Murder At The Mikvah (11 page)

 Sixteen

It was unbelievable how much had changed for Lauren in the past six months. She had gone from a public relations job that often stretched the definition of
ethical
to working for a rabbi, the ultimate personification of decency. Hannah Orenstein called it “hashgacha pratis”,
divine providence.
“There are no accidents,” she liked to say.

Right. As if it was pre-ordained in the heavens that Lauren would baby sit the Orenstein kids.
Hashgacha pratis
. Such nonsense! It was all Lauren could do not to laugh in Hannah's face.

Personally, Lauren preferred to think that God had more pressing issues to deal with, like terminally sick children or crazed, genocidal terrorists. No, there definitely was nothing extraordinary involved with the linking of Lauren's and the rabbi's worlds. In fact, it had all begun with nothing more than a simple promotional flyer.

Normally immune to the vast amounts of marketing materials cheapening the appearance of her otherwise well kept building (posters taped up around the wall of mailboxes, advertisements for shows and lectures, free newspapers and coupons), the title on this particular posting caught Lauren’s eye:
Honor Thy Mother and Father, a Jewish perspective.
The sad truth was that ever since Lauren quit her job, her parents had refused to speak to her. It was as if they were taking it as a personal affront, mourning the loss of her fancy title.

Assistant Director of Marketing.

Honestly, she shouldn’t have been surprised that a mere four words on a business card were all it took to impress them. After all, Lyle and Shira Donnelly had always emphasized appearances. “If they like you, they’ll buy from you,” was her father’s credo. As a teenager, he had honed his skills hustling T-shirts on the strip in Las Vegas. By age twenty, he had sold everything from cemetery plots to pet health insurance before settling on car sales. At thirty-three, he bought his first of three Honda dealerships outside of San Diego.

Lauren had been calling daily, asking to speak to her mother, but still nothing had changed.

“Your mother isn't feeling well. She can’t handle any of your problems right now, Lauren!”

Her father’s words stung, but she knew there was more. Shira Donnelly believed Lauren was punishment from God.
Shira's crime
? Marrying outside the Jewish faith. Apparently God didn’t feel that being disowned by her entire extended family was enough punishment for one woman.

“Why did you go and leave such a good job anyway?” her father demanded, as if at the ripe old age of twenty-six, she had committed career suicide. “Well, the only advice I can give you is
watch your money
!” he snorted. “It’s not like you’ll ever have a man to support you!”

Maybe this was it. Maybe now they would cut off all ties with her,
their screw up of a daughter.
Apparently, her job preserved the remaining thread of credibility she had with them, and now that too was gone. All their hopes for her, intentionally discarded.

Lauren looked again at the flyer.
Honor Thy Mother and Father
. It had taken the job resignation for her to see her parents for who they were. Had part of her wanted to test them? Didn’t she get it? They were
ashamed
of her! But as cruel as they could be, they
were
her parents. Maybe the rabbi's seminar would give her some insight on how she could fix, or at the least
improve
relations with them. She looked at the address at the bottom of the sheet. The lecture was being held in Arden Station, at a place called “The Arden Station Jewish Learning Center”. She had never heard of it before, but it would be easy enough to get to, a quick twenty-minute drive without traffic.

The night of the lecture, an attractive woman Lauren's age welcomed her at the door. She was petite—barely over five feet, even with the wedge boots she wore under a long denim skirt and fitted red blazer. Her hair was strawberry blond, long and pulled back in a low ponytail. Fair skinned, she had a splattering of ruddy freckles around her nose and wore very little makeup. The woman introduced herself as Janine Miller, the rabbi’s assistant. She took Lauren’s coat and handed her an informational brochure about The Jewish Learning Center along with a list of weekly classes and special lectures.

Though the subject matter of
Honor Thy Mother and Father
turned out to be different than what Lauren had expected (it dealt primarily with the Jewish laws of caring for sick or elderly parents), Lauren enjoyed the lecture nonetheless. The rabbi was knowledgeable, entertaining and most importantly, had a great sense of humor, which he demonstrated by incorporating several funny anecdotes into his talk. It had been far too long, Lauren realized, since she had laughed.

“I always make it a point to say hello to a new face,” the rabbi said, approaching her after the class. “I’m Yehuda Orenstein.” He was an attractive man, probably in his late thirties to early forties, Lauren estimated, tall and well dressed in a gray suit and tie. His dark beard had flecks of gray and was trimmed neatly. He wore a black velvet yarmulke and smelled faintly of old spice.

“It’s nice to meet you, Rabbi Orenstein,” she said, shaking his hand. “I’m Lauren Donnelly.”

His eyes smiled, emanating more warmth than she had felt in months. “Please call me Yehuda.”

She nodded, feeling a lump form in her throat. “Yehuda.”

“So Lauren, did you enjoy the class?”

She wiped an eye, hoping he would assume something had irritated it, rather than she was crying. “Very much. The hour practically flew by.”

He smiled coyly. “So I didn’t ramble? That’s a relief! I try to wind down before people start fiddling with their blackberries and texting each other.”

Lauren laughed. “I hope no one did that tonight!”

“No, but the young guy in the corner was snoring.” He scratched his forehead. “Though I think he may be a med student, so he gets a pass.”

Lauren laughed again. She hadn’t known many rabbis in her life, but this one was a keeper.

“So, tell me,” Yehuda said several weeks later, “what was it exactly that brought you to The Jewish Learning Center?”

