Michael's Secrets (16 page)

“Michael, you can talk to me anytime. I like knowing you’re my brother,” he said, still pleased with the knowledge that Michael existed.

But, something told Michael that talking to Eric would only make things worse as he would constantly compare Eric’s upbringing to his.

* * * * *

It was the summer of 1973, and Michael was staying over at Florence’s for the weekend. Her son, Scott, and he were getting ready to go to the pool, and she was joining them. She had since moved from her home in Hampton to an apartment at Towne Square in Newport News. Her three older children were out of the house, so she was raising Scott alone. She was engaged to Dr. Martin Mirmelstein at this point, too.

When they arrived at the pool, Michael took off his shirt, and she stopped him, took off her large, purple sunglasses, and looked at his back, placing her hand on it as well.

“Michael, what are these marks on your back?” she asked as she examined them. Scott walked around behind him to look also.

Not wanting to get in trouble, he said, “I fell down.” Even then, he was a terrible liar, but Michael knew that if he told her the truth, she would call his mother, and he would get another beating for revealing a secret. Michael’s mother always said, “We are private people.”
Private? The woman thinks she is Jackie Kennedy or something.

“Michael, you didn’t get these from a fall,” she said as she touched the marks.

“Really, Aunt Flossie,” Michael said. “I fell. Can I go into the pool now?”

“No,” she said. “Sit over here with me. I want to talk to you.”

Michael always did as he was told, so he sat down on a chaise lounge. She was wearing a purple one-piece bathing suit, and he found himself staring at her enormous breasts in an attempt not to look her in the eyes. Scott, who didn’t want to miss anything, sat down next to him. Even at almost eleven years old, Michael was already taller than both of them.

“Mickey,” she said, using her nickname for him, “Who did that to your back?” She then reached for his hand, and when she did, she noticed the bruises under his arms. “What is this? Are you getting into fights?”

“No, no, Aunt Flossie, I’ve never been in a fight, never,” Michael protested, having never been in a fight and vowing never to get in one as long as he lived.

She took her sunglasses off again and put her hand under his chin to make Michael look her in the eyes. “Mickey, tell me the truth. Who did this to you?”

“I am telling the truth. I fell,” he said, and he began to cry. “Why don’t you believe me?”

She pulled a tissue from her bag and handed it to him. Michael wiped his eyes as he continued to cry. He was determined not to tell her the truth.

“OK, Mickey, if that is what you say, I believe you. Go swimming,” she said with a frown

Michael knew she did not believe him, but he also knew that she would never say anything to his mother, as she knew that if she did, he would be punished. She told them she would be back in a moment as she walked back to her apartment to make a phone call. Michael also knew that Aunt Flossie knew a lot more about being beaten than he was supposed to know, but that was a secret he had kept to himself for almost four years at that point.

* * * * *

Two mornings later, Eric called again.

“Hi, Eric, what’s up?” Michael asked upon answering the phone.

“Michael,” Eric began, sounding upset. “I have some bad news.”

Was he coming home early and Michael would have to vacate the apartment? That was hardly bad news, as Michael was ready to return to California at any moment. “What is it?” he asked.

“My father died in his sleep last night,” Eric said. Michael noticed he said “my father” not “our father.”

“I’m so sorry, Eric,” Michael said, not feeling any sense of loss for a man whose only contribution to his life was a single sperm.

“Thank you, Michael. He was ninety-six years old and not in good health. My mother would like for you to come to the funeral, which will be tomorrow. They’re waiting for me to come home. I’m flying back today,” he said. “Would you come to the funeral?”

Michael didn’t want to give him an answer. He needed to think about it, and he was doing the math in his head. Seymour Sagman was ninety-six. That meant he was fifty-three years old when Eric and Michael were born, making him eighteen years older than Hannah.

“Are you going to stay here? I can go to Sharon’s while you’re in town,” Michael asked avoiding the invitation and marveling at the age of his father, wondering how many other illegitimate children there were out there.

