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.”
That last line made me laugh.
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