On Tuesdays, They Played Mah Jongg (8 page)

Donald sat down in his chair just as Rona walked in, and his ex-wife checked the appointment book. Since they first started going to Donald’s some 15 years before, they had the same appointments every Friday. But for some inexplicable reason they always walked in as if it were their first visit to his shop. It always reminded me of people who go to the same bar every night and greet each other as if it is their first time there only to spend the evening having the same conversation as the night before.

Florence lifted up the dryer to say hello to Rona, and seeing her, Donald jumped up from his chair, and again he ran over to her and slammed the dryer on her head. He walked back up to the front without missing a beat and asked Rona why she was early.

“I got sick of looking at Morton’s face this morning,” Rona said as she stepped up to the main floor and squeezed Donald’s face. “So, I thought I would come and look at your
shayna punim
for a change.” She then turned around and sat next to Doreen on the couch.

It was amazing anyone could carry on a conversation with all those women in there talking at the same time, but it must be a talent one develops as estrogen levels drop and the frequency of hot flashes increases.

Rona took a More cigarette from her purse and offered one to Doreen who shook her head no. Doreen only smoked occasionally, whereas Hannah, Rona and Arlene chain-smoked. Rona lit the cigarette, took a deep drag and asked Doreen, “So, will Florence still go out with Karl after what happened?”

“I don’t know, but did you get a look at her?” Doreen asked.

Florence knew they were talking about her again as they were obviously staring in her direction, so she lifted up the dryer to say something, but when Donald ran toward her, she slammed it down on her own head and let out a small cry.

Hannah emerged from the shampoo station and saw Donald racing over to Florence and then back to his chair. She stopped to say hello to Connie, Audrey, Francine, Sherri, Mindy and Marlene. After her exchange of pleasantries with the waterfront women — which did not go unnoticed by Rona, Doreen, and Florence — she sat down in Donald’s chair and said hello to Rona and Doreen.

Donald put out his cigarette, and he started to comb Hannah’s hair. He said, “Look at these roots. You look like you are wearing a white yarmulke under all that black hair. Shall we color today?”

“The hell with it. I am thinking of letting it grow out,” Hannah said.

With that, Donald spun the chair around so that she was facing him and said, “How can you do this to me?”

But she was firm, saying to Donald, “Whom are we fooling? My hair has not been black since the 1960s. They quit making Doreen’s color in 1972 and I am not sure if they ever actually made Rona’s color.”

Donald defended both women. “I mix both their colors myself, and I think they look fabulous. And if you would let me pick a new color for you instead of your insisting on Consuela black, we could come up with something a little more flattering. My God, Hannah, you look like my housekeeper.”

Hannah’s only answer was, “Who cares?”

Donald knew there was more to Hannah’s attitude than her displeasure with coloring her hair.

“How old are you, Donald?” Hannah asked.

“Thirty-seven,” he answered before quickly looking around to see if anyone heard him.

“Do you know that is about the same amount of time I have wasted looking for the right man?” she said.

“Really, Hannah?” he asked. “That is the same amount of time I have been looking for the right man, too.”

“Do you know how old I am, Donald?” Hannah asked him.

Hearing this question, Rona and Doreen leaned forward.

“I am going to be 58 in July,” she said, and that was the first time Hannah ever said her correct age out loud.

“Hannah,” Rona screamed, “What are you doing? Someone will hear you, and then they will know how old we are.”

Florence had since walked up to Donald’s chair and looked at Rona and Doreen and said, “One just turned 57, and two of us are also going to be 58 this summer.”

Donald asked, “Which one is 57?”

Rona and Doreen both said at the same time, “I am.”

Donald looked at Hannah for an answer, but it was Florence who answered, “Rona is the baby.”

Doreen rolled her eyes, while Rona gave a smug look.

“So, how old is Arlene?” Donald asked.

Florence, Rona, Doreen and Hannah looked at each other wondering if they should betray their friend who was not there to defend herself. Donald waited for an answer, and Hannah spoke, “You have to promise not to say a word, Donald.”