“No, I’ll stay with my mother,” Eric said. “Please consider coming to the funeral. I’ll call you when I get in.”

“Bye, Eric, and let me know if you need anything,” Michael said before hanging up. Why did he offer his help? Michael guessed he was just being polite as no one ever told you if they actually needed anything.

Michael spent most of the day wondering if he should go or not, and he eventually decided to go as he was curious about what they would say about Seymour Sagman at his funeral. Michael was also curious to see if any other siblings showed up.

They sent a limousine to pick Michael up, and when the chauffeur opened the rear door to let him in, he was surprised to find Eric and his mother already in the car. Michael was not comfortable with this and almost backed out, but she grabbed his hand and thanked him for coming. He sat down to her right as Eric was seated on her left. Michael and Eric wore almost identical navy suits and blue shirts, with eerily similar yellow print ties. Michael didn’t know how much more of this situation he could take. Eric smiled, but they said little on the way to the funeral, which was held at Jewish Memorial Gardens in Maryland. As they pulled up behind the hearse, Michael noticed what must have been two-hundred people waiting by the grave for the family to arrive and for the rabbi to lead the casket to the grave, stopping seven times to show the reluctance to say goodbye to the old man who knocked up two women in the same year.

As Michael stepped out of the limousine, he was aware of the startled looks on some of the attendees’ faces, and he chuckled at their reactions when Eric stepped out the other side and walked around to stand next to his mother. While they stood there, Michael looked around to see if he had any more twins at the cemetery, but most if not all the other people there were over seventy, and many were over eighty. He didn’t see any familiar faces. Eric and his mother asked Michael to sit with them, but he was not comfortable sitting in one of the chairs for the mourners, so he stood off to the side. Thankfully, they did not argue. The last time Michael sat with the mourners was at Bart Shimmer’s funeral in 1985, and he only did that because he was glad Bart was dead.

They lowered the casket, and the rabbi began the short service. Michael loved Jewish funerals because the actual service was rather abbreviated, but unfortunately, the eulogies would sometimes go on forever. Eric was asked to give the eulogy for his father, and he was clearly upset and choking back tears as he spoke.

“My father, Seymour Sagman, was a good man, a loving father, a devoted husband, and a pillar in the community,” Eric began. “One of my earliest memories of my father was his teaching me to ride a bike. As many of you may not know, I have coordination issues, and riding a bike was very difficult for me, but he was so patient, never losing his cool, and working with me for not one but five days until I mastered riding my bike. He then bought a bike, and we would go riding together …”

Michael didn’t want to hear anymore, so he worked his way to the back of the crowd, while many of the people stared and whispered to the people standing next to them as they looked in his direction. Michael knew they were all trying to figure out who he was. He managed to slip away quietly and wandered around the cemetery. Michael could still hear Eric speaking, but he was far enough away not to be able to discern what he was saying. As Michael walked to another section of the cemetery, he sensed someone was following him. He turned around, and there was a slight woman, who looked to be the same age his mother would be if she were still alive, even though it was obvious this woman had undergone numerous face lifts. She had short brown hair and wore a simple but expensive black dress with matching gloves, coat and hat.

“Are you Michael Bern?” she asked as she removed her dark glasses. Michael didn’t recognize her, but she may have seen his picture in
People
magazine after they took a photo on the red carpet at the premiere of
Birthright
, so he didn’t act surprised.

“Yes, do I know you?” Michael asked.

“I have not seen you since you were a baby. I’m Eleanor Summers,” she said holding out her hand. Michael shook her hand and thought she might be related to his mother, who was also a Summers. “I’m your mother’s first cousin,” she confirmed.

“Small world,” he said, realizing how much he hated that expression. “Did you know Seymour Sagman?” Michael asked.

“Sort of,” she said. “I also know he was your father.”

Here was another person who knew the secret. How many were there?

“How did you know that?” Michael asked, still wondering if everyone in attendance knew.

