Portraits (46 page)

“Wow,” Eva said as they sat on the ferry going back to Oakland. “I was asked out by some guy who gave me his card.”

“Did you accept?” Murial asked.

“Are you crazy? Here, take a look at the name…”

Murial held the card, while Doris peeked. Timothy McCarthy, Esq., Attorney at Law.

Murial laughed. “How did he get into that profession? I thought it was restricted.”

“Just my luck, he’s in the right profession but the wrong pew.” Eva tore up the card into small pieces and let them blow into the salty breeze. “Well, there goes my last chance at motherhood.”

Doris smiled in spite of her depression, “With your luck and figure, I wouldn’t worry.” …

That night she decided not to stay over at Murial’s. If ever she owed herself a treat, it was now.

She went to the Pig and Whistle, where she had a banana split and a piece of German chocolate cake with coffee. She expected the binge to be heaven after the months of dieting, but somehow it just wasn’t. She took the streetcar home, went to her room and cried most of the rest of the evening. Tomorrow she’d diet. Tonight she gorged.

In February, Murial announced that they were having a surprise birthday party for Sylvia. “But how are we going to decorate the house with balloons and streamers and not have her guess? Holy cow…”

Doris thought carefully. “If I could get my mother to say yes, would it be all right if it was at my place?”

“Say, what an idea! We could bring the food in the morning, work all day and you can tell Sylvia you’re having a party. Oh, Doris, you’re a genius.”

“Let me ask my mother first…”

“Do you think she’ll say yes?”

“Well, I’ll ask her—”

“Thanks, and tell her she doesn’t have to do a thing. Everything will be spick-and-span before we leave.”

“Sure, well, I’ll ask.” …

Sara had begun a strict regimen of exercise. Doris sat on the edge of her mother’s bed and watched, and in between the bends and kicks tried explaining to her about the party.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Doris. Do you really think I’m going to have a bunch of kids jumping all over my furniture—?”

“Mama, these aren’t kids. Sylvia’s going to be twenty-
four
. Besides, Murial and her family have been so good to me, I think it’s the least I could do.”

Sara wiped the perspiration from her face and looked at Doris as she went on.

“Besides, mama, I never had a party.”

“Well, that’s not exactly my fault. You never had any friends—”

“Well, I do now. Can I tell Murial it’s all right?”

Sara hesitated. Should she cover up the furniture? Doris really asked for very little…“If I say yes, can you guarantee me that no one smokes or gets wild?”

“Yes, I give my word.”

“All right On one condition—don’t let anyone put their feet on the furniture.”

“I promise. Thank you a lot, mama, I really appreciate it.” And she did.

The girls had come to Doris’ to help with the preparations for the party, and at the end of a frantic day everyone had rushed home to shower and dress.

Doris was ready a half hour early and was dressed in a long beige chiffon dress with a pink taffeta sash around her waist that ended in a large bow at the back. Some fashion expert said big bows covered a multitude of sins…

The bell began to ring promptly at seven, and Doris ran down the stairs and nervously greeted her guests for the first party she’d ever given.

The bell kept ringing, and Sara stood at the top of the stairs wondering how long this was going to last…

Finally Murial came in with Sid, and it was just in time. Going into the livingroom, she gathered everyone around. “Okay, now when the bell rings and Sylvia and Henry arrive, wait till Doris takes their coats and when they come into the livingroom everyone sings ‘Happy Birthday.’”

From then on, everything went as planned. Sylvia and Henry arrived at seven-thirty, and Sylvia was genuinely surprised and pleased that the party was for her. She was aware as never before that she was still unmarried, especially after she excitedly opened the small box Henry gave her and found only a small rhinestone pin. But this was her birthday, and she was determined to have a good time with the family and friends who had thrown this party for her.

Her surprise and good spirits set the party rolling. The Victrola started to play the latest dance tunes. Someone brought the records of that wonderful new singer, Bing Crosby, and before Doris could protest, the punch was spiked. She prayed mama wouldn’t ask for some if she came down. But on second thought, that was unlikely. Mama go off her diet? Not if she was entertaining the Prince of Wales.

