A Catered Affair by Sue Margolis

Author:Sue Margolis
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2011-06-16T21:00:00+00:00

When I arrived at the community center, waitresses were clearing away the buffet table, but the reunion party was still in full swing. I had no idea that people in their eighties and nineties could make so much racket. Every conversation was being conducted at full volume. I caught snippets as I went hunting for Nana Ida.

“Ach, nobody eats at the China Garden anymore; it’s too crowded.”

“For a dead man, he looked so well. That holiday must have really agreed with him.”

“She let me take a cab. My own daughter. Can you believe it?”

Nana Ida was sitting at a table with Millie Siderman–Spider-Man and two other women. I wondered when Mrs. Siderman had gotten to be so small. In my mind she was still this tall, intimidating woman with the heavily accented foghorn voice. These days she was five foot nothing with a dowager’s hump.

The rest of the women sitting at the table—Nana included—didn’t have humps. On the other hand, they all had the requisite bleached blond, spun-sugar hair. I had begged Nana to keep up the trendy bob Trevor had given her for the wedding, but I could see she hadn’t. The peer pressure must have been too great. Judging by the size of her do, it was obvious that she was backcombing again and had resumed her two-giant-cans-of-Elnett-a-week habit.

Along with the big, brittle hair came the long, perfectly painted nails. Nana had “a wonderful girl who comes to the house.” I looked at the women’s knotted hands, which they clearly still wanted to show off. Not only were their nails painted, but each of them was wearing at least one fancy dress ring. But it was the engagement rings that always caught my eye. Elderly Jewish women seemed to wear identical diamond solitaire engagement rings, set in platinum. These were serious rocks that had clearly been bought to impress and outdo. I remember, years ago, taking a close look at Nana’s diamond and teasing her about being a Jewish princess. She shrugged. “OK, maybe I am. So bite me. But that’s only part of the story.” She explained that to Jews of her generation, diamonds were currency. If the world ever went crazy again, they were something that could be instantly bartered, handed over in return for escape.

Of course, poor Jewish women in the East End weren’t so lucky. Maybe only one or two among a group of friends would have one of these insurance-policy rings. But according to Nana, no woman—however poor—got married without one, even if it meant a friend who was more well-to-do coming to the rescue and temporarily donating her own diamond. I remember Nana laughing and saying how the same ring could turn up at a dozen weddings.

Millie Siderman spotted me first. “So, darlink . . .” She had lost height, but all her life, she hung on to her German accent. “How are thinks?” She was giving me a look that most people reserved for close family members on their deathbeds.

“Not bad. I’m getting there.

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