Up From Orchard Street (32 page)

Lil stretched out full length across the seat and kicked off her shoes. “I’m terrible with numbers. I don’t know how much I took in today. If I fall asleep in your car, you’ll have to carry me upstairs.”

“Hey that ain’t work, that’s pleasure.”

In fact, Abe yelled for Clayton who brought down a chair. Both men carried her up the two flights of stairs.

Bubby responded to Lil’s radiant, tired face by asking, “Goot gedavened?”

“Goot gedavened.”

Because Lil was too tired to undress herself, Bubby slipped off her suit, removed her silk stockings and brought her a long-sleeved nightgown, which she had warmed at the open door of the oven. Having collapsed into her bed, Lil remembered only then that she hadn’t been to the toilet the day long. Bubby ran a kettle of hot water over an enamel chamber pot and, like a child, Lil crouched on the floor for a long pee. Bubby carried it out; Clayton emptied it.

Because we had so much illness we actually owned a bed tray, tucked into one of the nooks in the windowless room. Lil was finishing her soup in bed when Jack walked in. Bubby helped him off with his jacket.

“Nu?”

“We sold blue for black and black for blue. They loved the store. A million compliments. How’s Lil?”

“Her heart ran fast through her nightgown. With her soup I gave her an aspirin.”

“Ma, when God made you, he threw away the pattern.” Jack kissed his mother on both cheeks. “Remember Maurey from Colchester? His best trick, kissing on both cheeks. Very French, sexy but not.”

Lil, whom we assumed was dozing, called out, “What about Maurey?”

“Kisses on both cheeks. What a racket. No woman could take offense.” Jack concentrated on his mother. His strong love for her filled the entire room. “You know what I dreamed of standing on my feet the whole day? Your breaded veal chop and mashed potatoes. One chop for two more kisses, or my marker for a hundred bucks.”

“Meshugana,” Bubby cried in open-hearted joy, and within minutes we could hear her pounding the milky chop.

The following morning when the phone rang, Jack jumped out of bed to answer it. He was wearing one of his sleeping sweaters that hung down to his knees.

As prearranged, Bertha relayed a number to call at Saks. In answer to the voice at the other end, Jack said, “Miss Lilyan is indisposed today. She has commitments elsewhere. Please thank Saks for thinking of her. She’ll be home by 5:30.”

Lil and Willy were the best sleepers in the family, though Lil could outdo anyone in shutting out the world in the lumpy cocoon of her bed. Bubby had prepared a bath for her before we galloped up the stairs from school. She smelled of soap, smiled at us cheerfully and sank back into bed with an old
Silver Screen
magazine at her side. Weinstock, who dropped in for a late-afternoon snack, ate nonstop, wiped his mouth on his chubby hand and his hand on a slightly soiled linen napkin. He addressed me.

“You know Manya, how intelligent she is? Once a year she asks me the same question and I give her the same answer. She wants to know if we can put a bathroom in the storage room. I tell her, I tell her, it’s impossible. The rats would jump out of the walls but there’s no space for equipment, especially on the second floor. This building is from the year of the flood. It should have been condemned years ago. I’m a friend, not just an agent, so I’m telling you to move to a new building, a place with bathrooms, steam heat, big rooms. I tell Manya the truth, she answers no, no, no. What does she love in this terrible apartment? She loves the view of Canal Street, she loves the neighbors, but mostly she loves the old shmutz and the—the degradation.”

I realized Weinstock had strained to come up with the word
degradation
. He broke into a sweat after he said it.

Neither Bubby nor I had found a rebuttal to this by the time Aunt Bertha phoned with another message. Miss Sullivan at Saks wished to speak to Lil. We made the call and in her best falsetto Lil intoned, “Miss Lilyan here,” snapping her fingers to signal me to write down the conversation.

“A permanent temporary position? Oh, five days a week, and no guarantee if it gets slow? I see, you want me on an ‘as needed’ basis.”

I scribbled as fast as I could in Willy’s ledger. Lil listened, then replied, “Thank you for calling. I’ll let you know soon.” She cried out to Bubby, “Ma, Ma, I sold more than anyone yesterday! They want me to come in five days a week. She said I was perfect for Saks. I have the job except when it’s slow. Then I’m laid off.”