The sandwiches were quickly eaten, and the girls went into the kitchen to fix another batch while Doris stood sentry, making sure no one was smoking. The lights were dimmed, and since the livingroom wasn’t large enough for twenty people to dance at one time, a little heavy necking was going on in the corners.

Pearl Grossman sat on the sofa with one dainty leg tucked under her, while Ben Schwartz groped for her lips. When he finally made contact, his breathing rasped as though he were having a sinus attack. As diplomatically as possible Doris asked if Pearl would be kind enough to keep her feet on the floor—a request that did not endear her to Ben Schwartz, who was just getting ready to thrust a sweaty palm inside Pearl’s bodice.

The evening was far from enjoyable for Doris. She was so anxious for it to be a success, but her concern over mama’s instructions had made her a policeman rather than a hostess. Exhausted, she stood ladling out the punch…The hell with it, she thought, she was going to have a piece of cake—

“Would you like to dance?” Henry asked.

Doris looked around to see whom Henry was addressing, but it could only be her. Sylvia was dancing with Mel Harris, who was the only extra fellow. And Mel, like herself, was not exactly beating off the competition. He wore thick glasses and was much too thin for his height. He and she had become known as the fill-ins.

“Would you like to dance, Doris?”

She looked at him. He was five-feet-eight, one hundred and twenty-five pounds. She hadn’t weighed that since she was four. He had curly black hair and a neatly-trimmed mustache
and
a nice face with a sweet smile. Somehow he didn’t seem quite thirty-three tonight in the navy-blue suit and white shirt. Nor did he seem to feel particularly out of place although the other fellows were only about twenty-two. Maybe it was just the punch she’d had, but she felt that things were beginning to look up for her.

“I’d be very happy to,” she told him. Damn right, she would…

She found Henry’s arm around her waist, and they were, miracle of miracles, dancing. “You look lovely tonight, Doris.”

It must be the dim lights, or maybe he was too vain to wear glasses and was stumbling through life. If he was, she sure as hell wouldn’t want him to take out her tonsils.

“Thank you, Henry. It’s very nice of you to say so…”

“Well, it’s true, and I’ve always thought so.”

Maybe it was Henry who’d had too much punch. Or maybe men of thirty-three began to get senile. Now she was terribly embarrassed, and she repeated the same scintillating words. “Thank you, Henry—”

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

She stepped on his toe and immediately hoped she hadn’t broken it. He’d never be able to stand up in surgery on Monday. “I’m
sorry,
Henry—”

“It didn’t hurt.”

“I’m glad…”

“Now about tomorrow. I’d like to take you out.”

There must be a touch of insanity in his family. She glanced over at Sylvia, who was doing the rumba to a Paul Whiteman record. The Silvermans had been filling Sylvia’s hope chest for three years now so that she’d be ready at a moment’s notice if Henry should forget himself in a weak moment and ask her to marry him.

“I don’t think so, Henry, really.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re engaged to Sylvia…”

“Who said I was?”

“Well, you’ve been serious for a long time.”

“Serious? Who told you that?”

“Well, haven’t you?”

“Not to my knowledge…”

Was it possible Sylvia had been keeping it a secret from him?

“You’ve been going steady with Sylvia for three years, Henry,” she said indignantly.

“Steady? I just take her out sometimes.”

“Well, anyway, Henry, I just couldn’t.”

“Because of Sylvia?”

“Yes…Besides, Murial is my best friend and it wouldn’t be right.”

“If I had had any intention of being serious with Sylvia, it wouldn’t have taken three years.”

If Doris was ever grateful to her mother, it was at this moment, as she whispered in Doris’ ear, “It’s time to break up the party. Your father’s complaining about the noise.”

“All right, mama…Excuse me, Henry.”

Sara left and Doris went to find Murial. “Listen, my folks want us to call it a night. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no problem, everyone wants to go to Checker’s for waffles anyway.”

Murial got on mama’s chair, which almost made Doris faint, and announced, “All right, gang, the party’s over.”

Doris was pleased with how well the party had gone. Mama and papa had been so decent. But now she was exhausted, and really happy to be free of Henry.

“You’re coming, aren’t you, Doris?” Murial asked.

“No, I don’t think so, Murial.”

“Come on…”

“No, really.”

