Much Ado About Jessie Kaplan (6 page)
Read Much Ado About Jessie Kaplan Online
Authors: Paula Marantz Cohen
W
hen Carla
AND STEPHANIE RETURNED HOME FROM the mall, Jessie was preparing dinner and humming.
hen Carla
AND STEPHANIE RETURNED HOME FROM the mall, Jessie was preparing dinner and humming.
“What's that song?” asked Carla, struck by the strange intricacy of the melody.
“âNow I See Thy Looks Were Feigned,'” said Jessie cheerfully.
“It's a rondeau.”
The odd allusions had not abated.
Carla decided to ignore Jessie's answer but made a mental note to look up
rondeau
in the dictionary later. The Webster's in the hall had gotten a lot of use lately, though occasionally it failed to serve and Carla had to resort to the library to consult the more capacious Oxford English Dictionary.
rondeau
in the dictionary later. The Webster's in the hall had gotten a lot of use lately, though occasionally it failed to serve and Carla had to resort to the library to consult the more capacious Oxford English Dictionary.
At this point, Mark came in the door, looking disheveled. “I'm bushed,” he announced, throwing himself down onto a chair. A clamor that had been gradually escalating in the other room as Stephanie and Jeffrey wrestled over a CD that neither one really wanted was suddenly accompanied by shrill screams. “Would someone tell those goddamn kids to shut up?” he snapped crankily.
Jessie brought Mark two Tylenol with a scotch and then went into the other room to speak to the children. In no time, the racket
had died down. Jeffrey and Stephanie came into the kitchen looking puzzled, and Stephanie motioned with her eyes for her mother to follow her into the living room.
had died down. Jeffrey and Stephanie came into the kitchen looking puzzled, and Stephanie motioned with her eyes for her mother to follow her into the living room.
“What's wrong with Grandma?” asked Stephanie when they had retreated together. “She's acting really weird.”
“What did she say?”
“She came in while Jeffrey and I were fighting and told us”âStephanie paused, obviously intent on recalling the exact phraseâ“not to sully âthe family's cousin'âsomething like that.”
“The family escutcheon?”
“Yeah, that's it.”
Yes, Carla thought, it
was
weird. Where had the words come from that her mother was using with such alarming frequency? Margot's theory about her picking them up from old movies did not hold water. There were too many and the contexts too varied. Perhaps, Carla thought, she'd been listening to the vocabulary tapes they had bought for Jeffrey at the Teacher's Store. He was supposed to listen while sleeping and have the words creep into his brain through osmosis. The technique had not worked on him, but perhaps Jessie had borrowed the tapes and her brain was more conducive. But since when were
rondeau
and
escutcheon
fifth-grade vocabulary words?
was
weird. Where had the words come from that her mother was using with such alarming frequency? Margot's theory about her picking them up from old movies did not hold water. There were too many and the contexts too varied. Perhaps, Carla thought, she'd been listening to the vocabulary tapes they had bought for Jeffrey at the Teacher's Store. He was supposed to listen while sleeping and have the words creep into his brain through osmosis. The technique had not worked on him, but perhaps Jessie had borrowed the tapes and her brain was more conducive. But since when were
rondeau
and
escutcheon
fifth-grade vocabulary words?
“Dinner's ready,” Jessie called from the kitchen. “Make haste.”
“Make haste?” said Stephanie. “Weird!”
Once everyone was seated, Jessie began putting pieces of a strange-looking food onto their plates.
“What's this?” asked Jeffrey, inserting a large forkful into his mouth without waiting for an answer.
“Shepherd's pie,” replied Jessie, “my most acclaimed recipe.”
“I don't remember you ever making shepherd's pie,” said Carla suspiciously. She had had the dish in a London pub during her junior summer abroadâbut not, to her knowledge, before or since.
“It's pretty good,” said Jeffrey, shoveling the shepherd's pie into his mouth with gusto and washing it down with large gulps of
chocolate milk. “Is there any venison in it?” Jeffrey had liked the alleged venison stew that Jessie had made the month before. At the question, Stephanie put down her fork and waited anxiously for her grandmother's reply.
chocolate milk. “Is there any venison in it?” Jeffrey had liked the alleged venison stew that Jessie had made the month before. At the question, Stephanie put down her fork and waited anxiously for her grandmother's reply.
