Part 47 (1/2)

”How do I know?” Yossie snapped, completely unaware of his partner's personal interest in the matter. ”Probably on a date or something. Nice looking lady, I'll say that.”

”Yeah, I know.”

Yossie looked puzzled.

”I've met her,” Paul explained.

”Oh,” Yossie remarked, wondering why Paul had sent him up to the apartment alone.

Paul started the engine and drove off, saying nothing else about the Weissmans, guessing, in his mind, exactly where Rachel had been.

d.a.m.n that Joshua!

CHAPTER 58.

Rachel's surgery was ”successful,” though she still needed subsequent radiation treatments. The doctors had said that the radiation was pretty much routine in cases like hers, and that the prognosis remained ”good.” Initially, her spirits were positive; she had summoned the best of her resources to meet the moment. But gradually, over the months that followed, she withdrew and retreated inward.

She stopped leaving home, and saw Joshua only when he visited, which was usually every day. He often felt that she would have preferred that he not be there, but she never actually came out and said it. She was too listless to do even that.

Hannah, however, didn't seem to mind Joshua's presence. She no longer cared what the neighbors thought. Still, he made a point of scheduling his visits for the late evenings, when it was unlikely for him to be seen.

The doctors wanted to place Rachel on medication, some kind of anti-depressant, but she refused. She believed she had earned her depression, that she deserved it. Wallowing was the least she could do. There was no talking to her, no pulling her out of it. Not until she was ready.

The months turned into a year. Her hair grew back to its full length, and she regained her weight. She began using make-up again, dressing up, and even taking walks during the day. She resumed her excursions to Joshua's office, every day around noon, always packing sandwiches and whatnot, more than enough for Connie and Mrs. Sawyer as well.

Connie had become engaged to be married to Marcus Sterling. She and Rachel were becoming good friends. Joshua found it hard to believe that things were finally getting into a groove. Even Mrs. Sawyer was mellowing.

Loretta still did her thing, and still didn't want to hear about it from Joshua. Between his practice and late night community board business, Joshua didn't see much of her anyway. Once in a while he would awaken with a strange feeling that someone had been standing in his door during the night, watching him sleep. He could swear he wasn't dreaming.

The afternoon lunches stopped when Rachel returned to work in the dress shop. It had been a year and a half since the surgery, and it felt-at last-that things were finally getting back to the way they had once been. She and Joshua resumed their dinner dates, even attending the theatre and a few movies from time to time. Sneaking around had somehow become far less important.

Joshua, of course, yearned for more. He would wait as long as it would take, and if that wasn't enough he would live with it. For he realized, all things considered, that however much time he had with her was a gift.

Connie and Marcus were married on October 24, 1987, and Rachel was Joshua's date for the reception. It was ironic, for he had often chided her for her feelings about being seen with him by members of her community, and now with the tables turned, he understood how she felt. He would never raise the issue again.

Having been the daughter of a rabbi, she had always been in the public eye. Now, he was too. He was surprised to find himself concerned about the perceptions of others, and realized how that concern was often legitimate. People were looking and talking.

They sat at a table with Mrs. Sawyer, her husband, Loretta, two other members of the community board and their wives. It was his fellow board members he was worried about. Tensions had been mounting, once again, between the blacks and Hasidim on the board, the blacks still arguing that the Hasidim were over-represented. It was an old story. At the last meeting, Joshua had argued for compromise, hoping to resolve the issue. After he had spoken, another board member called him a ”Jew lover.” And now, here he was, proving the point.

Joshua tried to ignore his anxieties and have fun. A couple of drinks and the scent of Rachel's perfume helped. There was also the pleasure of watching one of Connie's uncles, a distinguished looking widower, put the moves on Loretta. Joshua had forgotten how beautiful his mother was, how human she was, until she smiled and accepted the man's invitation to dance.

The music was stirring. Rachel and Joshua sat alone at the table. ”Come,” she said, ”let's dance.”

”Dance?”

”Yeah, dance.”

He pointed to his leg. ”Can't.”

”Yes you can,” she said, pulling him from the chair.

”But I'll fall.”

”Just hold onto me, you'll be fine.”

”Rachel, I never...”

”Neither have I, at least not with a man. There's a first time for everything.”

She dragged him to the dance floor, put his hand on her shoulder, and said, ”There, use that as your cane.” She put one of her hands on his waist, and cupped his free hand with her other hand. They started to move.

He was fl.u.s.tered, and didn't know what he was doing. Their pace was too slow for the music. ”It seems we're dancing to our own beat,” he said in her ear.

”Aren't we always?”

The band slowed its beat, playing a tune more fitting to their step. Rachel moved closer to him. He felt the entire room watching, but held her tightly. He was dancing.

At the end of the evening, on the way home in the cab, she turned to him and said, ”You're going to catch a lot of flak for tonight.”

”Flak? Me? Hey, that's my middle name.”

Her look told him that she wasn't convinced.

”Don't worry,” he said. ”I'll handle it.”

She took his hand and kissed him on the cheek. ”I know. It's just that I wish the world were different.”

”We all wish many things.”

Joshua arrived at his office early the next morning, sleepless, in no mood for the day awaiting him. Connie would be honeymooning in Hawaii for two weeks, augmenting his already overloaded schedule, and Mrs. Sawyer wasn't due for another hour, forcing him to make his own coffee. He added an extra spoonful; he needed it strong.

He emptied his briefcase, except for the newspaper, and started working on the mail he'd neglected yesterday. When the coffee was ready, he got up to pour a cup, returned to his desk, pushed the mail aside, and grabbed The New York Times from his briefcase.

He leaned back and began thumbing through the pages. There wasn't anything out of the ordinary, so he skipped to the Matrimonials, and there, staring at him, was a photo of Connie and Marcus, a headline announcing their wedding, and a small write-up. Connie had known it would appear, and asked him to save a copy for her. He figured she had probably asked all her friends to do the same, just to make sure everyone saw it.

He took a scissors from his desk drawer, cut out the article, and returned to the news. A few minutes pa.s.sed, he became antsy and realized there were a thousand other things he should be doing at that moment. He was about to put it aside, when something suddenly jumped up at him, a small, inconsequential paragraph, with the heading: Black Underworld Figure Slain In Bed-Stuy.

The paragraph read: A fifty-two year old black man, Robert Franklin, of 201 Van Buren Street, was found dead yesterday in the back alley of an abandoned building on the corner of Ralph Avenue and Madison Street. The coroner said the victim had sustained multiple stab wounds in the chest and abdomen, and that at least one of the wounds had pierced the victim's heart. Police sources claim that Franklin was a local crime boss, dealing in drugs, numbers, and prost.i.tution, and had been called ”Big Bob” by the many neighborhood residents who knew him. It is speculated that Franklin's killing was the result of a local turf war, or an insurgence within his own organization. The victim is survived by an estranged sister, who was contacted but refused comment.

He put the paper down and closed his eyes, trying to picture Big Bob's body lying bloodied on the ground. All he felt was numbness. And an embarra.s.sing but satisfying sense that at last there was some justice in his otherwise twisted universe.