stripped the baby down and washed him in the sink. I looked at what had once been my favorite baby outfit, now stained a horrifying shade of yellow, and debated throwing it out. I couldn’t bring myself to part with it, so I shoved it into a sanitary napkin disposal bag and hid that in the bottom of my diaper bag.
Isaac and I found our salesclerk standing at the register holding a miniature pair of jeans, a rugby shirt, and matching socks. I dressed the baby, using my teeth to tear the price tags off. I handed the damp pieces of paper back to the be-pierced salesclerk, who gingerly scanned them into the register. We were in and out in less than five minutes. And we managed to spend less than seventy dollars. A miracle.
From the outside, the building where I hoped to find Fraydle hiding out was fairly nondescript. It was Spanish-style in the way that most Los Angeles houses of the 1930s are, that is to say it was stucco with wrought-iron railings. The façade was thickly covered in ivy that had been inelegantly hacked away from the windows. The entry was through an archway whose stone-faced interior walls were covered in brightly colored graffiti, some of it in Hebrew.
Isaac and I passed under the arch and into a courtyard. Once, it must have been beautiful. A stone fountain dominated the center of the yard. In its large oval pond, a mermaid balanced on her tail, her face raised to the sky. Her nose was chipped off, and there was a rusted pipe poking out of the top of her head. At one time water probably cascaded down in a lovely mist. Now, the bone-dry pond was filled with cigarette butts and the odd beer bottle.
The ground-floor apartments opened out into the courtyard, two on each side. The tenants of each of the eight apartments were obviously responsible for taking care of the area immediately in front of their front doors. One had decorated carefully, with colorful flowers growing in large tubs and a pair of Adirondack chairs. Most of the others had at least a folding lawn chair or two. One or two were barren of porch accessories.
In the back corner of the courtyard, I noticed a flight of stairs leading up to the second-floor apartments. These were accessible by a long exterior hallway, like a wraparound porch, that circled the second floor.
Number 4 had in front of it a pair of beat-up lounge chairs with webbing that might have once been red but had faded to a rusty pink. There was a green window box propped against the wall next to the door and a tomato plant climbed out of the box and up the wall. I glanced down at Isaac. He had spat out my finger and was busily sucking on the folded front of his Baby Bjorn. I kissed the top of his head and knocked on the door to Yossi’s apartment.
Within moments the door opened. Yossi stood there wearing only a pair of low-slung jeans. His bare chest was covered with a thatch of black hair that thinned down to a line as it crept down his flat stomach into the top of his pants. The button of his jeans was undone. It was everything I could do not to stare at him. It had been a while since I’d seen a bared twenty-something chest in the flesh. I looked up into his blue eyes. He didn’t look particularly happy to see me.
“Hi,” I said.
“She is not here.”
“But she’s been here before.”
He looked me up and down for a minute. I hadn’t botheredto change after yoga so I was still wearing nothing but a pair of leggings and a T-shirt. “You are a friend of Fraydle’s parents?” he asked, sounding doubtful.
“She worked for me. I told you that at Nomi’s, remember?”
“You are not Orthodox?”
I laughed. “Do I look Orthodox to you?”
He looked me up and down again, reading my T-shirt carefully as if trying to decide whether the Starfleet Academy was the flagship of a brand new chain of yeshivas. “Today, not so much. But at Nomi’s you did.”
“What are you talking about?” I tried to remember what I’d worn to the Israeli restaurant. And then I
Isaac and I found our salesclerk standing at the register holding a miniature pair of jeans, a rugby shirt, and matching socks. I dressed the baby, using my teeth to tear the price tags off. I handed the damp pieces of paper back to the be-pierced salesclerk, who gingerly scanned them into the register. We were in and out in less than five minutes. And we managed to spend less than seventy dollars. A miracle.
From the outside, the building where I hoped to find Fraydle hiding out was fairly nondescript. It was Spanish-style in the way that most Los Angeles houses of the 1930s are, that is to say it was stucco with wrought-iron railings. The façade was thickly covered in ivy that had been inelegantly hacked away from the windows. The entry was through an archway whose stone-faced interior walls were covered in brightly colored graffiti, some of it in Hebrew.
Isaac and I passed under the arch and into a courtyard. Once, it must have been beautiful. A stone fountain dominated the center of the yard. In its large oval pond, a mermaid balanced on her tail, her face raised to the sky. Her nose was chipped off, and there was a rusted pipe poking out of the top of her head. At one time water probably cascaded down in a lovely mist. Now, the bone-dry pond was filled with cigarette butts and the odd beer bottle.
The ground-floor apartments opened out into the courtyard, two on each side. The tenants of each of the eight apartments were obviously responsible for taking care of the area immediately in front of their front doors. One had decorated carefully, with colorful flowers growing in large tubs and a pair of Adirondack chairs. Most of the others had at least a folding lawn chair or two. One or two were barren of porch accessories.
In the back corner of the courtyard, I noticed a flight of stairs leading up to the second-floor apartments. These were accessible by a long exterior hallway, like a wraparound porch, that circled the second floor.
Number 4 had in front of it a pair of beat-up lounge chairs with webbing that might have once been red but had faded to a rusty pink. There was a green window box propped against the wall next to the door and a tomato plant climbed out of the box and up the wall. I glanced down at Isaac. He had spat out my finger and was busily sucking on the folded front of his Baby Bjorn. I kissed the top of his head and knocked on the door to Yossi’s apartment.
Within moments the door opened. Yossi stood there wearing only a pair of low-slung jeans. His bare chest was covered with a thatch of black hair that thinned down to a line as it crept down his flat stomach into the top of his pants. The button of his jeans was undone. It was everything I could do not to stare at him. It had been a while since I’d seen a bared twenty-something chest in the flesh. I looked up into his blue eyes. He didn’t look particularly happy to see me.
“Hi,” I said.
“She is not here.”
“But she’s been here before.”
He looked me up and down for a minute. I hadn’t botheredto change after yoga so I was still wearing nothing but a pair of leggings and a T-shirt. “You are a friend of Fraydle’s parents?” he asked, sounding doubtful.
“She worked for me. I told you that at Nomi’s, remember?”
“You are not Orthodox?”
I laughed. “Do I look Orthodox to you?”
He looked me up and down again, reading my T-shirt carefully as if trying to decide whether the Starfleet Academy was the flagship of a brand new chain of yeshivas. “Today, not so much. But at Nomi’s you did.”
“What are you talking about?” I tried to remember what I’d worn to the Israeli restaurant. And then I
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