Portraits (43 page)

Neal sensed the underlying bitterness. “Have you had any problems? I mean, being Jewish?”

“Of course, haven’t you?”

“To be honest, no.”

“Well, you’re lucky. When I was in the service I had to fight two wars—one with the Germans and the other with my
buddies
in the trenches. When they weren’t shooting the enemy, I was a handy-dandy target for letting off a little steam.”

“I guess I sound naive but I never found any of that. Hell, I’ve gone to school and worked with all kinds of people and I never felt different—”

“Well, you’re lucky, my friend…I guess I’m looking for a too perfect world that respects people, not labels.” Shlomo looked at his watch. “I’ve got to get going if I’m going to catch that boat.”

Waiting at the same corner for their streetcars, Neal said, “If you’re not busy this Saturday night I’d like you to meet my wife. How about dinner?”

“Thanks, I’d like that.”

Neal scribbled the address on a matchbook. “Is seven all right?”

“Terrific. See you Saturday.”

Shlomo’s ring was answered by an attractive young woman he would guess to be in her early twenties. Her eyes were the same deep blue as the dress she wore, the hair surrounding her oval face was chestnut brown. There was a warmth about her that put him immediately at ease. “Mrs. Blum, I’m Sandy Sanders.”

“I know. Neal told me you beat him unmercifully. Come in. I’m Jean. Neal got home a little late, he’s washing up. If you’ll excuse me, I have something that needs attending to, but please feel at home. I’ll let Neal know you’re here.”

Sandy looked around the apartment. For all its modesty, there were indications his new friends had once lived more lavishly. Many of the furnishings looked valuable. The French rug had been salvaged as had a few rare pieces of Dresden. Above the shabby mauve silk Louis XIV sofa hung a large portrait of Jean’s mother. A rose marble-topped coffee table with French bronze ormulu was placed in front of the sofa. On either side of the coffee table were the remains of two tapestry chairs…heirlooms, Sandy was sure, and on the opposite wall, a tall armoire almost dwarfed the room. It seemed incongruous that such fine things were occupying a forty-dollars-a-month apartment.

His thoughts were interrupted as Neal came into the room holding his son in his left arm. “Glad you could come, Sandy.”

“Me too. Let me see the tiger.”

Beaming, Neal held up the child, who looked very much like his mother…Who would his child have looked like? Monica? He stifled the inevitable questions. Time for that later when the nightmares took over…

“I’d like to see you take him on at handball,” Neal said.

“He’d probably beat the hell out of me.” Sandy smiled. “Here, I brought a little gift.”

Picking the box off the sofa, Neal laughed. “Not so little, my friend, but thanks.”

Jean came into the room, took the wrappings off. Inside the box was a toy bunny as large as the baby. “It’s wonderful. Thank you so much, Sandy.” She turned to Neal. “Now, may I please have that child? If he cries until ten tonight you know who we’ll have to thank.” She smiled when she said it. Taking the baby, Jean said to Sandy, “Don’t let him talk your ear off about the glories of fatherhood or you’ll be here for the duration.”

Sandy kept watching as Jean took the child back to his room, then was brought back as Neal said, “I wish to God Congress would forget this damn Prohibition. What the country really needs now is a little booze. Luckily, I just happen to have a few jugs of brandy stashed away from the good old days.”

It was as Neal handed the glass to Sandy that the front door opened, and Nadine walked in. She kissed Neal. “Sorry I’m late, but it’s so difficult getting good streetcars these days.”

“You’re telling me. We have the same problem with butlers. Meet Sandy Sanders. Sandy, this is my sister Nadine.”

It was falling into place. Neal’s machinations weren’t subtle, but Shlomo didn’t feel uncomfortable or offended. What should Neal have said? Have I got a nice Jewish girl for you, who just happens to be my sister…“Nice to meet you, Nadine.”

“Thank you. Neal told me how you beat the pants off him.”

“She’s exaggerating. I don’t think you’re that good, just lucky.”

Jean came in then with a plate of hot canapés, bent over and kissed Nadine on the cheek. “Hi, darling. You’re a little late.”

“I know…Can I see my favorite fellow?”

“If you take just a peek. Your brother keeps changing schedules…” She turned to Shlomo. “Have one of these while they’re still hot, Sandy.”

God, how long since he’d been in a home like this? These people weren’t poor, they just didn’t have any money.

