The Matzo Ball Heiress (22 page)

“How do you know that?” Vondra marvels.

“I’m a CNN junkie. You’ve certainly been around the global block, Mr. Habib.”

“I’ve been in a few places, yes.”

Vondra touches Mahmoud’s gold cuff link in stomach-churning reverence. “Like every country on earth.”

Even Mahmoud looks embarrassed by Vondra’s unbridled adulation. “Well,” he says, “it’s safe to say that this will be my first seder.”

My father is very engaged in this conversation, and about to ask trivia. I may not have seen much of him the past ten years, but I know that pensive expression on his face. “Tell me, Mr. Habib—”

“Mahmoud please, Sol.”

“Okay, Mahmoud—is there an Egyptian version of why the Jews left Egypt?”

“Yes, of course,” Mahmoud says.

“Honey—” Vondra says nervously.

“No, don’t worry, Vondra, I’d love to hear what Mahmoud has to say,” Dad assures. “There’s a long-standing Passover tradition of asking questions.”

“Yes,” says Jake who is standing next to me. “Asking questions allows others to fulfill the
mitzvah
of telling the story of our exodus from Egypt.”

“Where did you pull that out of?” I say very quietly to Jake.

“
Judaism for Dummies
,” he whispers. He tugs me away from the history lesson by my elbow. “Where’s your mailman? If we’re going to do a rehearsal, he better get here soon.”

“Oleg declined to come at the last minute. His wife didn’t want to break up the family on Passover.”

“Shit. I guess we have your dad for the Hebrew. We’re okay.”

“That’s what I figured.”

I inch back to the conversation. I’m just as curious as Dad to hear what Mahmoud has to say, as long as this is off the air.

“Go ahead,” Dad beckons Mahmoud. “I’m fascinated to hear the Egyptian take.”

“Our version is that the Jews, while in Egypt, made lots of converts to their god. So the Egyptian gods were getting fewer and fewer followers. The Egyptian priests weren’t thrilled, and demanded the Jews get thrown out of the country. Fewer people were offering sacrifice to the Egyptian gods and the priests feared this would bring the wrath of their gods, not to mention the loss of their power and status.”

“Incredibly fascinating,” Dad says. “So you think you tossed us out on our ear?”

Mahmoud shrugs. “Then in later years we got along again. Of course, this era is more than a little rougher than back when I was just starting my career—that was during the buoyant days of the Israeli-Egyptian peace accord.”

“I was just reading a book about the history of the Arab-Jewish animosity. We’re more alike than you may think. In the biblical tradition, the Jewish and Arab people are all descendants of Shem—”

Mahmoud nods. “Yes, Noah’s son.”

“Yes, and the mother tongue of Arabic and Hebrew was Aramaic, spoken by both of our peoples until the Middle Ages, I believe.”

“This is true.”

Dad squints his left eye. This action always precedes his keynote trivia-fact presentation. “One of our great rabbis, Maimonides, wrote
Guide for the Perplexed,
his greatest work, in Aramaic.”

I laugh to myself. I was right.

Mahmoud smiles. “Did you know he was also the physician to the king of Egypt?”

Dad’s eyes widen. “That I didn’t know.”
(Where’s THE IDEA CATCHER when you need it?)

“Of course, with the rise of Islam, Arabic supplanted Aramaic.”

“Of course,” Roswell says in a mocking uppity accent.

Jared silences Roswell with a finger to his mouth.

My father extends a hand to Mahmoud and says, “So then we welcome you at the table as a long-lost cousin. It is quite an honor to have you with us.”

Mahmoud shakes Dad’s hand with vigor. “Yes, if only the peace negotiators could get the Israelis and Arabs to see we should live as family, not foes. Sadat saw that, but look where it got him.”

Dad sighs sadly. “Rabin too.”

Mahmoud sighs. My father sighs.

As Dad shakes Jared’s hand, Mahmoud asks Pieter, “So what is your name?”

My father turns around and answers before his new life-partner can speak. “Mr. Habib, this is my dear friend, Pieter Eicken. He’s traveled in from Amsterdam so he can join us in the seder.”

“Vondra told me,” Mahmoud whispers somewhat audibly.

“Told you what?” Roswell says.

“Oh,” says Dad gratefully to Mahmoud, not answering Roswell.

“What do you do there?” Mahmoud asks politely.

Pieter looks nervously at Dad as he says, “I’m a photographer.”

“He’s very famous in Europe,” Dad says.

“What sort of photographs do you take?”

