Portraits (47 page)

“Hello, who is this?” As if she didn’t know…

“Henry. Henry Levin.”

“Oh. Yes, Dr. Levin?”

“You told me to call back about today—”

“What about it?”

“As I said, I’d like to take you out. And I’m not going to say it again…”

“Okay, Henry…”

“What? Oh, good…What would you like to do?”

“Anything…” What do you do with a man on a Sunday afternoon? Big Mouth Lillian. Mama always pushing. Poor Sylvia…“I don’t know, Henry, I suggest you suggest something.”

“Well, I thought it might be nice to take a ride down the coast to Santa Cruz and have lunch.”

Everything seemed to revolve around food. What would she do, sit there and watch? She was sure that after last night she must have put on easily nine pounds, which would bring her to one hundred and fifty-nine. God…but she had to give him an answer. “That sounds fine—”

“What time can I pick you up?”

In about twenty years. “Twelve will be all right?”

“Great.”

“Yes, great. Well, I’ll see you then.”

“I’m looking forward to that, Doris…”

The man was absolutely not well. “Thank you. At twelve then.”

Doris turned around and saw her mother and sister standing behind her. Her mother was all smiles. The dialog must have gone exactly according to her script.

“Oh, Doris,” she said, “I’m so thrilled. Now, let’s go upstairs and see what you can get into.”

What a nice way to put it. Let’s see, out of my large wardrobe I think I’ll wear my simple little size-sixteen silk, the demure and adorable little dress that all the fellows at the Saint Francis so admired as they waited their turn to dance with me.

A
T TWELVE NOON ON
Sunday, Dr. Henry Levin was invited into the livingroom to meet mama and papa and Lillian.

“It’s a pleasure, doctor,” Sara said in her most gracious manner. He was good-looking, she noted with surprise, quite dapper in the white flannels and the double-breasted blue jacket. Imagine
him
asking Doris out…

“And this is my father,” Doris said. “Papa, this is Dr. Levin.”

Jacob shook hands, thinking that at least this one he could be proud of—not only Jewish but a doctor too. Doris should grab him. “Nice to meet you, doctor.”

“Henry. It’s a pleasure, Mr. Sanders.”

“The pleasure is mine…”

I’ll bet, Doris thought. Hadn’t papa noticed he was a little bit old? Well, any port in the storm for little Doris. Papa had complained that Jim was too old for Rachel, but the eminent doctor was only ten years younger. Mama, on the other hand, never let the girls forget that she was only seventeen years older than Rachel. Well, at least the doctor had outdone mama; he was a mere child, only fifteen years Doris’ senior. “Henry, this is my favorite sister, Lillian.”

Lillian ignored Doris’ sarcasm; after all, she had performed a
mitzvah
. “How do you do, doctor.”

“Nice meeting you, Lillian. Please call me Henry.”

Mama was right for once, Lillian thought. Doris should have her head examined. The doctor was handsome. He looked like Clark Gable. Well, sort of…

Now that all the introductions had been made, Sara asked, like any normal Jewish mother, “When will you be back, Doris, dear?”

“I don’t know. Does it matter—?”

“No, only that I thought if the doctor—”

“Henry.”

“Yes, Henry. If you’d like, we’d be pleased to have you join us for dinner.”

Well, mama didn’t waste any time initiating the doctor—Henry—into the intimacy of the Sanders’ close-knit family circle!

“That’s really very nice of you, Mrs. Sanders.”

“Sara…”

“Sara. I’d like that, that is if Doris would.”

Anything to bring a little sunshine into everybody’s life. “Sure, what time do you want us to be back, mama?”

“Oh, would seven give you enough time?”

“Oh, that’s more than enough time. Let’s make it six, mama.”

“Then six…Have a lovely day, Doris…Henry.”

“It’s been a pleasure meeting all of you,” Henry said.

“The pleasure is ours.” Sara smiled, devoutly meaning it.

When the door closed Sara took a deep breath. “If Doris could get a date, we’ll live to see a bridge built across the Bay. How do you think she looked, Jacob?”

“Nice.”

“Nice?” Lillian echoed. “She looked beautiful.”

“Who could tell,” Sara said. “The dress looked like it was made at the American Tent and Awning Company.”