“I don't use venison in my shepherd's pie,” said Jessie huffily. “Dame Quigly did. Couldn't abide it.”
“Dame Quigly?” Mark looked up curiously. “Odd name. Is that a friend from the JCC senior group?”
At this point, however, the phone rang, interrupting the flow of conversation. It was Jeffrey's guidance counselor, calling to discuss his behavior issues. Carla went into the other room for privacy and then called Mark in to relay the conversation.
“She says his behavior suggests Attention Deficit with Hyperactivity,” sighed Carla. “She recommends we consider putting him on Ritalin. I really don't like having him take medicine on a regular basis at his age.”
Mark began thumbing through the
PDR
looking for the side-effects of Ritalin. “I can't say it's something I know much about,” he said. “We probably need to consult Finkel.” (Finkel was their pediatrician.)
PDR
looking for the side-effects of Ritalin. “I can't say it's something I know much about,” he said. “We probably need to consult Finkel.” (Finkel was their pediatrician.)
“But Finkel only knows about colic,” said Carla doubtfully, “and not much about that.” Her confidence in Finkel had been undermined when he appeared on
60 Minutes
and told Mike Wallace that he didn't really know what colic was, even though he was presumed to be a national expert on the subjectâan example of intellectual humility, fine for a classical philosopher, but not exactly what one wanted from a pediatrician.
60 Minutes
and told Mike Wallace that he didn't really know what colic was, even though he was presumed to be a national expert on the subjectâan example of intellectual humility, fine for a classical philosopher, but not exactly what one wanted from a pediatrician.
“Try a psychiatrist, then,” suggested Mark. “It's really more up their alley.”
So here was something else to consult Dr. Samuels about, thought Carla. She was going to have a lot to discuss at her Thursday evening appointment.
C
arla had
BEEN MEANING TO SPEAK TO HER MOTHER about her behavior for the past several weeks, but each time she considered broaching the subject, something came up to prevent her. Deep down, she knew she was stalling, hoping that Jessie would return to her rational self and no talk would be necessary.
arla had
BEEN MEANING TO SPEAK TO HER MOTHER about her behavior for the past several weeks, but each time she considered broaching the subject, something came up to prevent her. Deep down, she knew she was stalling, hoping that Jessie would return to her rational self and no talk would be necessary.
But the behavior had gotten worse. The odd references had become more plentiful and more frequent, and Carla felt she could delay no longer. If she intended to consult Dr. Samuels on the subject tomorrow evening, she needed to talk to her mother today to get a better handle on what was going on.
It wasn't until after dinner, when the plates had been rinsed and the dishwasher loaded, that she finally had a chance to be alone with Jessie. The kids had gone upstairs, presumably to do their homework, though really to converse with fifty of their closest friends on Instant Messenger. Like the size of portions in restaurants, the number of friends kids had seemed to have increased geometrically over the past generation. In Carla's day, it was maybe three or four; now it was more like forty or fifty. Stephanie dealt with these numbers by sending out mass e-mails addressed, “Hi Everybody.” Unfortunately, the responses tended to come in one
by one and had to be handled individually, a task that took up most of the evening.
by one and had to be handled individually, a task that took up most of the evening.
Mark had gone off to his pottery class. He had signed up for the Introduction to Pottery Workshop at the Y, at Carla's urging, and it had become a source of refuge from the trials of medicine. “Clay is messy,” he acknowledged, “but it doesn't have the noxious odor of fecal matter. And the vase doesn't sue you if it turns out wrong.”
This left Carla alone with her mother.
“Are you feeling okay, Mom?” She embarked on the topic now, sitting down next to her on the sofa and speaking in a serious tone.
