The Matzo Ball Heiress (21 page)

Because Family Is Everything

T
his is the first time I’ve ever been alone with Roswell. We’re in the hired car on our way to Jake’s house in West Orange. It’s D day. The rehearsal and then the broadcast. I’d really like to talk to someone about how nervous I am. After Jared’s suggestion the other day that I actively mentor Roswell, I’m almost ready to give the kid a fair shake, even though he’s dressed for the shoot in a hooded black shiny jacket that, although I imagine is punishingly hip, makes Mr. Cool look like something you would swat if he was 1/1000 the size.

“Dude,” my intern bug says to our driver from Tel Aviv Car Service. “Is that a CD player?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Can I give you something to play?”

“Is it punk, Roswell? He might not want to hear it.”

“No, it’s Johnny Cash. My dad just gave it to me.”

“I love Johnny Cash,” says the driver with a Polish accent. “Does it have ‘Ring of Fire’ on it?”

Roswell studies the back of the CD. “Yes.”

“The best,” our driver says.

“You seem very close to your father,” I say to Roswell as the CD starts to play.

“Yeah, we go on a trip together every year. Just the two of us, and my mom takes my sister somewhere else.”

“Where have you gone with him?”

“We’ve been to Cape Canaveral, the Space Needle, and last year we went to New Mexico and visited Roswell.”

“Is that where you got your name?”

He makes a “that’s obvious” face. “Uh,
yeah
. My parents went there as a joke in the eighties for an alien-abduction film festival. I was conceived there.”

“Does having an alien-abduction name bother you?”

“No, because it’s way cool. It’s much cooler than my sister’s name.”

“What’s her name, Chernobyl?”

“Ch-what?”

“Forget it.”

“Her name is Karen. How dull is that?”

“How old is she?”

“Ten. She was an accident, but I’m not allowed to tell her that.”

I smile. “Did I tell you that my father is coming to this seder?”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“He lives overseas. I haven’t seen him for a while, so this is a big deal.”

“Okay.”

“Can I fill you in on a secret?”

“Shoot.”

“This is a family dinner, but it’s more of a production than reality. I need an assistant who can be very, uh, cool about it.”

“You’re sitting next to him.”

“Whatever I say cannot be repeated to anyone from the Food Channel, or to anyone who didn’t participate in the seder when it’s all over.”

“Not even my man Abdullah? We don’t keep secrets from each other.”

“Not even Abdullah. This is classified information, Roswell.”

“I hear what you’re saying.”

I give him a thumbs-up and quickly fill him in on the details of my family charade, minus my dad’s homosexuality. Even though most urbane New York City teens are bred from birth to think homosexuality is a non-issue, I’m just not sure about Roswell. He’s a one-off.

Roswell opens a square of very strongly scented watermelon bubble gum, places it in his mouth and says in between chews, “This is so cool, that you’re doing this production with all these fake people. It’s like working on a feature film.”

We cross over the New Jersey base of the George Washington Bridge. “So how’s your documentary faring?”

“Dude. It’s not. Albert Maysles isn’t returning my calls.”

“Why don’t you try something else?”

“You don’t think it’s a good idea?”

“Honestly? No. I think it is a bit over your head.”

He huffs.

“Look, I’m being honest.”

He catches my eye. “So, say you’re right, which I’m not saying. How do you think I should start my first film?”

“I think you should start with a short. Do something you know well, like a piece about high-school graduation—”

“Boring,” he says after a pop of gum.

“How about New York–teen hangouts? Skateboarders, maybe?”

Another bubble and pop. “Yawn. That sounds like the Disney Channel.”

“Well, something you know well is the way to go. What do you know more about than anyone else? Have a think about it.”

Jake opens the door dressed in a slightly ill-fitting suit and a tie with a matzo motif. Siobhan has somehow managed to pick out a certain style of clothing—solid colors, long sleeves and no sexy cuts—that together with her new hairstyle transforms her into a ringer for an ultraorthodox woman.

“What’s different about you besides your clothes?” I ask. “It’s weird. I just can’t pick it out.”

“Jake bought me a wig that’s the same color as my hair for me to wear on air.”

I gasp and nervously laugh a bit. “It’s crazy but it really does the trick.”

I introduce Jake and Siobhan to Roswell as he runs his finger along the huge flat TV screen that must have set Jake back many thousands of dollars.

“This is killer,” Roswell declares.