Lauren had become something of a regular at the rabbi's nightly classes after quickly realizing that her entire social life had revolved around her former job. Of course it didn’t help that she had been romantically involved with a co-worker. The relationship, which ended badly, had caused a huge scandal in the office, and now it felt like no one from the company had time for her. She had grown accustomed to the polite excuses whenever she called one of her former colleagues and suggested a get together. Now, Lauren treaded lightly, sharing only some of the less incriminating details of her resignation with Yehuda. Any thoughts about her recent breakup with Max, however, went unmentioned. That heartache, like all the others, she would deal with privately.

“And the interest in Jewish topics?” Yehuda asked. He understood that she was lonely, and it occurred to him that she might be looking more for companionship than an education.

“Genuine,” she assured him, momentarily worried that he'd give her the boot. “I’d like to learn… Judaism is part of my heritage, after all.”

She was raised on the west coast, she told him, as the eldest of three daughters born to a Jewish mother and Catholic father.

Yehuda laughed. “I was curious about the name
Donnelly
,” he said. “It’s not exactly Goldberg now is it?”

Lauren laughed. She and her sisters received what she called
religion ala carte
, she told him, Christmas trees and
dreidles
, Easter baskets and chocolate
matzah
. For some reason that she couldn’t recall, she
had
attended Hebrew School—though only briefly—when she was very young. Sadly, she retained very little of what she learned.

Nothing Lauren said seemed to faze the rabbi, not even when she confessed that before taking his classes, she had no idea what a “mitzvah” was, or that “Hashem” meant
The Name—
a respectful reference to God. Yehuda didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow; he simply nodded his head and smiled. “I can one up that,” he said.

She braced herself for a funny punch line.

“Believe it or not, I didn’t even know I was a Jew until I was nearly twelve years old!”

She waited, but it was clear he wasn’t joking.

“But how are you… I mean, how were you able to become a rabbi?” Lauren asked.

“Rabbi Akiva, one of the greatest Jewish sages of all time did not start learning until he was forty. It is said that a man need only make the smallest effort; God will take care of the results.” He leaned toward her and smiled. “I'm living proof of that, I guess.”

The next Friday evening, Lauren arrived at the rabbi’s cape cod style home, welcomed with open arms by Yehuda's wife Hannah, as if the two were old friends.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Lauren said, handing her a bottle of
Shiraz
and carefully stepping over a wooden train set. “This will be my first Shabbat dinner.”

Hannah took Lauren’s jacket and while she made room for it in the over-stuffed closet, Lauren studied her closely, curious as to what kind of woman Yehuda would marry. She would never say so, but she had expected someone who may have at one time been attractive, but had let herself go. After all, Hannah was pregnant with her fifth child, so it was a reasonable assumption that she would be fat and unkempt—frumpy, even. But other than the normal pregnancy bulge, Hannah was actually quite beautiful. About 5'5'', she was fashionably dressed in a long black skirt, and gold sequined sweater. She had huge eyes and gorgeous long hair, perfectly styled, that fell below her shoulders.

“Well, I’m glad you finally said
yes
to Yehuda. I know he’s been after you for a few weeks,” Hannah said. “You must have quite a social life.”

Lauren smiled. Apparently Yehuda hadn’t shared details of their conversations with his wife. If he had, Hannah would have known that other than the classes at The Jewish Learning Center and an occasional visit with her eighty-year-old neighbor, Mrs. Sills, Lauren
had
no social life. Hannah would also know that Lauren’s idea of “having plans” was doing a load of laundry, eating cereal in bed, and watching TV with her cat.

Lauren followed Hannah into the living room which appeared to double as a playroom. Toys and games littered the beige carpet. A plastic fisher price workbench lay on its side in front of a well-worn couch. A wood coffee table was covered with children’s books, a mix of religious and secular.

“Lauren, I’d like you to meet Sonia Lyman,” Hannah said, gesturing to an attractive woman sitting on the couch.

Tall, slim and blonde, Sonia wore black leather pants, which reminded Lauren of Olivia Newton John in the movie
Grease
. Sonia didn’t look a day older than eighteen.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Lauren said. It occurred to her that Hannah must be completely secure in her relationship with Yehuda to bring such a hottie into her home. “That’s a beautiful sweater.”

Sonia’s eyes welled up as she touched the sleeve of her red mohair cardigan. “My mother… she made it for me before I leave to come to America.”

Sonia’s accent was subtle and vaguely familiar, Lauren thought, probably Eastern European, where Lauren’s grandmother on her mother’s side was from. Suddenly Sonia was more than just a pretty face.

“Sonia’s from Ukraine,” Hannah said, gesturing for Lauren to sit down.

“Kiev,” Sonia said, very businesslike.

Lauren nodded politely and sat next to Sonia who smelled faintly of lilac. She had doe shaped blue eyes and her complexion was perfect, like a human Barbie doll.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you speak English very well.”

Sonia nodded again, but still maintained a serious demeanor. “Thank you. I study English in school.”

“What brought you to the United States?” Lauren asked wondering if the girl ever smiled.

“I get married and my husband—we first move to LA.”

Lauren almost laughed at Sonia trendy choice of saying
LA
, instead of Los Angeles. She pictured Sonia with a young John Travolta look alike.

“Sonia’s husband Gary wasn’t able to join us tonight,” Hannah said, matter-of-factly.

Sonia looked down. “He travels now for work.”

After a few more minutes of conversation, Hannah excused herself to tend to things in the kitchen, and Lauren struggled to make small talk with Sonia. Her cell phone rang and Sonia stood up and pointed to the receiver. “Is Gary, my husband calling. Excuse me.” Sonia’s face strained as she spoke into the phone. “No, Gary. I can’t know that would happen. I’m sorry. I fix tomorrow!” The poor girl looked unnerved. “Please don’t be angry! I promise I fix!”