he lost his brother, but a memory like that can’t be erased by time.

Taking Alfie by the wrist, I stared steadily into his eyes. “I am going to be fine,
bubelah
.”

“But how can you be sure?” The sadness in his voice cracked open my own heartache.

With every ounce of energy I had, I brought the strength back to my voice as I said, “Because I have to prepare your sister’s trousseau. Because I have to make sure you and Eugene have clothes for school next month. Because your father needs someone to cook and clean for him. I’m needed too much to go anywhere.” I granted the boy a rare smile. “Now give me the paper. I have lists to make.”

Reluctantly he handed over the paper. But before he could leave, he threw his arms around my neck and planted a kiss on my shoulder, something he hadn’t done since he was still in short pants. “Swear to me, Ma. Swear you’ll be okay.”

My children wouldn’t stop breaking my heart. Trying to sound firm and healthy and like my normal self, I said, “No swearing. It’s
goyishe
.”

He pulled back and looked at me, his eyebrows creased over his nose in concern. “Please, Ma.” His nose was running.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nodded. “I swear.” He leaned back in to give me another kiss, and I whispered again in his ear, “I swear.”

Sunday, September 1

SUNDAY morning I woke with a mission: to make up with Eugene and Alfie. Saturday they’d left before I arrived, and didn’t come home till after I’d gone, even though I dawdled at the apartment until the last possible second, hoping to catch them. The whole day was spent tending to Ma and running errands. But now, I needed my boys. I couldn’t bear my brothers’ anger.

Down on the lower East Side, I searched the stoops and lots till I found them in a stickball game in an alley. Eugene was coming up to bat. He swung at the first ball, cleanly missing it, to the jeers of his friends.

“You’re holding the stick too high up,” I called to him.

He looked over at me with a glare.

“Hold on,” I said, coming to stand next to him. “Here, you hold it like this.”

“I got it,” he said, twisting away from me.

“Don’t be dippy,” I said, getting behind him. I placed my hands over his and slid them farther down. “Go ahead,” I yelled to the pitcher.

“You can’t have two players,” the pitcher yelled. “And what kind of baby needs his sister to play for him?”

I squinted into the sun. “Saul, is that you? Aw, you’ve gotten so big since I was changing your diapers.” I grinned maliciously and Eugene giggled.

“Aw, jeez,” Saul said, and he tossed the ball. I swung with Eugene. The ball went sailing.

“How did you do that?” Eugene asked.

“Go on, silly. Run. I can’t do it for you.” He dropped the stick and ran.

I stood to the side and watched the rest of the game. Alfie’s movements on the asphalt field, his leaps and turns, were almost balletic. Eugene still played awkwardly, but his throwing skills were improving. Someday he would own that game and it made me tear up, knowing I wouldn’t be there to see it. I dabbed my eyes discreetly. I didn’t want anyone to see me cry.

When the game ended, the boys dragged their feet coming out of the alley. My brothers were torn—wanting to see me, yet still upset with me.

“C’mon,” I said. “I’m buying you ice cream.”

“Ice cream?” Eugene said. “It’s only ten thirty in the morning.”

“So don’t tell Ma, you dope,” Alfie said, running ahead to the parlor. Eugene didn’t need to be told again, and he took off in a sprint.

By the time I caught up to them at the store, they had already chosen their flavors. I bought them each a scoop and followed them to a table.

Alfie shoveled his ice cream into his mouth, taking huge spoonfuls. Eugene was more meticulous, taking small, careful bites to make it last.

I brushed a hair from Alfie’s face, and he moved to object, then changed his mind. It must have taken all his courage to ask, “Why are you going, Dottie?”

I shrugged at him. “I don’t have a choice.”

“Why don’t you have a choice?” Eugene asked.

“Because I’m married. Where my husband goes, I need to go. And he’s going to Europe.”

“And there’s a baby? Inside you now?” Eugene asked.

I wished he didn’t know that. I nodded.

“How did it get there?”

Alfie and I exchanged looks. “Uh . . . ,” I began.

“I’ll tell ya later,” Alfie said.

I raised my eyebrows at him. “You know?”

His turn to shrug. “I’ve heard.”

Not trusting whatever Alfie had heard on the street, I said, “Maybe you should both ask Izzy.”

“I’m still angry at you,” Alfie said.

“I’m still angry at me,” I said.

He nodded. The two finished their ice cream quietly. They were clearly still angry with me. But they were speaking to me. And I’d take that as a start.

•   •   •

THE rest of the day I listened to Ma’s instructions about where to shop and what to buy. She wanted to come with me, insisting she was feeling well enough to be up and about, but I kept pushing her down and telling her to rest more. In the evening there was another torturous dinner at the Kleins’. Willie and I couldn’t make our exit fast enough.

When we left his parents’ apartment, the air held the slight coolness that hinted at autumn. I always looked forward to it—the changing colors, the promise of Rosh Hashanah, the excitement of a new season of clothes. What would fall be like in Paris?

“I still haven’t told Linda and Edith about our marriage,” I said. “I should have stopped by yesterday, but there’s so much to be done.” It was an excuse. I was terrified at what they’d think.

“So do it tonight. What do you say we make our grand appearance?” Willie asked, taking me by the arm.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Let’s hit the café on Second Avenue.”