Lillian wanted to say that this was unfair, but she held her tongue.

“All right, Lillian, go change your clothes. I want you to help.” Let’s see, Sara thought, soup or salad? Soup. Every good Jewish boy likes soup. They’d have chicken, her noodle
kugel
, fresh peas…And for dessert? Strawberry shortcake. Wait! Was he kosher? Well, in case he was she’d bake an extra sponge cake.

“Lillian, take out the good dishes…Jacob, pick the roses.”

“What am I, a gardener?”

“Forget it. Lillian, go pick the roses.”

“I can’t do everything, mama. What do you want me to do first?”

“Set the table—and don’t get fresh. Then pick the roses.”

Lillian was already taking the china out of the diningroom cupboard.

Henry helped Doris into his new De Soto, and she sat rigidly as he shut the door. When he started the engine up Doris asked, “Please don’t go down Webster Street.”

“Why?”

“Because I’d die if any of the Silvermans saw us.”

“Doris, please, I’m going to ask you not to be worried. I have no understanding with Sylvia.”

But I do…she’s Murial’s sister and Murial is my best friend. Damn mama for putting her in this position. If Murial ever found out it would be the end of their friendship.

Her unease grew with each mile. She didn’t notice the sky or the lovely waves that lapped against the jutting rocks. All she could think of was her betrayal, forced or not…

She answered his questions woodenly and asked none in return.

Finally they arrived in Santa Cruz and strolled silently along the boardwalk. By now Henry was disturbed that she was being so quiet. He’d observed her at the Silvermans’, where she had been open and lighthearted. Well, maybe it just took her a while to warm up to people. He intended to give her every chance.

“Doris, are you ready for lunch? It’s almost two.”

“If you like…”

“I could eat if you could.”

Her one hope was that God would let her go to heaven on a full stomach…“Yes, Henry, I could.”

“There’s a great place at the end of the pier. Let’s try that.” …

Seated at a table near the window, they found the view spectacular.

“It’s lovely, isn’t it, Doris?”

“Just lovely—”

“Are you having a nice time?”

“Very nice.”

“I’ve very glad you said yes, Doris.”

The man had to be desperate. What was wrong with him?

“What would you like?” Henry asked after the menus were brought. “The French dipped prawns are a specialty.”

Well, that would add a week’s torture. “Is that what you’re going to have?”

“I think so.”

“All right—”

“Make that two,” Henry said to the waitress.

“French fries or coleslaw?” she asked.

“Doris?”

Both. “Coleslaw.”

When the waitress walked away Henry generously buttered the French bread while Doris watched intently.

“Tell me about you, Doris.”

“Where would you like me to begin, with my life on the stage?”

“Were you on the stage?”

“No, I was just being funny, or trying…”

“What do you do?”

“Work in a dress shop.”

“Oh. Do you like it?”

“It’s a job…”

“I get the feeling you’re qualified for something better—”

“For what? And besides, how can you tell? This is the first time we’ve ever had more than a nodding acquaintance.”

“I noticed you, whenever I was at the Silvermans’.”

God, he had to go and spoil it by bringing up their names, but the waitress arrived with their plates and saved Doris from having to answer.

“Too bad we can’t have a little cold beer with this,” Henry said.

“I never had a beer in my life.”

“I keep forgetting you’re eighteen. You seem so mature for your age. Why, Prohibition has been around for almost that long.”

Was that supposed to be a compliment? Mature? I suppose being fat makes one look wise, jolly
and
mature. “Thank you for the compliment—about being mature, I mean…Now what about you?”

“Well, my mother and father came from Russia, but my three brothers, my sister and I were all born on the East Side of New York.”

Where papa and mama lived…“And?”

“My father got into the fish business. In fact, until I was eleven I didn’t know there was anything else. Eventually my father got us out of the East Side and we moved to Syracuse.”

Henry went on with his memories of New York, and Doris found herself interested in spite of herself. Finally Henry noticed the time and said they’d better be getting back.

On the way back to Oakland, he continued with the saga of the Levin family’s rise from poverty, and all in one generation. “As I said, we moved to Syracuse and then to Denver because my father had relatives there. My brother Al—he’s the oldest—got into business. Would you believe it? By the time he was twenty-six, he’d made over half a million dollars.”

