Chapter 19 Dinner for Two

 Friday night at Kon-Tiki Sands are billed as TV night, when the residents gather in the clubhouse to watch Dancing with the Stars and Hawaii Five-0. I couldn’t bear the thought of staying up till ten p.m.—not even to feast my eyes on Alex O’Loughlin. Sooner or later I’d catch the reruns on Netflix.

After the crazy week I’d had, all I wanted was a quiet Shabbat dinner in my new home. Alone.

While the broccoli casserole and challah warmed in the oven, I took a quick shower to rinse off the day’s sweat. I dressed in a comfy navy and red striped tee-shirt dress, brushed my hair back and left it to dry on its own. No one would see me so there was no need for makeup.

The aromas of broccoli, melted cheese, and fresh-baked bread filled my condo. I turned the oven off and set the food on the stovetop. The salad and a bottle of wine came out of the fridge.

I put candles in the silver candlesticks that had been passed down from my grandmother. I lit the candles, passed my hands three times around the flames, and placed my hands over my eyes. Softly, I sang the blessing that always brought me back to Shabbat evenings of my childhood. “Baruch atah adonai eloheinu melech ha olam, asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav, v’tzivanu lehadlik ner shel Shabbat.”

I poured a bit of wine into a glass, blessed it, took a sip. Next, I recited the blessing for the bread, broke off a piece of warm challah, ate it. It was perfect. 

The casserole was nicely browned on top, the cheese still bubbling. I scooped a mound of it  onto a plate, turned to take it to the table.

The plate nearly fell from my hands.

“Arnie!” One hand flew to my chest. “What are you doing here? You nearly scared me to death!”

Arnie smiled at me from his seat at the dining table. He was dressed nicely in slacks and an aloha shirt, his few strands of hair neatly combed. He eyed my plate. “It smells really good in here. What’s for dinner?”

“How did you get in?”

He frowned and glanced at the door. “Through the door. Of course.”

Had I locked it behind Esther when she left this morning? Oh gosh. I just couldn’t remember.

I could just ask him to leave. I probably should. But he seemed so … expectant. I had more food than I could ever eat. Sharing Shabbat dinner with a fellow Jew, one who was as alone as I was, was certainly a mitzvah.

I forced a smile. “Broccoli casserole. Would you like some?”

He gave a nod.

I set the plate in front of him, got out another place setting, and filled a plate for myself. I sat across from Arnie. “Would you like some salad?”

He pursed his lips, tucking his napkin into his shirt. “I don’t think I like salad.”

“How about some bread?”

“Yes, please.”

I sliced the challah, set a piece on his plate, and pushed the butter dish to him. “Wine?”

“Please.”

I filled his glass.

“Thank you,” he said, and took a sip.

At least he was polite.

I took a big bite of the casserole and almost sighed out loud. It was wonderful. I took a few more bites and washed them down with wine.

Arnie was frowning. He hadn’t touched his plate.

“Is something wrong, Arnie?”

“Do I like broccoli?

The poor man. “Yes, I believe you do.” It seemed better to answer in the positive.

“Oh. Okay.” He took a tentative taste, then began to eat heartily. He buttered his bread, took a bite, chewed thoroughly, and made sure he swallowed before saying, “This is really good bread.”

“Thank you. I made it this morning. I hadn’t made challah since I was a girl, still living with my mother. I guess it must be like riding a bicycle … once I started, it came back to me.”

“My mother used to make challah.”

“Where are you from?” I asked.

“My early years were in New York. Then my father’s work took us to Las Vegas.”

I wondered if he could be related to Solomon Kaye. Where I grew up in California, the mobster was infamous. Back in the 40’s and 50’s the Kaye family headed the Jewish mafia in Las Vegas. “What kind of work did your father do?”

“He was a businessman … hotels, entertainment. Later he relocated to Hawai‘i and ran a nightclub in Waikiki. It was a real classy joint, not like some of those dives in Chinatown.”

“Is that when you came here?”

He nodded. “We got here just before statehood.”

I did some quick math. Arnie would’ve been barely twenty years old when Hawai‘i became a state in ’59. “I imagine it was an interesting time to be here.”

A smile crossed his face. “It was a grand time.”

“Did you work with your father?”

“Naw. I was a beach boy. Surfed, hung out around the hotels. Now and then, at night, I played the sax with one band or another. But mostly I liked to dance at the clubs. I could really cut a rug back then,” he said, scraping up the last of his food onto his fork. “Guys who could dance were always popular with the ladies.” A youthful twinkle lit his blue eyes.

“I imagine being a surfer and a sax player didn’t hurt, either.

“Yep.” He nodded. “Those were the days, let me tell you.”

There seemed to be nothing wrong with his memory when it came to the past. Though I was pretty sure if I asked, he’d have no idea who I was or why he was eating at my table. I pointed to his empty plate. “More?”

“I’d love some.”

I scooped another helping casserole of onto his plate, sliced another piece of challah for him, and refilled his wine glass.

“Thank you.”

For the next few minutes he ate without speaking, and I had to admit it felt good to watch a man get so much satisfaction from my cooking. I couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

He finished his food, pulled his napkin from his shirt to wipe his mouth, threw the napkin on the table, and pushed the plate back with a satisfied sigh. While I cleared the dishes, he emptied the rest of the wine into our glasses and took them to the living room.

I joined him, choosing the chair while he sat on one end of the couch. He sipped his wine, set the glass down, and said, “So you know Tilly.”

I shook my head, trying to remember if I’d ever met anyone by that name.

He frowned. “Hmm. I was sure I’d seen you together.”

“I don’t believe so.” Poor man must have me confused with someone else. He might not even be in the right decade.

“My father discovered her in New York—the daughter of his shoeshine boy. That little girl could belt out a tune like nothin’ you ever heard. But in New York she was just another poor black kid. No one paid her one bit of attention. My father knew she had something special. He brought her here and tried her out singing in his club. She was maybe seventeen then, and she was an overnight sensation. Made them both rich.”

He drained his glass and seemed to be searching for something.

“What do you need, Arnie?”

“I can’t remember where I put the remote.”

“Remote?”

His eyes roamed the room. “What happened to our TV?”

“Arnie. I don’t have a TV.” My TV was in the bedroom, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.

He gave a huff, stood, and without a backward look, he let himself out the door.

***

“Never in my life …” I rocked my head back and forth on my pillow and spoke to my reflection on the ceiling. “What is going on in this place? First Francesca, then Arnie. Sylvie has a few screws loose too, but at least she doesn’t walk through locked doors. I’d thought I was moving to Paradise, and found myself in a loony bin.”