Rachel sighed as she listened the familiar recital from her mother. “I know, Ma. Like a budding flower, a girl has to marry at the right time. Not too soon — but not too late.”
“I think you should see Daniel Gold,” Ma said, “and also see the boy from the Rebbitzen.”
“Ma, she doesn’t have anyone for me yet. Besides, I wouldn’t feel comfortable.”
“You think getting married is about feeling comfortable?”
Rachel swallowed slowly. “If it doesn’t work out with Daniel Gold, I’ll give her a call.”
Ma shook her head. “Fine. Just no games. Remember, your time is limited.”
“Honestly, Ma, how could I forget?”
Her father returned from shul and they gathered around the tall Havdalah candle, lit like a torch, which Rachel held high. As the Sabbath began with candlelight, so it ended, illuminating the week with the light of spirituality and giving the Shabbos the appropriate send-off.
“Hold the candle higher,” Ma nudged, referring to the folk tale that the height of the flames would be the height of a maiden’s groom.
“Ma, I’m five-six. Any taller, and my groom will be a giant,” Rachel whispered to her mother, as her father sang the blessings and held his goblet of wine. Then the Sabbath was over. The holy now became mundane, and Rachel felt the ache of Sabbath’s departure.
“Quick!” Ma called. “Rachel, your date! Are you ready?”
“I’m just brushing my teeth.”
“Rachel, you had the tuna?” Ma demanded.
“Yep. It was great. Why?”
“How did you eat it when there were onions in the tuna? You couldn’t have eaten something else?”
“Ma, that’s what you were eating. And who knows what Daniel ate over Shabbos?”
“Oy, Rachel, really!”
“Maybe he’s reeling from his cholent and won’t notice my onions.”
The doorbell rang. It was Daniel. Rachel could tell because Ma’s voice instantly changed from that of a no-nonsense businesswoman to a giggly teenager. From her vantage point upstairs, Rachel watched her father shake hands with Daniel and offer him some fancy pastries and soda, which were laid out elegantly on the table decorated for the occasion, along with white paper napkins and a crystal bowl of candies. The three made small talk, and then Debby Shine called Rachel to come down.
Rachel fluffed her hair and gracefully descended the stairs. “Hi.” She smiled.
Daniel stood six feet tall, a shock of black hair framing his movie-star good looks. He wore a striped Oxford shirt and blue slacks, with a leather bomber jacket over his sweater. His aftershave smelled spicy, and Rachel liked the scent. It smelled like capability. Power.
Daniel rose to greet her, his eyes smoothly tracing her figure. She knew she looked good. Black silk Mizrahi blouse and fitted black suede skirt that emphasized her legs. Her auburn hair teased into long curls down her back, like a lion’s mane. Ma beamed, and Rachel knew she was clearly thrilled to see her baby glide down the stairs like a princess to date such a prince as Daniel Gold. Ma took some candies from the bowl and offered them to the young couple.
“No, thank you, Ma,” Rachel whispered.
“Rachel, really, they’re good for you. Very refreshing. They make my
breath
feel so tingly and
fresh
!” Ma said insistently.
“Thanks, Ma.” Rachel giggled, realizing what her mother was up to.
“Ready?” Daniel asked brusquely.
She donned her own leather jacket and said goodbye to her parents.
They walked in silence to his car, and Rachel wondered what it would be like being married to him. They’d live in a sleek apartment that she would decorate with the most elegant furniture, the softest fabrics. He’d work as a lawyer, she’d have a career in the arts, and together they’d be active in charity organizations. Movers and shakers in the community. It would be an exciting life. Sabbath would be the time to host dozens of people for meals. But Sundays the sun would shine through their window, and they’d sip cappuccinos and take turns reading the
Times
on Daniel’s iPad. The image of it warmed her.
It was a cool, dark night. The candy tasted sweet on her tongue, and Rachel smiled, noticing a neighbor’s kid peering out of his window. Neighbors who were coming and going nudged each other, watching Rachel walk with a boy. She knew that she could expect a lot of “yenta” questions later.
She gazed shyly at Daniel. He truly was a catch. The metal-framed glasses and leather bomber jacket he wore gave him the appearance of an intellectual who was also with it. The perfect gentleman, Daniel held the door open for her to climb into his red Porsche.
“Nice car.”