Henry wasn’t bragging, Doris knew, because he spoke with such admiration. “What did he do, rob banks?”

They both laughed, and Henry was pleased to see her more at ease now.

“Pretty much. He made a bundle in the market, sold at the right time and went into the lending business. He wound up with a vault full of jewelry plus some property at a time when no one could pay back their loans. He even bought the mayor’s house for us—a great big brick house on Spear Boulevard. What a character. He was the best-hearted guy in the world. He bought a Persian rug for my mother. When she asked how much it cost he said three hundred, although it really cost three thousand. She said we didn’t have to walk on such an expensive rug, so she sold it.”

“I’m afraid to ask for how much.”

“Four hundred dollars—and thought that she’d made a profit. Then there was the dog he bought her…”

“What kind?”

“A pedigreed spaniel.”

“Would she have fainted if he’d told her the price?”

“She would have if he’d told her. Anyway, the dog never understood anything but Yiddish. Can you imagine calling a dog Yankel? Unless you talked Yiddish to that dog he wouldn’t lie down, do his tricks. Nothing. My mother’s been in America forty-five years and she still can’t speak a word of English, God bless her.”

Doris was fascinated. She loved stories, and one day, she’d told herself secretly, she’d write about things like this…“Then what happened?”

“Well, it was the twenties and my brother was one of the few people in Denver who had any money at the time. He got himself involved in politics, and before you knew it he was getting the mayor, chief of police and the governor elected. He had more influence than the Pope. Spent money like confetti.”

“What happened then?”

“Well, he got the bright idea that what Denver needed was a nightclub. So he became an entrepreneur and opened up the first nightclub Denver ever had. It was called the Marigold Gardens. He went to Chicago and booked the most expensive acts he could get. Al Jolson, believe it or not, and Ted Lewis, Belle Baker—a lot of people you probably never heard of.”

“I’ve heard of all of them. I spent the best part of my life going to the Orpheum. In fact, I wanted to become the new Fanny Brice or Sophie Tucker.” At least I had the figure for it.

“Really? I knew you were special—”

“Thanks. Then what happened?”

“Well, he made all kinds of money, but with his wine, women and song he spent it faster than he made it. And bookkeeping was out of Al’s line. Everyone stole from him. The place folded and he wound up broke…” Henry’s voice had trailed off.

“Gee, I guess you must have felt terrible after that…”

“In the beginning, yes, but Al’s a happy-go-lucky sort of person. The only problem is that you get just one break like that in a lifetime, and somehow he lost that golden touch, just couldn’t do anything right after that. Anyway, he lost everything and the Levins were right back where they started when they arrived in Denver.”

“How did you get through college?”

“Worked at burlesque shows selling popcorn, peanuts and chewing gum, waited on tables…But I belonged to a good fraternity—”

“You had enough money to belong to a frat?”

“I worked hard enough for it. Anyway, I’d gone to high school with most of the guys so no one looked down their noses at me. Those were great times for me. In fact, the happiest time of my life was at college. The worst was when my father died two months before I graduated. That was tough…”

Yes, it would be. She’d never forget the face of death…“How did you happen to come to California?”

“When I applied for my internship I chose Fresno, California, because they had a course in urology I wanted. We got ten dollars a month.”

“How come you didn’t go into practice in Fresno?”

“I spent two dollars on a bus ticket, and I guess you could say it changed my life. I took a Greyhound bus to San Francisco one day, and when I saw the hills, Chinatown, the Bay, I just said, ‘San Francisco, I love you.’ This is where I want to be.”

“Then?”

“So I came to San Francisco after my internship with twelve dollars in my pocket, took a room in a little hotel. Next day I went to the Flood Building and rented two rooms, then went down and bought some secondhand furniture for the treatment room, some instruments that I took on credit—and I was in business.”

“You sound very enterprising.”

“Well, I don’t know if I was so enterprising…It was a tough struggle but believe it or not, after five months I brought my family out. I rented a flat on Thirty-eighth Avenue in the Richmond District.”

“What do your brothers do?”

“Sell haberdashery, and my sister works at the Emporium.”

“You all sound like quite a…devoted family…” She thought of her own “devoted” family, and decided not to explore that subject. “How long have you been in practice?”