We could hardly wait for Jack to discuss it with us. His immediate reaction was negative. “Lil, since you’ve been married, since you were seventeen, you’ve never worked five days a week. Saks means too much traveling, too much on subways, too far away from home, bad for your heart.”

Then my father turned and regarded me. “Don’t tell me you have no opinion,” he said.

My pause was considerable. “It depends on how much Mother wants it.”

Each of us stirred in our chairs around the dining room table.

“Lil, the kid is right. How badly do you want it?”

From the smallest to the largest decisions, Lil counted on Jack. It was difficult for her to answer. “Don’t be afraid,” he coaxed her gently. “What do you want?”

After twirling her hair, chewing her finger and crossing her legs, she stated, “I’d like two days a week at Saks. One day in the middle of the week, and then Saturday.”

“Maybe they won’t agree to your terms?”

“Then I’ll be back on Division Street.”

Everyone of us prayed that Saks would reject Lil’s suggestion for two days a week. We relied on habit, repetition, sameness; we needed it. Bubby advised us repeatedly, “When a worm creeps into horseradish, he thinks there’s nothing sweeter.” We wanted Lil in our horseradish, not in a universe whose sweetness we could not taste.

But Miss Sullivan accepted Lil for Wednesday and Saturday without hesitation. Jack protested that Wednesday was their theater matinee day, so Miss Sullivan agreed to the odd Wednesday off. Perplexed by this new salesgirl whose taxi waited to drive her home and who needed a theater day, Miss Sullivan admitted that these oddities added to the glamour of Miss Lilyan and increased her desirability.

On Friday, they both stayed in their bedroom until they left for a movie, after which it was straight to Pandy’s, a quick bite of the Friday night meal and to bed. On Sunday, Lil often didn’t show up at either Palace Fashions or Elite, though on Monday, she and Jack traveled to the garment district to search for bargains for Jack’s store before returning to the bedroom. Jack had captured Lil for himself. He didn’t share her with Bubby, her children or her friends. Since she started to work at Saks, a renewed urgency existed. “Young sweethearts,” Bubby called them.

In mid-September my elocution lessons began with Miss Sussman. Abe drove me there and back every other Saturday. The early sessions disappointed me. We practiced breathing, ran in circles, fell to the floor, imitated trees swaying, acquired faces and body movements to express fear or joy. We jumped from high and low places. I earned praise for pretending to be sick or injured, panicked at jumping from the stage to the floor, resisted tumbling, which everyone else in the class achieved with ease. Physical skills were my worst.

Bubby’s questions about elocution lessons elicited a one-word response. “Good.”

Unaccountably, I was crying. Hard. “What am I, the Little Match Girl?” I wept. “In two weeks we have to meet Estelle Solomon for lunch. What am I supposed to wear, my short dress from Dr. Koronovsky’s wedding? The red velvet that’s too long? Why can’t you buy things that fit me? You’re in the business. Don’t they have samples for children?”

My father puffed on a fresh cigarette and paced the dining room. “When you’re right, you’re right. For ten dollars at the wholesalers, I can buy something snappy, fit for a merchant’s daughter.”

One minute my father had to be pleaded with, dragooned, imposed upon, to become a store owner. A breath later he doted upon his status, would have bought enough stock to fill an armory, and foisted his personal card on anyone who smiled at him. In conversation he implied that he was one of the biggest
machers
in the industry. At Cinderella Finery, a wholesale house for young girls, he ventured a step further, hinting that my ravishing mother was a buyer for Saks.

Mr. Miller, who was halfway through a stale Danish and tepid coffee when this snappy couple walked in, may have thought he had two out-of-town buyers, but he hid his disappointment when he discovered that Jack’s interest centered on samples for his daughter. “You two Joosh?”

“Who in the shmatte business isn’t Jewish? My wife and I are New Yorkers, born and bred.”

“You do a big volume, you have branches out of town? Why fool with last year’s models when we have our new line, class A stuff, high class.”

“I came in for some things for my daughter. You want big orders, speak to my wife. She’s with Saks Fifth.”

On a rack, my father spied exactly what he wanted for me, a rose-colored two-piece suit, the skirt with kick pleats, the jacket closed with pearl buttons. A navy blue suit, virtually identical with the exception of a blue-and-white-striped knit shirt and a blue beret attached with a huge safety pin, caught his attention as well. “These two are perfect.”

“But they’re from last spring.”

“For her elocution lessons they’re what she needs.”

