The Witch and the Borscht Pearl (42 page)

Pearl’s fingers fluttered as she waited. She paid Michael no attention.

Zoë flicked a look at me, then stepped in front of Pearl.

“Nobody can bother Pearl now. It’s time for her to go on. You gonna make an ass out of all of us on national television? Schmucks,” she muttered under her breath.

He looked over her head at me. “Rachel.”

Zoë interrupted, “Don’t drag her into this. She’s busy, we need her. Tell it later, bub.”

Zoë won my admiration.

Michael took a deep breath, looked pained. But he also looked like what he was. A compassionate, very bright guy. He examined Ilene, who stood tucked between Zoë and me, glowering silently at him, teeth slightly bared. Deep purple slashes cradled her eyes and she swayed on her feet. Michael took in her condition.

“Where will the rest of you be during the show?” His voice was cold.

Good question. I wanted Ilene to be where she could get skilled loving help. I wanted her to be safe from tonight’s possibility of further disaster. Give her a year or so, then maybe he could arrest her. If he could find her. I heard the stupid bravado in my thoughts. Bluster, that’s all I was. Wasn’t I?

The stage manager came by, clipboard in hand, headset buzzing. He pointed a finger at Pearl and stabbed it towards the stage.

Zoë gave Pearl a little push. “Break a leg.”

Michael sighed and backed down.

Pearl stared at the stage as if it were an abyss into which she must cast herself. Hollows I’d never noticed before deepened beneath protruding cheekbones. Time seemed to rush suddenly. The emcee wound down his introduction, turned to the band and signaled the beginning of the musical intro. He glanced appraisingly at Pearl as if gauging the state of her readiness, picked up the tempo for the band, and counted under his breath. “Four, three, two, one,—” He stared fully at Pearl. ‘Now!” his widened eyes silently urged her.

One last deep shuddering breath. She faltered, then plunged out onto the stage. Her walk became brisk. With each step her energy and charisma increased until her toe settled on the brass star.

At that instant, she burst into full bloom. Her arms spread wide. She gathered in the audience’s emotion as if its energies were what fueled her performance, which maybe it did. At least tonight.

She was fully alive.

Her laugh boomed across the thousand upturned faces. The audience responded, screaming incoherent love for their very own Pearl. Borscht Pearl. Those two words repeated.

The smell of gin wafted by, indicating that Vivian had stepped up behind me. I turned. Behind Vivian, Roselle stood with Leeanne, the tiny Roselle shoving to see better. Steve Graham hovered close, too, accompanied, to my surprise, by the hotel manager. Bruce Altman stood shifting from foot to foot behind everyone, but two sturdier old faithfuls were edging their way forward—Simon Lutz and Doctor Savoia. Fran, the doctor’s wife, was there, too, probably taking care of her husband, who looked like he needed some care. Worry over Pearl had taken its toll on everybody.

“Move over, bitch,” Vivian growled, elbowing me sideways. My personality revolts at being pushed around, but for Ilene’s sake I gave her room without comment. Leeanne began jumping on her tiptoes to see over Vivian. I wondered where Bella was.

Pearl took a couple of steps forward, bent deeply at the waist, blew a few kisses, then stepped back to her mark. Her sequined jacket glittered as the spotlights finished cruising the stage and walls and settled on her. The microphone, one of those huge technological relics as old as her career, lowered jerkily into place in the air above her head. I wondered if it worked or was it really only a prop, for old times’ sake? The band skidded to a halt.

The applause faded. Currents of anticipation darted through the room. Pearl stood there. For a long silent moment, she just looked around the room, bliss and gratitude plain on her face. Then suddenly, in the audience, emotions exploded and applause burst out again. And this time the whole house pushed back their chairs and stood. A standing ovation. The house manager, inspired, brightened the house lights to show Pearl her fans.

Everywhere I looked, ladies in evening costume and men in tuxedoes pounded hands together in adoration of Pearl. Even the children clapped excitedly. Everywhere I looked, tears hovered, trembled, then rolled from people’s eyes.

Pearl’s lips pressed together. She cast a helpless glance over at us in the wing.

“Are they always like this?” I asked Zoë. “Or is it from knowing Pearl’s problems?”

“They know what she’s been through.” Her voice sounded fierce. She wrapped her arms around her torso and squeezed as if she longed to run out on stage and embrace Pearl instead. “They’re showing how much they care. That’s how much she means to them. To all of us. You probably wouldn’t understand.”

Mrs. Risk spoke from behind Zoë, surprising us both because we hadn’t noticed her approach. “You underestimate Rachel, Zoë.”