Jessie was watching
Entertainment Tonight
, as she always did after dinner. She glanced up at Carla over her glasses, then back to the screen, where Julia Roberts was smiling toothily at the
Entertainment Tonight
reporter. “Never felt better,” she said brightly. “Pretty girl, that Julia Roberts. Rather on the large side, I'd say, but they've been growing them bigger for the past centuries.”
Entertainment Tonight
, as she always did after dinner. She glanced up at Carla over her glasses, then back to the screen, where Julia Roberts was smiling toothily at the
Entertainment Tonight
reporter. “Never felt better,” she said brightly. “Pretty girl, that Julia Roberts. Rather on the large side, I'd say, but they've been growing them bigger for the past centuries.”
Carla took a breath, then continued: “You've been saying some peculiar things lately, Mom. I wonder if you might be, well, a bit confused.”
Jessie looked up sharply at this. “I should think I am,” she said. “It's hardly surprising.”
Carla hadn't expected such a frank admission. “I suppose so, given your age, but still, you were always so clear-headed.”
“Well, I hope I still am,” said Jessie irritably. “I should like to see how well you'd do if it all suddenly came back.”
“Came back?”
“For goodness' sake, Carla, can't we talk about this later? Look, there's Winona Ryder; they say her name was Horowitz. Poor girl! The stress of the public stage. It takes its toll, you know. Will used to complain of it all the time. Though at least then you could ride a few miles out of town and escape the hue and cry. It's why he kept the Stratford house, though why it couldn't have been a nice
place near Poppa in Venice was beyond me. Why would he want to plop down right where that woman could get her claws into him? But he was always soft that way. Couldn't bring himself to cut her offâwhich is what caused us the trouble.”
place near Poppa in Venice was beyond me. Why would he want to plop down right where that woman could get her claws into him? But he was always soft that way. Couldn't bring himself to cut her offâwhich is what caused us the trouble.”
Carla grabbed the remote and snapped off the television. “Mother! What are you talking about: âWill,' âStratford,' âthe public stage'! Have you gone totally out of your mind?”
“Calm down, dear. I'm sorry to be rattling on like that, but lately, it's hard to keep things straight.”
“What's hard to keep straight?” asked Carla, beginning to feel frightened.
“Oh, then and now.” Jessie shrugged.
“Then?”
“Venice, London,” Jessie said dreamily.
“Mother, you were born in Vineland, New Jersey. You went to Vineland High School. You married Daddy and worked in the bakery. You are currently living with your daughter and son-in-law in Cherry Hill, New Jersey.”
“Honestly, Carla, you don't think I know that?”
“Then what's this about Venice and London?”
“Oh, that was before. It has nothing to do with you, dear.” Jessie waved her hand in what Carla thought was a rather condescending gesture. “It's been coming back in dribs and drabs for the last month or so, and lately, it's become moreâhow shall I say?âpresent ⦔ Jessie trailed off; then, turning away, switched the television back on as Britney Spears appeared in a skimpy outfit of denim and fringe. “Perhaps next time, I'll come back as something like that,” she mused.
Carla moved closer to her mother on the sofa and placed her hands on her shoulders. “Mom, would you try for a moment to be rational? I must say it's very disturbing listening to you.”
Jessie turned down the volume on the remote and addressed her daughter in a serious tone: “Well, dear, I can certainly understand how you feel. I thought that Shirley MacLaine was off her
rocker too, and I still think she made the half of it upâit doesn't ring right. But sometimes life surprises you. What was it Will used to say: âThere's more going on, Horatio, than you dreamed up in that philosophy of yours'? Can't recall who Horatio was, though.”
rocker too, and I still think she made the half of it upâit doesn't ring right. But sometimes life surprises you. What was it Will used to say: âThere's more going on, Horatio, than you dreamed up in that philosophy of yours'? Can't recall who Horatio was, though.”
“Isn't that from
Hamlet
?”
Hamlet
?”
“Who knows? I could never keep the plays straight; he wrote so many.”
“Mother, are you saying, are you implyingâsome sort of delusional relationshipâwith William Shakespeare?”