“Thanks,” says Jake.

“Could Dimple come?” I whisper nervously as I look around. Jake and Siobhan have already set up the table in the living room with a translated phonetic Hebrew
Haggadah
on every plate. Only the cutlery is missing.

“No. Her mom wouldn’t let her out of their seder. So it’s lucky you brought your intern.”

“I’m not thrilled about using Roswell,” I whisper again. “Big-time slacker. But I’ve filled him in on our situation.”

“So you’re going to be a Jew tonight,” I overhear Roswell say to Siobhan. “That’s cool.”

“Yes,” Siobhan says with a Mona Lisa smile. Is she mad or amused?

“So why do you need a wig if it’s the same color of your hair?”

“Very orthodox women shave their hair so that only their husbands can see their true head. They wear a wig for outside society.” It’s hilarious. Siobhan knows more about this stuff than I do. “Let’s put your coats in the bedroom.” She motions for us to follow her.

Roswell blinks. “You shaved your hair for this party?”

“No, I still have my real hair under there. But the wig has a certain orthodox Jewish styling that lends me authenticity.”

“My idea, of course,” Jake interjects.

“You are truly insane,” I say.

“But it works,” he says, grinning.

I offer a weak nervous smile. “It does indeed.”

“Yo, Siobhan, where’s the bathroom?” Roswell asks as she lays our coats on the four-poster bed in the master bedroom.

“Use the one in this room,” she says. After Roswell closes the bathroom door, she gives me a reassuring embrace. “You look scared,” she whispers. “We’re going to pull this off. Jake and I have made Passover flash cards so all the guests can memorize one fact they can let drop on camera.” She hands me mine:
Did you know that Moses stuttered
?

Roswell emerges and wipes his wet hands on his jeans. “So what do want me to do first?”

I take charge. “Siobhan may need some help in the kitchen before the TV crew gets here.”

“Yes, I could use a hand with the salad,” Siobhan says.

“You have cukes?”

“Cukes?” Siobhan looks at me for the American translation.

“Cucumbers,” I say.

Roswell nods. “A salad needs tons of cucumbers, because lettuce is so freaking fiddly.”

“We have plenty of cukes—and sunflower seeds too,” Siobhan says.

“Excellent. I’ll throw them in.”

“I’ll finish the place settings,” I say, and we all head for the kitchen.

When I’m back in the kitchen for the knives, Roswell is gnawing the sunflower seeds like a field mouse and telling Siobhan about his ranking among the major players on the Stuyvesant High School Ultimate Frisbee team.

Siobhan chops a tomato into quarters. “We didn’t have this Ultimate sport in Cork.”

“Ultimate,”
he mocks Siobhan’s Irish brogue. “It sounds so funny when you say that in Irish.”

Siobhan smiles.

So does Roswell. “Well, we have the Frisbees, and you have the beer,” he says. “I guess that’s what makes Ireland such a great country.”

“Yes,” she says with another genuinely warm smile. Now I’m really pissed at Grandpa Reuben again. Siobhan, a great listener even in the face of teenage braggadocio and stupidity, would be an incredible mother. After the seder I’m going to read Jake the riot act about not marrying her.

Jared arrives with our beloved ancient shopkeeper Gertie in tow.

After that bubble-popping conversation with Steve, I’m not sure how I should greet Jared. I settle on a friendly squash of his hand, while I give Gertie a kiss on the cheek. “How was your car ride into New Jersey, Gertie?”

“We talked. Such a nice boy. Maybe you like him?”

Jared nods at me as if to say,
Listen to your elders
. Jake gives Gertie a hug and finds her a seat. I hear another vehicle pull up. I peek out behind Siobhan’s white Irish-linen curtains, ones her mother sent over a few Christmases back. A black Lincoln Town Car is parked outside of Jake and Siobhan’s door. Walking toward the front door is Mahmoud, dressed in another upmarket suit, and Vondra, in a black dress and tasteful pearls. In the last few weeks, her style has metamorphosed from funky sexpot to international sophisticate. Looking at her draped off Mahmoud’s arm, I could imagine her chatting nicely with heads of state over a Waldorf salad on the menu at the actual Waldorf Astoria.

When they are inside, Vondra waves to Jared. While Mahmoud talks to Jared, Vondra surreptitiously turns to me and points to her chin. She approves of Jared’s new beardless face. I smile, and after a pause in Jared and Mahmoud’s conversation, I introduce the new couple to the others who are there so far.

