***

Yelena

The Dratlers were turning the corner.

I grasped the handlebars of my bike and slowly pedaled down the block, keeping an eye on the three figures who’d just left the boutique. They reached a car — a battered Lincoln — and climbed in.

Psikh. What was wrong with these people? They couldn’t afford a lease but spent thousands of dollars on a gown for one night?

Well, it worked in my favor. After having spent a fortune on a Lewin bridal gown once, the mother would appreciate a cheaper gown for the sister. I could sew something beautiful at a fair price. With a car like that…

I glanced at my watch and gasped. I was late. I bent forward in my seat, pedaling as fast as possible.

When I arrived home, Anzel was already sitting with the woman. Yet another home attendant interview. I brought leftover kvass to the table and extended my hand. “Yelena Kozlov.”

“Anna.” The woman’s grip was soft. She was nervous.

What was I supposed to ask her? “You have experience?”

She nodded. “I lived with a lady for six months.”

“And now?”

“She died.”

Ah.

I looked at Anzel. Why wasn’t he talking? He always let me do the talking. I gritted my teeth. This was for his mother, for goodness sake.

Hiding my exasperation, I started describing Mama’s situation. Anna listened quietly, asked some good questions. I liked this woman. She was humble but dignified, clearly serious about the job.

After ten minutes, during which I did most of the talking, we’d covered everything. The detailed care instructions were only relevant if we hired her.

Were we hiring her?

I caught Anzel’s gaze. He gave a small nod, again leaving the talking to me. I turned to Anna. “How much are you thinking to get paid?”

She blinked nervously. “The lady I worked for, they paid me $125 a day.”

It was my turn to blink. Seriously, $125? That was almost my entire day’s salary. And I was a seamstress, a professional.

As soon as Anna was gone, I turned to Anzel. “Anzel, $125? How in the world are we going to pay that?”

“I don’t know, Yelena. I don’t know.”

“Well, I have to hurry back to the boutique now. But I’m calling Moriz. Now.”

I slammed the door behind me and grabbed my cell phone, holding it to my ear as I sprinted down the stairs. Three rings, four rings, voicemail. I wasn’t leaving another voicemail. I’d left two that day. Moriz was probably in a lab all day, that busy boy.

In the building’s alleyway, I unchained my bike, then paused. A hundred and twenty-five dollars.

In a flash, I dropped the chain and flew back into the building, up the stairs, back into our apartment. Ignoring Anzel, I headed straight to my sewing room. Quickly, I dumped two dresses into a bag and ran back outside, planting the bag in the basket of my bike. If I worked fast, I could finish those two dresses tonight and tell Gluck I was available for the next one. They had a bunch of girls, the Glucks. If I worked fast, $125 a day could work.

Fifteen minutes later, I chained my bike to a pole outside the boutique, grabbed the bag from my basket, and hurried inside, breathless.

Yocheved looked up when I walked in. She didn’t say a word about my longer than usual lunch break, but her face was one big question mark. With deliberate motions, she lifted her hand, wiggled her wrist and looked at her watch.

***

“What was that woman hiding in her bag?” asked Yocheved.

I shrugged. “How should I know? And why do you think she’s hiding something?”

“You don’t have to be a genius to figure that out, Mina. Did you see the look on her face?”

I’d seen it. And I’d seen her stow the bag under her table, almost… surreptitiously. But I had more important things to do than speculate what Yelena carried in her bag. Briskly, I headed to the sewing room, stopping to return Feuerstein’s headpiece to the shelf.

In the sewing room, I flipped through my sketch pad to Kohlman’s page. I had to admit, besides money, this family had incredible taste. The gown was turning out a masterpiece.

“Vision,” Yelena sneered when I pulled up my chair at her table. “They want to feel like there’s a whole process for all the thousands of dollars they’re spending. It’s a dress, for goodness sake. Bring me a girl, I take her measurements, I sew, it’s good. Psikh.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “What’s up, Yelena? Something wrong?”

She grimaced. “It’s good. Let’s continue with this gown.”

“You don’t look good. Do you want to take a break? Drink something?”

“Take a break, sure.” She gave a bitter laugh. “I take a break, a few minutes extra, and Yocheved goes like this.” She mimicked my sister’s motion, wiggling her wrist and opening exaggeratedly huge eyes.

“Don’t mind her,” I said. “She’s just, you know, having one of those days.”

“Yeah.”

Something was definitely wrong. “Yelena, what’s going on?”

She sighed. “Nothing, Anzel’s mama… needs a home attendant. It’s good, Mina, okay? Are we continuing Kohlman?”

Her face had turned slightly pink, and she gave a quick swipe at her eyes. “If you’re sure you feel up to it,” I said.

As she reached for her sketch pad, I looked up — and found Yocheved staring straight into my eyes.

I jolted, daring a glance at Yelena. Her eyes flitted from her sketch pad to me to Yocheved. “Kohlman?” I said, pushing the sketch pad slightly forward, as though to show proof.

Yocheved coughed. “Go on, then,” she said frostily. “I just wanted to remind you, Mina. The marketing meeting. Tomorrow at three. You’ll be there?”

Ugh, not that cold look. Where was a Yocheved rant when I needed it? I took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes.”

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 649)