On Tuesdays, They Played Mah Jongg (13 page)

The doctor looked up at Michael, who was no longer smiling but was looking right at the doctor. Had he not asked how Michael knew what Donald was wearing, he would not have ventured down this path, and he was determined to go further.

“Michael, did you want to pursue a relationship with Donald?”

“I wanted to marry him,” Michael blurted out. He had even shocked himself with his rapid response. He thought back for a minute. Had he ever said that out loud? Had he shared it with anyone?

“Michael,” the doctor said softly, “Was Donald your first love?”

“He was my only love,” Michael looked around as if to see if he actually said that, and the doctor did the same.

The doctor thought this was so much to digest. He continued to write as he asked his next question.

“Michael, you have never been in love with anyone else?” the doctor asked.

“I loved some men over the years, but I have only been
in love
with one man — Donald Green,” Michael answered.

“Michael, why did you not tell me this when you first mentioned Donald?” the doctor asked.

Michael thought about what the doctor asked. Why had he not told the doctor about Donald? But, as with every other intimate detail of his life, he chose to bury it.

“See, Michael, I am guessing you put Donald on a pedestal because he was your first love, and you have judged every man since by those standards,” the doctor explained.

“Do you really think so?” Michael asked, thinking to himself that he could be so naïve at times.

With any other patient, Dr. Mikowsky would have been shocked to learn of something so intimate so far into therapy, but with Michael, he came to expect surprises. Michael was a tough nut to crack, and getting Michael to open up and see that revealing some of his most closely guarded secrets would be helpful was a challenge in itself.

“Well, now that you have told me about Donald, I have one more question, and I hope you answer it, Michael.”

“Go ahead, Doc,” Michael said.

“When was the last time you saw Donald,” he asked as he looked his patient in the eyes.

Michael leaned forward staring back at the doctor and said, “December 1985.”

Dr. Mikowsky looked at him. He then put his glasses back on and told Michael to continue.

~~~~~

As I said, that morning, Rona had to get her hair done early. She was probably dressed in one of her usual ensembles, black slacks, a bright print blouse and fashionable flats. She wore the most exquisite low-heeled shoes. I remember her wearing these ivory, leather sling backs with half-inch wedge heels once, and the plastic wedge heels had an ivory and brown marble pattern to them. My mother saw them and declared them the greatest shoes she had ever seen and said, “It is so hard to find a good looking pair of low heels.” Again, I was not sure if she was complimenting or insulting Rona, but everyone present assumed it was a compliment. But I digress.

Rona seated herself in Donald’s chair having just had her hair washed, and she had a towel on her shoulders, while she waited for him to do his magic.

The older the girls got, the more fairy dust it took.

Donald floated over to her chair and
kibitzed
as he started to comb and roll, “So tell me, darling, what is new?”

Rona asked him if he had heard about Arlene, and he assured her that was old news. One would think that the girls would have realized by then that the hairdresser was the first to know everything.

While he continued to work on her hair, she asked “How does it look up there?”

“Your roots, what is left of them, are having a blast. I’ve got you scheduled for a henna rinse next Friday. I should receive my bulk order from Egypt by then,” he answered. Unlike my mother, Donald was secure enough to insult the girls to their faces without repercussions. Then, the conversation turned to Rona and Morton’s marriage.

“So tell me, have you and Morton?”

“Not since his heart attack. I have given up on Morton, and I am thinking about having an affair,” Rona answered.

Donald became excited and asked as he spun Rona around, “Who is catering? Am I invited? Can I bring a date? So little happens in this town, I have not been to a party in months.”

“Calm down. Not that kind of an affair,” Rona said as she was tired of getting the same reaction every time she announced she was thinking of having an affair.

Donald was incredulous, “Certainly, you don’t mean … at your age?”

Annoyed, Rona replied “Yes, at my age.”

“Well, I guess you can still remember how,” Donald said, “So, who will be the lucky victim?”

Rona resigned herself to the fact that she had no one in mind and confessed to Donald that she had not figured that part out yet. Excited at being in on the beginning of her adulterous plans, he offered to help her find someone to meet in seedy hotels and dark restaurants.

“So, what are you looking for? Young, experienced, or rigor mortis?” he asked.

“I don’t want to take any chances. Someone my age,” Rona said.

“OK, rigor mortis,” he answered as he walked around and faced her while leaning on the counter and tapping the comb in his hand.

“How about Dr. Lawrence Eidleman?” he offered.

“Larry had an affair with Doreen,” Rona answered.

“That is true, and Doreen is screwing Sammy, and Larry is getting married,” Donald added. Rona was surprised to learn that Doreen had told the truth for once, for when Donald said anything, it was true.

“How about William Feld?” Donald asked.

“I would probably have to pay him,” Rona said.

“It wouldn’t be much,” Donald concluded and then exclaimed, “I have got it!”

“Don’t give it to me,” she quipped.

“But, I cannot share it with you unless I am sure you are serious about this, Rona,” he said as he looked her dead in the eyes.

“Donald, do I look like I am joking? I am at the peak of my sexual attractiveness, and I have not had any in over 18 months,” Rona said.

“Rona, a woman in her 40s is at her peak, you are just a horny old broad,” Donald said.

She gave him a dirty look, but he was not phased.

“You are going to have an affair with Karl Stein,” he told her.

“No way in hell am I having an affair with Karl Stein,” she shot back.

“Don’t tell me that you are worried about Hannah? What is the worst thing that she could do to you?” he asked.

“She could stop talking to me for the rest of my life,” she answered.

“So how long could that be? Five years maybe seven tops?” Donald replied.