I turned to look at Mrs. Risk, but anything I might’ve said was overridden. The audience, finally satisfied, settled back in their chairs. Pearl would begin her act at last. And that was when I spotted Bella at the back of the highest tier, slightly to the right. I was unaccountably glad to see her.

“My friends. My friends.” Pearl’s voice quavered, so she paused for a steadying breath. She added, “I love you all.” Cheering threatened to sweep into another mass demonstration but she raised a hand and it died.

“If I sound a little weak, I hope you’ll forgive me. I’ve been away from you a long time. Your welcome was a little overwhelming.” She ducked her head and flashed a mischievous smile. A knot loosened in my stomach.

“On this special family holiday, lot of mothers here tonight. Of course, mothers know about sounding weak.” She paused, glancing wickedly around the room. “The son calls his mother on the phone. She answers,” and here Pearl’s voice swept out across the audience in a wobbling falsetto, “Hellloooo?”

“The son says, ‘Ma, you sound terrible! What’s the mattah, why do you sound like that? Are you sick?’ His mother answers,” and again Pearl’s voice strained high, ‘I suppose I’m a little weak. I haven’t eaten in 8 days.’

“‘Ma! Omigod, Ma! What’s wrong? Why haven’t you eaten in 8 days?’

“‘I didn’t want to have food in my mouth in case you should call.’”

The audience screamed in delight. Indeed, some of them had shouted out the punchline in unison with Pearl. Zoë’s giggle bordered on hysteria. Her clasped hands were jammed tight under her chin. “They love it when she does the old jokes,” she whispered at me.

As the noise died, Pearl opened her mouth, but for some reason, she closed it again without saying anything. Then it happened again. She cast a fuzzily distressed glance our way. “I’m sure you all ate a magnificent Thanksgiving dinner earlier tonight in Krasner’s dining room. I heard Joan Krasner’s mother did the matzoh stuffing for the turkey, herself.”

Mrs. Risk’s hand gripped my shoulder. “Something’s wrong,” she muttered. Her fingers dug painfully deep into my flesh, but I had no time to complain. I was focused on Pearl. I willed her to be fine, to be excellent, to console us because pain explained by Pearl became something to laugh at and thus bearable. All of us here needed Pearl.

Pearl’s forehead furrowed, then she said, after clearing her throat, “Families. My family’s here tonight.” I wondered if that meant she’d seen Bella. “Mothers have ambitions for their sons.

“The son of my rabbi, a fine boy, a tall handsome graduate of Columbia, destined to become a rabbi himself one day, asked a wealthy man’s daughter, an only child and heiress, to marry him. She said yes. Oy, his mother’s rejoicing. The rebbetzen swears the match was made in heaven. Gelt by association.”

A few people chuckled warm-heartedly, but Pearl seemed to have lost her energy. She stood looking at the audience with an odd detachment. She gazed at them, and they stared back, more and more perplexed.

Silence filled the room, then stretched. And stretched. And still Pearl said nothing. Her eyebrows tilted up like a puzzled child’s, and still she said nothing. Then her features crumpled, and to my horror, big silent tears rolled down her sunken cheeks, making wet roads through the makeup. Her big hands came up from her sides, fingers splayed, and then she let them drop.

I suddenly realized that tears were spilling out of my eyes, too, and it seemed then that everyone was crying, heartbroken for Pearl. Or maybe heartbroken for ourselves.

“I can’t do it,” she whispered. The whisper was picked up and broadcast through the theater by the microphone. It exaggerated her words into breathy, hollow syllables. Everyone heard.

Beneath the pancake and lipstick and rouge, her skin paled, making harsh blotches of the makeup. The audience began a subtle muttering, a roiling of sound that grew louder with every second.

Then she spoke. “Nothing’s funny anymore. I’m sorry.” She turned and walked towards us, abandoning her mark, the show, and her fans.

She walked off the stage. She passed me, dignified, but broken. She had no more tears, but we were all crying for her now.

Tough resilient Zoë stood as if impaled to the floor as Pearl walked by her.

Some alert stage person cued the orchestra to play, which they did, but raggedly. Chaos reigned on the other side of the stage, but here all attention was on Pearl. When she stopped walking, she began weaving drunkenly as if ready to fall. Steve found a chair, pushed it behind her. Pearl collapsed into it. Zoë lunged toward her. Dropping into a crouch, she hugged Pearl’s bony knees to her chest like a bewildered child.

