Brooklyn Love (Crimson Romance) (9 page)

Rachel dropped her spoon into her chicken soup. “I don’t know. But can’t I try? Can’t I try, Ma?”

Ma shrugged and raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Nu. So try.”

“Tell us about the painting, Rachel,” Abe said evenly.

“I’m doing a series to illustrate a family story. Right now I’m working on a portrait of Ma’s great-grandfather sweeping his bride up onto his majestic steed — ”

Ma chuckled. “Majestic steed? More like a flea-bitten nag. But I guess you like that romantic galloping-into-the-sunset nonsense.”

Abe chuckled as well. “Ah! The glory of a dreary shtetl! Was that before the pogroms or after?”

“Come on, Ma!” Rachel said defensively. “Their story is romantic. I’d like to hear it again.”

As Abe and Rachel continued to savor their roast beef, the steam rising from the rich gravy, Mrs. Shine obliged her daughter, telling the familiar family story of Raizel and Berel. How they met when Raizel was only fifteen. How, despite his imposing height and life as a soldier, Berel was kind and strong. How her parents pushed her to marry him by giving her gifts and a pretty dress in order to continue their traditions and secure a future for their daughter. How, over the years, they grew together, and grew to love each other deeply, working the farm, making a living in good times and bad, bearing children, raising children, and burying children. And as Rachel listened to her mother, she not only heard her mother’s words, but she felt them as well.

Rachel and her father had completed the main course by the time Ma finished her story, and in the silence that followed, Rachel began clearing the table. “It
is
romantic, Ma,” she said.

Her parents looked at each other and shrugged.

“Romance, shmomance,” Ma said. “The bottom line is that he was good to her.”

After reciting the blessing Grace After Meals, Rachel wished her parents a “Good Shabbos” and donned her red shearling Shabbos coat and her blue suede heels for the short walk up the block. It was Friday night — time to get together with her girlfriends.

• • •

When Rachel arrived at Leah’s home, Leah was sitting on the couch staring at the cake in front of her, but not touching it. “I don’t think he knows I exist,” Leah sighed. Her mother often brought home creamy cakes from the bakery where she worked. Rachel helped herself to a large slice.

“So put up a sign.”

Leah glared. “Rachel.”

Rachel shrugged. “So fall on him. I don’t know. Why doesn’t he notice you? I thought you were in love with him.”

The candles shone brightly, and Rachel and Leah were commiserating in the living room as Leah’s mother tidied up after Shabbos dinner. As strict as Leah’s mother was, ever since high school she’d allowed Leah to invite her friends over every Friday night after dinner. Rachel had realized long ago that there was only one way this tradition would stop — when one of them got married.

Rachel sighed. “Your new hair color is beautiful and you look amazing in contact lenses. Maybe you should ask Suri what you should do now to motivate the guy to marry you.”

“Let’s not go there,” Leah said and glared at her friend. “Anyway, he shares notes with me. He laughs if I make a joke. But he won’t ask me out. I don’t know what to do.”

Rachel polished off her slice. “Find a matchmaker to set you up.”

“Are you out of your mind? I told you, he wears jeans.”

“So?”

“No way would my mother agree to this, even if it came from a matchmaker. He’s too modern and he’s planning to be a rabbi, which is a poor financial choice.”

“So how on earth would you marry him anyway? By going against your mother?”

“I’m hoping to ease into it. Maybe my mother will grow to love him.”

“Are we talking about the same person?”

Leah looked over her shoulder to see if her mother was eavesdropping; she wasn’t.

Rachel shrugged. “Maybe you should just call him up.”

Leah gasped. “You know I can’t do that.”

“All right,” Rachel conceded. “Get out some of your magazines. Maybe the advice column will have the answers.”

Leah shook her head. “Believe me, I looked. They all said I should call him.”

Rachel nodded sympathetically. “I guess you’ll just have to wait for him to make the first move.”

“How much time do you think I have? I’m still officially dating Chaim Nudle. I told my mother that I don’t like him, but she keeps pushing for just one more date.”

“I can’t believe you agreed to that.”

Leah grimaced. “My mother said that if I don’t agree to Chaim, the next one on the list is Zusha Feintuch.”

Now Rachel gasped. “Not Zusha.”

“I know. But what can I do?”

