Authors: Russell Andresen
Chapter 41
The New Neighbors
About a month ago, the neighborhood was knocked on its ear by the sudden and unexpected departure of our next-door neighbors, Roseanne and Alfred Lipchitz. They were stalwarts of the community for decades and a constant pain in the tuchas to Bubbe, especially Roseanne. Everyone has these kinds of neighbors, the ones that you catch peeking through the blinds at every conceivable opportunity, the ones who have an opinion on everything that is going on, whether it concerns them or not. Those were the Lipchitzes.
The day after they had packed up their bags to move to Florida to be closer to their son, Zachary “the genius,” a moving van pulled in and our new neighbors were settling themselves in. It was the topic of much gossip and debate about who they were and whether or not they knew who they were moving in next door to.
Bubbe, for her part, was thrilled to see the Lipchitzes go. She was nearing the end of her rope with the constant smart-ass remarks that Roseanne loved to make about everyone. She was even more excited and touched when she received the invitation to the housewarming party that was going to be held on the following Wednesday.
I came home and she was uncharacteristically happy to see me. She came running from the kitchen as if she had not seen me in years. “Izzy, look at how lovely this is!” she said excitedly as she handed me an invitation. It was frilled and covered in lace. I did not know who it was from, but I had to respect their chutzpah.
“What is this?” I asked.
She smiled at me and informed me that it was from the new neighbors, good Jewish boys, brothers in fact. “They came over earlier to introduce themselves,” she informed me. “Such nice boys, the kind that I wish you would associate yourself with instead of those two shmucks.” Bubbe never missed an opportunity to poke a jab at Jerry and Shlomo.
“Well, who are they?” I asked, curious.
She put her hand on her chest and sighed, “Such nice boys, brothers—the Kletters. Bryan and Jason.”
I thought to myself that this might be interesting having two Jewish men living next door instead of the queen of misery. Bubbe was obviously taken with them and she seemed so excited at the idea of being invited out. This was a rare occasion with the old gal. Normally when we were invited anywhere, except for the Markowitzes, she would look at the invitation as an inconvenience, one that she would inevitably leave to me to get her out of. But this time she was really looking forward to it; she was already planning on the dishes that she would bring as a housewarming gift.
I have to tell you that after examining the invitation, a red flag went off in my head. Why would any man send an invite that had frills and lace attached? Why would two grown men, brothers or not, be living together? Why the hell were they so gung-ho about having Bubbe over? These were all perfectly reasonable questions as far as I was concerned.
The invitation read: “Join us for the commencement of our civil union.” What the fuck did that mean? I had an idea, and it was scarier than running into Bubbe on a bad day. Civil union? There was definitely something un-kosher in the ham business.
Bubbe was oblivious to the odd nature of the situation. She was content to just go about her business of preparing her world-famous gefilte fish and chopped liver. She felt like it was her night to shine with the new neighbors. The fact that it was someone other than the Lipchitzes was an added bonus.
I tried to do some reconnaissance over the following days but was unable to pick up any useful information, other than the fact that they seemed to be receiving an awful lot of packages from online linens outlets, and they hung up bubble curtains in the front windows. Another thing that was somewhat off-putting was that there was the constant scent of tea tree whenever you walked by their house.
The following Wednesday arrived, and Bubbe was uncharacteristically jovial. She was like a fat girl that was invited to the prom. She brought her best platters and made sure to have me and my mother dress in our finest. “We finally have two nice people living next door; don’t embarrass me,” she told us.
The three of us walked next door, my mother mentioning how she hoped that they would have an open bar. My shirt was already starting to itch and I was dreading having to find out if my suspicions were true. I rang the doorbell and it chimed to the “Ode to Joy.” The smell of tea tree was even stronger standing on the porch. As we waited for the door to be opened, I noticed that they had a cock-shaped mezuzah on the door; this was not boding well on any level. The door opened and we were greeted by an artificially tanned man dressed in stretch jeans and a floral-patterned silk shirt.
