“She’s kidding you,” my mother says, shutting off the sink. “My God. Meg’s right. This is supposed to be about fun. Entertainment, right?”
“Making fun of someone is
fun?
”
“I’m not making fun of you,” Megan says, her face flushed, a little stunned. “You’re wearing overalls and there’s eyeliner on your face. It’s a
little
funny. Anti-Semitism? Really?”
“Okay,” he says, his jaw churning. “Terrific.” He plops down in one of the kitchen chairs and slams his list on the table. “You run it. Take control. Thank God you’re here. She’s
here
everyone! Watch. Watch how much gets done.”
“I heard you,” Megan says. “Go ahead.”
“So I can continue? You’re done?”
“Yes.”
“You can do that? Save the routine? For when I’m asleep or
dead.
”
“Abram,” my mother says. “Please.”
Gabe walks in the room wearing the tiniest tuxedo I’ve ever seen. “Mommy?”
“Hi, baby.”
“I don’t like this costume,” he says, tugging at the bow tie.
“You look fantastic,” my mom says. “So handsome.”
My father lifts the Magic Marker from the table and hands it to Asher. “Will you please draw some Woody Allen glasses on
Gabriel? Your mother’s afraid it’ll sizzle his skin off. It’s a
marker.
Tell her.”
Asher begins to read the warning on the side.
“Do
not
draw on his face with that thing,” my mom says. “The tux is cute enough.”
“I spe
cifically
asked the man at the store and he said it wouldn’t harm him.”
“You think yelling at me is gonna change my mind, Abe?”
“Who’s yelling? I’m telling you.”
The front door slams closed. We all hear a woman sing, “Helll
ooo
,
Greeeeeeeens.
It’s Wendy and
Laaaa
rrrrryyyy.”
“Hi, Wend,” my father yells out the kitchen door. “We’ll be out in a jiffy, just give us a sec.” He shuts the door. “You know something?” he says, nodding and facing my mother. “You’d never believe this, but I’m doing this—all of this—because I
love
you. Do you hear that? Do you
buy
that?”
“Do I
buy
it, Abe?”
“
Allow
me to love you. All of you. Allow me to love you and to do this my way and you’ll see what it can be. This is for you. For
your
pleasure.”
“Abram.”
“Say nothing! Can you do that, Claire? Can you just stop? Why is there resistance through every inch of this? Why? It’s like . . .
trudging
through a swamp with bickerers on my back. None of you know what it takes to pull off a flawless show. It’s
not
fluff. Freckles and makeup and time and discipline and attention and
passion
.
Laugh
if you want, go ahead. You’re so funny, all of you, you
really
are.”
Megan starts rubbing her forehead.
“People who care about us are pulling out of their driveways, right now, to come and be in our home. To be with you. And look at you.”
We all just stand there and wait for him to lift his list. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi. “Now, Megan.”
“Yes?”
“You will shut the lights off in the living room when I point at you . . . just seconds after Gabe does the intro to the film. So again, the order. One, the cast performance of “There’s No Business Like Show Business.” Two, I’ll do a very quick introduction of the family. Three—”
“Time out,” Asher says. “I said earlier, days ago, that I don’t want that . . . this time. To be introduced.”
Everyone looks over at him.
“I just—”
“Why are you inter
rupting
me? Why? I always introduce the family.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. You don’t think Shel Friedman knows that I skateboard and Dara swims and J reads good Hebrew? You said yourself you had a time constraint. Everyone coming to this thing knows us. Am I wrong, Ma?”
“I . . . see what you mean,” she says. “To save time, Abram.”
My father slowly puts the list in the chest pocket of his overalls and walks to the sink. He folds his arms and looks out the window with a tilt of his head, as if searching for clouds. “Three,” he says calmly. “Gabriel introduces the film. Four, viewing. Five, dessert and coffee. Six, discussion of film. Gabriel?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you ready to try it for Daddy?”
“Noooo,” he says, pulling on his bow tie.
My father turns around. “Don’t do that, Gabriel. Don’t
pull
on that. Daddy tied that for you and I don’t want it loosened. I want to hear your introduction, the one we practiced yesterday. Are you ready to show Daddy?”
“I don’t want to.”
My father drops to his knees and takes him by the shoulders. “You’re going to give the introduction to
Annie Hall
. We practiced for two hours yesterday and tonight you’re going to make everyone very, very happy when you go out there and say what I told you to say. It’s very cute.
