Modern Girls (27 page)

Willie, still facing the cart, took a deep swallow of his drink. He shrugged. “You never know.” He topped off his not-empty glass before turning and facing the room.

“Indeed. I made my own inquiries, and it would appear you are undoubtedly the father, William.”

With a sharp inhalation, I looked at Mrs. Klein.

“What, my dear?” Her voice held a touch of ridicule. “Did you think I would simply trust you? It’s not like you’d be the first poor girl who tried to better her situation.” Seeing my alarm, Mrs. Klein tried to tone down her derision. “Don’t worry. I promise I was extremely discreet. Which, I might add, is more than I can say about you two. Your little friend Beverly was able to confirm the night at Camp Eden. And I hear that both you and your mother have been in a hurry to arrange a marriage to Abe.” When Willie rolled his eyes, his mother turned on him. “And you, young man. Must you have bragged to your friends? Word spreads quickly, you know.”

“Mother,” Willie said, “you seem to have mistaken me for a greenhorn.” He took another gulp of his drink, and his voice became calmer. “You cannot force me into marriage.”

“I am well aware I cannot
force
you to marry,” she replied, “but I can cut off your monthly allowance.”

Willie froze, his glass halfway to his mouth. His eyes focused on his mother as his eyebrows knotted on his forehead, revealing a web of wrinkles. He tossed back the rest of his drink.

“What is your new salary?” Mrs. Klein said. “Twenty-seven dollars a week? Or is it twenty-eight? Whatever it is, I’m sure it will keep you in the luxury to which you are accustomed. You don’t need that meager allowance anymore, do you?”

“Why, Mother,” Willie said, “I do believe that’s blackmail.”

I was surprised that he no longer sounded angry. In fact, he seemed almost . . . amused. He walked back to the bar cart.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” his mother asked.

“Oh, I don’t think I’ve even begun.” He poured yet another glassful. “Father, are you really going to allow this charade?”

Willie wouldn’t even look at me. And why should he? I was merely a bargaining chip.

“Pour me one of those, would you, Will?” Mr. Klein said. “You know full well I may bring home the money, but I don’t control the purse strings. Besides, your mother has a solid point.” Willie handed his father a glass. “It doesn’t seem so bad to me. I think Dottie will make a fine wife and mother.”

I was being discussed as if I were chattel.

In the doorway, a throat cleared. “Are we ready?” asked the
rebbe
.

“Are we?” Mrs. Klein asked Willie.

“This is ludicrous,” Willie said, but his protests were hollow. “A farce.” He finished off his third drink while he considered. “I marry her,” he said, “and you will continue my allowance?”

“Absolutely,” Mrs. Klein said.

“And there will be no other restrictions placed on me?” he asked.

“No other restrictions.”

The
rebbe
gave an awkward cough, to remind us he was standing there.

“Well?” Mr. Klein said.

Willie swirled the empty glass in his hand before sighing and placing it back on the cart. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

For the first time he turned to really look at me. Something in my swollen crimson face must have softened him, because he gave me a gentle smile and held out his hand.

Zelda placed her hand on my lower back and helped me to a standing position. I dabbed my eyes one last time and tried to discreetly wipe my nose as I took Willie’s hand in mine.

Before we could follow his mother and the
rebbe
into the formal living room, he held me back for a moment and leaned
toward me. “Don’t worry,” he whispered into my ear. “It won’t be so bad.”

For the first time in days, a small pang of relief in the fog of pain enveloped me. It would be okay. It wouldn’t be the marriage I’d dreamed of, but it would be marriage. Solid and sound and I would have my family and I would make it work. I flashed a relieved smile at Willie. A smile that dissolved instantly at his next words.

“We only have to stay married until the baby comes. Then we get divorced. I’ll even present you with—what’s that thing called? the Jewish divorce?—a
get
? Nice and kosher, I promise. And I give you my word, I will always provide for the child.”

I stumbled, and he caught my arm, a smile on his face.
A divorce?
A disgrace that had never happened in my family before. Divorce! That was for Hollywood actors, not for real people. Divorce had never crossed my mind. How was it the possibilities to shame my family seemed endless? With panicked desperation I thought,
I have a year! One year to change his mind.

Marriage was not going to be the answer I’d hoped.