~~~~~

Michael stopped and looked at Dr. Mikowsky. The doctor quit writing, took off his glasses and looked at Michael to see if there was more.

“So, Doc, any questions?” Michael asked.

“That’s it? I guess it is a cute story,” he said. “I should ask if Rona had an affair with Karl, but wouldn’t that ruin the suspense?”

“See, that is the thing,” Michael answered. “This was one of my favorite scenes in the screenplay, but it is meaningless. I mean the banter back and forth between Rona and Donald is cute, but cut it from the script, and no one cares.”

The doctor was confused, so he asked Michael if this was just a story or did it really happen.

“It did happen,” Michael told him.

“So, did Rona have an affair?” the doctor inquired again.

“No,” answered Michael. “That is the point. I rewrote this scene a dozen times, and it still does not work.”

“What does not work?” Dr. Mikowsky asked.

“OK, Doc, what does the story mean to you?” Michael asked him.

“It means that Rona is frustrated at not having sex with her husband and wants to have an affair to satisfy her needs,” Dr. Mikowsky offered.

“Like I said, it does not work,” Michael said again.

“OK, what is it supposed to convey, Michael?” the doctor asked.

“Rona is frustrated that her husband won’t have sex with her,” Michael began. “She wants to make love with her husband. She doesn’t want to have an affair. She just wants to make him jealous in the hope that it will spur him into action. Of all the girls, she is the only one who is really in love with her husband. Besides the problems in the bedroom, they have a happy marriage. Remember how he opened the car door for her, and she kissed him?”

The doctor looked at him quizzically and asked, “Why didn’t you just say that?”

“Because I needed a scene with Donald in a yellow tank top,” Michael said.

13

“I wish you would reconsider,” William was pleading with Arlene as he was packing his clothes. When they came home from work that evening, she asked him to leave. Just like that. She told him to pack his things and move out. No explanation.

“Believe me, William, I have been thinking about this for a long time,” she told him as she watched him pack.

“Don’t the years account for anything?” he pleaded.

Account? Account? She could not believe what she was hearing. For 42 years, she put up with his miserly behavior, lived off an allowance, and grew to despise him. However, she could never muster the courage to leave him because she was of a generation who took their marriage vows at their word. Divorce was out of the question for Arlene, until now.