You’re
very cute.”
“I don’t like this costume, Daddyyyy.”
“The costume is fine. Everything is fine. The people coming today love you . . . and they’re going to love you
more
in about an hour. So, tell me you’re ready to show me that you know your lines. You’re a big boy today and I don’t want to hear that you don’t want to.”
“But I don’t want to,” he says, and his bottom lip protrudes.
My father stands from his crouch with his eyes closed. “
Damn
it!”
“Abram,” my mother says, walking toward Gabe. “Don’t. Don’t make yourself nuts over this. Just do the introduction yourself.”
“He knew every inch of it, Claire. He’s doing it tonight, right out there. He is.
Some
one draw those glasses on his face and do not discourage him. I
mean
it,” he says, his finger raised. “Gabriel, in five minutes I want to hear that intro. You did
wonderfully
last night and I want it again. So you be ready for Daddy.”
Asher shakes his head and starts to leave the room. “Where are you going?” my father says.
“To change my clown pants, remember?”
“Is that sarcasm? Is it? ’Cause you can
keep
it if it is.”
Asher stops at the door and turns to my father. “Why do you even . . . have . . . these parties?”
“And this is my son, Asher,” my dad says. “He’s into sarcasm and disgusting pants and doesn’t like to be introduced.”
“Do you need me anymore?” Megan says, glowering, her elbows on the stove.
“Do you know your role?” my father asks her.
“You point at me and I turn the lights off. I got it.”
“More sarcasm,” he says to my mother. “Go. Go away. Go do whatever you do up there. Have fun.”
Megan points her tongue at the back of my dad’s head as she and Asher leave the room. My father lifts the list to his face. “Lawn furniture. Did you clean it off, Dara, like I asked you to?”
“Yeah.”
“With what?”
“A towel.”
“Good girl. Now drag it all to the back steps and Asher’ll help you bring it in.”
“But it’s heavy.”
“Anybody home?” someone says from the front hall. “Abram? Claire?”
My father runs to the door and opens it. “Out in a
sec!
” he barks, and slams it.
“Abram,” my mother whispers. “What are you doing?”
“Just . . . quiet,” he says. “Can I have quiet? Dara, go see who that is and bring their coats upstairs. If they’re in the show, point them to the wardrobe rack in my room. Go, go, go.”
She runs out. He looks down at his list.
“Is the coffee made?” he says. “Is there tea? Is there ice?”
“Yes,” my mother says, opening the fridge. “I have it handled.”
“Jacob, go drag the lawn furniture to the back steps and I’ll help you from there.”
“Even the—?”
“All of it. Make sure it’s clean. Bring a towel.”
Asher pokes his head in the room. “Someone’s parkin’ their Benz on the Sinkovitz’s lawn.”
“Stop them!” my father says. “Tell them to park in the driveway. What’s
wrong
with people? Ten bucks it’s Saul Dardik. Putz!”
“I’ll try,” Asher says, and walks back out.
“I’ll talk to Saul,” my mother says, and she leaves right behind him.
My father turns to me and glares. He is tortured with rosy cheeks of red. Gabe lets out a long yawn and tugs at his bow tie. My father’s still staring at me. I crack my mouth into a smile.
“Lawn furniture, lawn furniture, lawn furniture.” I start to walk toward the door. “Lawn furniture, lawn furniture.
Wait!
Take that marker and draw glasses on Gabriel. Do it quickly, please.”
“I can’t draw glasses, Dad.”
“Woody Allen glasses.”
“What?”
“Black glasses. Clark
goddamn
Kent.”
“My cast,” I say lifting it. “I can’t even hold a pen.”
“Gabriel, come over here,” he says, and pulls the cap off the marker.
Gabe steps closer to him and my father kneels on the kitchen floor. “I’m going to start the introduction that we practiced yesterday and when I stop I want you to take over, okay?”
Gabe lowers his chin.
“In . . . the sum-mer of 1977, remember? My . . . my. Come on. My daddy and two brothers drove to California. Remember now? One night in Memphis they stopped to see a movie called
Annie Hall
. Okay, now you.”
Gabe looks up at me for a second and then back at my dad. His eyelids are half closed.
