The Witch and the Borscht Pearl (27 page)

“Even the cigarette companies are finally admitting that maybe, just possibly, under certain circumstances, nicotine could be just a teensy bit addictive. Of course, they decided this after government research revealed that nicotine’s more addictive than heroin. What a waste of time and taxpayer money, by the way. Anyone who flew anywhere a few years ago, when smoking on airplanes was okay, could’ve told them that. Remember how you couldn’t smoke on takeoff? Remember, what was the first thing the pilot announced the absolute first moment after we hit the wide-open air? He said the smokers could light up now. He didn’t say, hey you junkies, it’s okay to shoot up now, did he? No. He knew the drug addicts would be fine for a few drug-free hours. Not the smokers. He was preventing mutiny on his ship.

“And gone are the days of guys loitering in drugstores with their palms sweating until the rest of the customers left. I don’t know, it was kind of sweet the way they’d whisper to the pharmacist, all embarrassed, A condom, please.’ Forget it. Now condoms’re stacked by the register with the chewing gum and the Enquirer. The whole world can watch you browsing. ‘Oh, look. They got my favorite kind, grape flavored! I should get a couple. No, I’ll take a dozen. Big date tonight.’

“You know what I read on the condoms boxes when I was waiting at the checkout line the other day? Interesting reading. One box advertised, ‘New shape.’ Boy, things MUST have changed! I’d like to see that!”

While she talked, the kid slipped first one, then another colored sheet of plastic into his arc light. He would aim at her, flip a switch, and her skin would turn blue or green or gold or rose as she barked out lines. Throughout this light-show, Zoë held up lengths of various material next to Pearl’s face. The fabric reflected each shade differently, turning deep fuchsia when the blue hit it, or brown under the amber shade, for instance, making it obvious why they were going through these color tests.

Each time, Zoë would take notes then wave his light away, and he would turn it off. She would trundle away again, to sort through other material and they’d begin again.

Through all this, Pearl’s face reflected intense concentration. “Listen to this bit,” she said to nobody.

“Eating is totally different. When I was growing up everything was made with 100% sugar, 100% butter. Real cheese. We cooked with schmaltz. Today to find schmaltz you have to go to a museum. Remember mayonnaise? The last beef I saw was in a John Wayne movie rerun cable tv. Nowadays, my doctor doesn’t tell me what I can eat, my accountant does. He goes food shopping with me. I point at something, he reads the label, figures the fat gram percentages and tells me yes or no. I had a birthday a few months ago, the cake was tofu.

“And when I try to fry something, the margarine won’t melt in the skillet, it shrivels. It leaves shmutz on the bottom of the pan that you have to scrape off. What can you fry in shmutz? It doesn’t matter. These days, fry is the other ‘f’ word. The really dirty one.”

Simon Lutz entered the room, one hand clutching a plate of cookies, the other a pot of coffee. He saw me, reddened, then ignored me. “Want some fresh?” He waved the pot at Pearl, sloshing the steaming coffee dangerously close to spilling.

Pearl shook her head.

“I’d like some, if you don’t mind,” said Mrs. Risk. She stood there, unnaturally (I thought) composed, considering how they’d repeatedly hung up on her when she’d phoned.

“Me, too,” I said, not wanting the coffee, but not willing to be ignored.

“Sure,” he said brightly, avoiding my eyes. He settled the plate and pot on some magazines on a coffee table. “I’ll get more cups.”

When we both had received coffee, Simon picked a paper off the floor and began to read a joke aloud from it to Pearl, to which Pearl listened with close attention. “Okay, that was the setup,” he said. “Here’s the snapper. First you do a take—”

“Pearl, could we speak for a moment?” Mrs. Risk asked when it became obvious that no one was going to stop unless forced. Simon broke off and glanced at Mrs. Risk in irritation.

I thought I detected a flash of annoyance in Pearl’s face before she recovered. She waved one hand around and replied, “This isn’t a good time, really …” Then her arm dropped to her side. “Okay, a break.”

Simon let the paper slip from his hand back to the floor and, with a long-suffering expression, wandered off back in the direction of the kitchen.

Ilene let the camera drop to her lap.

The young man with the light groaned as he unfolded his jackknifed legs. He slid upwards, braced against the wall. “This is not gettin’ me anywhere.”

Zoë snapped, “I need time to make a decision, anyway. She can’t go on tv looking like a Martian under your expert hand. Go stick some white powder up your nose while you wait, schmuck.”

