Starring Sally J. Freedman as Herself (23 page)

“I can’t trust you with anything,” Douglas said to Sally, after supper. They were on the floor, playing with the kitten.

“I didn’t tell on you … it just came out …”

“You better learn how to keep secrets or you’re going to wind up with no friends.”

“I have friends … I have Shelby and Barbara and Andr …”

“Guess again.”

Sally let the kitten nibble on her finger. “I’m sorry … from now on I’m going to try harder. I’m going to learn how to keep secrets if it kills me … really.”

“This time it doesn’t even matter,” Douglas said, “because I’m going whether
she
likes it or not.”

Sally nodded.

The doorbell rang while Sally was getting ready for bed. She was in the bathroom, brushing her teeth, when Mom came to get her. “It’s Andrea,” Mom said.

Sally wiped her mouth with the corner of a towel and went into the livingroom.

Andrea said, “I hear you have to take the kitten back.”

“Yes.”

“Can I have another look?”

“Help yourself.”

The kitten was curled up in the basket, sound asleep. Andrea lifted him out and put her face next to his soft body. “Hello, you little darling … hello, you precious angel …” She looked up at Sally. “I think I’m going to call her Margaret O’Brien the Second, if that’s all right with you.”

“But Andrea,” Sally said, suddenly laughing, “it’s a
boy
cat.”

“Oh … in that case I’ll call
him
Margaret O’Brien the Second!” And she laughed with Sally.

Aunt Bette wasn’t the only one pregnant. Two weeks later Andrea said, “Did you hear about Bubbles?”

“No … what?”

“She’s going to have a baby!”

“But how can she … she’s not even married.”

“You don’t have to be married,” Andrea said.

“But my book says …”

“Never mind what your book says … I’m telling you … you don’t have to be married … and Bubbles did it with a
goy
 … so now Mr. and Mrs. Daniels are sitting shivah … pretending Bubbles is dead … and I think it’s horrible … she’s their only child … God should punish them for what they’re doing.”

“If she’d done it with a Jewish boy would they be sitting shivah?”

“No, silly … then they’d be making a wedding.”

“I don’t get it,” Sally said.

“It’s all very complicated.”

Sally went home and told her mother, “My book was wrong. You don’t have to be married to get a baby.”

“If you’re a nice girl you do.”

“Isn’t Bubbles a nice girl?”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

But everybody else in their house was talking
about it. Sally listened to Mrs. Purcell on their party line. She said, “I’d do the same thing if, God forbid, one of my children ran off with a goy. Thank God I don’t have to worry … all three are married very well.”

Ma Fanny and Andrea’s grandmother were talking about it. “And her with scarlet fever yet,” Andrea’s grandmother said.

“A pox on them!” Ma Fanny said, pointing to the Daniels’ apartment. “Sitting shivah for Bubbles … meshuggeners!”

Sally had never seen her so angry.

“Fanny … don’t be so hard on them,” Andrea’s grandmother said. “Remember, they’re orthodox Jews … they’re doing what they feel is right.”

“Orthodox, schmorthodox.”

“Listen,” Andrea’s grandmother said, “plenty of goys disown their children for marrying Jews …”

“Your child is your child,” Ma Fanny said, “no matter what … I could tell you plenty, but I won’t …”

Sally wished she would.

“So, you’ll make a donation through the temple?” Andrea’s grandmother asked.

“Not a penny … not one cent … they should only rot in there,” Ma Fanny said, her face tightening.

Mom and Mrs. Rubin and Andrea’s grandmother were going to pay a condolence call on the Daniels
that evening. Ma Fanny refused to join them, even though Mom said, “They’re our neighbors … how will it look?”

“They should only know what it’s like to
really
lose a child! Whatever they think, I couldn’t care less …”

“What did you mean?” Sally asked Ma Fanny, after the others had left. Sally was sitting in the big chair, a hank of wool wrapped around her outstretched arms.

Ma Fanny sat on the footstool, facing her, rolling a wool ball. “About what, sweetie pie?”

