Til the Real Thing Comes Along (57 page)

“Which were?”

“There goes Greenview Country Club.”

Neither of them could hold back a blurry, teary-eyed smile.

“R.J., I’m sorry I left. You’re right. It was a lousy thing to do. But please, say you forgive me and that you’ll marry me,
because I can’t let you go back to Los Angeles like this—”

But before R.J. could respond, a man’s voice interrupted. “If you don’t say
something
there, honey, no one’s going back to Los Angeles, because I’m the pilot.” And when R.J. looked around and saw the line standing
behind the man in the blue pilot’s uniform, she realized that she and David were blocking a whole group of people who were
trying to board the plane.

As the two of them moved out of the way, David took her into his arms and they kissed. Happily, deliciously, they kissed.
Then they heard the call on the P.A. system.

“United Airlines paging David Malcolm. David Malcolm, please come to the courtesy telephone.” David looked afraid. He took
her hand and moved her to a corner of the waiting area where there was a white phone and picked it up.

“Hello?” he said. “This is David Malcolm. Yes, I’ll hold.”

He put his arm around R.J., and as he pulled her close she could feel him shaking.

“Hello. Yes. I’m on my way.” He hung up the phone and looked at R.J. “He’s very bad” was all he said, and
then he turned and left the airport, and R.J., feeling as if she had just awakened from a dream, heeded the last call for
the flight to Los Angeles and walked back to the gate to board.

“W
hen Jeffie was four years old, one day he told his father and me that he was going to run away from home.” R.J. said, then
looked down one more time at the note card she held in her hand. She wanted to be able to tell the story perfectly and she
hoped that no one could see how nervous she felt and how she was trembling so terribly inside. “His father, trying to discourage
him, reminded him that in order to survive in the outside world, there were certain things people had to do for themselves
that four-year-old Jeffie still wasn’t able to do. One of them was to prepare food, and another was to tie one’s own shoes.
Jeffie, still determined to make it on his own, thought about that for a minute and then said to Arthur: ‘That’s okay. I’ll
eat cookies and wear my slippers.’”

A giggle went through the crowd and Jeffie blushed.

“It’s that same fierce independence, that same enterprising mind, that same sense of humor that characterizes Jeff today,
and it’s those characteristics which have helped him survive a terrible tragedy and enabled him to help me survive it too.
That’s why, on this day of his bar mitzvah, when he officially becomes a man, I want him to know that I believe he’s already
been a man for a very long time.”

Jeffie, handsome in his gray suit, and relaxed now that his long Hebrew recitation was behind him, hugged his mother, and
there was another laugh from the crowd as everyone noted how the thirteen-year-old boy towered over her.

“Congratulations, honey,” she said to him.

“Thanks, Mom.”

R.J. took a quick look out at the assembled group. She could make out only a few faces. Arthur’s parents. Manuela and her
husband in the front row. Eddie Levy and his wife, Sally, Harry Elfand and Josie. R.J.’s agent, Stanley Hoffman, and his wife.
Patsy in full array—a low-cut silk blouse and a white suit with sequined lapels. There was a long pause. Then there was another
murmur of approval as David walked to the microphone. He wore a yarmulke and a talis over his cray suit, which was the same
as the one Jeffie was wearing because they had chosen them together. For the wedding, three months earlier.

Now David spoke: “Unaccustomed as I am to speaking at my son’s bar mitzvah,” he said, and everyone laughed. “God does work
in mysterious and wonderful ways,” he added, and then he put an arm around Jeffie. “I want you to know what a fine young man
I think you are, Jeff, and how lucky I am to have you as my son, because thanks to your patience and understanding, I’m learning
a lot about how to be a parent. You see, you’ve been a son for thirteen years but I’ve only been a father for a few months,
and I need all the help I can get.”

There was another laugh. Then David looked out at the assembled group.

“R.J. and Jeff and I are three people who have each been longing to have a real family for a very long time. And that’s why
you see three such happy faces up here, because we’re thrilled to have found one another. For me it’s especially great because
it isn’t everyone who gets to have his first child come to his wedding. I didn’t even have to wait the required time to hear
someone learn to call me Dad. My son called me that right away.”

There were a few giggles, and then R.J. looked out at the faces, and she spotted a few like Dinah, wiping her eyes, and Arthur’s
parents, who were holding hands and smiling through their tears when David embraced Jeff. Then the rabbi said, “Please join
us in the social hall for Kiddush and then for the reception at R.J., David, and Jeffie’s home,” and everyone rose and began
to chatter.

R.J. and her son and her husband stepped off the platform, and as they did, arms around one another, a few people near the
back of the synagogue parted in order to
allow the man who had been sitting in the bade row of the room to move to the front. Determinedly but with the halting pace
made necessary by his age and poor health, he made his way toward them. He wore a navy suit and there was a yarmulke sitting
on top of his while wavy hair.

“Thanks for coming, Dad,” David said, embracing his father.

Rand Malcolm patted his son as hearty a pat as he could, then kissed R.J.’s cheek, then turned to Jeff and shook the boy’s
hand.

“I’m very impressed, young man,” he said.

“Thank you.” Jeff said.

The driver was waiting, so while Jeff went ahead to the social hall, R.J. and David walked Rand Malcolm out to the car, and
when he was on his way home to rest, hand in hand they made their way bade to the sodal hall to celebrate.

I
ris Rainer Dart, bestselling author of BEACHES, brings you a hilarious, semiautobiographical story about a wary thirty-seven-year-old
lady and a gorgeous younger man who’s stealing her heart…

TV comedy writer R. J. Misner, a widow with a son to support, has stopped believing in happy endings. Her last boyfriend sounded
great: Jewish, successful, a Harvard grad. He was also incredibly short, a Mama’s boy, and an S.O.B. who dumped her five days
before their wedding. Now, just when R.J. figures things can’t be worse, she meets David. He is every Jewish girl’s dream—or
nightmare: a gorgeous, blond WASP And he is eight years younger than she is. (Actually seven and a half, but who’s counting?)
David adores R.J. He thinks she is a raving maniac, cute, funny, and the woman he’d like to be with
forever.
Wanting him may be the dumbest thing a smart, savvy woman can do, but there’s no force on earth—except maybe his family—that
can stop them from falling in love…

“CARRIES THE GRITTY FEEL AND BITTER-SWEET FLAVORS OF REALITY…A CRACKERJACK OF A BOOK.”
—Los Angeles Times

“FUN… ENDEARING… ENJOYABLE,”
—Booklist