The Matzo Ball Heiress (24 page)

Apparently Bettina left that little fact out when she got ahold of Jocelyn Greenblotz. My mother looks at my father as though he just threw a masterfully compact snowball straight for her gut.

I lean forward in my chair, my elbows on my knee to prop my head. This can’t be happening. My eyes peek through my fingers.

Steve’s face is stung red with anger. “I thought you said Pieter’s a family friend. I knew your parents were
separated,
but what’s going on?” he finally manages to say. “Can someone fill me in, for God’s sake?”

Roswell looks over to me. “Was that one of the things you wanted me to BS about?” He seems too stoned to care that he just opened a can of worms.

“Maybe I should go,” my mother says in the littlest voice I’ve ever heard.

Although she won’t come out and say it, she must have accepted that Dad is gay. There must be a bunch of emotions in play in her mind. But I’m paralyzed with my own inability to deal. Fortunately, Dad is not. He rises and touches his ex-wife on the shoulder. “Please, Jocelyn, stay. We’ll talk everything through later. If not for me, for Heather.” He tries to embrace her but it’s as if he’s embracing a pole on the street.

“No, I think I should go,” she says shakily, without even a finger leaving her hip.

“How much time until broadcast?” Steve says by walkie-talkie to Kev back in the truck.

“Twenty-six minutes,” Kev answers.

“Perhaps I can be of some help here,” Mahmoud says to Steve.

“And how the hell are you going to help?” Steve cries. His cool head for business is disintegrating fast. He looks as if he might have a breakdown.

“I’m trained in negotiation.”

“You have a better idea?” Jared snaps at Steve. “Let him talk to Heather’s parents so we can go on air.”

Steve throws up his hands. “Is there a spare room?”

“Sure,” Jake says. “Uncle Sol, use the study with the pinball machine, it’s right down the stairs on your left.”

“Pieter, you come too,” Dad beckons. “The three of us need to talk this out.”

“The three of us don’t need to talk anything out,” Mom says. “I really think I should go. I can wait in Steve’s car. I’ll just call Wilson and have him pick me up and take me home.”

“Wilson is still working for you?” Dad asks curiously.

“You always had a thing for him, didn’t you?” Mom says softly. “Were you screwing him while you left me to rot?”

Oh boy. Good luck, Mahmoud
.

“Please, Jocelyn.” Dad says. “Let’s talk this out.”

“As I said—” Mahmoud rises “—I can help you do that.”

“Who
are
you?” Mom snaps.

“Mrs. Greenblotz, Mahmoud’s my boyfriend and a very big diplomat,” Vondra says. “He’s been to Camp David several times. He helped run the negotiations between Begin and Sadat.” Vondra and my mother met once when I toured her around the new offices. By my mother’s despondent face, I can see she has no memory of Vondra, and that more than a few Xanax will be popped tonight, or even sooner.

“Can I help?” Roswell asks.

“No!” Jared and I say simultaneously.

Mahmoud takes my mother by the hand down the stairs into the study. Pieter takes an audible breath, stands and follows behind.

“You look pale,” Jared says to me in a whisper.

“I could kill Roswell.”

“It’ll be fine.”

I fight back tears and gesture downstairs to Jake’s study. “There’s going to be an eruption in that room. My mother’s an obvious time bomb.”

Vondra takes one look at my face, walks over and grabs my hand. “You have one of the top diplomats in the world in there.” She’s back in adulation mode. I hope she’s right.

Siobhan and Jake join us on the couch.

I sigh miserably. Jake cracks a dubious smile and sighs too. He reaches over to the table spread and grabs a piece of matzo and dips it in the apple-walnut
haroset
. Jake manages a chuckle as he says, “This stuff tastes great. Now I remember the
haroset
from when I was really little. I never wanted to eat it because I thought it sounded like what our neighbor had, cirrhosis of the liver.”

“My brother called it
corrosives
,” Jared says, and Jake laughs.

I motion to Jake’s broken-off bit of matzo. “I don’t think you’re supposed to eat that yet.”

“Come on, Heather,” Jake says. “This is an act. Don’t turn into one of those kosher freaks on me.”

Jared gets up quietly and heads back to Steve for direction. I feel bad about any offense he may have taken, but I didn’t fill Jake in on anything about our almost-budding romance—so how would he know Jared keeps kosher?