“Mrs. Glassman!” he shrieked like a teenage girl. “You made it. I am so thrilled! Bryan, she’s here,” he shouted behind him.
“I’m not ready yet! Don’t let them see me,” a voice came from the distance.
“He’s been a nervous wreck all day,” our neighbor said with a limp-wristed wave of his hand. “Everything has to be perfect with him; he’s so self-conscious. Please come in, neighbors,” he said with a wink and a bounce in his step.
We followed him in and he turned to introduce himself to me and my mother. “It’s a pleasure to meet both of you. My name is Jason.” He extended his hand in an obvious feminine manner and turned his gaze to me. “You must be Izzy. Your grandmother has told me so much about you.” He turned to Bubbe and said, “Mrs. Glassman, you didn’t tell me that he was so handsome.”
Bubbe laughed and responded, “I tell him that all the time, but he lacks self-confidence.”
He led us into the living room and we were seated. Jason took the two dishes from Bubbe and made his way to the kitchen. The house looked a lot different than it had when the Lipchitzes lived next door. There was track lighting, pastels on everything, and a full-sized painting of Barbra Streisand on the wall. My suspicions were beginning to look pretty accurate. The other “brother,” Bryan, came down the stairs dressed in his full party-going regalia, a black silk shirt unbuttoned to the navel, his chest hairs fighting with each other for position, a golden
chai
hanging on his necklace, and a pair of white jeans that could have been painted on.
“Oh, Mrs. Glassman, I am so glad that you made it! Please pardon the house. I know it’s a mess,” he said, embarrassed.
Bubbe waved him off and said, “Nonsense, the house looks wonderful.” She smiled at me, “Izzy, didn’t I always say that Roseanne lacked all signs of a decorative mind?”
“Yes, Bubbe, that is one of the things that keep me up at night pondering,” I responded.
Bryan burst into giddy, schoolgirl-like laughter. “You didn’t say that he was funny too! The girls are going to love him!” he exclaimed.
The girls?
I thought. At least this was promising; I had no idea that there would be women joining us. I might get to do some feasting this evening after all. My concerns continued to mount about the exact nature of the relationship between the two of them. I have never claimed to be the sharpest arrow in the quiver, but I was pretty sure that the two of them were faygelahs. I looked around the living room and noticed a picture of Bryan and Jason dressed in white tuxedos, holding hands next to a female rabbi. That was the incriminating evidence that I was looking for. Not only were they not brothers, they were together in the most unnatural of ways, and, to make matters worse, they were “Reformed Jews.” They had a woman rabbi. Who ever heard of such a thing? They probably also put up Christmas lights and had a Chanukah bush. That’s a tree that some Jews put up so that they don’t feel left out of all the holiday festivities. Bubbe must not have been aware of any of this. It was my job to see to it that it stayed that way so as not to cause a scene.
Bryan continued to kibitz with Bubbe while Jason was busy doing G-d knows what in the kitchen. “I think that it is so wonderful that the two of you decided to commit yourselves to each other,” Bubbe said, smiling. “I always wished that Izzy had a relationship like that.”
Thanks, Bubbe
, I thought. “Your parents must be very proud of the two of you,” she continued. Bryan smiled at her and said, “Well, my parents were thrilled, but Jason’s mom can be a real pain in the tuchas.”
Bubbe looked at him with a quizzical expression on her face. “I don’t understand. I thought that the two of you were related.”
And here we go
, I thought.
At that moment, the doorbell rang again, and before our host was able to leave his seat, the door opened and in came three rather large women dressed in gaudy outfits and bad makeup, and as luck would have it, each was sporting an Adam’s apple. Wow, the surprises seemed to have no end.
The first came into the living room, and in a very hoarse, scratchy voice said, “Hello, Bryan. My G-d, the house looks amazing!” The two of them giggled. He looked around and focused his attention on me. His eyebrows lifted slightly and he said, “I had no idea that you were providing dessert.”
Bryan blushed and waved his hands in that limp-wristed way and said, “George, you are terrible.”
