The Spinster Sisters (15 page)

I drain my water glass and get up. “I think we’ve done enough damage for one night.”

We start to walk out, and I turn to him. “You said we could settle up,” I say, handing him two crisp Ben Franklins.

He looks at the proffered money and smiles. “Tell you what. Go put it on a roulette number, Lady Luck. If it wins, I’ll split it with you, if it loses, we’re even.”

We walk to the nearest table. I look at the numbers.

“What do you think?” he asks me.

“I think twenty-two, since that was the date we met.”

“And the lucky number from
Lost in America
,” he adds.

“That, too.”

“Go for it.”

I put the two hundred-dollar bills on number twenty-two. The wheel spins. Double zero.

“Oh well, guess we can’t win all the time.”

“That’s why the casinos stay in business. Eventually they always get their money back. C’mon. Let’s take their money and run!”

We head out and find Connor’s truck in the lot. Once we find the highway, in a very quiet moment, my stomach decides to make itself known.

Oh Lord.

Connor starts laughing. “Guess I’d better feed you, huh?”

“Guess you’d better.”

“Can you wait till we get back into the city?”

“Absolutely. On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Wherever we go, I need steak. My blood is feeling thin.”

“Steak it is. Settle back; I’ll go as quick as I can get away with.”

I lean back on the seat, my newly flush purse in my lap, and breathe deep.

 
It’s just after one by the time he walks me to my door.

“Connor, this was probably the best date I have ever had. Thank you.”

“I had a good time, too. I’d like to get together again.”

“I’d love that.”

He leans in and kisses me. Strong mouth, soft tongue, just heavenly.

He pulls back and smiles at me. “Well, the next week is pretty crazy for me. I’ll call you Mondayish and see if we can’t set something up for early the week after.”

“Okay.” This is perfect, since I’m supposed to be seeing both Abbot and Ben this weekend, and I can feel free to put them in my calendar without worrying about saving time for Connor.

“Okay then, you have a great weekend, and I’ll talk to you on Monday.”

“Okay. Good night, Connor.”

He kisses me again. “Good night. And tell your aunts I said good night as well.” He gestures at the parlor window, where two forms are silhouetted behind the drapes.

“They’re incorrigible.”

“They’re sweet.”

He kisses me one more time, dipping me for effect.

“Go inside and explain that one!”

I laugh and watch him retreat down the stairs. Then I go inside to face the music.

“You four are impossible!” A sleepy Hunter appears in the aunts’ parlor. It is nearly two in the morning, and we are all a little soused. I got home after my date and knocked on the door to find that not only had Ruth and Shirley waited up, they had champagne chilling. Pink champagne, no less.

“We figured if it was great, we’d celebrate, and if it was awful, pink champagne would perk you up!” Shirley said.

“It’s hard to argue with logic like that,” I say, gesturing for Aunt Ruth to pop the cork. Aunt Shirley goes to the phone and dials. “She’s home; come down,” Shirley says. Within moments, it seemed, Jill joined us, wearing her pajamas and a bathrobe and clearly half asleep.

“Did I miss anything?” she said, accepting a glass of champagne.

“Nope, she hasn’t begun yet.”

Once we all had our drinks, I raised my glass. They all looked at me expectantly.

“To Mr. Connor Duncan, the best first date in the history of the world!”

They all started buzzing at once, asking questions, and I took them through the date, but leaving out the most important detail.

“It sounds lovely, sweethear. We liked him immediately, didn’t we, Ruthie?” Aunt Shirley said.

“Yes, of course, as much as you can like someone based on two minutes of superficial conversation in the foyer.”

“But, wait,” Jill says. “How’d you make out? With the gambling, I mean. Did you win anything?”

This was the cue I’d been waiting for. I grabbed my purse, reached inside, and pulled out the wad of cash and tossed it into the air.

“I won a little,” I said.

We all giggled, and Jill and I rolled around in the money on the floor, and it must have been this ruckus that woke Hunter.

Aunt Ruth fetches him a glass, and Jill tells him about my date. I love this about Jill. She takes your story and tells it with total joy and abandon, as if it is as meaningful to her as it is to you. Listening to her, and watching Hunter react, I’m filled with love. He isn’t angry that we woke him at two A.M. on a work night, tipsy on pink champagne and laughing loudly for no other reason than that I had a good date. He seems to really like our personal Spingold brand of crazy. Bless his heart. Jill catches me looking at them and smiles the most genuine smile I’ve seen from her since Thanksgiving. Something in my chest loosens the littlest bit.

I raise my glass again. “To Hunter, for putting up with four insane women!”

“To Hunter!” we all say.

“Aw, shucks, ladies. I’m a lucky, lucky man!” We all laugh again and start to gather up my winnings off the floor.

I count out four stacks of $500 each and hand them around. “I want each of you to buy yourself something totally frivolous and wonderful!”

“Oh no, sweetie, we couldn’t possibly. That’s your money!” Shirley says, waving me off.

“Like hell we can’t, sis.” Ruth snickers. “I’ve had my eye on a new purse that I’ve been hesitant to splurge on, and this is just the ticket. Thank you, honey.” She takes the money and kisses me.

“Well,” Aunt Shirley says, a little puzzled.

“Oh go on, Aunt Shirley!” says Jill, taking hers. “I’m buying my first pair of Jimmy Choos!” She nudges Hunter. “And Hunter really wants one of those new Xbox things . . .” Hunter shrugs and takes the cash.

“Thanks, Jodi. I’ll let you play with it whenever you want!”

“You’re very welcome.”

“I have wanted to get one of those new home ice-cream makers . . .” Aunt Shirley is struggling.

