On Tuesdays, They Played Mah Jongg (7 page)

“How are you today?” he asked his patient as he removed his glasses.

“You know when I left here the other day, I walked to my home,” Michael responded.

“That is not unusual,” Dr. Mikowsky said.

“I drove to your office and left my car here. My home is at least 20 blocks away,” Michael said.

“Do you want to talk about why you left your car here?” the doctor asked.

“Not really. I thought you might want me to continue with my story,” Michael responded.

“Yes, of course, continue, please,” Dr. Mikowsky eagerly responded, catching himself before he appeared too excited.

“As I told you before, they were all getting ready to go to a dinner party at Doreen’s house …”

~~~~~

Doreen and Sammy were wealthy enough to socialize with the crème de la crème of Newport News society, but their sexual escapades and scandalous affairs brought looks of scorn from the residents of James Landing and King’s Mill.

Of course, the snobs from the waterfront neighborhoods had little room to judge as everyone knew that most of them had violated their vows on more than one occasion. Connie Epstein, who thought very highly of herself, was known to walk out her front door just to pick up construction workers, postmen and garbage collectors, whom she would screw right there on her kitchen floor. Her sister, Audrey Weinstein, had a regular Wednesday afternoon lunch date with Moshe Katzenberg. They would fornicate energetically on the burgundy, leather couch in his office.

However, the Weiners rarely operated in secret, and their preference for the Hilton neighborhood with its spacious yards and lush canopy of trees precluded their entrance into “Lower Peninsula High Society.”

That was fine by them, for both Doreen and Sammy enjoyed the company of their loyal friends. Forty plus years of friendship meant a great deal to them and to the others in the group as well.

Of all the girls though, Hannah was the only one who attempted to join the waterfront crowd. She even played in their daytime Mah Jongg game every Thursday, but while she thought she was earning the respect of the elite, they were constantly gossiping about her, her late husbands and her friends behind her back. Hannah may have suspected that she was only invited to play because they needed a fourth since she was rarely if ever invited to one of their parties or luncheons. Connie was the only one who would ever call her and that was only when she needed a favor or wanted the latest dirt on someone. Hannah was also never asked to host a game. Whenever Hannah offered to host, they would make an excuse, and the game would end up in one of the waterfront mini-mansions that were built a little too close to each other for Doreen’s taste.

Unlike the waterfront homes with their French provincial décor that looked more museum-like than lived-in, the contemporary and expensive dining room table and buffet in Doreen’s home were naturally stained oak. The chairs were upholstered in a bluish green velvet-like fabric with cane backs that were quite inviting. Doreen may have sought Hannah’s advice on furnishings, but for the most part, her house, with the exception of the den, was professionally decorated in a rich, contemporary style that did not reflect any passing fads.

Her table seated as many as 16, and this evening there were ten people comfortably enjoying coffee and dessert after an elegant meal.

Sammy was sitting at one end of the table, and next to him on his right was William. Arlene was seated next to her husband, and to her right were Morton and then Alvin, who was on Doreen’s left, as she was seated at the other end of the table. Seated to the right of Doreen and across from Alvin was Rona, who was seated to the left of Florence, who was seated across from Morton. Karl Stein was seated across from Arlene and between Florence and Hannah, who was on Karl’s right and next to Sammy.

Wiping his chin, William said to Doreen, “My compliments to the chef. Dinner was wonderful.”

Doreen thanked him, and Sammy chimed in with, “What the hell are you thanking him for? You have never made as much as steam in all the years that we have been married.”

Although they had all witnessed each other’s marital squabbles and the occasional yelling match over the years, Sammy and Doreen had been particularly snippy at each other throughout the meal, and their guests were more than a little uncomfortable and curious.

Florence had been drinking more than usual, and Alvin kept whispering to her from across the table to take it easy. Before long, Hannah was speaking across Karl in an effort to warn Florence about her drinking.