“Well, you’ve been swell. I can’t thank you enough…and Sylvia was so thrilled…”

On the way out, everyone said the party was great, Doris had been great, the punch was great…

Sylvia kissed her, then said, “I’ll never forget what a wonderful party it was. You’re a doll, Doris. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes…goodnight, Henry.”

“Goodnight. Sure you don’t want to come?”

“Real sure, Henry, but thank you.”

When the door closed she leaned against it, trying to remember what waffles tasted like with real butter and maple syrup. She dismissed the thought as she turned on all the lights and worked until four in the morning getting the house in order.

She finally plopped into bed at four-thirty, thinking what a louse Dr. Henry Levin was. And
he
had to be the first man who had ever asked her out…

It was ten o’clock in the morning when Lillian came into Doris’ room to announce: “Doris, get up. There’s a
man
on the phone who wants to speak with you.”

She bolted up in bed. “And what’s his name?”

“Dr. Levin.”

She hesitated, then, “Okay, tell him I’ll be there in a minute—”

She went to the bathroom to wash the sleep from her eyes and then walked wearily down the stairs and picked up the receiver. “I’m sorry but we already have a family doctor.”

“Now that’s not very nice, Doris. I called to ask if I could take you out.”

“The answer is still
no
, doctor.”

“Listen, Doris, if I thought I was doing anything dishonorable I wouldn’t be calling. But I’m
not
going steady with Sylvia or anyone else.”

“But you
have
been taking her out for three years—”

“And several other girls as well. Sylvia knows that.”

Doris paused, really wanting to accept the date but feeling very guilty about it.

Lillian had been standing close enough to understand what was being talked about. She whispered, “Go, go…”

Doris hushed her. She had to have time to think. “Call me back in half an hour. I just got up.”

“Okay, in half an hour…”

Doris padded into the kitchen, where mama was eating her grapefruit. She sat down, slumping forward with both elbows on the table, and wondered how mama could eat that without sugar.

“I want to compliment you, Doris. The house was immaculate this morning. I was worried but I must say you handled it better than I ever would have thought.”

Maybe mama was mellowing in her
thin
age. It was the first real compliment she could remember in a long time. “I appreciate your saying that, mama.”

“Well, it’s true and I think the girls were wonderful to stay and help you, just as they promised.”

“Oh, yes, they were terrific…”

Taking a bite of grapefruit, Sara asked, “What’s wrong?”

When Doris remained silent, Lillian answered for her. “This doctor wants to take Doris out and she doesn’t want to go—”

“A doctor wants to take you out and you don’t want to go?”

Doris glared at Lillian. “You’ve got a big mouth, Lillian. That’s one of your most unredeeming qualities.”

Sara repeated, “Did I hear right? You don’t want to go out with a doctor?”

“Well, yes…”

“Why, do you have a date with Cary Grant?”

“You don’t understand. Big Mouth here didn’t tell you he’s practically engaged to Sylvia Silverman.”

“Practically! Instead of taking you to a doctor for your weight, I should take you to a doctor to have your head examined. What, you’re so popular you can turn down a date, and with a doctor?”

“Mama, I just got through telling you—”

“I know what you told me. But if he was so crazy about Sylvia he wouldn’t be calling you. How long have they been going together?”

“Three years…”

“Three years! My God, how could I have a daughter with so few brains? When a man wants to marry a girl, he doesn’t
shlep
around with her for three years.”

“But Murial is my best friend and it wouldn’t be right…”

“To hell with what would be right. Murial isn’t going to be your husband.”

Doris was shocked. Husband? She hadn’t even been out with him…“Well, I’m not going.”

“Yes, you are, Doris. You certainly are.” …

When the phone rang, Doris told Lillian to tell Henry she was sick.

“You go to that phone, Doris, and tell him you’d be happy to go out with him.”

Doris sat looking at mama. God, hadn’t she ever heard of loyalty to one’s friends?

“Well,” mama urged, “by the time you get to the phone, he’s liable to change his mind and ask Sylvia.”

Let me make up my own mind, Doris thought, but she knew her mother wouldn’t give her a moment’s peace unless she went out with Henry. Impatiently, she picked up the receiver.