The boy snapped back at her, “You can’t talk to me like that. Union rules.” He stalked off in adolescent dignity.

Pearl glanced ruefully at us. “I wanted to do this here, instead of traveling to Krasner’s. They’ll let me bring my own light tech, if I pay him. It’s easier on me, but I think it’s a little tough on everybody else.” She picked her way around the mess on the floor, stepped over the typewriter and said, “Let’s go to the living room. Ilene, honey, relax. Please. Don’t just sit there waiting. You make me feel guilty.” Ilene shook her head, smiled faintly, and stayed where she was. The glance she gave us was withering.

We followed Pearl into the living room.

“I can’t give you much time. A photographer’s coming in an hour to do publicity photos to make up a couple of last second posters.” Her mouth twisted as she looked down at herself. “Too skinny nowadays. Makes my old pictures look like somebody else. None of my dresses fit anymore.” She sighed and looked over her shoulder towards the other room, as if regretting leaving it.

“A lot of work,” said Mrs. Risk companionably as we all found seats. Pearl sank into the sofa with a heavy sigh.

“Well, I’d really begun way before Solly’s … But this’s been my first chance to get back to it. There’s just been so much to cope with since then,” she said softly.

I heard someone being admitted at the front door. A moment later, in strode Dr. Savoia, smile on high beam until he took in Pearl’s drawn face. He frowned down at her through his grey fuzzy beard.

“You’re tired,” he announced to her, as if identifying a foreign substance.

“I am not,” she protested.

He picked up her wrist and began counting with his watch’s second hand. “Excuse me, sweetheart,” he said to Mrs. Risk, who obligingly scooted over to make room for him on the couch.

He punched the stethoscope into his ears and picked up its flat end. After rubbing it against his palm he placed it against Pearl’s meager chest, inside her sweater neckline.

“Now, sweetheart, breath heavy for me. Slower.” He listened. We all listened. Pearl, rolling her eyes, breathed in, and out. And in, and out.

“You need a nap,” was the verdict. Then, as if he’d gotten instant compliance, he twisted and gazed over his shoulder at Mrs. Risk. “Where’ve you been keeping yourself? We had a wine tasting at Harrington’s the other night and you weren’t there.”

Mrs. Risk smiled. “You know me. Early to bed.”

He twisted around to wink at me, recognizing a monstrous lie when he heard one. “Hey, isn’t it terrible how tired the old witch gets these days? Just look at her.” He smacked Pearl lightly on the knee and left his hand there, squeezing it affectionately. “You could use a little of her advice, sweetheart.”

The old witch. Only he could get away with that. I grinned at him, then looked, in spite of myself, at Mrs. Risk. She radiated vigorous health, rather than the exhaustion of someone of middle age who’d stayed up all night.

“What do you mean, advice?” I asked him, belatedly taking in his last words to Pearl.

“Herbs. Tonics. She has a million of them,” he declared.

“Watch out for her teas,” I warned Pearl.

“You’re amazingly open minded, for a doctor,” Mrs. Risk teased.

He shrugged his large shoulders. “I see results, I tend to believe. Give something miraculous to our friend, here, or she’s not going to be traveling to Krasner’s next week.” His dark eyes glinted warningly at his patient.

“I have no choice, Tony,” said Pearl in a soft voice, smiling.

Zoë chose that moment to plunge into the room, a scowl on her simian face. “Stick to your stethoscope and don’t bother her with meshugina career advice. She’ll be fine, she’s got us to help her.”

Tony cast a thunderous look toward Zoë, as if he foretold disastrous results from such help. I could tell he wanted to say something about it, but after a pause, he simply stood up and yawned hugely. “Well, just passing by. On my way home to beg a little early lunch from my wife before office hours. I’ve been up all night,” he said. “A patient at St. Boniface needed a couple of pills.”

As if her mission had been accomplished, Zoë stomped back into the family room.

“You must have dispensed those pills pretty slow. You were charging by the hour?” asked Pearl with a wicked grin as she followed him to the door. “Tony, did you hear about the doctor who gave his patient six months to live, but the patient didn’t pay his bill so he gave him six more months to live?”

Tony snorted.

“Or, did you hear about the doctor who was called by a poor man whose wife was seriously ill?”

Tony stopped, eyed Pearl warily, then said, “No.”

“The husband cried, ‘Please, doctor, save her! I’ll pay anything, even if I have to sell my house!’ The doctor answered, ‘But what if I can’t save her?’ In desperation the husband said, I’ll pay you whether you cure her or kill her!’

