Brooklyn Love (Crimson Romance) (14 page)

She knew which way she wanted to go: home.

She tried not to hyperventilate. She knew how much her mother wanted this Chaim because he’d learned Talmud for a year, and her mom could tell everybody that they were
respectable.
They’d tried so hard to impress him! Later Chaim would go to work — but there was no way Leah could live with him. He was like a metal fork on a chalkboard, irritating to the point of no description. But she also knew that Zusha was waiting in the wings. With his ukulele.

“Dear God,” she prayed in the foyer near the bathroom, “I don’t need my
basherte
. I don’t even want him. I don’t have to wait around for the right guy. I’ll do fine without him. But please, God, I need a guy that my parents will let me marry who doesn’t make me want to vomit. Please!”

She asked a girl waiting on line if she could borrow her cell phone for a minute. Without thinking, she dialed the number she had already memorized. “Jacob? This is Leah.”

“Hi there. Can I help you?”

“Yeah. Uh, no. It’s me, Leah.”

“Right. Leah?”

“Leah Bloom. You know, from college.”

“Oh, right. That’s a great class, eh?”

Leah sighed. “I’m the girl with the curly red hair.”

“Oh, right. I know who you are — Leah Bloom. With the curly red hair.”

“You have no idea who I am, do you?”

“Uh, no. Not really. No. I’m sorry.”

“It’s been almost a semester and we share notes. What more do I have to do?”

“Okay, I think I missed something. Wait — you’re in my chemistry class?”

Chaim Nudle came looking for Leah, clucking and jerking his head like a hen.

“Oh, blast it. I have to go,” said Leah.

“Right.” Jacob hung up. Leah handed the girl her cell phone and thanked her. Clearly she’d been listening to Leah’s conversation, but Leah didn’t care.

“Are you okay?” Chaim asked. “I was getting worried about you.”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s good.” Chaim giggled, ending with a little snort. “I wouldn’t have wanted to search for you inside the ladies’ room.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“I mean, I thought maybe you got swallowed by the toilet!” Chaim guffawed at his own joke.

Leah let herself be escorted back to their table. She looked around at the other dates and wondered if they could all just switch. It would make the whole dating thing a lot easier.

Chaim kept laughing at his toilet joke.

At least someone is having a good time
, she thought.

• • •

Hindy Goldfarb was spending her Saturday night after Shabbos like she spent every Saturday night. Alone. Although she lived with her parents and seven younger siblings, even among this boisterous crowd, she always felt alone. For the past three years it had been the same routine. All week she worked as a bookkeeper in Manhattan, then she came home and helped her mother with chores: cooking, cleaning, bathing the little ones and putting them to bed. Hindy didn’t mind the work. She just wished it were for her own home, her own children.

After the house settled down at night, Hindy would volunteer her time at different charitable organizations, like tutoring kids in math when they couldn’t afford one. Visiting the sick. Sewing gowns for financially challenged brides. Cooking meals for the elderly and infirm. Checking in on her own grandparents daily. And twice a week after volunteering, she’d go to lectures on Jewish Ethics, given by her rabbi.

She was a twenty-three-year-old bookkeeper with every minute accounted for. She’d be completely satisfied if it weren’t for the lack of a husband. And while she felt the pangs of loneliness, she always had support from her family and friends, which was more than many others had in life.

But this Saturday night she felt terribly lonely. Most of the girls from her high school class were already married, and now the younger crop was all getting married, too. Her sister Shayna was on her first date tonight. Rachel was seeing somebody; she would be getting engaged soon. Leah was on a date, too. Not that she was jealous, but she was anxious for herself. The pretty girls always went first. Most of her friends were already married and pushing baby carriages. Would she ever have a turn?

She finished putting her younger siblings to bed and realized that what she needed was a good soak in a hot bath.

She studied herself in the mirror for the second time that day, this time in the bathroom. No, she didn’t look cute like Rachel or spunky like Leah. She was short, she was fat, and she was balding. Hindy noticed a red zit breaking through on her stubby nose, unsure of why she was still getting acne. It was the last straw. She burst out crying and ran to the bedroom that she shared with her two younger sisters. Alone in the room, she sobbed into her pillow. It hurt to be so alone, with no hope.