“Your mother would send me pictures of you over the years, and the Sagmans belonged to my synagogue. You and Eric were too similar-looking for it not to be true. I also knew your mother had an affair with Seymour before he moved here,” she told Michael, not in the least worried about shocking him with her news. “I kept my distance from them over the years, but when I saw that his funeral was today, I wanted to come with the hope of running into you.”

This time, Michael was not angry or upset. He had reached a point where he did not care. He had a father for two days who was now dead. Michael also had a father who died before he was born, and he really had no emotional connection to either of them.

“Will you be staying with your family?” she asked, as if he were part of the Sagman family.

Michael was beginning not to like this woman although they were related. “No,
my
family is all dead. I’ll be going back home after the funeral as I have work to do,” he said to her, and she gave him a shocked look.

“Michael, your family is not dead. I’m your family, and Eric and Harryette are your family. You shouldn’t say that,” she said as if scolding a child.

“Miss Summers, I know you mean well, but this is not my family, and frankly, I don’t know you. No one from any of the many sides of what seems lately to be an expanding family of mine ever came to see me when I was a child, therefore, my family is dead to me. Now, if you will excuse me, I would like to go up to the cemetery office and call a cab,” Michael said as he walked away. He pulled the pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and lit one as he walked toward the office, but this newfound cousin of his kept following him, so he turned around, and she stopped. “I would appreciate your leaving me alone. I have been through quite a bit in the last week, and I don’t want to meet or talk to any more so-called relatives. And, if you don’t mind,” Michael continued, pointing to the others at the grave side, “tell any other relatives I have over there that I do not wish to meet them either. OK?”

Michael then turned around and walked to the office and asked them to call him a cab. As he stood outside the cemetery office waiting for the taxi, he noticed Eric walking his way. Michael really could not deal with anymore “family” today, but Eric walked up to Michael and stood there silently.

“You want a cigarette?” Michael asked him, just being polite.

“Sure, but don’t tell my mother,” he said. Michael handed him the pack, and he lit a cigarette. Michael could swear Eric turned a little green after taking his first puff.

“Eric, I called a cab. I’d prefer to go home now. I hope you don’t mind,” Michael said as he looked over to the grave side and saw a few old men shoveling dirt into the grave as the other guests got into their cars and slowly made their way out of the cemetery. To exit, they had to pass where Eric and Michael were standing, and all of them looked and pointed at the two of them as if they wouldn’t notice. Michael rolled his eyes at their curiosity.

“That woman, Eleanor, told me what you said, Michael,” Eric said, breaking his silence.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, Eric, but having all these relatives come out of the woodwork is not sitting well with me,” he told him.

“You didn’t hurt my feelings,” Eric said, but something told Michael he had. “I’m just disappointed because I thought we could get to know each other, but I kinda get the feeling you’d rather not.” Eric looked at Michael as he took another puff.

“Eric, I would like to get to know
you
better. You’re the only one who didn’t know the big secret,” Michael said. “I just don’t want to get to know people who knew I existed and never acknowledged me. I seem to be nothing but a curiosity to these people, and to meet my mother’s cousin, who said she knew the secret all along was too much.”

“From what I could tell, Eleanor is a dumb ass. I mean the woman appears to be one shank bone short of a seder plate,” Eric said. And, they both started laughing. “She thought going over and talking to you would make you feel better. She has no clue what you’re going through.”

“And, you do?” Michael asked, lighting another cigarette, realizing he would probably be looking at grass from the other side not too far from where he was standing if he didn’t quit chain smoking soon.

“I think I do,” Eric said. “I think I’m going through the same thing. After the initial excitement of finding out I had a brother, I began to wonder how many other siblings I have out there. My father must have been pretty potent to knock up two broads in a matter of months, and he was fifty-three when he did that!”

“Was he married before he met your mother?” Michael asked him, figuring a fifty-three-year-old heterosexual bachelor was rare.

Eric looked at Michael with wonder. He stomped the cigarette on the ground and looked away for a second. He then turned to face Michael again and asked, “They didn’t tell you?”