This time I answer for him. “Body parts.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Mahmoud says.

“Very erotic body parts,” Pieter says. “The male form—”

“Oh I see,” says our Arab diplomat, smiling most diplomatically.

There’s a loud triple-horn beep outside the door.

“That would be my brother, Greg,” Jake says.

Greg’s tan is so dark it looks dangerous, like the news of his skin cancer could follow him in the door at any minute.

“We have arrived,” Greg chirps. He drags through the living room an equally tan blond woman. She removes her pink coat and reveals a lime-green blouse filled out with tit-job cleavage that instantly gets matching across-the-room ogles from Jared and Roswell.

First-seder Sukie shyly trails behind in her trademark pigtails and a vintage Diane von Furstenberg flower-print wrap dress. I give her a happy nod hello, as my hands are full with plates of matzo to set on the table.

When I set them down, Greg gives me a kiss and a hug. “Loved the prison movie.”

“Thanks.”

“Just wish there was some prison-chick sex, that would have really made it.”

“Yeah,” I say, rolling my eyes. Greg knocks me in the shoulder with a fist and says, “No, really, it was moving. Very.”

“Thank you for coming, Greg.”

“Was there any question? Is Uncle Sol really here?” Greg swirls his neck around for confirmation.

“Here I am!” Dad gives Greg a bear hug. “You look well. That’s some tan you got going there.”

“They say sunshine is bad for you, but I say they’re crazy. Don’t I look damn healthy?”

“Who do we have here?” Dad says to Amy Hitler. Like myself, Dad never has too much to say to Greg.

“I’m Amy,” Greg’s date says in a squeaky voice.

Dad extends a hand. “Sol Greenblotz.”

“Uncle Sol Greenblotz,” Greg clarifies.

“Amy Hitler,” his girlfriend says.

Dad glances over at me to see if this is a joke. I shake my head with gritted teeth. Unfortunately, Amy Hitler is another unavoidable ingredient in our nightmare soup. “Is she going to say that last name during the broadcast?” Dad says to the room at once. Suddenly his homosexuality is not such a big problem.

Amy bites her lip. “You think it’s a problem?”

Dad nods vehemently. Jake and I nod too.

Greg pulls his girlfriend away toward Jake and Siobhan’s couch. “Let’s come up with something else we can call you.”

“What is
your
name?” Dad says nervously to Sukie.

“Sukie.”

“She owns the shop next to the matzo factory.”

“The butcher shop?”

“That’s another generation ago,” I say. “She owns a boutique called Upsy Daisy.”

Jake huffs. “Everything’s a boutique now.”

“Sukie is half-Jewish, half-Bön,” I add.

“That’s a Tibetan religion, right?” Dad asks.

“How did you know that, Mr. Greenblotz?” Sukie says excitedly.

“Just Sol, please.”

“Sol knows everything,” Pieter says from a rented folding chair.

“What’s your last name?” Dad asks. “I don’t know any Bön names.”

“Cohen,” I say. “Her father’s Jewish.”

A sigh of relief from Dad. “Oh. Good. Cohen is a very important name in Judaism. You’re the priest class. You can trace your roots to Aaron, Moses’ brother. He was a
Kohen
, a Jewish priest.”

“You should play that up on the broadcast,” Jared says as he finishes screwing a new, higher-wattage lightbulb into a lamp in the corner.

“I’m descended from Moses’ brother?” Sukie says. “That’s crazy. I so didn’t know that.”

“We have an announcement,” Amy Hitler says moments later, her pink coat in Greg’s hands. “We were going to save this announcement for after the dinner.”

“The seder, Amy,” Greg says. “Not the
dinner
.”

“Yes. The seder. Greg and I are getting married later this year. So Greg thinks tonight I can go by Greenblotz during the show.”

Greg raises his eyebrows in frustration. “The seder, Amy, not the show.”

“Mazel tov!”
my father says with a wink toward me.

“Mazel tov,”
Jared echoes from the next lamp in the living room.

“Amy Hitler-Greenblotz,” Siobhan whispers in my ear. “And your grandfather was worried about
Moran
. Wait until the press gets ahold of
this
.”

Jared is done setting up, and claps his hands. “Okay, everybody. Congratulations again, Amy and Greg. But now it’s time to have our dry run. As Heather probably told you I will be the cameraman for the Food Channel tonight.”

“How many other Food Channel people are there going to be here?” Siobhan asks. “I’ll make plates of food for them.”