While Shayna was on her date, her other little sister, Freidy, was at a lecture on Psalms in Borough Park. Freidy was very religious, often reciting Psalms.
Maybe that’s what I should do, too,
Hindy thought. She took out her white leather-bound book of tear-stained psalms, and though she was filled with pain — grief that she was ugly, getting older, and had no hope for a husband — she recited each word. God help her. There was nobody she could turn to, nobody who could fully hear her despair, and nobody who could help her other than God.

Shayna was three years younger than Hindy, and their parents had just agreed to let her start dating. They’d held Shayna back as long as they could, hoping Hindy would get married first. But even they were realizing that Hindy’s opportunities were limited. At least Shayna should get married. Hindy wanted her sisters to marry, but she also knew how embarrassing it would be should Shayna marry first.

Shayna was short like Hindy, but instead of being fat, her figure was full in a curvy, voluptuous sort of way. Her features were more defined than Hindy’s, and she had pretty blond hair. Where Hindy was gentle and simple, Shayna was gregarious, boisterous, and flashy. Where Hindy was sweet and kind, Shayna had always been as selfish and as spoiled as a poor girl could be, and even a little nasty at times. But Shayna was pretty and Hindy was not. And on this lonely Saturday night, Shayna had a date with a Brooklyn boy, and Hindy did not.

The phone rang. Hindy let it ring. Someone else would pick it up, and she needed to bare her heart to God. She cried and prayed until her energy was spent. Then she collapsed, falling asleep on her bed.

• • •

“Hindy? Are you in your room?” She heard her mother’s voice gently call as she awoke, still a bit dazed from her slumber.

Chaya Goldfarb knocked softly and entered her daughter’s room. She was wearing a fuzzy blue robe and a kerchief covering her hair. Her cheeks were flushed a deep pink, her eyes aflame. Hindy sat up, wondering why her mother seemed so excited; nothing ever ruffled her.

“Hindy,” her mother said, “I was looking all over for you. I have some news.”

Short and round like her daughter Hindy, Chaya Goldfarb had put the weight on after having a few kids, and she hadn’t started to lose her hair until she was already married. Hindy was almost a clone of her mother; besides appearances, they shared the same pragmatism, and the same sweetness and capability.

“Hindy, you got a call for a match!” exclaimed Chaya Goldfarb as she sat down on Hindy’s bed. “From Rebbitzen Kaplinsky!”

Hindy burst into a smile and blushed a deep red. The boys were always approached first for a match, so that meant that some yeshiva boy somewhere had agreed to see her. She was going to have a date!

“I met the rebbitzen in the hospital,” she told her mother. “She said she wanted to set me up, but I never dreamed she would call so quickly. I never imagined she’d have somebody in mind for me!” Or that whomever the rebbitzen had in mind would actually agree to a date, given that once he’d checked her out, he’d find out that she was fat and ugly and poor. Maybe the boy had some major impediment. Maybe he was handicapped, or mentally ill. But if the rebbitzen was behind the match, she didn’t care if he was a zombie — she would see him.

“How’d they check us out so fast?” Hindy asked.

Her mother leaned over on a fluffy pillow, her face beaming. “The rebbitzen said she didn’t need to check. That she met you, she knows you. She heard we are a nice family, and that was good enough checking.”

Bewildered, Hindy fingered the Psalms she had used to pray from.

Her mother continued. “You see what happens when you are kind and go to visit the sick? God rewards you. Your marriage might come from all this — just because you are a sweetheart.”

“What are the boy’s details? Do you have to check him out?” Hindy asked, clutching her Psalms. Her heart pounded. What could be wrong with him that the rebbitzen thought they should meet? Who would the rebbitzen consider to be her
basherte
?

“No. We don’t need to check,” replied her mother.

Hindy frowned. Was it so bad that checking wasn’t necessary? Was the boy an ex-convict?

Her mother continued. “He’ll be calling you tomorrow. His name is Shimshon Kaplinsky.”

Hindy laughed. Her mother could be so funny.

Her mother held her hand. “He’s twenty-three. He’s the grandson of the rebbitzen.”

“Mama, please. I got the joke.”

Hindy’s mother gazed at her daughter; the one she had always said had a beautiful soul. “Oh, but Hindy, I’m not joking. I think the rebbitzen truly sees you for the person you are.”