“We had two beautiful children together,” William reminded her.

“Who never buy their mother anything, not even a birthday present because they were taught by their father not to spend their money; the same man who has kept his wife on the same budget for the past four decades. And, I am not going to add up all of the years that I worked at that store — our store — for peanuts!” she yelled back at him.

“You didn’t work there for the good of the family business?” he asked.

“You asshole!” she yelled. William could not believe his ears. Arlene never yelled at him like this. She was the ever-dutiful wife. What had happened?

“I have looked out for our future for all of these years, and this is the thanks I get?” William asked.

Arlene would have none of it as she yelled, “Looked out for whom? Your goddamn mother? You have given her a fortune just to insure your ass in case this day ever came!”

“What in the hell are you talking about, Arlene?”

“You know damn well what I am talking about, and don’t try to deny it,” she shouted as she pointed her finger at him.

“Who told you?” he asked as he closed the suitcase.

“So, you aren’t denying it?” she continued to yell.

“Your goddamn friends! Again, they are causing trouble! Well, you won’t get your greedy little hands on any of it! Never!” he yelled back.

“That is what you think, shmuck! That old bat is going to die before this divorce is final, if I have to sneak up behind her and go BOO!”

“You would enjoy that. Giving my mother a heart attack,” he said looking at his wife as if she were some stranger.

Arlene lowered her voice, “Think about it, William. How long can she live?”

“You are sick!” William said, and he had fear in his eyes, for the Arlene Levy he had married was no longer standing in front of him.

“I am sick? You better look in the mirror, buster! You are the sick one,” she told him, realizing that for the first time since she married William she now had the upper hand.

“At least, I am not talking about killing someone,” William assured her.

“Oh, I don’t know, William. Would you consider killing yourself?” Arlene said as she crossed her arms and leaned on the doorframe.

For the first time in their marriage, William feared his wife would actually harm him. He had never seen her this angry and with such a cold look in her eyes. He never owned a gun, but in the back of his mind he wondered if Arlene did.

She didn’t stop, “It would make things so much easier if you did kill yourself, William.”

William grabbed the suitcase and rushed out the room, past Arlene, running down the stairs, and as he opened the door, Arlene shouted after him, “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out, putz!”

Arlene waited a few minutes at the top of the stairs, and when she looked down at her hands, she noticed they were shaking. She descended the steps and walked past the door William had just slammed. She walked into the kitchen and moved a step stool in front of the refrigerator. She then climbed up the three rungs, reaching for the top cabinet, which was located above the pink Norge appliance. As she opened the cabinet, Arlene spotted what she was looking for. She pulled the bottle of Old Grand Dad out of the cabinet, stepped down from the stool and seated herself at the dinette. She poured herself a drink and lit a Kent cigarette. And, for the first time in her 67 years, since she went from Arlene Levy to Mrs. Feld, she felt free.

Meanwhile at the Weiner Mansion, a different scene was playing out.

Doreen and Sammy were in bed together having just made love in the moonlight. Sammy lit two cigarettes and handed one to Doreen.

“You get better with age,” he told his adoring wife.

“I am like a fine wine,” she told her loving husband as she took a puff.

“Preserved?” he asked his precious flower.

“Fermented!” she told her sweet snookums.

“Don’t be silly, Doreen. You are as delicious as any young woman in this town.”

“Do you really mean that, Sammy?”

“Would I lie to you, honey cup?”

“Well,” Doreen said.

“I am serious, Doreen. We have wasted a lot of time over the years.”

Doreen looked at her knight in shining armor adoringly and said, “We sure have, and so what if our marriage was arranged. It wasn’t such a bad arrangement. Was it my sweet?”

“If you really want to know the truth darling, I could kiss your mother — if she were not dead — for arranging the whole thing,” Sammy told her.