Yardsticks: Chapter 3
| June 19, 2019I wondered what was up with that seamstress, but I couldn’t dwell on her. The Kohlmans were waiting for me to design a gown that would make headlines. It was going to be a long night
I
was so not in the mood to return to the boutique in the evening. My house was flying and my feet were killing me. Why had I let Yocheved talk me into this night appointment? Why did she even offer night appointments?
“It’s the Kohlmans, they’re leaving for France in two days,” she’d explained. “You know who they are, from the tours? Their granddaughter. Engaged to Banda, from the diamonds. Anyway, they begged me for this appointment and I didn’t realize I had a wedding tonight. Please? Can you do it, just this once?”
“Seriously, Yocheved,” I’d protested. “Had this been Rivka Sara Katznelenbokenstein, you’d have nicely called up and canceled. So what if they have money?”
Yocheved had looked at me stonily. “Can you?”
Did I have a choice?
I unlocked the door to the boutique at 8:00 sharp. Really, there had been no reason to rush. The Kohlmans would be fashionably late, I was pretty sure of that. Children of people “from the tours” engaged to people “from the diamonds” were never punctual.
I lingered in the lobby hall, straightening up the place. The Invitation Wall needed TLC. Torn invitations from kallahs who were already mothers dangled from the bulletin board, five invites sharing each pushpin. I sorted the cards, neatly tacked back on the invitations from weddings that hadn’t yet taken place and dumped the rest. Which was sad, because each card must have cost at least two dollars. Fourteen karat gold ink, Shlomo would comment when he brought in the mail.
Satisfied, I moved along to the showroom. I was about to flick on the light when I caught a thin beam of white stretching across the floor, extending from the door of the sewing room. Whoever had left last must have forgotten to turn off the light. I headed over to the back.
When I reached the door, I heard a rustle. I trembled, gripping the doorknob. Was that a person? A cat?
The door creaked open.
“Yelena!” I shrieked.
“Oh, hello, Mina. Appointment tonight?”
“You scared the wits out of me. What are you doing here?”
She squirmed. “I finished some work. I’m going home now.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Do you often stay late?”
“N-no, no. Only sometimes, when I’m very busy. I have a lot of work.”
The doorbell rang. I gave Yelena a quizzical look as I buzzed the Kohlmans in.
The Kohlmans were Yocheved’s prototype customers. I could barely resist a snicker as I mentally checked off the criteria. Pasted smiles. Practiced poise. Serious jewelry. No apologies for coming late. A good industry, those tours.
Yelena slinked out while we made introductions. I wondered what was up with that seamstress, but I couldn’t dwell on her. The Kohlmans were waiting for me to design a gown that would make headlines. It was going to be a long night.
When I got home, nearly blind from fatigue, Shlomo was sitting at the dining room table scribbling notes, surrounded by seforim.
“How’s it going?”
He put down his pen. “Getting there.” He smiled tiredly. “Really, Mina, you should come along. Some wives come every year. They set up a table for the ladies. You’ll love it.”
I yawned. We went through this every year.
Shlomo didn’t need me at his yeshivah’s shabbaton. He’d be so busy with his speeches and panels, we wouldn’t exchange a word throughout the entire weekend. “It’s okay, don’t worry about me. I’m a big girl, I’ll survive.” I took off my glasses and rubbed my eyes. “Where’s Shevy? Chesky keeps calling. She has to make up her mind.”
I found Shevy in the kitchen, grading papers. “There you are,” I said. “Between teaching and CLEPing and heading the festival, we need to make an appointment to talk to you.”
Shevy chuckled and put down her pen. “Talk to my secretary.”
Shlomo joined us, bringing a bottle of orange juice to the table. “So,” he started. “Back to your date. We don’t want to pressure you, but Chesky needs to get back to the Engels. I know he’s Mommy’s brother, but he’s still the shadchan here. We can’t leave him hanging for so long.”