Bubbe shot me a quick glare and asked, “Why do they keep doing the hand-flapping thing? And what kind of a name is George for a young lady?”
My mother was busy attacking the bar and making new friends, blissfully free from the ravages of all reason. I looked at Bubbe and said, “Why do you think?”
“Don’t play games with me, young man. What’s going on?” One of the guests, a rather rotund and poorly dressed queen, came over and interrupted in a very scratchy voice, “Did you make this chopped liver?”
Bubbe smiled and said, “Yes I did, dear.” The queen rolled his eyes back into his head and replied, “It is absolutely divine! The best that I have ever tasted.”
Bubbe smiled and then responded, “That sounds like quite the cold that you have. Sit down, I’m going next door to get you a hot bowl of some nice chicken soup.” She got up from the sofa and led the drag queen to a seat right next to me and hurried out of the house to fetch some soup. It was going to take a lot more than soup to heal what was ailing this bunch, I kept thinking.
Jason rejoined the group and sat down next to Bryan, the two of them holding hands and gently caressing each other’s arms. One of the drag queens said, “We are so proud of the two of you. It’s about time that you got hitched.” This was turning into a nightmare. I could not even imagine what could be worse.
“Wait a minute; the two of you are faygelahs?” my mother asked as she was polishing off her fourth cocktail of the last ten minutes. “This is priceless. My mom thinks that the two of you are brothers.” She broke into laughter. “This is unbelievable.” She sat down next to me and asked Bryan and Jason, “So tell me how the two of you met. I have to hear this before the Führer comes back.”
The two of them looked at each other and Jason said, “Honey, why don’t you tell her? You’re so much better at this than I am.” Bryan blushed and rubbed Jason’s hairy arm and said, “I do have a knack for this kind of thing.”
One of the queens came running back into the room shrieking, “Wait, don’t start until I get comfortable! I love this story.”
Bubbe came back into the house with a hot bowl of soup and handed it to the queen with the raspy voice, “Here you are, dear. This will make that cold go away.” She looked around the room and asked, “What am I missing?”
“Oh nothing, Mrs. Glassman,” Jason started. “We were just about to tell your daughter how the two of us met.”
Bubbe looked confused. “How you met? I thought that the two of you were brothers,” she said innocently.
They both chuckled, Bryan rubbing the back of Jason’s neck. “If we were, we would be guilty of a lot more than being in love.” He laughed harder. I could not help but smile myself. This was getting better than anything I could come up with. Bubbe’s face slowly went cold. “I don’t understand. Why would you commit yourselves to each other unless you were related?”
The two faygelahs looked at each other awkwardly and Jason said, “We committed ourselves in the holy realm of matrimony.”
“I’m confused,” Bubbe said again.
“Mrs. Glassman, this soup is fabulous!” the queen said between slurps, which was probably not a huge stretch for him.
“Yes, thank you, George.” She waved him off. “How are the two of you married? You said that you’re Jewish.”
“Well, there are Jewish homosexuals, Mrs. Glassman,” Bryan said.
How glad I was that I gave up a night of feasting for this. Bubbe went rigid. I could not tell if it was from shock or from anger. All I was sure of was that the shit was about to hit the fan.
She was just about to blow her top when the door opened again and in came the rabbi, a small, wrinkled, grey-haired woman named Olga. The faygelahs erupted in cheers of excitement upon her arrival. They leapt from their seats and she was peppered with kisses and hugs. “Mazel tov to the both of you on your new home,” she said in a whiny voice. I looked over at Bubbe and realized that Mount Zena was just about ready to erupt.
“Pardon the appearance of the house,” Bryan said, embarrassed. “Jason is such a slob.”
“Me? What about you?” Jason replied. “Every time I go into that bathroom, it’s like a chimpanzee was cleaning himself.”
“Me? What about when I brought you to my spa? I thought that the poor girl was either going to faint or jump on you and try to ride you for the eight seconds,” Bryan snapped back.