Jessie sighed. “I'll grant you, it wasn't the expected thing, especially for that time. An Englishman, and a gentile on top of it. He said he had Jewish blood on his mother's side, but then, they always say that if they think it will help. He came to Venice to see that friend of his, Kit Marlowe, who everyone thought was dead but was really hanging out with the cross-dressers on the Rialto. That's how I met him.”
“Mother! I want you to stop this at once. Since when do you know anything about William Shakespeare?”
“It's true. I was never a literary person.”
“So where did you get thisâinformationâyou're spouting?”
“Where did I get it? From him, where else? He was smitten the first that he saw me, as he liked to say. I was taking a platter of kugel over to the rebbe's house across the campo and he stopped me and said that my eyes had bewitched him.”
“MotherâWilliam Shakespeare's been dead four hundred years.”
“Don't I know that? What do you thinkâI was born yesterday?”
“So what is all this about Venice and London, and knowing Shakespeare?”
“I'm just saying that that Shirley MacLaine wasn't wrong, though I still think she embroidered. It's come back to me lately as clear as the bakery in Vineland. Clearer. Will was a more colorful character than your father. Not that Milt didn't have his points.
He could bake a good rye bread, but he couldn't write a poem to save his life, and the thought of him in breechesâwell!”
He could bake a good rye bread, but he couldn't write a poem to save his life, and the thought of him in breechesâwell!”
“Mother, I want you to see a doctor. They probably have medication for this kind of thing.”
“I don't want medication. It's nice to remember. If you don't want me to talk about it, I'll be more careful. I can't promise that something won't slip out now and then, but I'll make an effort. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm feeling a little tired. I think I'll go to bed.”
“
S
o you're
SAYING THAT MOM THINKS SHE'S WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE?” said Margot distractedly, twirling a piece of lettuce on her fork and glancing around the restaurant, a fashionable bistro on Rittenhouse Square near Margot's apartment.
S
o you're
SAYING THAT MOM THINKS SHE'S WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE?” said Margot distractedly, twirling a piece of lettuce on her fork and glancing around the restaurant, a fashionable bistro on Rittenhouse Square near Margot's apartment.
The restaurant had changed ownership recently and, with it, décor. Carla, who had eaten here when it had featured leather armchairs and heavy drapes, thought at first she was in the wrong place when she saw the spindly wrought-iron tables and Japanese lanterns. But then, all the restaurants on Rittenhouse Square were continually changing ownership and décor, rather in the way their patrons were continually changing boyfriends and wardrobes.
As usual, Margot had begun to draw attention. The waiter had already sent over a bottle of wine, courtesy of two businessmen at the next table, and a man in an ascot at the bar had been eyeing her since they came in.
“Margot!” Carla addressed her sister sharply in the tone she used when Stephanie got out of hand: “Mom doesn't think she's William Shakespeare; she thinks she had a
relationship
with William Shakespeare. Stop looking around please and listen!”
relationship
with William Shakespeare. Stop looking around please and listen!”
Margot responded sheepishly. “Sorry,” she said, banishing the
ascot from her consciousness and giving Carla her full attention. “So tell me again what's going on.”
ascot from her consciousness and giving Carla her full attention. “So tell me again what's going on.”
“Okayâremember how I mentioned she'd been acting strangely lately? Well, now it's a full-blown delusion, very elaborate and detailed. She actually thinks she had an affair with William Shakespeare in another lifeââWill,' she calls him, if you can believe it. She thinks she was the so-called Dark Lady of his sonnets.”
“That's pretty amazing,” said Margot. “I wonder where she picked up that story.”
“I haven't a clue. But, believe me, this is no small-time fantasy. She has loads of background material. More than I ever learned in my Shakespeare course at BU. Maybe she's been reading on the slyâwhich seems unlikely, since you know she was never one for books. Or maybe she has all this stored memory based on moviesâlike you suggested last timeâor things she heard in the past. You know how they say that sometimes people who have strokes or mental trauma can suddenly speak languages they never learned, just because they heard them spoken once or twice? It could be something like that.”
“Could be,” said Margot, chewing her lip.