Pearl comforted the now sobbing Zoë, rather than the other way around. “I’m sorry, Zoë. I feel dead inside. My Bernie’s gone forever. I’ll never see him again. And Solly … all the pain he held inside himself. All the ugly pain he caused. And my sister, the only family I have left. We were apart for thirty years and I wanted her back, Zoë. But she’s lost to me forever, now.”

I heard the band playing more strongly, and I wondered what would happen to the television schedule, but I didn’t really care. Here, no one moved. The pandemonium from the audience could have come from another planet.

In one corner of my eye I saw a familiar shape, and looked up to stare helplessly into the grave blue eyes of Michael. His gaze at me was oddly sympathetic. I say oddly because it seemed to me that all sympathy must surely be directed to Pearl. And Ilene. Ilene! I whipped around to find Ilene huddled wide-eyed next to me on my left. I breathed deep with relief.

Then I heard what Pearl was saying to Zoë. “Don’t you see? Bella killed Solly, Zoë dear. But it’s my fault. I pushed her against her will. I wanted her to get him to confess and repay the money he stole. I put her into an unbearable position while laboring under the delusion that she owed me something. When nothing else worked, she killed him for me.”

She pressed her lips together. “Bella put in 30 years paying for her mistakes, and now she’ll pay for mine, too. I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself.”

Mrs. Risk said in an intense voice that carried easily over the racket, “No, Pearl.”

Pearl searched the bystanders, found Mrs. Risk in the crowd. She stood up. Zoë crumpled on the floor, an island of despair. Pearl and Mrs. Risk gazed long and steadily at each other.

“You’re mistaken, Pearl,” continued Mrs. Risk. “Much of what you’re saying is wrong.”

I glanced warily at Michael, but he just stood impassively listening.

“You told me yourself once, how I put faith and trust in the wrong people.” Pearl’s voice sounded bitter, a slight note daring Mrs. Risk to contradict herself now. “My stupid gullibility turned Marvin into a thief, killed Solly, destroyed my sister’s life. Didn’t it?”

“No! Some facts you’ve got twisted, and you’re taking responsibility for things you shouldn’t.”

Pearl shook her head. “Don’t try to soften it for me now. This is the new Pearl, remember? The tough one. I can take it. Trouble is, I forgot how to laugh.” Pearl sighed as if exhausted. “You’re a smart woman, Mrs. Risk, and nobody’s ever been a kinder, more helpful friend to me. But I can’t help wondering if I wasn’t happier before I got so smart. Maybe you should’ve left well enough alone.” Turning, she slowly, with head firmly erect, walked the long yards to her dressing room and shut the door behind herself.

Zoë stirred. Awkwardly pulling herself upright, she stumbled after Pearl.

The stage manager smacked both hands onto his bald head and moaned, “Oygod, what do I do now? I got fourteen hundred people out there, and a television crew. They’ll tear my hair out by the roots!”

Roselle glanced sourly at the manager’s gleaming skull and said, “That shouldn’t take more than a second.”

“Get Eddie Miller!” commanded Mrs. Risk. “Ask him to carry the show for Pearl. Tell the television crew to load up the commercials until he’s ready to go on.”

The manager gaped at her for a wild second, then gave her an enormous kiss dead on the lips. She recoiled, but he didn’t notice. “I may marry you,” he said fervently. He flew away on chubby legs, inspired.

I turned around to find that Michael and Ilene were gone.

“I
LENE’S DISAPPEARED!” I SHRILLED,
twisting about. She was nowhere in sight. After impaling me with a sharp look, Mrs. Risk hastened away. I followed, not knowing what else to do, devastated at how dismally I’d failed to protect Ilene. Even to be just a comforting presence at her side would have been better than nothing.

Mrs. Risk forged ruthlessly up the crowded aisles. I ran after her, cursing my high heels as I wobbled on the inclines. She edged along the back wall, but passed the exit, which confused me. We were trying to get out, weren’t we? Then I saw Bella. Alone at her table, she stared morosely at the empty stage.

Mrs. Risk stopped, grabbed Bella’s arm, and pulled her roughly to her feet. She towered over the small woman, but only physically, not in intimidation. “Go backstage. Your sister needs you,” Mrs. Risk commanded.

Bella jerked her arm loose but seemed to bear Mrs. Risk no ill will. “Don’t you think I want to be there? Ever since we last saw you, my presence upsets her so much I’ve been avoiding her. I’m afraid of causing another heart attack. She thinks I killed Solly, and even worse, blames herself for it. She thinks absolutely everything everyone’s done is her fault. She’s been living on pills and nerves, and—I’ve tried. I probably shouldn’t have come tonight, but I couldn’t stay away.” Bella looked haggard with worry.