says so . . . my mother says surprises can only mean trouble . . .
Norman fits in, Shep. You don’t. You’d never be satisfied with just me . . . would you? And I couldn’t stand it, Shep, if we got married and then you went with other women . . . I’d die . . . I have an engagement ring. A two-carat, emerald-cut, blue-white diamond. And we’re going to Puerto Rico on our honeymoon. And we’re renting a new garden apartment in Plainfield. Five and a half rooms. And I’m choosing my china and crystal and silver and linens . . . oh, I’m so busy choosing everything . . . and my picture is being done by Bradford Bachrach next week, Shep . . . and please, if you care . . . if you want me the way I want you . . . please, hurry and send a telegram before my picture is in the paper and everybody knows I’m going to marry Norman Pressman . . . before it’s too late, Shep . . .
S HE MOVED INTO the seat behind Shep on the train, willing him to turn around. But he didn’t. He had longer hair now, brushing his shirt collar. She thought about touching the back of his neck. Remembered how he’d shivered when she’d kissed him there. Funny, she’d never kissed the back of Norman’s neck. Ten minutes later they pulled into Newark. Sandy had to change trains. She walked out past him. He was reading his paper and never looked up. She was clutching the book Lisbeth had given to her.
S ANDY AND N ORMAN went out to dinner that night. Not to The Club, The Club was closed on Mondays. To the new Chinese restaurant in Scotch Plains. Everyone was raving about it. And the owner, Lee Ann Fong, had recently joined The Club herself. Sandy told Norm about Lisbeth and Vincent and their arrangement. Their Thursday nights off.
“I could never tolerate anything like that,” Norman said. “Marriage is a contract.”
“But Lisbeth says it’s helping their marriage.”
“Lisbeth is full of shit . . . always has been.” Norman stirred his Scotch with his index finger as he spoke.
“Did you know McCarthy did that?”
“Did what?”
“Stirred his drinks with his finger.”
“You think I’m like Joe McCarthy? Is that what you’re saying?”
“No, Norm, one thing has nothing to do with the other. It’s just a peculiar habit.”
“You shovel corn niblets with your fingers.”
“It’s hard to get corn niblets onto the fork.”
“It’s uncouth to shovel with a finger. That habit of yours has bothered me for years.”
She pushed her salad around on her plate. “I told Lisbeth you wouldn’t go for the idea.”
“Go for? You’re not suggesting . . . Jesus . . .”
“No, of course not!”
“I wish you’d stay away from her. She’s nothing but trouble. I wish you’d concentrate on making new friends, at The Club.”
“I got a dress for Fourth of July.”
“Good, I thought you were going to have your hair cut, too.”
“I was, but I didn’t have time.”
“Make an appointment before the holiday weekend.”
“I will, I will. It’s just that I’m so busy. I’ve got so many lessons . . .”
“Make an afternoon appointment. I cut out a picture for you.”
“A picture of what?”
“The way you should have your hair cut. Remind me to give it to you when we get home.”
But when they got home Norman was ready for a little something. And when she came, when she got her dessert, she called out.
“What’d you say?” Norman asked.
“Nothing.”
“I thought you said
schlep.
”
“No, why would I say that?”
“I don’t know, that’s what I’m asking.”
“No, I didn’t say anything.”
But she must have. She must have called
Shep.
She’d been thinking about him as she came.
9
W HAT N ORMAN LIKED BEST about The Club was that it wasn’t one hundred percent Jewish. Besides Lee Ann Fong, there were nine Japanese members, all from Manhattan, three Italian families, all in the disposal business, two ordinary Christians, and a black assistant
Norman fits in, Shep. You don’t. You’d never be satisfied with just me . . . would you? And I couldn’t stand it, Shep, if we got married and then you went with other women . . . I’d die . . . I have an engagement ring. A two-carat, emerald-cut, blue-white diamond. And we’re going to Puerto Rico on our honeymoon. And we’re renting a new garden apartment in Plainfield. Five and a half rooms. And I’m choosing my china and crystal and silver and linens . . . oh, I’m so busy choosing everything . . . and my picture is being done by Bradford Bachrach next week, Shep . . . and please, if you care . . . if you want me the way I want you . . . please, hurry and send a telegram before my picture is in the paper and everybody knows I’m going to marry Norman Pressman . . . before it’s too late, Shep . . .
S HE MOVED INTO the seat behind Shep on the train, willing him to turn around. But he didn’t. He had longer hair now, brushing his shirt collar. She thought about touching the back of his neck. Remembered how he’d shivered when she’d kissed him there. Funny, she’d never kissed the back of Norman’s neck. Ten minutes later they pulled into Newark. Sandy had to change trains. She walked out past him. He was reading his paper and never looked up. She was clutching the book Lisbeth had given to her.
S ANDY AND N ORMAN went out to dinner that night. Not to The Club, The Club was closed on Mondays. To the new Chinese restaurant in Scotch Plains. Everyone was raving about it. And the owner, Lee Ann Fong, had recently joined The Club herself. Sandy told Norm about Lisbeth and Vincent and their arrangement. Their Thursday nights off.
“I could never tolerate anything like that,” Norman said. “Marriage is a contract.”
“But Lisbeth says it’s helping their marriage.”
“Lisbeth is full of shit . . . always has been.” Norman stirred his Scotch with his index finger as he spoke.
“Did you know McCarthy did that?”
“Did what?”
“Stirred his drinks with his finger.”
“You think I’m like Joe McCarthy? Is that what you’re saying?”
“No, Norm, one thing has nothing to do with the other. It’s just a peculiar habit.”
“You shovel corn niblets with your fingers.”
“It’s hard to get corn niblets onto the fork.”
“It’s uncouth to shovel with a finger. That habit of yours has bothered me for years.”
She pushed her salad around on her plate. “I told Lisbeth you wouldn’t go for the idea.”
“Go for? You’re not suggesting . . . Jesus . . .”
“No, of course not!”
“I wish you’d stay away from her. She’s nothing but trouble. I wish you’d concentrate on making new friends, at The Club.”
“I got a dress for Fourth of July.”
“Good, I thought you were going to have your hair cut, too.”
“I was, but I didn’t have time.”
“Make an appointment before the holiday weekend.”
“I will, I will. It’s just that I’m so busy. I’ve got so many lessons . . .”
“Make an afternoon appointment. I cut out a picture for you.”
“A picture of what?”
“The way you should have your hair cut. Remind me to give it to you when we get home.”
But when they got home Norman was ready for a little something. And when she came, when she got her dessert, she called out.
“What’d you say?” Norman asked.
“Nothing.”
“I thought you said
schlep.
”
“No, why would I say that?”
“I don’t know, that’s what I’m asking.”
“No, I didn’t say anything.”
But she must have. She must have called
Shep.
She’d been thinking about him as she came.
9
W HAT N ORMAN LIKED BEST about The Club was that it wasn’t one hundred percent Jewish. Besides Lee Ann Fong, there were nine Japanese members, all from Manhattan, three Italian families, all in the disposal business, two ordinary Christians, and a black assistant
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