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Authors: Ayelet Waldman
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police? For crying out loud, Nettie. What if she
hasn’t
run away? What if something has
happened
to her? You could be making a terrible mistake by waiting.”
Nettie whirled around to face me, her eyes flashing. “You think I don’t know this? You think I don’t imagine that girl dead somewhere? Or kidnapped? What do you think? I don’t care? Her mother doesn’t care? We don’t love her? Is that what you think?”
“Of course that’s not what I think. I know you love her. That’s why this refusal to call the police doesn’t make sense to me. It’s almost as if her father doesn’t want her to be found.”
“Pah!” She flung her hand at me in a dismissive gesture. “What do you know? The poor man does nothing but look for her. He drives all over this city looking for her. I’m telling you, he hasn’t slept since she left. The only thing he wants in the world is for her to come home.”
I was silent for a moment. Nettie obviously believed what she was saying. And maybe she was right. Maybe Rabbi Finkelstein was doing everything he could to get his daughter back. And maybe he wasn’t.
“I have to go,” I said finally. “You’ll call me if you hear anything?”
“Yes. I’ll call you,” Nettie said. She leaned into the car and gave Isaac a wet kiss on the cheek. He grabbed her wig and tugged it askew.
“
Motek
,” she said, and patted it straight again. “A lovely boy you have, Mrs. Applebaum. Take care of him.”
“I will,” I said softly. I reached out and hugged the sweet older woman. She held me close for a moment and then, sniffing back tears, walked back into her store. I watched her go and then walked around to the driver’s side of the car, got in, and started the engine.
“Okay, buddy, let’s go to the mall,” I said to Isaac as I pulled onto Beverly Boulevard. “I hear Macy’s has opened up a Rotund Petites department. I’m sure it’s just chock full of fabulousness.”
Eight
O UR shopping trip was the exercise in humiliation I had come to expect from department stores. While my body had expanded well beyond a size ten, my eyes seemed to have gotten stuck at about a six. I took dress after dress off the rack and into the dressing room, only to find that they would fit provided I had time for a spot of liposuction. I seriously considered the plastic surgery before dumping my reject pile on a salesgirl who had been condescendingly watching my pathetic attempts.
“Ma’am, why don’t you check out our large size collection? It’s on the third floor, next to housewares.”
I glared at her and stomped away. My dramatic exit was somewhat hampered by the fact that I got Isaac’s stroller stuck on the corner of a display table. As I jerked it loose, I sent a pile of miniscule cashmere sweater sets flying.
“Sorry,” I muttered to the salesgirl and hustled off across the store.
I was morosely making my way toward the escalator when my eye was caught by a mannequin wearing a pair of heavy satin pants in midnight black and an almost architectural shirt made of some kind of shiny gray fabric.
“Now, that’s gorgeous,” I said to Isaac. I wheeled him over to the mannequin and lifted up the price tag on the shirt. “Whew!” I gasped. The tag read $450. My first car cost less than that. The pants were a bargain at a mere $250.
“It’s so hard to find something that fits when you’re nursing, isn’t it?”
I spun around to the source of the comment. An older woman in a beautifully tailored suit smiled at me.
“Impossible,” I agreed. “Absolutely impossible.”
“What’s terrific about these pants is that they have an elastic waist. Very forgiving. The cut is slimming, too.” She lifted up the shirt to show me the waistband of the slacks. “And the top is cut very full across the chest. Would you like to try it on?”
“You work here?” How could the same store that employed the snotty little twig who’d “helped” me earlier also have hired this
hasn’t
run away? What if something has
happened
to her? You could be making a terrible mistake by waiting.”
Nettie whirled around to face me, her eyes flashing. “You think I don’t know this? You think I don’t imagine that girl dead somewhere? Or kidnapped? What do you think? I don’t care? Her mother doesn’t care? We don’t love her? Is that what you think?”
“Of course that’s not what I think. I know you love her. That’s why this refusal to call the police doesn’t make sense to me. It’s almost as if her father doesn’t want her to be found.”
“Pah!” She flung her hand at me in a dismissive gesture. “What do you know? The poor man does nothing but look for her. He drives all over this city looking for her. I’m telling you, he hasn’t slept since she left. The only thing he wants in the world is for her to come home.”
I was silent for a moment. Nettie obviously believed what she was saying. And maybe she was right. Maybe Rabbi Finkelstein was doing everything he could to get his daughter back. And maybe he wasn’t.
“I have to go,” I said finally. “You’ll call me if you hear anything?”
“Yes. I’ll call you,” Nettie said. She leaned into the car and gave Isaac a wet kiss on the cheek. He grabbed her wig and tugged it askew.
“
Motek
,” she said, and patted it straight again. “A lovely boy you have, Mrs. Applebaum. Take care of him.”
“I will,” I said softly. I reached out and hugged the sweet older woman. She held me close for a moment and then, sniffing back tears, walked back into her store. I watched her go and then walked around to the driver’s side of the car, got in, and started the engine.
“Okay, buddy, let’s go to the mall,” I said to Isaac as I pulled onto Beverly Boulevard. “I hear Macy’s has opened up a Rotund Petites department. I’m sure it’s just chock full of fabulousness.”
Eight
O UR shopping trip was the exercise in humiliation I had come to expect from department stores. While my body had expanded well beyond a size ten, my eyes seemed to have gotten stuck at about a six. I took dress after dress off the rack and into the dressing room, only to find that they would fit provided I had time for a spot of liposuction. I seriously considered the plastic surgery before dumping my reject pile on a salesgirl who had been condescendingly watching my pathetic attempts.
“Ma’am, why don’t you check out our large size collection? It’s on the third floor, next to housewares.”
I glared at her and stomped away. My dramatic exit was somewhat hampered by the fact that I got Isaac’s stroller stuck on the corner of a display table. As I jerked it loose, I sent a pile of miniscule cashmere sweater sets flying.
“Sorry,” I muttered to the salesgirl and hustled off across the store.
I was morosely making my way toward the escalator when my eye was caught by a mannequin wearing a pair of heavy satin pants in midnight black and an almost architectural shirt made of some kind of shiny gray fabric.
“Now, that’s gorgeous,” I said to Isaac. I wheeled him over to the mannequin and lifted up the price tag on the shirt. “Whew!” I gasped. The tag read $450. My first car cost less than that. The pants were a bargain at a mere $250.
“It’s so hard to find something that fits when you’re nursing, isn’t it?”
I spun around to the source of the comment. An older woman in a beautifully tailored suit smiled at me.
“Impossible,” I agreed. “Absolutely impossible.”
“What’s terrific about these pants is that they have an elastic waist. Very forgiving. The cut is slimming, too.” She lifted up the shirt to show me the waistband of the slacks. “And the top is cut very full across the chest. Would you like to try it on?”
“You work here?” How could the same store that employed the snotty little twig who’d “helped” me earlier also have hired this
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