In the formal living room, I discovered, were two white couches. Such elegance I would never dream of sitting on, like something from George V’s palace. In the corner, silently watching, was one of the Kleins’ servants. The non-Jewish witness, I supposed.

“Come here,” the
rebbe
said, beckoning us to a desk on the far side of the room. “This is your
ketubah
.” A paper lay on the desk, the sacred wedding contract; it seemed like a mockery to sign it, but I did as I was bid. I wrote my name as I’d learned it at home, in Yiddish letters. Willie leaned over the paper, looked at my signature, and glanced back up at me. With a smirk, he signed his own name in English.
So that’s how it will be,
I thought.
I am Old Country. He is America.
I wanted to protest,
I was born here, too.
But I knew he was right. For all my pretenses, I fit into his world as well as Ma fit in at my office.

“Shall we begin?” Mrs. Klein asked.

Mr. Klein and Zelda held a tablecloth over our heads, a
makeshift
chuppah
for our makeshift wedding. The
rebbe
murmured prayers, leading us in what to say and what to do.

My eyes darted to the door leading out to the foyer, drawn by an invisible pull, a magnetic force, waiting, waiting, waiting for Abe to break down the door, to rescue me at the last second like the hero releasing the heroine from the tracks just moments before she is run over by the freight train. I couldn’t look at Willie; so sure was I that at any moment my
beshert
, my true soul mate, would burst in. I could hear the train rumbling in the distance, and my heart beat fast, as I hoped, prayed that I would be freed, that my protector would carry me off in his arms. So distracted was I that it wasn’t until I felt the cold chill of the band sliding onto my index finger that I realized the train had run right over me, eviscerating my very being.

It was too late.

I was Mrs. William Klein.

“You may now kiss your bride,” the
rebbe
said in the most American of ways.

Willie turned to me and to my utter shock gave me a passionate kiss. As I heard Mrs. Klein cough with embarrassment, I realized the kiss was for show, designed to needle his mother. I tried my best to remember I was kissing my husband, but all I could think of was Abe. I pulled away.

As Willie released me, he murmured, “At least there’s one thing marriage is good for, no?” I blushed. The pleasure I had taken in our night at Camp Eden was now something that could be freely repeated. I tried to take comfort in that, to look forward to the pleasure he’d brought me that night in Cold Spring. But all I felt was empty.

“Isn’t he going to break a glass?” Zelda asked.

“Not my Waterford crystal, thank you very much,” Mrs. Klein said.

With a sigh, Zelda said, “Well, at the very least, let’s put something in that Waterford crystal. How about a toast?” When
she saw that neither Mr. nor Mrs. Klein had any intention of responding, she said, “Aw, I know you have a bottle of bubbly somewhere around here. Your only child got married. If that’s not reason to celebrate, then what is?”

Mrs. Klein’s face held a tight smile. “Yes, of course. Fiona,” she called out, and Fiona popped in so quickly that I realized she’d been standing on the other side of the door the entire time. “Please bring out champagne.”

“None for me,” the
rebbe
said. “I’m needed at the synagogue. I ran out on a board meeting.”

“And we appreciate that,” Mrs. Klein said. I wondered how much the Kleins donated to their synagogue that they had the
rebbe
at their beck and call. “Five glasses of champagne, Fiona.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she said before running off to the kitchen. Duty as a witness done, the houseman followed her.

“Well,” Mrs. Klein said. “Well.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Mr. Klein.

Zelda came up and whispered in my ear, “Your wedding band. Switch it to your ring finger.”

I looked at my hand, the plain gold ring around my index finger as required by Jewish law. But I couldn’t move. Zelda gently took my hand, slid the band off, and placed it on the proper finger. There it was. My manacle.

“
Rebbe
, are you sure we can’t entice you to stay for one drink?” Mrs. Klein said. “It’s real French champagne. None of that American copycat nonsense.”

“Thank you for the offer, but no, I must go.” He turned to Willie. “Congratulations. May you have a fruitful marriage.”

“Seems like that’s already been taken care of,” Mr. Klein half mumbled under his breath.

“Please,” Mrs. Klein said.

