“It’s a huge chain now, actually,” he said. “You know Wolfowitz and Sons?”
I had seen their ads in the paper since I had moved to Chicago, the most recent one depicting a bejeweled array of Mrs. Wolfowitzes, with their highlighted hair and perfectly lined lips, the younger ones displaying their propped-up cleavage, all beaming saucily at the camera. The tagline underneath the photo read, “It’s Either Half Now or Half Later.”
“I found a condo for one of their cousins last year,” said Alan. “A two-bedroom, great light, an OK view of the lake. Some people, they don’t care about the view, they just care about the light.”
Alan was a highly successful real-estate agent, and as far as I know, he still is. At the time, he represented a couple of Chicago Bulls, a handful of politicos, and was making headway with a bunch of United Airlines honchos, all seeking something special on Lake Shore Drive.
That was Alan’s shtick. “I will find you something special,” he would say, in such a way as to make the clients feel that, because they were so special, they simply could not live in anything less than special—that it would be a crime! That’s what it’s like when you have a lot of money. You can pay people to make you feel good about yourself.
“HE BROUGHT HER home to meet the family, took her to all the school dances, she wore his class ring. The whole nine. His folks even offered to take her to their winter cabin back east for the holidays.”
He stopped talking for a moment, loosened the spoon from my hands, and took a bite of ice cream.
“And I remember my mother made a point of saying—I guess it was a big deal—that her family and their family sat next to each other at shul over the high holidays.”
“For the whole world to see,” I murmured.
“Exactly. A public proclamation. Wolfowitz was a catch. My mother has told me that a million times.”
“Why is she still talking about him after all these years?” I said. I meant to say it in my head, and was surprised to hear it come out of my mouth. The public questioning of any and all Naomi actions was a privilege extended solely to Handelman family members. All civilians were required to keep their mouths shut.
“Because he’s part of the story, their story,” Alan snapped. And then he relented with, “But I know what you mean. I wouldn’t want to hear about my competition for the rest of my life.”
I nodded. I looked down at my bowl. It was nearly empty. I thought about getting some more ice cream. I decided it could wait. “So let me hear the rest of the story,” I said.
“I should have waited for her to tell you,” said Alan. “I don’t do it justice.”
I was in no hurry to meet his parents again. I’m not going to say it was a total disaster, but there was no way I was going to win, looking like I do, which is to say: not Jewish, at least not enough to count anyway. I’ve got dark curly hair, but my clear blue eyes, Irish and smiling, betray my shiksa identity. That’s what his mother called me after she met me. “A very nice shiksa.”
Alan thought that was a good thing, the “nice” part anyway.
OH, ALAN, I would have been nice to your mother forever!
“YOU’RE TELLING the story just fine,” I said. I patted his hand. “Please. Carry on. I’m interested.”
“Do you want some more ice cream?” he said. “Go on, I’ll share it with you.”
I rose and went to the refrigerator again. You didn’t need to tell me twice.
“So the whole time she’s going out with Wolfowitz, Dad’s trying to steal her away. He always says he loved her from the minute he saw her, and he had no intention of taking no for an answer. He would walk with her down the hallway at school and tease her about, I don’t know—her hair, her clothes, general flirty high-school stuff. That was at first. Then he starts saying, ‘That Wolfowitz, he’s no good. He’s got a wandering eye. I saw him sitting with Judy Kanter at lunch, and you know what everyone says about Judy Kanter.’”
Alan had slipped into an impression of his father, neck sunken in toward his shoulders, hands up in the air, torso tensed.
“What did everyone say about Judy Kanter?” I said.
“Dad said she was a real knockout. Big breasts, and this extremely sexy lisp. He knew a couple of guys that got with her senior year.”
I mock-gasped, shocked and dainty. “Judy, Judy,” I said.
“I know!” said Alan. “But she wasn’t that sharp, and say what you will about my mother, she’s sharp,” he said proudly. “Anyway, he was working on her, always talking, keeping Mom on her toes, like he still does today. ‘I was selling,’ he said to me. ‘I was selling her on me.’”
“Sounds familiar,” I said. I sat down next to him and fed him some ice cream. I kissed him on the lips. They tasted cold and minty, but felt soft. I squeezed his generous arm. I kissed him again. “That’s what you Handelmans do.”
“And we do all right,” he said.