Daniel smiled. “Thank you. It was a graduation present from my parents.”
“And all I got for graduation was this lousy T-shirt.” Rachel laughed.
Daniel didn’t. “What was that?”
Rachel’s laughter froze midway. “Never mind.”
“So how was Shabbos?” Daniel inquired as they drove into the city.
“Nice. I went to the hospital with some friends to visit sick people.”
“Impressive. You’re sent by which organization?”
“Oh, it’s not organized. We know the staff there, and they like when we come visit the patients. It’s really no big deal.”
“I volunteered at a camp for sick children once.”
“Really? What was it like?”
Daniel exhaled. “It was challenging in some ways. Rewarding in others.”
Rachel leaned forward, ready to hear Daniel expound.
“What do you think of that house?” he asked instead.
“What?”
“That one. Nice big brick. Now, that’s the kind of house for me.”
Rachel looked at the house he pointed to with one hand, the other hand controlling the leather steering wheel. She knew the house well. It was Suri’s.
Rachel gulped. “It’s a beautiful house. But a bit over the top, don’t you think?”
“Not at all. That’s the kind of house I’m working for.”
“I’d rather live in a smaller house and give more money to charity.”
Daniel sniffed. “A house is more than a place to live. It reflects your taste. Shows people who you are.”
Rachel found herself raising an eyebrow. “So you want people to envy you?”
“They can work for it, too. What’s stopping them?”
Rachel shook her head. “There’s a difference between wanting to live in an aesthetically pleasing home and wanting to live in a mansion to knock out everybody else’s eyes.”
Daniel shrugged, stepping on the gas. “I work hard. I earn the money. I deserve the best.”
“I thought God determines what people deserve.”
Daniel controlled the wheel, leaving Brooklyn behind them, heading for the big city. “What’s the average salary for artists?” he asked.
“Not much.” Rachel answered. “I do it because I love it.”
“Guess the average starting salaries for Columbia Law graduates. Starting salaries for this year. It goes up, mind you.”
Rachel shook her head. “I have no idea.”
“A lot. Before taxes. Any idea what my salary will be when I make partner?”
Rachel frowned. “Why is this important?”
“I’ll be making money.”
Rachel gazed out the window at the streetlights gracing the West Side Highway. It occurred to her that she wasn’t having a good time. She also knew that most of her friends would give their eyeteeth to be out with a catch like Daniel Gold. She knew her parents had struggled financially for many years of their marriage, and God had blessed them with financial ease at this point in time. But Rachel had always been brought up to know that the cycle of blessings turns, and like everything else, money comes and goes.
“Money is a blessing from God. To use for good deeds,” she said finally. “You can’t get caught up pursuing it. Worshipping it.” She didn’t expect to challenge Daniel, but somehow she couldn’t help it.
Daniel turned the radio on. Rachel recognized the song and thought that the timing was uncanny; it was “If I Had a Million Dollars” by Barenaked Ladies. “I deserve the best money can buy,” he repeated. “And I intend to have it. My spouse has to understand that about me.” He turned the volume up, and music blared out the windows. Neither spoke.
When they got to the West Side, Daniel parked in a garage. He took his parking ticket, and they walked silently toward the comedy club. Creative displays enlivened the storefronts as they walked along West 81st, and pungent aromas emanated from a candle shop. Rachel watched as a cab pulled up to the curb and a man in a tux exited, holding the hand of an attractive blond woman in an elegant evening gown.
“You S.O.B,” the pretty lady slurred. “If you ever look at her again, I swear I’ll sue you for every freaking penny.”
The man in the tux turned red in the face.
“Isn’t this a great atmosphere?” Daniel exclaimed, striding ahead. “I love the sophistication of the city. The power.”
Rachel shrugged. “I guess it’s okay.”
“Just okay? This must be the most exciting place in the country. In the world!”
“It’s nice,” Rachel agreed, “once in a while. But there’s more to life.” Was she out of line?
Daniel turned back to stare at her. “Like what?” he challenged.
Rachel met Daniel’s eyes, surprised by the boldness of her response. “Like love. Good friends. Family. Doing nice things for other people.”
They watched a group of twenty-somethings entering a café. They were all smiling and laughing, all the while avoiding each other’s eyes. It reminded Rachel of the
kiddushes
in her shul, where a guy would approach to chat, simultaneously glancing to see if there was a better deal out there waiting for him. A prettier girl, a better catch. His true
basherte,
the one he
deserved
.