“Perfect,” repeated my mother, flashing her movie-star smile. She was bone-tired, and the lunch with Estelle at the Plaza loomed like an endurance test. She had never been to the Palm Room, didn’t know what to order or how to behave, and she assured me more than once that she counted on me to prevent her from slipping up on our true address.

“Which outfit for the Palm Room at the Plaza, the rose or the navy?”

“For the Palm Room, I have a great number for you,” Mr. Miller announced, “a one of a kind from France, a sample, wool and silk. The color is called ‘bluebird.’ If they made these in ladies’ sizes I’d be a millionaire. Gloria Vanderbilt would love it.” He produced a lascivious grin.

Jack leaned into the dress as if it were an art object. One piece, the top silky, long sleeved, separated by a band of blue velvet for the full skirt. Jack fondled the material, examined the hand stitching.

“I see you’re a maven,” Mr. Miller laughed. “Your daughter: is she a thin girl? The dress from Paris needs a thin girl.”

Kibitzing, poking each other in the ribs, Jack flashed his business checkbook—Farber would scream for a week that the check wasn’t written for store merchandise—and the deal was struck, seventeen dollars for two suits and a dress from Paris.

“Where did you find that incredible dress?” Estelle cried out as she embraced us at the Palm Room of the Plaza Hotel.

Lil and I were too shy to answer.

No sooner were we seated at a round table with its starched cloth and heavy silver utensils than waiters in white jackets and young busboys emerged from behind the potted palms.

Estelle smiled radiantly. “Maybe you’d like the Maine lobster? They’ll provide you with a bib to keep your beautiful dress safe.”

My lovely dress did not erase my ghetto background. Shellfish was forbidden to us; neither Lil nor I had ever tasted a crustacean. Jack instructed us that we couldn’t go wrong with fresh fish and Lil echoed his exact sentence. Estelle suggested Dover sole, flown in from England. Lil settled our dilemma. “That sounds wonderful. We’ll share one order.”

Lil squeezed my hand when Estelle instructed the waiter, “One Dover sole divided in the kitchen for my friends, drawn butter on the side, please. I’ll have the shrimp and avocado salad with extra dressing. Be sure the dessert cart is full. My young friend here is an expert.”

My father had carefully rehearsed us on buttering a slice of bread or a roll—a small piece, not the entire slice. The rolls were cold, and I made a face at the salty butter. “Don’t they serve sweet butter?” I asked.

Estelle doted on us from the beginning of the meal to the end. “I forgot I was eating with gourmets. Of course you deserve sweet butter.”

Lil was grateful for the diversion about the butter. Not only did the surroundings intimidate her, but she had something on her mind that required her utmost courage. She asked softly, “How are the boys?”

Clapping her hands, Estelle announced, “Graduating from med school in June. Can you believe it? They’ve applied to Mass General for their residency. We’re excited about that. But if one gets in and the other doesn’t, it will kill Gabe and Hal. They’re like twins, rarely separated. It’s been such a joy for us to see them grow up without rivalry.” She regarded us intently. “And what a joy for me to see you today. I couldn’t sleep last night thinking of our lunch. You both look marvelous, radiant.”

Radiant
was the word that encouraged Lil. “How about Maurey? Does he like law school?”

“Not especially. He keeps saying he would prefer something else.”

Encouraged by Jack’s and her own success, Lil replied, “Would he be interested in business?” She played with her fish, forked tiny bits into her mouth, tried hard to swallow.

“You mean finance, economics? He wouldn’t mind the Wharton School but Wall Street is another matter.”

My mother and I tried not to stare as Estelle cut off the tail of a giant shrimp, and with quick strokes of her knife cut the body in thirds. She dipped one section into a pungent sauce and popped it into her mouth. At that moment, I longed to be able to tell Lil that someday soon I would eat seafood in restaurants, imitating Estelle’s confident relaxed manner.

“Maurey needs an occupation that excites him,” Estelle continued.

“He should be an actor,” I said, surprised at my boldness.

“You mean in the movies, a movie star?”

“No, the theater.”

“I almost forgot. You’re theater people.” She reached for my hands and held them. “Are you studying drama?”

“A little. My teacher isn’t too good. We’re having a recitation in a few weeks, mostly for new students. My lines are, ‘I want to act / I want to act / I want to see the gallery packed.’ Good for the Catskills.”