Hindy paled. Could this really be true? Everyone knew of Shimshon Kaplinsky. He was handsome, he was brilliant — and out of all his many relatives, he was the one being groomed to be the next head of the Kaplinsky Yeshiva. He was from real
yichus
, a famous and honorable family. He was the biggest catch in the sea. He could ask for any girl in the community. The richest, the prettiest. The rebbitzen knew many girls and had chosen ugly Hinda Bracha Goldfarb for her precious Shimshon.

Hindy cradled her Psalms close to her heart, and for the first time since she’d started to go on dates, she felt positively joyous. This truly was a miracle from God.

Rachel still needed to work on her project for school, which was due on Monday. She called her new friend Ilana and begged her to pose. Ilana said she had a lot to do at home but wouldn’t mind posing if Rachel swung by her house.

Rachel grabbed her supplies and easily found the address Ilana had given her.

“Hi, I’ll be with you in one minute.” Ilana led Rachel to their living room. The house was painted in sturdy, earthy hues.

A dirty-looking man in torn clothing sat in the kitchen eating a bowl of soup. “This is the best soup, Ilana.”

Ilana smiled and offered him more. He declined and took his leave, the waft of his body odor trailing behind him.

“Who was that?” Rachel asked.

“A homeless guy we know. He comes by for soup.”

“You let him in the house?”

“My aunt and uncle are upstairs. It’s no big deal. So how do I pose?”

Rachel took out her canvas and set it up on her portable easel. “This project is for my final grade and will be reviewed by Disney.” She showed Ilana what she was doing: a scene of her great-great-grandmother Raizel playing
cheies
— a type of jacks — with her friends, the final moment of her girlhood before her marriage.

“It’s lovely,” Ilana said. “What happens if Disney likes it?”

“The winners get offered a summer internship.”

“Cool!”

“Yeah. I really hope I win.”

Ilana studied Rachel’s work. “I especially love those touches of green. You know, I love to paint, too.” She assumed her pose.

Rachel smiled. “Great. We can paint together!” She stood silently at her easel in concentration. Observing Ilana, who posed patiently, Rachel was able to capture the nuances of how the young woman would look. After what felt like moments, but must have been more than an hour, she heard the door open.

“Hey, I’m home. Anyone up for French fries?”

Rachel froze. She knew that voice. She had tried to forget it, but that voice had lingered in her subconscious.

He came into the living room, where Ilana knelt on the floor and Rachel painted.

“Hey, Ilana. What are you up to, eh?”

And then he saw her.

Rachel looked up from her canvas and tried to avert her eyes, but she couldn’t.

It was
him
.

“Rachel Shine. What are you doing here?”

Rachel put down her paintbrush. “I could ask you the same question.”

“I live here.”

Rachel looked to Ilana to see if this was true.

“You know my cousin, Rachel?” Ilana asked.

“No. She doesn’t know me at all.” Jacob Zohar turned to leave. “Sorry to intrude.”

“Wait!” Rachel said, as Jacob stood silently. “I’m sorry. About everything.”

Jacob turned to face Rachel. Their eyes locked and Jacob nodded. “I don’t understand why — ”

“It’s just the way it is here,” Rachel interrupted, and wiped tears that welled up in her eyes. “Really. It’s nothing personal. Nothing I can control.”

Ilana stepped in between them. “It’s all right, Jacob. We’re almost done. How about making some of your awesome fries?”

“All right,” Jacob said and retreated to the kitchen. “I just think the way you Brooklyn people do things is insane.”

Rachel agreed and resumed working on the portrait. The smell of the fries permeated the room, and Rachel enjoyed painting as Jacob cooked and Ilana posed for the portrait of the bride and groom. She had painted them in muted colors, like an old-fashioned hand-tinted photograph. As Ilana posed for her, wearing a pale gray shawl that concealed her long denim skirt and red T-shirt, Rachel put on the finishing touches. She’d had difficulty capturing Ilana’s expression, though; the bride’s face was not looking as she’d hoped.

Jacob came into the room. She could feel him behind her, even though he didn’t say a word. He brought out a platter of fries, and Rachel stopped painting to have one. Ilana was right — the fries were perfect: crispy on the outside, soft and flavorful on the inside, cut thick, and lightly salted.