I quiet Jake by waving my hand from side to side. Steve is talking to Tonia about audio, so I lower my voice and say, “Steve knows I’m not kosher, but he thinks you are.”

“Who’s getting mic-ed?” Tonia wants to know.

“My father when he gets out of the room. And me and Jake.”

“Can you slip this in your shirt?” Tonia asks.

Jake’s cell phone rings. “I forgot to shut it off.”

“Yes, everyone should shut theirs off,” Steve says in a crushed voice. “Pagers and beepers too.”

“Who is it, honey?” Siobhan asks.

“The number’s not coming up on my caller ID.”

“Get it later,” Siobhan says.

“This time of the year, it might be important business. And it’ll get my mind off what’s going on with Uncle Sol and Aunt Jocelyn.” He flips open the mouthpiece. “Hello?” Jake says.

Even from where I’m sitting, I can hear a woman screaming at him.

“Calm down. Calm down—no, we don’t need your permission. I didn’t tell you because you wouldn’t have participated. No, I don’t want to talk to Mortie. Listen, there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s not costing our company one red cent. The Food Channel is paying for everything. This is going to help us, Marcy, not hurt us. I’m sorry you’re just hearing about it now. Jesus Christ, we’re about to have a seder. Will you just calm down?—Do
not
curse at me like that—So sue us, Marcy.”

“Who is suing?” Steve barks at me. “Is the Food Channel at risk? I need to know we can pull this off. Why didn’t you tell me your family is a bunch of freaks?”

“Lay off of her, Steve,” Jared says. “You’re worked up. Pull yourself together. It’s going to be fine. I got here early. We rehearsed it.”

“
You
rehearsed it? It’s bad enough you ask questions on shoots. Now you want to be a fucking director? Who the hell told you to get here early?”

“We’re an item,” Jared says. “Live with it.”

The new commotion stirs Gertie from her second nap of the hour. “Who’s an item?”

“Heather and I. We’ve made a very real connection.”

“We are?” I say.

“Aren’t we?” Jared says with earnest eyes. “After our night together, I really thought—”

Steve turns directly to me. “
I thought you hadn’t gotten sexual with him
. And furthermore, you said organized religion is for jokers.”

“I never said that! You did!”

“You don’t really care who you crawl into bed with, do you? Me or Jared, whoever gets you off.”

Vondra puts her hands on her hips and is in Steve’s face like a true friend. “Being an asshole doesn’t seem to bother you in the least, but it bothers me a lot.”

“You’ve been seeing Steve, too?” Jared says quietly in my direction. He looks slightly ill. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“My God, Steve, there’s minutes to air.” Tonia scowls. “Leave the slut alone and get your own overactive cock in check. Your career is on the line. You told me yourself everyone’s watching to see if you can host your own series. Well, now it’s time to get your shit together.”

I slump into my chair. If only there were arsenic on the seder plate. Who would I kill first?

The doorbell rings.

“Who’s ringing the fucking doorbell?” Steve barks. “If it’s Kev, I’ll kill the
schmuck
. I told him not to move. We have to broadcast something even if it’s the damn flea circus in the truck.”

“Maybe it’s Elijah,” Siobhan says.

“Who the fuck is Elijah?” Steve screams. “Did Heather go to bed with him too?”

“No,” says Siobhan. “Elijah is a prophet who at Passover we leave the door open—”

“I know who fucking Elijah is!” Steve shrieks even louder at her.

Jake shakes his head at this New Jersey edition of hell. “Not now, Siobhan.”

“Siobhan?” Steve throws his arms up in disgust. “I thought you said her name was Shoshanna!”

“Am I going to have to bust your face in?” Vondra yells at Steve, with a streetwise finger in his face. “You’re supposed to be helping things here.”

The knock on the door gets louder.

Amy Hitler rises to open it. It’s Bettina. Her curly hair is in a tidy bun and she’s wearing a revealing devil-red pantsuit that suits her tall frame.

“How’s it going, Heather? I wanted to be here for your triumphant hour.”

“Going? It’s not going, Bettina, it’s gone.”

“You! You’re the woman who called me,” Steve says. “Which crazy family member are you? Or are you the wife of a Klansman? Because that would be perfect. And do you think you could at least show up on time for a national broadcast?”

Vondra’s about to yell again, but something inside me snaps. “Shut the hell up, Steve. This is my therapist. And I need her help or I’m going to leave you here with a live mess that will get your self-important prick fired.”

