On Tuesdays, They Played Mah Jongg (18 page)

“Michael?”

Michael turned to face the doctor, and for the second time since he started therapy, he was crying. He wasn’t shaking or wailing like the first time when he declared his mother hated him. This time he wept quietly. Dr. Mikowsky handed him a box of tissues, and Michael took one to wipe his eyes and another to blow his nose.

“I got a call around 10:00 pm, April 25. It was a Sunday night,” Michael began. “I answered the phone, and the person on the other end said, ‘Mickey,’ and no one ever called me that but Aunt Flossie, but it was not Aunt Flossie. It was her youngest son. Recognizing his voice, I said ‘This cannot be good news.’”

“How did she die?” Dr. Mikowsky asked.

“Florence continued her ballroom dancing, as it was her one true passion,” Michael said. “She was dancing the night before, and she fell and hit her head. The injury caused her to hemorrhage, and she was dead in a matter of minutes.”

Michael’s godmother, the woman he was closer to than anyone, had died, and he did not share it with his therapist during his first visit, which occurred only weeks after her death.

“You went to the funeral, didn’t you, Michael?”

“Yes,” Michael answered. “I saw people I had not seen in years. Her family asked me to be a pallbearer.”

“Had you stayed in touch with Florence over the years?” Dr. Mikowsky asked.

Michael gave the doctor a look of confusion and answered as if the doctor’s question was strange, “Of course I did. I talked to her at least twice a month, and she came out to visit several times over the years.”

“You have to understand my question, Michael,” the doctor reasoned. “When you first started therapy, you did not even tell me your godmother had just died, and now you tell me you spoke to her at least twice a month and she visited you several times over the years.”

“I really do need to learn how to open up, don’t I, Doc?” Michael asked.

The doctor smiled at him and said, “I will bet Sylvia has never heard of Florence either.”

Michael leaned back and thought for a moment. “Dr. Mikowsky, you are right. I don’t think I ever mentioned her to anyone.”

The doctor took off his glasses and leaned forward. “Michael, you can open up to people. It is not good to keep everything inside. By suppressing these memories and the feelings related to them, you allowed a project to sit unfinished on your desk for 19 years. You need to allow more people into your life and not be afraid.”

Michael did not respond to the doctor because he knew he was hearing the truth.

“Also, Michael, you need to realize that not everyone will treat you the way your mother did,” the doctor said. “You deserve to be happy. You are a successful writer. How many people can say they have worked as a writer on a television show for 17 seasons?”

“How many would want to, Doc?” Michael said as he chuckled.

Dr. Mikowsky smiled as Michael realized that he had led a good life since leaving Newport News, Virginia, and that he had suppressed these memories for far too long.

“Michael, did you ever go back to Newport News between the time you left in 1985 and Florence’s funeral?” the doctor asked.

“No,” Michael said.

Dr. Mikowsky then asked what happened to the rest of the girls over the years.

Michael told him that Arlene died from Cancer in 1991. William died in 1992 of complications from diabetes, and both William and Arlene are buried at Rosenberg Cemetery on either side of Minna Feld.

Sammy died of cancer in 1993 after a long battle. Doreen finally married Dr. Lawrence Edelman, who was widowed by the time Sammy had died. Lawrence, who as it turns out was 20 years older than Doreen, died from old age in 2001. Interestingly, both of Doreen’s husbands are buried in Rosenberg Cemetery on either side of an empty plot that awaits Doreen. She has since split her time between Boca Raton and Newport News, and she has vowed never to marry again.

Rona gave Sapperstein’s Delicatessen to her son in 1999, after she put Morton in a nursing home. He has dementia, and Rona is unable to care for him herself. She has rented an apartment next to the home, and she spends every day with him, going home in the evenings after dinner and returning the next day after breakfast. When the weather is nice, they sit outside and smoke together.

Dr. Mikowsky then asked Michael about Donald, and Michael pulled a card out of his back pocket and handed it to the doctor.

“You are hereby invited as Donald Green and Alvin Diamond are wedded in holy matrimony,” the doctor read out loud. “Michael, are you planning on going?”

Michael shrugged his shoulders and answered, “Doc, I think I have been through enough, don’t you?”

For the moment, Dr. Mikowsky agreed with him. He looked at Michael and wondered if he should ask the next question, and he decided now was better than any other time.

“Michael, what happened with your mother and Karl?” he asked.

Michael leaned back and took a deep breath.

“Since I was no longer in town, the assault charges were dropped. Hannah and Karl married a couple of months later in a private ceremony, and by that time, none of her friends were talking to her anymore,” Michael said. “Ironically, she continued playing Mah Jongg with the waterfront women, but she was no longer part of the girls’ game. Florence told me that they could never forgive her for the way she treated me.”

“Is your mother still alive?” Dr. Mikowsky asked.

Michael took another deep breath and told him, “Karl eventually quit drinking, and they apparently lived happily together, or at least that is what was rumored. In the summer of 2001, Hannah died from a massive heart attack while playing Mah Jongg in King’s Mill. Soon after, Karl started drinking again, and while on a binge, he drove his car into an embankment, instantly killing himself. After that, one of his daughters tried to claim Hannah’s house as hers, but my father, Adam Bern, built that house, and it was always in Hannah’s and my names. I called Alvin Diamond, and he took care of the matter. After that, I hired a contractor to go in and discard or destroy everything in the house and then fix it up for sale. I did all of that without ever seeing it or any of the belongings again.”