“Well, a week later the woman died. The doctor sent the husband such a huge bill it outraged the man so he promptly took it to the rabbi to judge for fairness. The rabbi, who knew this doctor, asked what his agreement had been with the husband. The doctor said, ‘He agreed to pay me for treating his wife, whether I cured her or killed her.’

“‘Did you cure her?’ asked the rabbi. ‘No,’ said the doctor. ‘Did you kill her?’ asked the rabbi. ‘Certainly not!’ answered the doctor.

“‘Then why are you charging this man?’”

I snickered.

Tony gave a pained sigh. “Excuse me while I go somewhere I’m appreciated.” He waved at us, then popped out the door. Suddenly the door opened again and his head came into view. “The nap. I wasn’t kidding. Every day, beginning now, sweetheart. You two make sure she does it.” He glared at her sternly, then left again.

Pearl dropped back onto the sofa with a sigh. “Like I can take a nap now.”

“How can you not?” asked Mrs. Risk softly. “You’ve done a thousand shows. This will just be another one.”

“Do you know what the competition’s like out there? All those sharp young comics coming out of the stand-up shops? Letterman, Leno, they hire the cream of the writing crop to squeeze their brains every day of the week. In the years since my last show, Cable TV created an entire network devoted to comedy. People don’t have to pay a cover charge to hear the latest funny guy, anymore. Not even a two drink minimum.” She blew through pursed lips in exasperation. I sat in silence for a moment, respectful of the incredible odds she’d soon be fighting.

Finally, after a sigh she continued, “If I don’t want to be tossed out with the hundreds of has-beens who try to recycle yesterday’s material … it isn’t just that styles change, but what’s funny changes.

“Like George Carlin’s routines on Vietnam and the government we couldn’t trust anymore in the 60’s. In the 70’s, Americans began learning to accept different cultures, so comics made fun of the differences, made them okay for everybody. Like Freddy Prinze, Jimmy Walker, Gabe Kaplan. In the Reagan years, audiences went for mindless, dumb humor. You can’t live in a vacuum and succeed. You gotta keep your eyes on the world. I have to produce my best show yet.” Pearl bowed her head as if contemplating the knee where Tony’s fingers had squeezed. “I have to prove to them, to everyone, that I can still deliver.”

“Sounds more like you’re proving it to yourself,” said Mrs. Risk.

Maybe. Anyway, what brings you here to disrupt my rehearsal? It better be good.”

“Good enough. Does anyone else know you hired a detective to find Bella? You remember what you told us the day after Solly’s death?”

Pearl sat very still for a moment, then shifted her body almost imperceptibly away from Mrs. Risk. “I told no one else but you. And why I told you, I really have no idea.” She rubbed at her forehead irritably with the palm of her hand.

Mrs. Risk continued, “Why haven’t you told anyone else? You and Bella wanted everyone to think she had arrived on her own?”

Pearl glanced up at that and then away. “Well, okay. Yes. I did. I mean, we did.”

“But why?”

“It was awkward,” said Pearl.

“In what way?”

“Just—” she waved a hand impatiently. “Just awkward. The whole thing. Everyone knew our history, what she’d done. I thought we’d get it over with a bang. I guess it’s the theatrical impulse in me.” She smiled at me, her eyes pleading to be believed. I wanted to believe her.

Simon Lutz chose that moment to bustle in. “Pearl, we should get going. Lotta material to go over.”

“Are you Pearl’s new manager, Simon?” asked Mrs. Risk.

He blushed. “Well, she needs help until she decides. I know what’s good for her.”

“Her doctor says Pearl needs to rest for a few hours every afternoon, starting now,” Mrs. Risk said in that flat tone of voice few dared to contradict. “As her manager, temporary or not, it’s up to you to keep her fit enough to do the show. She can’t be worked to the point of exhaustion this way.”

Simon gaped at her. “But, but what about …” He took in Pearl’s pale face and Mrs. Risk’s adamant one. Then, with jowels fluttering, he sighed. “She’s right. Gotta keep you in the pink, my girl. Get that nap, then we’ll work some more. That’s photographer’s coming, but I’ll see if he can postpone us a couple of hours.”

Pearl wearily came to her feet. “Guess I’m not as young as I wish I was, Simon.”

Mrs. Risk smiled. “Young? You’re very young, dear. Just having a period of recovery from a tough few weeks. Listen to your body, it’s telling you what it needs. Give in to it, then when you need your body to be strong for you, it won’t let you down.”