“It’s about time,” Vondra says as she applauds.

Roswell is in the door frame, either scared or amazed by my outburst. Bettina rests her butt on a love seat well out of the camera’s range.

The study door opens. I’m expecting Mahmoud, my parents and Pieter to emerge bloodied and bandaged. Instead, they’re looking weirdly peaceful. They sit down at the table and my father calmly says, “What’s all that noise about? We’re ready to start.”

“How much time?” train-wreck Steve calls out toward Tonia.

“Four minutes.” Tonia may have just called me a slut, but when it comes to sound she is a true pro under immense pressure. She quickly re-mics my father and does a sound check. She even fixes the mics on the table hidden in flower arrangements, the ones strategically placed to ensure that anyone not wired up can be heard.

“Roswell, hold up the white board for a white balance,” Jared yells.

“He’s stoned. Don’t let him do anything,” I say.

“He can hold up a piece of paper,” Jared says adamantly. “We just need to get my camera at the right color level.”

Roswell listens to his buddy Squid, and grabs the white board.

“Three, two, one,” Tonia calls.

This is it.

“Good evening. I’m Steve Meyers from the Food Channel. Why is this night different from all other nights? Because tonight you will experience a television first. Tonight you are going to get a chance to celebrate Passover live with a Jewish family. Not just any family. In the Jewish-food industry there are many players, but only one brand reigns supreme. Greenblotz. A privately held brand best known for their matzo, Greenblotz manufactures over seventy kosher-food products.”

Steve walks behind my father. Jared focuses in on Dad’s face.

“Every seder has a leader,” Steve picks up. “This one is no exception. Tonight’s seder will be led by Solomon Greenblotz, grandson of Israel Greenblotz, or
Izzy
Greenblotz, as the family lovingly calls him. The current generation calls their forebear the Henry Ford of Matzo with good reason. His invention of mass-production matzo machinery in 1916 allowed for sales well beyond his neighborhood streets. There are more sales of Greenblotz Matzo then of any other matzo brand on our planet. Seated around the table are Izzy’s descendants, and also some family guests who will join in on the celebration. We’ll meet all of them as the night goes on.”

My hand is shaking.

“Solomon Greenblotz, thank you for letting us join your family tonight.”

“We’re thrilled to share such a joyous occasion with America. My grandfather had a slogan on every box that we still use to this day on every product.
Buy Greenblotz—Because Family Is Everything
. And I believe that strongly, as does my wife of thirty-three years, Jocelyn Greenblotz.”

“What a devoted family you have, Mrs. Greenblotz.”

“Thank you,” Mom says in a tiny voice. “We are delighted to have America join us at our annual seder. It means a lot to us to have so many parts of the family under the same roof. Sol and I spend much of the year apart as he must constantly travel to tend to our international customers. Domestically, my nephew Jake has taken the helm, and today we are at his delightful home in New Jersey.”

Am I crazy, or is my mother imitating Jacqueline Kennedy during the Live-from-the-White-House specials?

“It’s also the home of Jake’s beautiful wife, Shoshanna, originally from Tel Aviv,” my father adds.

“Shalom,” Siobhan says with a passable Israeli accent. Her wig looks Mars red under the glare of the lights.

Steve motions with his neck for Jared to zoom in on the living room adjoining our dining room. He tilts toward the brick fireplace topped with lit candles. “As your mother-in-law just said, this is a delightful home. We’re minutes from New York City, and yet I feel as if I’m in someone’s country hideaway.”

“Thank you,” Siobhan says demurely.

Dad continues down the table, introducing the rest of our motley crew. When he gets to Vondra, Steve interrupts him.

“Is there something special you also have to share about Vondra’s guest to her right?”

“Yes indeed. We have asked Vondra’s friend Mahmoud, a spokesman for the Egyptian consulate, to participate in our seder as a gesture to peace in the Middle East. Those of you who have participated in a seder know that a lot is said during the night of the ancient animosity between the Egyptian Pharaohs and the Jews. We don’t have to reenact that animosity tonight. Mahmoud is a brave man, and a kind man, and let me tell America the Greenblotz family believes we have to start peace somewhere. If it is at a dinner table, then so be it.”

“Salaam,”
Mahmoud says directly to the camera. “And
Shalom
.”