My father says, “When the . . . when the . . . cha-rac-ter of An-nie . . . ordered a pastrami on . . .” He waits with his head tilted, his eyes wide with mascara.
“White . . . bread,” Gabriel whimpers.
“Right. Good.”
“My . . . daddy . . . laughed harder than he ever . . . ever laughed.”
“Good! Good, boy! Little faster. A lot louder. Now you’re almost there. “It’s . . . safe . . . to . . .”
“. . . say . . . that my daddy and my brothers . . .”
“. . . wwwwerrrrre . . .”
“Were the only Jews for . . .”
“For what?” my father says, his hands spreading apart. “For . . .”
“. . . miles,” says Gabe.
“Good
boy! Great
boy! Okay,” he says, with a sigh and smiles hard. “Fabulous. I knew it was in there. Now, come closer so I can draw these glasses on you. This is the
cutest
idea. Now from the top. In the summer . . .”
I watch my father press the wet tip of the pen into Gabriel’s cheeks. “Turn this way now. No, this way. Good, stay still. Okay, ready? In the summer . . .”
Asher and my mother walk back in the room. “It’s Bernie Shapiro, Dad. He says you told him to park on the lawn.”
“What the hell are you
doing
?” my mother says. Gabriel has a black circle around his right eye. He starts to touch it and it smears to his nostrils. “I
told
you not to draw on his face.” She grabs the marker from his hand. My father jumps to his feet and runs at her. “Give me that marker this second, Claire.”
She grips it with both her hands. “You . . .
heard
me, Abram.
Why would you ignore me? If I did that to you, you’d . . . go insane.”
“Hand it to me.”
She brings the marker behind her back. He lunges for it but misses.
“What are you doing?” she says.
“I told you
forty
times that pen is safe. Give me the pen. Give me the pen.”
“I’m not giving it to you. Step away, Abram!”
“A
child,
” he says, grabbing her wrist.
“Stop, Daddy,” Dara says.
“Let go of me,” my mother says, with tears in her voice.
“Daddy, get off.”
“Asher,” I say, walking toward them.
“Whoa,” Asher says. “Dad!” He tries to step between them and takes my father’s elbow in his hand. “Whoa, whoa, take it easy, take it easy.”
My father lets go of her and she slides to the floor with the pen in her grip. “What the hell is that?” he says to Asher. “Keep your hands off of me,
hero.
Mister clown pants.”
“Just . . . calm down. You have a party going on out there.”
“The voice of reason,” he says, and throws his arms to the ceiling. “Come to save his mama. Yay the clown.
Yay
the clown!” he barks.
“Don’t do this now,” Asher says softly.
“You think I’d hurt my wife?” he says, stepping into his face.
“No . . .”
“Abram,” my mother says. “Take the pen.”
“The savior? Gonna save us all?” My father hooks his finger into Asher’s belt loop and yanks down. Asher spins away, stepping back.
“You’re gonna tear my pants?” he says. He smiles at me. “Ya
know you got friends out there, Dad? Outside that door? A lot of them. Tell me you know that.”
“Come over here,” my father says and points at the floor. “
Right
now!”
Asher just stands there blinking with amazement. “That’s what you want. You
really
. . . do.” He lowers his chin to his chest and laughs out loud. “Wants to rip my pants.”
“Abram,” my mother says. “Let’s start over!”
“Why? To humiliate me? Twelve cars in the driveway and he wants a . . .
rrriiippp
down memory lane. Here. Wacko. Take it.” He skips toward my father. “I’ll stick my leg out for ya. Go on,
tear
’em, ya lunatic. Spend it, right here, in front of your family.
Spend
it!” he yells, and his smirk fades to rage.
My father gets a finger inside and yanks down with all his strength. The pants don’t tear. He drops to his knees and goes again with both hands. Nothing. Dara starts to cry and my mother surrounds her in her arms. Asher looks down at the top of my father’s head. He begins to find a smile. “Look at you,” he says. Another jolt of the arm, a tiny tear. Another and another quickly, his glasses flopping to the floor. Gabriel moves to my mother, his eyes pinned on his dad.
Someone knocks on the kitchen door.
“Abram, stop now,” my mom says. “They’ll hear you.”
He jolts again and Asher wobbles, nearly stumbling, with a lazy laugh.
“Anybody home? Claire?” I step toward the door and my mother does too.