Shevy frowned. “I know.” She hoisted herself onto the counter and pulled her legs into a pretzel. “Kay, so it’s like, I think yes. I’m not sure what bothered me during our second date. I’m not even sure anything bothered me. I think I was just like super nervous and so was he, I could totally tell. So the conversation was a bit stilted, so that made me worry that he’s too reserved. Know what I mean?”
“Normal!” I said.
Shevy smiled sheepishly. “Right, Tzirel also said that. It felt awkward-ish, but there was nothing wrong, so I guess that makes it right?”
Naturally, what Tzirel said mattered most. I nodded. “Totally makes sense. We keep hearing such beautiful things about Gavriel. Serious learner, excellent middos, tzu Gut un tzu leit — not average.”
“And it’s a solid, solid home,” Shlomo added.
And you’re turning 23, and this shidduch is right on so many levels, and Chesky will be ecstatic, and Tzirel came in for a gown, you know, and I know we’re being pushy and it’s wrong and we should give you your space and everything, but seriously, when was the last time you were redt a boy you really wanted?
“I know,” Shevy said. “I know his sisters from camp. Really sweet girls.”
“So you think you’re ready for another date?” Shlomo prodded.
I held my breath. Shevy pinched her chin. “I-I think so.”
Shlomo beamed. “Excellent! When should I tell Chesky to schedule it for?”
Shevy jumped down from the counter. “Um! Good question. Let’s think… There’s a festival staff meeting tomorrow night, and I’m taking an exam on Sunday. Maybe—”
I patted her arm and said to Shlomo, “Just tell him to call her secretary.”
***
Yelena
There was no use putting it off. Mama needed an aide — a kompan’on, we explained to her — and every day that we stalled put her at risk.
“The agency gave me the phone number of a lady,” I told Anzel before leaving for work Thursday morning. I folded Grunbaum’s dress and Adler’s skirt into a bag and double-knotted the handles. “Tatyana. She has a temporary day job, so I scheduled an interview with her for tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes, why? You can’t come tonight?”
“Uh, no. I mean, I can come, it’s just… I have a road trip tonight. Think you can go with Benish?”
I could go with Benish, but really, of all the nights in the year he had to land a road trip tonight?
“I can probably still cancel,” Anzel said.
“No, no, it’s fine.” He certainly should not cancel the trip. He was supposed to do a lot more trips, highway or otherwise, especially now that we’re going to hire a home attendant for Mama. “Really, Anzel, if you’d be an Uber driver you’d be doing the same thing you’re doing now — driving — and making so much more money. Why can’t you try it?”
Anzel sighed heavily. “I told you a hundred times, Yelena. I don’t know how to use these fancy apps. I have my GPS for road trips, Moriz taught me how to use it, and that’s it.”
“Vot tak! Moriz can teach you how to use Uber!” Of course, Moriz, why hadn’t I thought of that? My scientist boy. Computer science. He’s turned into a man, Moriz. Carved out a future. Of course he’d know how Uber worked.
“I’m going to call him,” I told Anzel resolutely.
Anzel muttered something about not bothering Moriz, too busy, but I ignored him. Excuses.
It was a beautiful day and I decided to save on the bus fare and bike to work. I was placing my bag in the basket of my bike when my cellphone pinged.
Yocheved.
I sucked in my breath. Did Mina tell her I was in the boutique Wednesday night? I could kick myself for forgetting to check the appointment book after the sisters left for the day. This had never happened before. I was always careful about night appointments.
Kate has to take off on Sunday. Can you fill in for her?
Ah, thank G-d. No questions about Wednesday night.
But… Sunday. My relief swiftly turned to rage. I hated when Yocheved asked me to come in on Sunday. It wasn’t fair; she was setting me up to disappoint her. She always did this to me. Asking me to stay overtime. Giving me pathetic bonuses so I should be embarrassed to ask for a raise.
I typed the word no, debating if I should add sorry and deciding against it. Fingers sweating, I hit send.
Sunday was my day off. And I had plans.
(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 647)
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