Sally watched as the wool flew off her arms. “About losing a child … you sounded like you knew about that.”

Ma Fanny nodded.

“You lost a child?”

She nodded again.

“I never knew that,” Sally said.

“It’s not something I advertise.”

“When did it happen?”

“A long time ago … before your mother was born … I had a baby boy and one day he died …” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that!”

“From what?”

“We never found out … he was only five months old … his name was Samuel …” She sighed. “Such a long time ago …”

“Is it a secret?” Sally asked.

“Not a secret … just something I don’t like to talk about.”

“Thank you for telling me, Ma Fanny. I understand better now.”

Ma Fanny cupped Sally’s chin in her hand. “You’re worth a million … you know that … more even …” She went back to winding her wool.

Class 5B was having an election for King and Queen of Posture. The winners would go on to compete in the All-Fifth-Grade contest and the winners of that election would represent the entire fifth grade in the All-School contest. Barbara had nominated Sally, and Peter had seconded the motion, so Sally stood out in the corridor with the other five nominees, waiting, while the rest of the class voted.

In a few minutes Miss Swetnick opened the door and said, “You can come back in now …”

The winners’ names were written on the blackboard.
Gordon and Beatrice, King and Queen of Posture of Class 5B
. Sally tried to hide her disappointment. On her way back to her desk Harriet Goodman leaned over and said, “I didn’t vote for you … I’d
never
vote for you!”

“I’d never vote for you, either,” Sally answered.

She took her seat. Barbara whispered, “You got six votes … that’s pretty good … you came in third …”

Third and last, Sally thought. But at least she hadn’t lost by just one vote. Then she’d have even more reason to hate Harriet. And, there was always next time. Maybe she’d do better then. There were so many contests in Miami Beach. The newspapers were full of them.
Miss Bright Eyes, Miss Complexion, Miss Long Legs
. Even Central Beach Elementary School had contests all the time.
Girl of the Week, Tumbler of the Month, Smile of the Year
. Maybe they’d have a
Queen of Toenails
contest, Sally thought. Yes, she could win that one. Then she’d get to be fifth-grade representative to the
All-School-Queen of Toenails
election. And if Harriet Goodman didn’t vote for her this time it wouldn’t matter because everybody else in the class would. She looked down at her feet and wiggled her toes. She
did
have nice toenails!

“Sally …” Miss Swetnick said, “would you please take out your arithmetic book and open to page ninety-two.”

When Sally got home from school she found Mr. Zavodsky sitting on the porch with another old man. This one had white hair, suntanned skin and wore a flowered cabana shirt. Simon! Yes, it had to be. They were sharing some kind of book—reading, pointing and laughing together. Mr. Zavodsky was so involved he didn’t offer her candy, didn’t even notice her.

“Look …” Mr. Zavodsky said to Simon, tapping a page of his book. “Do you remember her?”

“Do I remember her?” Simon answered. “She’s one I’ll never forget!”

Their scrapbook of the war! Sally thought, running into the lobby and up the stairs. She tore a piece of paper from her notebook and scribbled:

Dear Mr. Zavodsky
,

I have seen you with Simon. His cabana shirt and suntan may fool some people but not me. He is the monster who was in charge of Dachau! I know plenty about Dachau and what you and Simon did to the prisoners there. You will pay for laughing about it
.

I’ll copy this note over later, she thought. For now she folded it in half and put it in her keepsake box. She’d have to hurry. Andrea would be waiting to play potsy.

Daddy made some money on one of Big Ted’s stock tips and came down to visit for five days in March, and again, over Easter vacation.

Sally was curled up in his lap, running her middle finger up and down his arm. She felt happy and relaxed like Andrea’s kitten when he purred. “… and the recreation room is almost finished,” Daddy
said. “All that’s left to do is the floor and the trimmings … what do you think of green and black tiles?”

“Alice Ingram has red and black.” She wondered how long it would take to count all the hairs on his arm.

“Everybody has red and black … that’s why I thought of green and black … but if you don’t like green …”

“Oh no … green is nice …”

“And green leather on the built-in seats …”

“I like green a lot.”