“Please take it, Aunt Shirley. I had so much fun winning it, and I still have plenty left. It would make me so happy to know you were able to buy something fun for yourself!”

“Well, dear, if you insist!” She grins.

“I do.” I drain the last of my pink bubbles. “And on that note, I think we should all get to bed.”

“Indeed.” Shirley yawns delicately. “I’m glad you had such a nice time, dear.”

“Me, too, darling.” Ruth pinches my cheek.

“C’mon, let me escort you ladies upstairs.” Hunter offers his arms to Jill and me.

We head up the stairs, and on the second landing, I kiss my sister and brother-to-be good night.

“G’night, Butthead. Glad it was a good date,” Jill says.

“G’night, Moose Face. Thanks for coming down to celebrate. You, too, Rusty.” I sometimes call Hunter Rusty because his hair gets reddish in the sun.

“I’m glad you had fun. Hopefully this one will stick. I could use some more testosterone around here! Good night, Kangaroo Arms!”

Jill shakes her head at him.

“No?” he asks.

“Keep working,” I say. I smack him lightly on the arm and head up to my apartment. I check my voice mail.

“Hey, Jodi, it’s Connor. I figure you’re downstairs telling those great aunts of yours all about tonight. I hope I come off okay . . . Have a great weekend, and I’ll call you early next week. I want a full report on everything you plan on buying with your loot, and no charitable donations! Good night, Jodi. Thanks for a great evening.”

Hmmm. I have to say, I really do like this guy. If his second dates are anything as good as the first, I might have to reconsider my current dating roster.

I get ready for bed in a pleasurable haze, climb into bed, and fall asleep with the taste of Connor’s kisses and pink champagne on my tongue.

Religion is always a touchy issue, especially in an age where interfaith relationships are far more common than same-faith ones. Keeping a clear head and finding common ground is essential to merging your feelings about a person and your spirituality. It is closely interwoven in more aspects of your life than you can imagine, and if you are considering a serious commitment, having a very honest dialogue about religion and expectations will be as important as the dialogues you will have about money and family. This is particularly true for Jews, where the differences in types of practice can make the chasm between two people of different sects as divergent as if they were from two different faiths altogether. While Judaism embraces many ways of practice, when two Jews get together, it cannot be assumed that they both have the same relation to the faith as the other.

—From an article about inter-interfaith marriage for the
JUF News
, Jodi Spingold, May 2003

 
 
 
“Jodi?” The intercom squawks at me.

“Yes, Benna?”

“Mr. Summit is here to see you.”

“Tell him I’ll be right out.”

I look up at Jill across the office. “Were you expecting Brant today?” she asks.

“Nope. The king of the drop-in strikes again.”

“Want me to vacate so you can have the office?”

“Nah. If it’s more than just hello, I’ll take him to the conference room.” Brant and I are going to have to have a little discussion about his new habit of popping in on me without calling.

“Okay,” Jill says, turning back to the budget she’s going over. “Tell him I said hi.”

I head out to the reception area and accept the kiss on my cheek from Brant. He has a new haircut, courtesy, I assume, of Mallory.

“Hey, Jodi, hope this isn’t a bad time,” he says.

“Not at all. Just in the neighborhood?”

“Yep. And I had something I sort of wanted to talk to you about. Do you have a few minutes?”

“Sure.”
Interesting
. “Come on back.” I lead him to the conference room and shut the door behind us. “Want something to drink?”

“Nope, I’m fine, thanks.”

“So, what’s up?”

“Okay, this may be a little weird, but I wanted to talk to you about us getting a get.”

Fantastic. A get. A get is a Jewish divorce. Civil divorces aren’t recognized by the faithful, if you had a Jewish ceremony. If you split up, you need to get a Jewish divorce, which, according to custom, can only be sought or granted by the husband. This is an ancient exercise that, frankly, can be pretty misogynistic. The woman has to come before a tribunal of rabbis, and in some cases, announce her failure as a Jewish wife, circle the husband seven times in the opposite direction of the seven times she circled him when they married, face the wall . . . a horrible and humiliating exercise. Which is why Brant and I had agreed, despite having signed a Jewish marriage contract and having had a fairly traditional ceremony, not to seek a get. In fact, at the time, we laughed about how archaic it was and that our Judaism was so nontraditional anyway, what did it matter?

I take a deep breath. “A get? I thought we agreed not to pursue that.”

“I know,” he says sort of sheepishly. “And I wouldn’t ask, but Mallory says she feels uncomfortable dating someone who is still married in the eyes of Jewish law.”

Mallory. That self-important, manipulative twat. “Well, that seems incongruous.”

“In what way?”

“Well, she clearly isn’t so Orthodox as to pay attention to the no sex before marriage edict.” Brant had shared the fact that the relationship had indeed moved into the realm of the intimate shortly after he brought her over to my place. I had finally gotten up the nerve to suggest that I did not need to be introduced to all his women friends unless something was getting serious, and he replied that things were serious with Mallory, a fact that seems to be horribly reinforced by this latest development.

“She isn’t Orthodox, more sort of conserva-dox. But she’s getting me in touch with my Judaism, and she seems really adamant about the get thing. I know it’s a pain, but it would mean a lot to me if you would do this with me.”

“Brant, I’m going to be honest. I’m not thrilled. You and I are the ones directly involved, and we agreed when we split up that this was not something either one of us needed to do.”

He looks crestfallen.

“I’m not saying no; I’m just saying I’m not happy about it, okay? I’m allowed to have an issue with your new girlfriend dictating something this personal to me.”

“Mallory isn’t trying to make things tough for you; she just has her own beliefs, and they include this area of Jewish law.”