“I promise, I won’t ever tell anyone,” Donald said.

“She is the same age as Audrey,” Doreen whispered as she leaned forward.

“She is 67?” Donald said a little too loudly, and the girls shushed him in unison. Then everyone looked over at Audrey who was being styled by Ernie. Before Audrey realized she was being ogled, they averted their eyes and returned to their conversation.

“Wow, she looks like she is the same age as the rest of you,” Donald said as he spun Hannah’s chair back around so that she faced the mirror.

Rather than take that as a compliment for Arlene, the girls each looked at themselves in the mirror, for to them, Donald had declared that they all looked 67.

8

That Saturday evening, Florence went through with her date with Karl, and apparently she was on her best behavior. She did not throw up on him once. At the time, the girls gave him a lot of credit for going on the date since there are not many people that would go out with someone who gave that kind of first impression.

After the dance, they decided to go out for a drink at the Huntington Club. The Huntington Club was one of the last of the private bars in town. It was located atop the MES Bank Building on Washington Avenue in downtown Newport News. As a member, you could dine there or play poker in one of the back rooms.

I believe it was an outgrowth of the Quarterly Club, which was located in the Chalmers Hotel next to Fort Monroe, which was one of the few Army forts to remain in Union hands during the Civil War. It overlooked Hampton Roads Harbor where the Monitor and the Merrimac fought their famous battle of the ironclads. Apparently, the Quarterly Club was established during Prohibition. After Prohibition and before liquor-by-the-drink was re-established, one had to carry his own bottle to a club, so hundreds of private clubs were established in Bible-belt states to accommodate those who wanted to go out and have a drink rather than get drunk on the porch.

My mother told me that she learned to drink Scotch because my father, Adam, told her when they first starting dating that he was not going to carry two bottles, and he drank J&B Scotch. Did you know that President James Buchanan kept the White House stocked with J&B Scotch because there was a rumor that the whiskey was named after him? Many guests were impressed when the President poured them a drink from his own private brand of Scotch …

~~~~~

“Michael, what are you going on about?” Dr. Mikowsky asked as he stopped writing and took off his glasses.

“What do you mean?” Michael asked the doctor.

“You have gone from Florence and Karl going out for a drink to a history of liquor laws and President James Buchanan,” the doctor said.

Michael started to laugh, and Dr. Mikowsky smiled as Michael loosened up for the first time during this session. After a few minutes, he gathered his composure.

“Sorry Doc,” Michael said, still smiling and chuckling a bit. “I have been researching the possibility of writing a treatment for a mini-series about President Buchanan, and I have been caught up in his story.”

“That is all right, Michael,” the doctor reassured him. “I just felt I should stop you before we spent two hours discussing Buchanan’s policies.”

“Don’t worry, Doc,” Michael said. “I save those conversations for my agent. I found that if I drone on about American history, he works harder to keep me busy during the summer hiatus.”

~~~~~

Florence was a member of the Huntington Club as were the rest of the girls, and since the dance was at the American Legion Building a few blocks away, she thought it was the best place to go afterward. Curiously, Florence’s interest in ballroom dancing enabled her to establish a group of gentile friends, which set her apart from the other girls. I often envied Florence for being a part of two such distinct social circles. Her life was not all about Mah Jongg and synagogue life.

Karl was immediately impressed with the Huntington Club with its unoriginal décor consisting of leather upholstered chairs in the bar. There was also a room with a dance floor that usually was host to a live swing band on the occasional Saturday night with this particular one being the exception. There were only a few patrons in the bar, and Florence, who was wearing a blue-sequined floor length dress that was cut very low in the front, and Karl, who was wearing a dark blue pin-stripe suit, decided they should sit in the two chairs around the small table in the corner.

When Florence stopped by the house earlier that evening to show my mother what she was wearing, she proudly announced that she was not wearing a bra. My mother asked how she was holding up her enormous breasts, and Florence showed her how she had sown bra cups into the dress. Florence was also a wiz with a sewing machine.