“I’m the only cameraman. The producer, Steve, who you’ll meet shortly, envisions an intimate look on the air. Besides Steve there’ll be a soundwoman, Tonia, and a remote-feed guy who’ll be parked outside in a truck. I’m not sure who they’ve lined up for that job.”

“Jared’s the only member of the crew who is in on the secrets of the family,” I say.

“How many secrets?” Pieter asks.

“All of them, I think,” Jared says with a knowing nod. “Please don’t mention that you’ve been rehearsing here when Steve arrives. We don’t want to blow our cover.”

“Is there going to be a high level of deceit tonight?” Mahmoud asks. “I’m a diplomat. I have to watch what I say and do.”

“We’re not lying,” I say. “We’re just not highlighting all the facts.”

“We don’t want to offend anyone,” Jared says. “So we might not mention that you are from Egypt on the air.”

“Who am I then?” Mahmoud asks somewhat indignantly.

“Israeli?” I offer, straight-faced.

Mahmoud looks as if he might vomit.

Vondra glares at me with horror. “Absolutely not. You can’t ask him to say that.”

I point at her with a smile. “Sucker. Psych.”

“You bitch,” she whispers.

“Why do you call your friend a bitch?” Mahmoud says with a reproachful crinkle of his nose.

“She calls me bitch too, didn’t you hear her before? That’s how we joke with each other.” Is Vondra concerned that she has offended her date? I’m secretly glad to see some of her more relaxed personality leak out from her new genteel facade. This girl can curse in high style. She could star in her own Blaxploitation film—
Vondra Adams is Black and Back
. That’s a plus in my book.

“I promise you, Vondra,” I say. “We just won’t introduce him. He’ll just be at the table eating a meal.”

“Like extras in a Fellini movie,” Roswell offers.

“It’s okay to a have a few nonfamily members at the table, Heather,” Jared says.

“Say whatever makes you most comfortable,” Mahmoud says softly. Is he having second thoughts about the seder or Vondra?

“I’m from Cincinnati, not from New York,” Amy Hitler says. “Do I have to cover that up?”

“I would,” Roswell says.

I shoot Roswell a frown. “No you don’t, Amy. It’s just your name we’re a little worried about. But now that you’re
married
, that’s not even a concern, right?”

Jared claps his hands again. “Time is ticking, so let’s move on. I understand that many of you in the room have either never been to a seder before, or can’t remember back to when you have. How many people here can actually read Hebrew?”

Dad raises his hand.

“Yes, Heather told me that. You, sir, will be the head of the seder. Please sit here.” Jared points to a chair at the far end of the room. “How well do you know the service?”

“Very well. I have a good memory.”

“He’s the family genius,” Greg says. “Aunt Jocelyn told me you have a 150 IQ.”

“Don’t crown me the family genius,” Dad says. “Heather’s IQ is a point higher.”

“It is?” I perk up. With my trig grades before I took that remedial class for arty kids?

“Doesn’t surprise me in the least,” Jared says with a broad smile.

“You got tested in second grade. Your verbal and reading comprehension skills were off the charts. Your mother or I never told you that?”

“No,” I say piercingly.

“I guess we wanted Dalton to keep the pressure I had off of you. I think they wanted to skip you a grade.”

I will wait until my next session with Bettina to digest this news. I think discussing your incredible giftedness is best left out of the public arena.

“Who has been to a seder but can’t remember the details?”

I raise my apparently genius hand along with Jake and Greg.

Jared seats Jake on one side of Dad and me on the other. He seats Greg on the other side of Jake.

“I think Siobhan should sit between Jake and Greg,” I say.

Thank you, Siobhan mouths to me.

Jared surveys the room again. “Mahmoud, I hope you don’t mind, but you look important. So why don’t you and Vondra sit next to Heather?”

“Are you trying to hide me or not?”

“I’m not sure—I might move you around again.”

“Can I sit next to Greg?” Amy Hitler asks.

“Sure.”

“What about Gertie?”

“Where
is
Gertie?” Greg cries. “I never even said hello to her!”

Gertie is slumped in the corner of Jake and Siobhan’s couch, snoring loudly.

I wake her up.
“Vus?”
she says in a sleepy distressed voice. “
Vus
is going on?”

“You’re at our seder, Gertie.” I guide her next to an open seat next to Sukie. “We’re rehearsing.”

Greg taps Gertie on the shoulder and gives her a buss on her wrinkled forehead.

“Don’t you think I should sit next to Sol?” Pieter says adamantly.