18

Dr. Mikowsky had not seen Michael in almost a year. Michael had been in North Carolina, where they were filming
Birthright
, which Sid, Michael’s agent, successfully sold to HBO. He was looking forward to seeing Michael and getting an update on his life and finding out whether he had completed
The Girls
.

On Tuesday, May 24, 2005, at 9:55 am, Dr. Mikowsky opened the door to the waiting room, and Michael was sitting in a chair reading a magazine as if nothing had changed.

“Come in, Michael,” the doctor said.

Michael stood up and walked up to the doctor and hugged him. Dr. Mikowsky stiffened up, for it was rare that a patient would hug a doctor, and even rarer for Michael, who was known to jump or tense up if someone touched him. He slowly put his arms around his long-time patient and waited for Michael to let go.

While they stood there in an embrace, Dr. Mikowsky felt the body he had admired for so long and worried that if Michael did not release him soon, he would be embarrassed. Fortunately, Michael released him and walked into the room, seating himself on the couch.

Michael was wearing blue jeans and an HBO T-shirt that he had picked up while on the movie set in North Carolina. Dr. Mikowsky noticed that he looked more relaxed than he had ever seen him and was pleased with Michael’s appearance. His hair was longer and showing a bit more gray, and he had decided to shave his goatee. Michael was tanned from being outdoors and looking more fit than he remembered.

However, Michael noticed some changes in Dr. Mikowsky as well. Gone were the kakis and blue oxford shirt. The doctor was wearing blue dress slacks and a gray cotton dress shirt, and he had traded in the lace-up, black shoes for a pair of wine-colored loafers. To Michael’s delight, the white socks were replaced with dark dress socks. Dr. Mikowsky was sitting in a new high back, brown leather chair, also.

“Dr. Mikowsky, you have been shopping,” Michael said.

“Remember when I told you that when we worked through your writer’s block, I would become highly successful and famous?” Dr. Mikowsky asked him.

“Is that what happened?”

“Not exactly,” the doctor answered. “When we finally broke through your shell, I realized I had been in a time warp myself, so I decided to make a few changes.” He gestured at the new items in the office, the lamp, the painting over the couch and the new coffee table.

“Well, it looks great, Doc,” Michael winked and smiled as he said it.

Dr. Mikowsky reached for his legal pad and pencil and prepared to begin their session. He looked up at Michael, who was looking happier than since Dr. Mikowsky could remember.

“So, what’s new Michael?” Dr. Mikowsky asked.

“Things are going great, but I did hear some sad news,” Michael answered.

Rather than ask Michael if he wanted to talk about it, Dr. Mikowsky decided not repeat the past and be more direct with Michael.

“What is the news?” Dr. Mikowsky asked.

“Morton died about a month ago,” Michael said. “I went to the funeral, and everyone looks older than just a year ago.”

“We all grow old, Michael,” the doctor said.

“No need to remind me, Doc,” Michael said with a smile.

The doctor thought back to the Michael’s story, realizing that Rona and Doreen were the only two who were still alive, and he wondered if they would live long enough to see
The Girls
made into a movie.

“So, did you finish
The Girls,
Michael?” he asked.

“Well, Doc,” Michael began, “I finished it.”

The writer’s block was over. Michael had finished the screenplay. The day had come, and the doctor did not know what the future held.

“That is terrific, Michael,” Dr. Mikowsky said.

“Before you get too excited, there is something I should tell you,” Michael said.

“Oh no, what is that?” the doctor said with obvious disappointment in his voice.

“Well, Sid, my agent, submitted it, and do you know what they told him?” Michael asked.

“I cannot imagine,” Dr. Mikowsky said.

“They told him it was the worst piece of shit they had ever read, and no studio in its right mind would produce such crap,” Michael answered, and then he laughed. He laughed so hard that he had to bend over and hold his stomach.

Dr. Mikowsky watched him and soon found himself laughing along with his patient. Michael tried to talk, but he was laughing so hard that he could not get hold of himself and tears were running down his face, but not from crying, just from laughing. Michael almost fell off the couch at one point, and Dr. Mikowsky found great joy in watching Michael laugh like this.

“Michael, you are kidding?” the doctor asked, finally able to stop laughing himself.

“Can you believe it?” Michael finally got out, “I spent 19 years trying to finish that goddamn script, only to find out it was a piece of shit.” He started laughing again.

“Then, why are you laughing?” Dr. Mikowsky asked.

“Think about it,” Michael answered finally calming down. “If I had finished that script, I would have been laughed out of this town before I wrote anything else. I would still be waiting on tables at Anna’s Italian on Pico, today.”

Dr. Mikowsky grew silent and looked blankly past Michael. What Michael said hit him hard. By not finishing that script, Michael went on to join the writing team at
Los Angeles Live
, and wrote another script that was made into a movie. Had he finished it, Michael would be another waiter in a restaurant in Santa Monica, and Dr. Mikowsky would never have heard the story of an unfinished screenplay, five menopausal Jewish women, and one strange year.

“Dr. Mikowsky, I hope you don’t think we wasted all that time for nothing?” Michael said, seeing the concern on the doctor’s face.

“On the contrary,” Dr. Mikowsky answered. “You have just proven to me that everything happens for a reason.”

The End