“Daniel!” called a voice from the crowd.
Daniel smiled. “It’s Frisch,” he told Rachel. He slapped his old friend on the back. “Happy birthday, buddy.”
“Who’s the chick, Gold? You always did have the finest taste.”
Rachel blushed.
“This is my, uh, friend, Rachel Shine.”
“Very pleased to meet you,” Frisch crooned with a devilish grin.
Daniel introduced the group of friends, and they got a table. The lights started to dim, so they quickly ordered drinks. A blond lady in a T-shirt and ripped jeans got on stage and began her routine. Her eyes were bloodshot and she looked tired. But her jokes were funny and Rachel laughed, her mood suddenly elevated. Daniel sat still, showing the emotion of a stone wall.
“What’s wrong?” Rachel whispered.
“It’s so low-class, those jokes. I don’t find them amusing,” Daniel answered stiffly.
“What do you expect at a comedy club?”
The blond comedienne picked up on the exchange between Rachel and Daniel.
“Are you guys Jewish?” she started. “I see that beanie on your head. So either you’re Jewish or the Pope. And the way you’re looking at that girl, I’d have to say you aren’t the Pope!”
Daniel’s friends laughed, taking the jabs good-naturedly. They were religious, too, and were having fun listening to a great comedienne. Daniel’s face reddened with humiliation.
“My ex-husband was Jewish,” the comedienne continued as everybody chuckled.
“It’s time to leave,” Daniel commanded. He stood up and briskly walked out the door. Rachel shyly said goodbye to Daniel’s friends, who were howling with laughter at the jokes, and then ran after Daniel.
“What’s going on?” She followed him into the cold air.
“I was not going to sit there and be mocked,” Daniel replied stiffly.
“She wasn’t mocking you. She was just telling jokes. That’s her job. Everybody else found her funny.” Rachel stopped to catch her breath.
“I didn’t,” he said. “Let’s go,” he insisted, hurrying away from the club.
Rachel clutched her purse and scurried after him in her heels. “If you don’t want your Judaism singled out, why go to a club and sit near the stage wearing a yarmulke?” she contested, keeping up his pace.
“Do you always have to be so damn self-righteous?” he snapped.
“Who’s being self-righteous? You didn’t even say goodbye to your friends.”
Daniel stopped walking and glared at her. “I’ve had enough. Let me take you home,” he said flatly.
He did not utter one more word as he sullenly drove Rachel back to her narrow Brooklyn home.
• • •
Leah’s eyes glazed over as Chaim Nudle described the perfect way to make his favorite dish — mashed potatoes. She wanted to bang her head into the wall. The longer he droned on, the more she felt like banging
his
head into the wall. They sat in the lounge of New York’s Hilton Hotel, surrounded by tourists and other Jewish kids on dates, dressed in their finest, drinking sodas and wondering about their futures.
“So where do you want to live?” Chaim asked, pausing as if to take notes on her answers.
“I want to live far, far away from Brooklyn. Very, very far.”
“So, like, Monsey?”
“That’s only an hour from New York. Farther.”
“Where else is there?”
Leah thought about Rachel’s
yetzer hara.
“Somalia.”
Chaim gasped. “The matchmaker never said you wanted to live in Somalia.”
“I do. I’ve always wanted to live on another continent.” Poor Chaim. He looked positively stricken. But he seemed to consider the proposition.
“I don’t know if I can live in Africa,” he finally said.
“I guess I should also tell you that I really don’t want to be a computer programmer, either. I want to be a doctor and set up a health clinic.” At least some of what she said was true.
Chaim nodded thoughtfully, taking in the news. “Aren’t the conditions in Somalia a little … remote?”
The view beyond the hotel held the glamour of New York: imposing buildings, bright lights, and harried pedestrians. But for all intents and purposes, Leah felt like she was in jail. Her sweater was making her feel itchy all over, and when Chaim asked her how many kids she hoped to have, she hurriedly excused herself to the bathroom.
It was now their third date. Maximum for a Brooklyn match was six. Nervous kids took eight. Out-of-towners ten, maybe even twelve. But in Brooklyn, you had to know by the third date which way the relationship was going to go.