“How about a drink for me?” Nadine said. “It might soothe my aching feet. Jean, you have no idea how difficult women can be. I had one today who spent two hours trying on everything in stock and then said she wanted to look around a little more. Did you ever have a deep-down desire to clout someone with a hanger?”

“Did you hit her?” Jean asked.

“No. The customer is always right, so I went into the back room and hit myself.”

“Hey, Sandy, how about another brandy?” Neal cut in.

“Thanks, this is really great…no wonder it was Napoleon’s favorite.”

“I’ll have another drop or two—or maybe three. Got to keep the working class happy,” Nadine said.

As Neal filled her glass, Shlomo noticed how really attractive she was. Or was it the brandy?…

After a delicious dinner they were once again seated in the livingroom.

“Neal tells me you’ve been in the marines, Sandy. That must have been fascinating,” Jean said. “Do you miss it?”

“Well, it’s been a little tough getting back into civilian life. At first I used to lie awake in the morning waiting for reveille.”

“How about you, Neal?” Nadine asked.

“No problems, shoes are shoes. Jean’s the only pampered one in the family.”

“Only in between nursings. Speaking of which, I think I hear the call.” She got up and went to the bedroom.

“I’ll join you,” Nadine said.

Picking up the child, Jean unbuttoned the front of her dress and sat on the bed. She smiled at Nadine as she reached out to touch the child’s little head. “Isn’t he incredible?” Nadine said.

“Oh, I’d say so.” Jean kissed her son’s chubby hand. “How do you like him?”

“I just said he was incredible.”

“Oh, you know who I mean.”

Nadine half-smiled, shrugged. “He’s nice, interesting. How did you like him?”

“I think he’s gorgeous.”

“But do you like him?”

“For the first time out of the barn, I’d say so. What about you?”

“How can you tell? As you said, the first time out of the barn…”

“Look at this, our Freddy already fast asleep. Here, let me put him down.” …

When the two women went back into the livingroom, Nadine said, “I hate to eat and run, but I’m really beat. Thank God tomorrow is Sunday, the most special day of the week. I’m going to be wicked and sleep till noon. So you see, Jean? Careers do have their compensations.”

“You think so,” she answered, looking at Neal.

Nadine looked at them. “Well, in some cases. Now I’ve really got to go.” Slipping into her coat, she said, “Jeanie, it was marvelous, thanks so much for inviting me. Sandy, it’s been nice meeting you. And Neal, you’d better be at dad’s tomorrow or you’ll stand a good chance of losing your inheritance. He grumbled all last week because you stood him up on the court.”

Sandy stood up. “May I take you home?”

“No, thank you…I wouldn’t think of breaking up the evening—”

“It’s getting late and I have to catch a ferry to Oakland.”

“Thank you, Sandy, but I’m sure it would take you out of your way—”

“No, it wouldn’t…Jean, Neal, this has been the best evening I’ve had in a long time, but I don’t want to wear out my welcome—”

“Our pleasure, Sandy. Please come again,” Jean quickly told him.

“I’ll see you Tuesday night, Neal, and everything you said about your wife is absolutely true.” …

On the streetcar, they chatted easily about inconsequential things until they found themselves in front of Nadine’s building and Nadine was saying goodnight, that it was nice to have met him. The compliment was returned but with no mention that he would call.

Later, as Shlomo stood at the rail on the ferry and looked out at the dark blue bay, he reviewed the evening. It had been so wonderfully
pleasant
. They were lovely people and they had a fine little boy…he’d wanted very badly to hold him. And Nadine? Nice girl, very. Plenty of character and a good sense of humor. About twenty-two? She wasn’t coy or anxious. In fact, she showed no special interest in him. Maybe he’d been wrong in thinking that the dinner invitation had been a ploy to have them meet. When they stood there saying goodnight it was altogether casual. Come to think of it, he had real
chutzpah
to think that someone with her background and education would be interested in him. Who the hell was he? An ex-marine, a truck driver. Okay…fine…he wasn’t really interested in her either…

Over the next few weeks he saw Neal several times and no mention of Nadine was made. But each time the two met she crossed his mind along with small details of the evening of warmth and domesticity.