“And a green top on the bar …”

“We can call it the Green Room,” Sally said.

Daddy smiled at her.

“Can I have a party in it right away … as soon as I get home?”

“I think you should wait an hour or two.”

“You know what I mean,” Sally said, laughing.

“As soon as you want.”

“And can I have boys, too?”

“We better discuss that with your mother.”

“Why … what’s wrong with having boys?”

“Nothing …”

“Then why do we have to ask Mom?”

“Okay,” Daddy said. “You can have boys to your party.”

“Thanks … but the boy I like is here, in Miami Beach.”

“Then you don’t have to have boys to your party after all.”

“But I might find some boys to like when I get back to New Jersey.”

“Then you
can
invite boys to your party …”

“Oh, Doey … you’re being so silly!”

“Who’s being silly?” he asked, tickling her in the ribs.

Ma Fanny called, “Supper …”

Daddy sniffed in three times. “Could that wonderful, fragrant aroma emerging from the depths of the kitchen by any chance be Fantastic Fanny’s Fabulous Borscht?” he asked, leaping to his feet so that Sally rolled off his lap onto the floor. He scooped her up and flung her over his shoulder.

“Put me down … put me down …” Sally cried, loving every minute of her father’s nonsense.

As they sat down to eat, Ma Fanny said, “I don’t know one single person who enjoys his borscht as much as you, Arnold …” She reached over and pinched his cheek as if he were a little boy.

Sally wished she could learn to like borscht. It looked so pretty—bright pink soup with tiny white potatoes floating in it. But the taste—cold beets—ugh! She drank a glass of tomato juice instead.

While the rest of them were enjoying their borscht, Mom said, “Didn’t you leave your recipe with Bette, Ma … so she could make it for Arnold?”

“More or less,” Ma Fanny said. “I told her, a pinch of this … a pinch of that …”

“Bette tries hard,” Daddy said, “but her pinches aren’t like your pinches yet …” Now
he
leaned over and gave one back to Ma Fanny. “Only you make the real thing … the genuine article …”

“How did I get myself such a son-in-law?” Ma Fanny asked.

“You were lucky,” Sally said.

“Sometimes I think he married me for my mother,” Mom said, and it didn’t sound like she was joking.

At the end of the meal, when Daddy was sipping his coffee, he said, “I have an announcement to make.”

“Yes …”

“What is it?”

“Tell us …”

“No,” Daddy said, “I think I’ll make you guess …”

“Oh, Doey …”

“You first, Sally.”

“What am I supposed to guess?”

“Guess where we’re going …”

“Umm … Monkey Jungle?”

“Nope … your turn, Douglas.”

“To see
The Outlaw?
”

“Douglas!” Mom said.

“Only joking …”

“Your turn, Fanny,” Daddy said.

“I should know?”

“Your turn, Lou …” Daddy said and Sally could see how much he was enjoying his game.

“I’m afraid to even think about what you’ve got up your sleeve this time …”

“Aha …” Daddy looked around the table slowly, a smile spreading across his face. “How about a ride in the Goodyear Blimp?”

“The Goodyear Blimp!” Douglas said, knocking over his dish of tapioca pudding.

“Twenty minutes over scenic Miami,” Daddy said.

“Hot dog!” Douglas said. “That’s what I’ve been wanting to do more than anything!”

“I know,” Daddy said. “You’ve only mentioned it three or four hundred times.”

“Hot dog!” He slapped his thigh under the table. “The Goodyear Blimp … wait till I tell Darlene.”

“Would you like to bring her along?”

“Would I? Oh, boy, Dad … you’re the greatest … you think of everything!”

Sally, trying to match Douglas’s enthusiasm, jumped up and down in her seat, saying, “Hot dog … the Goodyear Blimp … wowie!” But the idea of it frightened her. She liked watching it, but riding in it was something else.

“Would you like to bring a friend, too?” Daddy asked her.

“Oh, sure … that’s great … boy, am I excited!”