“You can’t marry Chaim Nudle, and you can’t even waste your time with Zusha.”

Leah shrugged. “He’s not so bad. I don’t mind his weight, and maybe I could learn to live with the spit when he talks … ”

“But what about his ukulele? He doesn’t shut up about that ukulele.”

“This is true,” Leah said with a groan. “I want to smash that ukulele into a thousand pieces.”

“You can’t think about Zusha.”

Leah reached over for a napkin. “Who, then? After those stupid rumors, how many opportunities do you think I have, Rachel?”

“I don’t know. It’s got to be better than those two.”

Leah’s voice started to tremble. “They aren’t exactly banging down the door for me, you know.”

“You have to have faith, Leah.”

“Faith,” said Leah, meticulously wiping her hands with a napkin, though she hadn’t eaten a thing, “is for people too weak or too simple to make hard decisions. A person has to do what she must do.”

Rachel looked at her intently. “And what is it that you must do?”

They heard a knock on the door, and Rachel got up to answer it.

Hindy came in and went straight to the cake to cut a slice. “Good Shabbos. Yum, this cake is good.” She licked the cream from her fingers and looked at Leah. “I met the perfect guy for you at the cleaners,” she added through the chocolate cream.

Leah managed a smile. “Let me guess — a yeshiva guy?”

Hindy shook her head. “This one didn’t confuse Plato with Play-Doh.”

Rachel grinned. “Sounds promising.”

“Tell all,” Leah prodded.

Hindy shrugged. “What’s to tell? I sewed a gown for a bride, and it needed to be pressed before her wedding. So I went to the dry cleaners, and instead of the older guy there, his son, Eli Feldman, was working behind the counter. He was reading a heavy textbook and was engrossed, just like you get when you’re studying for school. So I thought, maybe for Leah? Later, I asked his parents for you. Sounds like a nice guy. He goes to Touro College but will be joining his parents’ dry cleaning business after a year or two of learning.”

Rachel nodded. “Leah, that’s just what your mother wants for you.”

“Maybe I should check him out,” Leah said.

Hindy continued. “Anyway, I met a new girl in the bagel shop. Her name is Ilana. She just moved here from Israel and I invited her over tonight.”

“Why’d she move here, now?” asked Rachel.

“To get married. Why else would anyone come here?” Leah said, only partly sarcastically.

Hindy shrugged. “She said she came to live with her cousins, who are
baalei teshuva
. Well, everyone except her uncle.”

“Really?” Rachel was fascinated; she had never met a
ba’al teshuva,
someone who was new to religious observance.

Excitedly, Hindy relayed the coveted information while trying not to break the Jewish law forbidding gossip. “Her uncle is a professor of mathematics — and an agnostic.”

“An agnostic!” Rachel’s shocked expression mirrored Leah’s. Sure, people questioned their faith, but only in hushed conversations. None of the girls had ever met anybody in Brooklyn who openly questioned the existence of God. “New here from Israel with a relative who is an agnostic — I’m sure she’ll have a real easy time finding a match!” she added in a dubious tone.

“I can’t wait to meet her,” added Leah as they heard a light knock at the door.

She got up to welcome their guest. Rachel and Leah tried not to gape when Leah opened the door. With jet-black hair and dark, olive-toned skin, Ilana looked like a movie star.

“Hi, good Shabbos! We’re so happy you could make it.”

“Hi!” Ilana greeted the girls in a natural manner, as if totally unaware of her striking appearance. Taking off her blue parka, she revealed a simple white knit shift, which accentuated her long, thick hair and voluptuous curves. Rachel noted that Ilana wasn’t dressed fashionably like her New York friends. But even modestly dressed, she exuded beauty and femininity.

“I wasn’t sure which was the house, but I saw the lights on and heard the laughter, so I figured this was the place,” Ilana said.

Rachel immediately liked her. She seemed so honest and unaffected. So natural. So not New York. “Could I paint you?” she blurted out.

Everybody stared at Rachel.

Hindy shook her head. “Don’t mind her. She’s a crazy artist.”

“Don’t agree, Ilana,” Leah said. “She’s merciless. She’s made all of us pose at one time or another, and she makes you stand still for hours; you can’t even scratch your nose or she gets all huffy.”

Rachel sighed. “Some friends you are. I have a painting due for class, and I haven’t been able to get the poses right. Would you mind posing for me sometime after Shabbos so I can get the figure right?”