I leveled my gaze at him. What was he up to? “Do you think it’s the best idea?”

“Why not?” He grinned, and I realized I was his prize to flaunt.
He had his girls. He had me. Willie Klein was having his cake and eating it, too, and he wanted the whole world to know it.

The idea chilled me. I wasn’t ready to face Edith and Linda, and on a Sunday night they would surely be there. Wasn’t tonight the night they were going to the Jean Harlow pic? It was a year ago that Edith had suggested going to the pictures, but really, it had been only last week. We always went to the café after a movie. And what about Abe? Would Abe be at the café?

But Willie whisked me off in a cab, deaf to my protests, and we barreled down to the lower East Side. This was crazy. Downright insane.

A half hour later, we stood at the entrance. Inside was the normal busyness of a Sunday evening. Outside, the temperature seemed to have dropped by twenty degrees. I shivered.

“You’ll be fine,” Willie said, and I wondered when he’d stop testing me.

We opened the door and stepped in. As eyes darted to see who’d entered, a silence enveloped the room. Clearly our news had preceded us.

Willie seemed a little nervous as he looked around the room, perhaps wondering if he’d grossly miscalculated.

I caught Edith’s wide eyes; then she deliberately looked across the room. I followed her gaze.

Abe. And next to him: Sadie Kraus.

My breath caught in my throat. Willie saw me staring and looked in the same direction. When he saw Abe, a malicious smile stretched across his face. He threw his arm around my shoulder and led me in another step. Addressing the room, he said, “Isn’t anyone going to offer the newlywed couple a beer?”

Abe stood abruptly, the table tottering as his friends grabbed hold of it. Raising his arm, he smashed his beer glass to the ground.

“Let’s go, Sadie,” he said, grabbing her arm roughly. He stormed toward us—or, rather, toward the door. Sadie looked at me from beneath her eyelashes, a look of victory, and she gave me a half
grin as she tried to keep up with Abe, stumbling in her fancy heeled shoes. Willie and I were blocking the way, and as I scrambled to move, Abe and I locked eyes, and I knew his expression would haunt me for decades to come. I wanted to reach out to him, to stroke his cheek, to ease his heart. My hand stretched out of its own accord, but I pulled it back. There was no point. Abe pushed between us. My last view of him was his hunched, angry shoulders. Sadie turned around for one last look, eyebrows raised triumphantly as the door closed behind them. Abe was gone.

Willie pulled me from the doorway into the room.

“Well, Will,” one of his friends called from across the room, “you always did know how to make an entrance.”

With that, the spell was broken and the room buzzed. A counterman cleaned Abe’s mess. Willie laughed and headed over to his friends. I was shattered, despondent.
Abe.
I wanted to run after him, to hold him, to comfort him. But I was Mrs. William Klein, so I swallowed my misery and made my way to Linda and Edith.

The two girls stared at me as I sat down.

“What in good God’s name have you done?” Edith said, a hiss to her voice.

“Now, now,” Linda said, always the peacemaker.

“No, I’m not going to
now, now
. Is it true? You’re married? And”—Edith spit out the word—“
pregnant
?”

The tears came unbidden. I didn’t even care who saw them, not that anyone was paying attention to me; Willie commanded the room.

Edith’s voice rose dangerously. “How could you do that to Abe?” Linda put a hand on Edith’s to signal her to quiet.

I took slow, deep breaths to avoid heaving sobs. Linda pulled a handkerchief from her purse and handed it to me.

Edith said, “How could you do that to
us
?”

For a minute, I gave in to the tears, Linda rubbing my arm, Edith wild-eyed and angry. But they waited for me to cry it out.

Finally, when I was composed enough to speak, I said, “It was
an accident. I didn’t mean to do it to Abe. I didn’t mean to do it to myself.” I dabbed my eyes, afraid they’d start welling again. “Look at me. Look at the mess I’ve made of my life. Saddled with that . . . that . . .” I looked across the room at Willie drinking a beer, the life of the party. I dropped my voice to a whisper. “That buffoon.”

With a snort, Edith said, “You made your bed. And clearly you’ve already lain in it.”

“Edie,” Linda said. Anger tinged her voice. “Dottie is our friend. Show her sympathy.”

“Sympathy?” Edith wiped the corner of her eye, and I realized she was close to crying. Edith crying? What had I done? “What about sympathy for us? Why didn’t you tell us? We could have helped you. We
would
have helped you.”

“How?” I asked. “You would have taken me in with the baby? Helped me diaper it and walk it in the carriage?” I shook my head. “This was the only way it could have happened. You know that. If I had a baby on my own, I would be shunned for the rest of my life. Now at least I’m an honest woman.”

Linda took my hand in her own. I looked gratefully at her. “I’m so sorry, Dottie,” she said. “I understand. You did what you had to do.” With a glare at Edith, she said, “Happy endings are only in fairy tales.”

Around us, the room roared along as usual, with squealing and chitchat and flirting. But Linda and I were two unhappy women, lost in our thoughts of Abe and of Ralph. Of happiness and of necessity.

Finally, Edith said, “Are you really going with him? Are you really leaving us for Europe?” Her voice was quiet now, but full of anguish.

“I am,” I said.

We sat another minute.

“Well,” Edith said, “let me at least buy you a beer.”