One night he found himself unusually depressed. He could no longer ignore the facts of his life. He lived in a rooming house, for God’s sake, and he had no anchors, no roots, no love…Where the hell was he going? How long could he continue to come “home” to an empty and lonely room at night? When the hell was he going to settle into a normal life? If he went on as he was he’d wind up an old bachelor, eventually kicking the bucket and leaving no trace that he’d ever been around. Neal had said, “That’s some little guy I got. Makes living worthwhile—something to work for.”

And suddenly Nadine began to figure more largely in his thoughts. But what the hell would she want him for? The thirty-five bucks a week? She probably had the most eligible guys around to pick and choose from. She was San Francisco born and bred, had been brought up with the best of them. Still, it was worth the try. Yes, the more he thought of Nadine, the more he thought she might be the answer…He couldn’t go on living with a ghost. Monica would always be there in that special place he reserved for her, but he knew that kind of love would never come his way again. So turn the page, or give up…get on with the business of living or drop dead…

Waiting now for her phone to ring, he thought it was a hell of a time to call a girl. They’d met only once and for almost a month he hadn’t even made an attempt to get in touch. Would she even remember him—?

“Hello.”

“Hello…this is Sandy Sanders.”

“Hi, how are you?”

She remembered. “Fine, and how are you?”

“Great—”

“What are you doing Saturday night?” Like a damn schoolboy…

“Nothing.”

“How about dinner?”

“I don’t think so, Sandy, but thanks very much.”

He felt set back. “But you said you weren’t busy?”

There was a smile in her voice now. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Right, so what about Saturday?”

“I’m sorry, Sandy—”

“Why not?”

“Well, this is Friday night.”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“It is rather last minute…makes a girl feel she was the last one in the little black book—”

“I’m sorry, I really am. I told you I haven’t caught on to being a civilian. Suppose I told you I didn’t even own a little black book, and if I did you’d be top of the list?”

“Well, for a new civilian you do pretty well in the flattery department.”

“Then how about it? Look, suppose we pretend this is Monday, okay? Now, Miss Blum, may I have the pleasure of taking you out on Saturday night.”

She’d never let herself be taken for granted, but he seemed a nice enough guy, maybe she was being too hard on him…“I’ve never done this before, Sandy, but please, if there’s a next time—”

“You’ve got a deal. What time can I come by?”

“Where would you like to go?” These days it was only polite to ask…A dollar and a half for a pitcher of punch at the Mark could set a fellow back a week in his rent.

“Do you like dancing?”

“Love it.”

“How about the Saint Francis? I think Freddy Martin’s band is playing there this week.”

Sandy Sanders was clearly one of the last of the big spenders.

“How about seven-thirty?” he was asking.

Seven-thirty…that meant dinner. She hadn’t done that in a long time. “It sounds fine.”

“Great, see you tomorrow. And, Nadine, please forgive me if I sounded a little sure of myself—”

“Well, this is only Monday so there’s nothing to forgive.”

Early on Saturday morning he bought a secondhand bottle-green Chevrolet on terms he hoped he could afford. Then he fitted himself out with a navy-blue suit for thirty dollars, a white shirt and a striped tie. Okay, he told himself, welcome back to the living…

When he saw Nadine opening the door he thought she looked wonderful. She wore a long pink chiffon dress with a shocking-pink cummerbund around her waist, and her trim legs were sheathed in sheer silk stockings.

Closing the door behind him, he handed her a box and watched her eyes light up as she saw the two white orchids inside. “They’re beautiful…now, come meet my parents.”

He followed her into an apartment that was furnished much like Neal’s. Mrs. Blum rose to shake his hand as Nadine made the introductions. She was a tall patrician lady with blue eyes and the same oval face as Nadine’s. Sandy was sure that the silver streaks in her hair had widened with the hardships of the last few years, but there was no bitterness in her face.

“Sandy, this is my father. Dad, Sandy Sanders…”

Charles Blum peered over his wire-rimmed reading glasses and appraised the young man. So it’s come to this, he thought. Really hard times…Nadine going out with an ex-marine. Damn that idiot Hoover for getting us into this, and I
voted
for the fool…“Yes…well, nice meeting you,” he said, picking up the newspaper once again.

What Mr. Blum thought of him was no secret, but Shlomo couldn’t really begrudge his feeling that his daughter was special. Besides, if it hadn’t been for the times, he knew he’d never have gotten into this home. Not that he felt inferior, but Blum was an impressive man who still gave one the feeling he was sitting behind a desk in a plush office.