The
rebbe
exited as Fiona returned with a silver platter bearing five glasses and a champagne bottle. The elegant crystal flutes fizzled with golden bubbles. A chill of realization dawned on me: This
was now my family. A family that served champagne at home. This would be my life. I’d have a fine apartment and my children would dress in clothes from Bergdorf Goodman. Would I have a maid?

Fiona walked around with the tray, serving Mr. and Mrs. Klein first. I looked at Willie and tried to comprehend that we were married. I needed to make this work. To make him forget all about a divorce.

I reached for a glass of champagne, attempting to feel elegant and modern, but failing miserably.

“A toast,” Zelda said. “To the happy couple.”

“To a more stable life,” Mrs. Klein said, looking directly at Willie.

Willie grinned and looked at me. “To my beautiful wife.”

The heat in my cheeks felt like a blush instead of sadness. For a moment, I allowed myself satisfaction. He was incredibly interesting, cultivated, passionate about his writing. And I couldn’t ignore the fact he was a terribly handsome man. He wasn’t my
beshert
, but he would be a good provider. I was a young bride. My future awaited. I wasn’t happy. Not yet. But perhaps I would be.

Everyone drank, so I brought the glass to my mouth and took a small sip. The bubbles tickled my tongue in a pleasant way, but the champagne was tart, and though I smiled, I didn’t like the taste. But the others greedily drank theirs and Willie even reached for the bottle to pour himself more.

“I’ve taken the liberty of arranging a room for you at the Pierre Hotel tonight. It wouldn’t do to have your wedding night in your parents’ home. You can begin looking for an apartment tomorrow,” Mrs. Klein said.

I hadn’t thought about where we’d go that night. In my neighborhood, the parents’ apartment was exactly where newlyweds went, with little money for anything else. The Kleins’ apartment was so large, I’d assumed we’d stay there. A hotel was an undreamed-of luxury! I had only ever slept on my own couch or in a tent at Camp Eden.

“Thank you, Mother. We’ll enjoy the hotel tonight,” Willie said, winking at me to my chagrin and to Mrs. Klein’s disapproval. “But there’s no need to go apartment hunting.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Klein said. “I can’t believe you would want to live here and not in your own place.”

I sat, once again a bystander to the decisions being made about my life.

“Listen, Mother, this marriage doesn’t change the fact that I leave for Paris in two weeks.”

With a sharp inhalation, I reminded everyone of my presence. “Paris!”

“No!” Mrs. Klein said.

“Now, my boy,” Mr. Klein began.

“Paris! Murder!” Zelda said.

“Paris,” Willie reiterated. “Why is this such a surprise? Every single one of you knows I am going to Paris for
The New Yorker
. I’ll be traveling all about the Continent.”

“But, but . . . ,” I sputtered, knowing how foolish I looked.

“What did you think? Now that we are married and having a child, that I’d throw away my writing? That I’d settle down and take a job in my father’s office, becoming the kind of drudge who works eight to five and then takes in a show?”

“That’s exactly what I thought,” Mrs. Klein said, and if I was being honest, I’d thought the same thing. “You have responsibilities now. A family to care for. You can’t go gallivanting to the Continent now.”

“Especially now,” Mr. Klein said. “There’s a war brewing over there, you know.”

“Which is exactly why I need to be there,” Willie said. “Can’t you get that in your thick skulls? To write, I need to be where there is something to write
about
. I need to show the world what is happening.”

“What about me? And the . . .” I couldn’t bring myself to say
baby
out loud.

“The choice is yours. You can stay behind or you can come with me to Paris.”

My heart pounded. What would my parents say? How could I go so far from home when I needed Ma the most? She had left her family to start a new life in a new country, but I wasn’t as brave and strong as she was. I was terrified.

“Just think: Paris!” Zelda said, with a dreamy smile. “You’ll have first dibs on those Parisian styles.”

“On his income?” Mr. Klein said.

Willie raised an eyebrow at his father. “Mother promised you would continue my allowance. No restrictions.”

“Mother promised we would continue your allowance. And we shall. But if you go to Paris, there will be no increase to support your growing family. If you stay, we will make it possible for you to live in the manner to which you are accustomed. Otherwise, you will have to live as three on the income of one.”

With a grimace, Willie realized he’d been bested. “Very clever, Father. I suppose I should have expected nothing less. But it doesn’t change anything.” He turned to me. “So? Paris with me? Or New York by yourself?”