“But I can't imagine what triggered it,” continued Carla. “She didn't hit her head or anything, and there's no evidence of a strokeâMark ruled that out. Dad's death, of course, was painfulâyou remember how blue she was for a whileâbut I wouldn't call it traumatic. Anyway, it's been over two years since he died.”
“If it's Dad's death that's behind it, it
is
strange,” mused Margot. “Not that they didn't have a good life together. But given that she married Dad on the rebound ⦔
is
strange,” mused Margot. “Not that they didn't have a good life together. But given that she married Dad on the rebound ⦔
“What are you talking about?”
“She told me about it once when I was going out with that Harvard guy who was supposedly related to the Kennedys. He turned out to be sleeping with three girls in my dormâwhich at least verified his pedigree. I got kind of sad when I found out, though, as
you can imagine, it was mostly my pride that was hurt. But Mom seemed to take it worse than I did. She said she'd been in love with someone onceâa Saul something-or-otherâand he two-timed her with one of her friends. That's what made her decide to accept Dad so quicklyânot, she said, that she ever regretted it. But obviously that other relationship made an impression. It must have happened at least thirty years before the time she mentioned it to me.”
you can imagine, it was mostly my pride that was hurt. But Mom seemed to take it worse than I did. She said she'd been in love with someone onceâa Saul something-or-otherâand he two-timed her with one of her friends. That's what made her decide to accept Dad so quicklyânot, she said, that she ever regretted it. But obviously that other relationship made an impression. It must have happened at least thirty years before the time she mentioned it to me.”
“So mom has an authentic secret history as well as an imaginary one,” mused Carla.
“Yesâand maybe the latter is some odd manifestation of the former. You know: repressed desire, secret longing, that sort of thing.”
“Come on,” said Carla. “I'm the psychology major. Mom's a doll, but complicated she's not. Repressed desireâgive me a break!”
“I don't know,” considered Margot, “I think you're just used to seeing her in a certain way. I'll tell you what: Let me probe the situation a bit. I'll speak to her and see if she gives me the same story. If there's consistency to it, that at least tells us something about the tenacity of the delusion. It might help us get at the precipitating cause.”
Carla nodded. She found her sister's detached and logical approach to the situation reassuring. Not for nothing was Margot
Philadelphia
magazine's choice for the best criminal lawyer in the Delaware Valley, with a list of mobsters a mile long waiting for her to defend them.
Philadelphia
magazine's choice for the best criminal lawyer in the Delaware Valley, with a list of mobsters a mile long waiting for her to defend them.
“Then we can decide whether to do anything,” continued Margot.
“I've read there are antihallucinatory drugs.”
“But from what you say, she's not hallucinating exactly; she'sâwhat does she call it?âremembering.”
Carla shrugged. “She's remembering hallucinations. Or maybe hallucinating memories. I don't see that it matters.”
“The question is whether or not it's doing her harm.”
“It can't be doing her good to live in a dream world.”
“I'm only saying that we have to weigh what's best for her. You know how depressed she was before.”
Carla considered this. There was no denying that her mother's spirits were much improved and that she appeared happy in her delusions. But that was part of what was so disturbing. It was as though Jessie had found an alternative world that suited her better than reality.
“You can't imagine how upsetting it is to have Mom talking this way.” Carla sidestepped the issue of her mother's mood. “You know how levelheaded she's always been.”
Margot nodded sympathetically. “I could take her in for a while, if you want. A change of scene might do her good.”
“No,” said Carla quickly, “she needs the routine of the house. Besides, you're at work during the day, which would leave her alone too much of the time.” (The idea of Jessie puttering around Margot's Rittenhouse Square apartment, with its white-on-white minimalist décor and empty refrigerator, seemed like the worst possible idea.) “I can certainly handle having her. It's just that with Mark so unhappy with his practice and the teachers saying that Jeffrey should go on Ritalin, it comes at a bad time. And there's the bat mitzvah to worry about, and the fact that Stephanie can't find a dress. It's all I need to have Mom channeling Shakespeare's girlfriend.”
“Well, one thing I can do,” Margot responded with relief. “I can help Stephanie find a dress. That can't be too hard ⦠.”
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