When the cocktail waitress came over, Karl ordered Scotch on the rocks, and Florence ordered a club soda.

“Are you sure you don’t want something stronger?” Karl asked.

“I think your dry cleaning bill is high enough,” she answered, and they both laughed.

They sat there and chatted for a while about the usual, the weather, favorite restaurants, old TV shows, the good old days, and the conversation turned to my mother when Karl asked, “How long has Hannah lived here?”

Florence, who was my godmother and my mother’s closest friend, told Karl the story of my mother and her moving to Washington in the 1940s, my father and Hannah’s second marriage. Before she could tell Karl my mother’s favorite color, she stopped to think for a minute.

You need to know that there were many people who thought Florence was a bit dizzy because she would sometimes get her medications mixed up and become slightly disoriented. This led to her needing a few seconds to be aware of what was going on around her or understanding what people said. She was actually smarter than most people in town, but few took the time to get to know that part of Florence.

She asked Karl, “Why are you so interested in Hannah?”

“I don’t know,” he answered. “Just curious, I guess.”

“Well, if you wanted to know so much about her, why didn’t you ask
her
out?” she asked.

He answered, “I never had a chance.”

Florence sunk slightly into her seat, which at her height almost put her under the table. Karl apologized and asked her if she was insulted.

“Me? I’m used to it,” Florence said. “When your best friend is tall and gorgeous, with thick black hair, which if you must know she colors, you are bound to get used to this,” she continued. “I have a little confession though. The reason I asked you out was to help my friends with their meddling, and they have no clue about my motives.”

Karl looked confused.

“Yes ... you see, Doreen and Rona are worried about Hannah,” she said. “They cooked up this scheme, but they thought I was too dumb to go along, so they didn’t tell me about it, but I have known them for most of my life, and I always know what they are up to. Anyway, ever since Bart died, Hannah hasn’t gone out much. It isn’t because she misses Bart. She misses him like a middle-aged woman misses her period … come to think of it, that is the only good thing about menopause ... anyway, you see, Hannah thinks that she is too old to be having a good time. She thinks that the years have taken away any hope that she has of finding any happiness, and she thinks that she isn’t attractive anymore.”

Karl said rather assuredly, “Why that is absurd, Hannah is one of the most beautiful women that I have ever seen.”

“You noticed,” Florence said as she looked up at him with a furrowed brow. “So, what about me?”

In an attempt to recover, he responded, “Oh ... well ... Florence … you are attractive, and you are a great dancer and very funny … and I really like the way you wear your hair.”

Florence looked him right in the eye and said, “That is the nicest thing that anyone has ever said to me. Really. I mean it. Would you hand me my purse?”

Karl handed her the purse, and Florence pulled out a bottle of Valium. As she opened the bottle, Karl asked if she really needed one. At the same moment, the piano player in the bar started to sing, “When I Fall in Love.”

Florence said, “I have just spent the last four hours with the most attractive man that I have ever been out with, who is more attractive than any man I married or slept with, and I am pushing him onto my best friend rather than keeping him for myself.”

She continued after she put a pill in her mouth and swallowed it with some club soda, “I have done an extremely generous thing. I could have tried to get you into bed ... Not that the thought never entered my mind … and not that it has escaped ... No. I remained true to my friend … I even remained virtuous ... for once ... and all that you have said to me is that I have great hair ... Now, you want to know if I really needed that Valium.”

Without hesitation, Karl signaled the waiter and ordered another Scotch on the rocks and a martini for Florence.

9

As usual, Michael arrived ten minutes early for his next session and took his usual spot in the waiting area, reading the
Advocate
. Dr. Mikowsky opened the door to his office and greeted Michael, signaling him to come in. He put the magazine away exactly as he found it, walked into the office and sat on the couch.

Dr. Mikowsky sat down in his chair, put on his glasses and looked at the legal pad. “So, Michael, last time we left off where your godmother Florence was on a date with Karl, which was actually a ruse to get Karl to ask your mother out,” Dr. Mikowsky recounted.