“I’m honored to be invited at your seder,” Mahmoud says to me.

Before I move Mahmoud along to Jake and Siobhan, chatting in the kitchen, I say: “I’m thrilled you can come. I’m surprised, though, that you’re not worried about being seen on the air.”

“One cannot live in fear. There would be no quality to your life.”

“Still, it’s very brave of you in this environment of mistrust.”

“Anyhow, the seder is a remarkable opportunity to express the difference between the Jewish people and the Israeli government—”

“No it is not,” I say, rapidly alarmed.

“Mahmoud has decided to wear the traditional Egyptian head covering, an
akad
,” Vondra interjects. “We have it in his car. We wanted to check that out with you first, of course.”

“This is not the time!” I cry out with reinforced anger. With everything else on my seder plate, I have to worry about Mahmoud’s political agenda?

Mahmoud laughs loudly. “Calm, calm. I’m just winding you up. Blame this joke on Vondra. She said you would—”

“Freak!” Vondra finishes his sentence.

“I will get you
bad
, bitch,” I nervously laugh as I push her. She almost totters over in her tasteful black pumps.

I shakily introduce Mahmoud to Roswell. Vondra looks stunned and pulls me in to the corner. “Okay, is this a joke on me? What’s Roswell doing here?”

“Steve from the Food Channel asked me to bring him along. Roswell is working for them today. All their interns are Jewish and couldn’t come. I filled him in on everything so he doesn’t blow it.”

“You trust him on a live feed?”

I hear a car pull up outside. “I have to. We needed help even before the crew got here. Jared thinks he’s smarter than we’re giving him credit for. That he just needs growth opportunities.”

“Hey, it’s your family. Your call.”

I make a pray-for-me face.

The doorbell rings.

My father has taken my advice, and for that matter, Pieter’s. He has put aside the natural-fiber brown suit he showed me in my apartment when he and Pieter arrived from the airport. Dad’s gone shopping, with Pieter probably, and selected a very nice navy suit that looks as if it came from one of Mom’s favorite stores like Bergdorf’s or Barneys. Dad points to the lapel of his suit, seeking my endorsement, and I give him an appreciative smile. I wish Pieter would have thought through his own outfit a bit more. Maybe he checked out New York weather on his computer in Amsterdam. It was freakishly cold a few days ago, but today it’s seasonal. Yet Pieter’s dressed up in some funky European arctic-winter gear completely inappropriate for April in the New Jersey suburbs.

“Who’s the Eskimo?” Roswell whispers to me.

“A friend of my dad’s.” Pieter’s coat comes off and his look just gets worse: he’s wearing a purple-mesh muscle shirt.

“Here’s the man of the hour!” Jake calls and gives his uncle Sol a big slap on the back.

“You must be Pieter,” Siobhan says while Jake sneaks a second look of horror at Pieter’s muscle shirt. “We’re putting the coats in the bedroom.”

“The
abba
,” Gertie says loudly to Jared.

Jared nods.

“What did she say to you?” I whisper to Jared.

“
Abba
is Hebrew. She said, ‘The father.’”

“Sorry I’m so late,” Dad says to Jake. “I asked the driver to check his map but he wanted to be a cowboy.”

“It’s not a problem. We have well over an hour until the rest of the crew show up. This is rehearsal.”

“We’re going to have to clear the driveway for the remote-broadcast truck,” Jared says.

“Oh, I arranged for that. Siobhan is going to drive the cars over to our neighbor’s house.”

“I am?” says Siobhan, back from the bedroom with Pieter at her side.

“Or I am,” Jake says with a chastened grin.

My father does a double take at Siobhan’s hair, but gives her a big hug and kiss.

Now he sweeps his favorite employee off her feet. “I missed you so much, my dear dear Gertie.” Gertie’s so fragile and thin that I’m afraid Dad might break her. But she’s not concerned. She beams a big newly dentured grin.

I reintroduce Dad to Vondra, whom he’s met once before when I was still at PBS.

Then there’s the meet-and-greet line of Mahmoud, Roswell and Jared.

“Dad, this is Vondra’s new boyfriend.”

“Sol Greenblotz,” Dad says with a hearty shake.

“Mahmoud Habib,” I say to Dad.

Dad whistles through his teeth. “Mahmoud Habib? Aren’t you the United Nations spokesman for the Egyptian government?”