Rona, who enjoyed fireworks, egged Florence along, while Morton criticized his wife for encouraging her to drink. With that, William and Arlene started snapping at each other.

Karl was more uncomfortable than the others, and he finally interrupted the bickering and asked if
anyone
at the table was happily married.

“Are you kidding?” Alvin asked. “For this group, this is elation.”

“We wouldn’t have it any other way,” Rona added.

Meanwhile, Florence poured herself another glass of wine.

Finally, the conversation turned outward as my mother asked if anyone had heard about Audrey Weinstein.

“Audrey could not make the Mah Jongg game for a few weeks last month,” Hannah said. “Her friends would not come out and say it, but I hear she had another face lift.”

“How many does that make?” Rona asked

“It must be two,” Doreen said.

“Three,” Hannah said.

Rona said, “Well, from what I hear, her ankles are on her knees, her hips are on her shoulders, and her boobs are on her back. She is hell to look at, but she is fun to dance with!”

And everyone started laughing, except Florence.

“How old do you think she is?” Doreen asked.

“Oh, she has to be at least 75,” Rona said.

“I would say she is closer to 80,” Hannah said.

“She is my age,” Arlene corrected them sternly. “We graduated from Newport News High School the same year.”

Silence.

Florence looked around waiting for someone to say something, and then turned to Karl and asked, “Do you like to dance?”

This angered Rona and Doreen who were hoping Karl would ask Hannah out. What was worse was that they figured Florence knew of their plan, but she had drunk so much that she was out of control.

Before Karl could verbalize his answer, Florence said, “Good. My ballroom dancing group is having a party Saturday night. You can pick me up at 8:00 pm.” And with that, Karl could only agree.

Doreen wanted to interrupt, but Rona stopped her, rationalizing that Florence had a right to have some fun, too; and it was obvious that Karl was not going to ask Hannah out at this time.

Noticing that Doreen and Rona were whispering to each other, Sammy asked, “What are you two talking about?”

Doreen announced to the table, “We are discussing what a shmuck you are.”

Hannah said, “I love coming here for dinner. It makes me feel as if Bart and I had a perfect marriage.”

“Bart?” Karl asked Hannah.

“My second late husband,” Hannah answered.

“Between the two of you, you have buried four people,” Morton interrupted.

Hannah and Karl looked at each other, and Hannah asked him, “How many times have you been married?”

“Twice,” Karl told her. “I was widowed the first time after six years of marriage. She died in a golfing accident.”

Hannah said, “That is terrible.”

Karl answered, “Yes, it was. My first wife, Ruth, and her golf pro were fooling around in a golf cart when it started moving and went down a ravine. My second wife, Gladys, suffered a massive heart attack in the clubhouse before she even had a chance to tee off.”

The room grew uncomfortably silent, and Karl looked around thinking he had horrified them with the stories of his wives’ deaths.

Arlene who didn’t realize she was speaking out loud said, “My God, those two should stay away from each other.”

Karl looked confused, and Hannah said, “My first husband was killed by a runaway golf cart, and my second husband had a massive heart attack while playing golf, although he was able to sink his last putt on the 18
th
green.”

“I really think you two should not sit so close to each other,” Morton said.

“If I divorce Morton, Hannah, will you marry him and encourage him to take up golf?” Rona said, winking at Morton.

“And, if I divorce Doreen, Karl, will you marry her and give her golf lessons?” Sammy said a little too seriously.

“I have a better idea,” William suggested. “Hannah and Karl should marry each other, and we can take bets to see which one drops first.”

The men laughed, and the women frowned.

But, throughout the entire discussion of dead spouses, Florence was turning a pale shade of green. She stood up as if she were going to excuse herself, but she became disoriented and without warning, she threw up in Karl’s lap.

7

If there is one person with whom every woman shares her secrets, it is her hairdresser. Every Friday morning, the girls went to Donald’s Follicle Forum, which was owned by Donald Green. At the time, Donald was in his late thirties and absolutely gorgeous. He was over six-foot-six and built like a brick shit house, if you will pardon the expression, with thick, wavy, blonde hair, and he always wore the tightest clothes. When you first saw him, you expected him to have a deep, butch voice, but when he opened his mouth, it was all girl.