Ilana shrugged. “Sure. Why not? As long as I keep on my clothing.” She helped herself to a slice of cake.

“Great!” Rachel felt thrilled. “And don’t worry — you’ll be dressed modestly. You’ll be posing as the living embodiment of my great-great-grandmother!”

Shabbos morning Rachel woke up to the sunlight shining through her window and warming her face. As she slowly opened her eyes and regarded her familiar nest, she thought for the first time that the decor in her room had become too immature for her. She was dating. She might get married soon. Why did she still have all those stuffed animals on her shelves? Maybe she should redo her room in a more sophisticated manner, like all white. Daniel would probably appreciate a white room.

But even if she redecorated her room, she’d still have to deal with all the clutter — years of objects and memorabilia that she’d kept for sentimental reasons. Now that she might be getting married soon, maybe it was time to reorganize. Prioritize. Keep only what was absolutely necessary.

God, she had piles of handmade cards and notes she’d received when? At summer arts camp when she was eight years old? At the time, it had all seemed so important. But she wasn’t eight years old anymore. She had better go through her correspondence.

And her books. Did she really need the illustrated Golden Books Daddy had bought her when she was six? Or
The Phantom Tollbooth
at nine? Surely it was time to pack them away for her own children, and Daniel could probably upload new books she wanted on his iPad.

• • •

The smell of stewing beef and potatoes permeated the house. There was nothing like waking up to the aroma of cholent on a quiet, sunlit Shabbos morning. If for any reason Rachel didn’t have her cholent, her whole week would be ruined. Ma called this a
meshugas —
a crazy obsession — though she accepted that her daughter, the crazy artist, was full of idiosyncrasies. Rachel even insisted on having her hot cholent in the hot summer months. “What a
meshugas
!” And if her mother didn’t make it, she’d purposely go to a synagogue that served it after services — or she’d mooch off a friend.

“Rachel, mamale, you’re awake?” Ma called from the kitchen downstairs.

“Yeah. Ma, you want to go to shul?”

Her father would have left early for the morning prayers, but Rachel and her mother usually went a bit later; they needed time to prepare for lunch after the services.

“All right. I’m just reading the paper,” Ma called back.

Rachel got dressed in her Sabbath finest, a green woolen suit that accentuated her auburn hair. She added a simple silver ring and necklace. Not too much jewelry, so that her future groom would know that it was his responsibility to buy her jewelry. Fine jewelry was a status symbol that separated the single girls from married women. As Rachel was still single, she dared not wear as much jewelry as a married woman.

In shiny black pumps, she stood on her tiptoes to reach the top shelf of the medicine cabinet, where she kept her makeup. When she was done applying it, she slowly went downstairs to the warm, aromatic kitchen to have some breakfast and sit with Ma before services.

Ma was at the kitchen table reading
The Jewish Press
. She wore her well-coifed, chin-length blond wig and Mabe pearl earrings set in gold. Ma’s hair was actually a pretty red, but Jewish law required her to cover it when she left the house. Her hair was an intimacy reserved for her immediate family. And as it was unprofessional for an MBA to wear a hat or scarf to cover her hair, Ma wore a wig so as to not stand out. Rachel knew she’d cover her hair like her mother when she married, though planned to wear funky hats instead of a wig. She was also wearing a two-piece blue knit Chanel suit, which Rachel was sure she’d purchased from a sales rack.

“Nice suit,” Rachel said.

“You like it?” Ma looked up from the paper. “Just got it at Loehmann’s. Fifty percent off.”

All Brooklyn women loved Loehmann’s. You weren’t a true Brooklynite if you didn’t appreciate it. And you certainly weren’t Jewish if you didn’t love it. Loehmann’s was a utopian store, where one could buy the finest quality, designer-label fashions — of course with the designer label cut off — for a fraction of their retail value. Even when times were tight, Debby Shine could afford something to make her look chic and put together. Dressed for success.

“Rachel, you had a nice time last night? I didn’t even hear you come in.” Ma looked up from her paper and motioned for Rachel to have something to eat.

Rachel took a cookie. “It was nice. Leah had a new friend over, Ilana.”

“So they asked you about Daniel?”

“I don’t talk. There’s nothing to say yet.”