The Friday after Doreen’s Thursday night dinner party was just like every Friday at Donald’s. It always seemed as if every Jewish woman over 50 was getting her hair done at the same time. I always had a theory that if you wanted to rob a Jewish home, do it at 9:00 am on a Friday morning, as you would have at least two hours to get in and out.

When you entered Donald’s Follicle Forum, there was a small waiting area with a receptionist desk on the left and two sofas, all in rattan with beige and green flowered upholstery. Three steps took you to the styling area, which was separated from the front section by a three-foot high wall. Donald’s chair was the first chair to the right, and there were six other styling chairs. Beyond the styling chairs — three on each side — were two facing rows of dryers, and in the back was the shampoo station.

Seated at the receptionist desk was Donald’s ex-wife, but that insane coupling was the subject of a sketch, which appeared on
Los Angeles Live
in 1998.

At around 10:00 am, Hannah was being shampooed, Florence was under a dryer, Arlene was in Donald’s styling chair, and Doreen arrived early for her appointment. The shop was packed, and all of the stylists as well as the shampoo girls were busy with clients. Anyone who did not believe Jews lived in the South, never went to Donald’s on a Friday morning. Looking around the room, you would see, among the many patrons, Connie Epstein, Audrey Weinstein, Francine Katzenberg, Dotty Erlach, Honey Greenberg, Rose Stern, Marlene Cohen, Sherri Umansky, Irma Firestone, Beverly Nissenbaum, Betty Levy, Freda Nachman, Mindy Gasthalter and Mimi Smith. Mimi, the lone
shiksa
, owned the Chalmers Hotel, next to Fort Monroe in Hampton, and she loved Jews.

From 8:30 to 11:30 am, Donald’s chair belonged Arlene, Florence, Hannah, Rona and Doreen.

“Good morning, Doreen,” Donald shouted over the din as she sat down on the couch. “And, from what I can see of your roots, you are not a moment too soon. I am so sorry that I couldn’t make it to your affair last night.”

“You didn’t miss a thing,” Doreen answered and asked as she sat down on the couch, “Is Florence here yet?”

“Florence is under the dryer,” Donald told her, and leaning toward her, he said, “She really looks like they changed their minds and dug her up.”

Doreen then proceeded to tell Donald how Florence asked Karl out and then threw up in his lap, and how the rest of the evening was beyond salvation.

Florence, seeing that Doreen was pointing in her direction and talking to Donald, knew what was going on and lifted the dryer off her head and yelled, “You don’t have to tell the whole world, Doreen.”

Everyone in the shop turned to look at Florence, but she didn’t care what any of them thought. Ever since her first divorce, some of the women in town looked down their noses at Florence, for a divorcee was a rarity in 1958. With the subsequent three, her case, in their eyes, was hopeless. Florence chalked it up to jealousy since she could be free to live her life while the rest of them were saddled with bent over
alta cockers
with bad prostates.

Donald walked over to Florence and slammed the dryer back down on her head, yelling at her, “You are not done yet!”

Florence gave him a nauseated look and lifted the dryer slightly.

Donald, who loved to dish more than all the women in the shop that day put together, had to know more, but Arlene interrupted him, “Donald, could you hurry up, I don’t have much time.”

“You’re telling me,” Donald said, “I have already made an appointment with the
hevra kaddisha
, and the
Tahara
room at Rosenberg’s Funeral Home is ready for your arrival.”

Arlene looked right at him and said, “I have to go to work.”

“Will your husband dock you if you are late?” Donald asked.

Annoyed, Arlene said, “Stop picking on my husband and finish my hair.”

“I am finished, Arlene,” Donald said, but Arlene was incredulous.

“It is the natural look,” he told her, and sensing her disbelief, he added, “It makes you look ten years younger, but if you want me to change it …”

“No,” she interrupted. “Don’t touch it.” She took her smock off, tipped Donald a dollar, said goodbye to everyone and left.

“It works every time,” Donald said after Arlene left. “I just wish William would raise her allowance. These one-dollar tips are not of any use to me. Why are you here so early, Doreen?”

“I only came in early to get away from Sammy and maybe catch up on the latest gossip,” Doreen said.

“Catch up? Hell!” Donald said as he took a Newport out of his pocket and lit it. “You only came in to start the latest.”