Jackpot Summer, page 11
His sisters had gathered around.
“Soph, you stay in here and check every inch of this place. I’ll go outside and do a sweep of the rides,” Laura said. “Everyone, make sure your phones are on full volume. Matthew—you go speak to the people in the ticket booth. I’m sure they have a lockdown procedure. Beth, keep showing people his picture. And—you.” Laura grabbed a uniformed attendant fixing the Frogger machine. “You check the bathrooms for this boy.” She thrust the photo on Beth’s phone in his face. “His name is Austin. Check for feet under the stalls. Go!”
Matthew blinked twice. This was actually happening. He needed to move, to transport his body the twenty or so yards to where the stoned-looking ticket takers gave out wristbands and explain that his world was ending and he needed their help.
Their group dispersed in a blur. Matthew managed to get his jelly legs to run in the direction of the ticket booth. He was about to push his way to the front when he heard Sophie scream: “I SEE HIM!”
Could it be true? Could it all be over that quickly? Or did Sophie see him, except he was tragically hurt or worse? He turned toward his sister’s voice and found her, smiling, her hand in the air pointing to the top of the Ferris wheel, where in the highest cabin Matthew saw his son, his healthy, breathing, joyful son, sitting next to Noah. They were laughing.
“Oh, thank God,” he said to himself as he collapsed onto a nearby bench. It was at least five minutes before his breathing and heartbeat slowed and he could swallow normally.
When Austin came off the ride, he was startled to be swallowed by tight hugs from his teary-eyed parents.
“I’m sorry. I thought everyone saw us go to the Ferris wheel,” Noah said.
“We had so much fun,” Austin said. “We threw popcorn at people from the top.”
“It’s not your fault, Noah,” Matthew said quietly. “It’s ours. We clearly need to go over our crowded-place procedures. Right, Austin?” His boy shook his head in agreement, still looking dazed and happy from the mischievous ride.
Back home fifteen minutes later—nobody except Austin felt like staying at Fantasy Island after the incident—the Jacobsons, minus Leo, who was next door at Stanley’s, were sprawled out in the living room when the doorbell chimed. Before anyone could stand to open the door or say “Come in,” it swung open and three older women charged inside.
“We heard what happened,” one of them said. She was dressed in a purple velour jogging suit even though it was easily ninety degrees outside.
“Thank goodness you found him,” the woman to the left of Jogging Suit said. She couldn’t have topped five feet and looked like Dr. Ruth. “I told my daughter to get one of those leashes for her kids the next time she takes them to Fantasy Island.”
“That’s a good idea,” Beth said. She pulled out her phone, clearly to send herself a reminder to order one.
“I’m not wearing a—” Austin began to protest, but the third woman in the trio cut him off.
“We’re sorry to interrupt.” She wore tennis whites and a sun visor that said “Cornell Grandma.” “But we’re here on business.”
“Hi, Myrna; hi, Arlene; hi, Betty.” Noah stood to hug each of these women. Turning to his siblings, he said, “You remember Mom’s canasta group.” Matthew nodded but in truth these three ladies looked indistinguishable from the dozens of other older women who had been at the funeral and shiva.
The one in purple—Myrna, based on Noah’s greeting—marched over to the game table and picked up a pad of paper. “Look,” she said. “Sylvia’s last game. She got three special hands that day, I remember.”
Tennis lady, Betty, spoke. “We wanted to catch you all together. As you probably know, Sylvia chaired the temple’s biggest fundraiser every Labor Day weekend. It’s a card party with canasta, mahjong and bridge tables and it brings in a fortune. For the past two years we didn’t have it. The first year Syl thought she could do it but when it got closer, well, you know, she had no strength. And then last summer…” Betty’s voice trailed off.
“We’ve got to bring the event back. The temple needs funds. There’s a church on every corner, but you know the JCC is the only synagogue on the island. We’d love to have involvement from your family. Frankly, we’ve been waiting to hear from one of you. This was Sylvia’s baby after all,” Myrna said, pulling a bag of sucking candies from her purse. Matthew recognized the strawberry foil wrapping. He didn’t know those candies were still available.
“What kind of involvement?” Laura asked.
“Well, your mother did everything. Made the groupings, found a speaker for the luncheon, dealt with the caterer, solicited the raffle items, decorated the tables.” Myrna smiled. “She convinced Black-Eyed Susans to donate all the food one year—no idea how she pulled that off. Anyway, we’ve got to get going. Betty’s got a tennis match in fifteen minutes, Arlene has aquasize and I’ve got a FaceTime with my grandson at sleepaway camp. We’ll be in touch.”
“Just a moment, Myrna. Noah, can you sub for Linda Solomon next Tuesday? She’s having a hip replacement,” Arlene asked. Noah flashed a thumbs-up.
As they were leaving, Betty turned around and her gaze swept over the mountains of boxes scattered on the ground floor. She made a tsk sound. “Such a shame.”
“You’ll be hearing from us,” Arlene said, poking her head back inside not a minute after the three women left.
You’ll be hearing from us…Matthew suddenly remembered Arlene. She said that exact phrase to the poor caterer who dropped off the shiva food and forgot to include toothpicks with the gefilte fish bites.
“Sheesh, they’re like the three witches from Hamlet,” Laura said after their car pulled away.
“You mean Macbeth,” Beth said. “The three witches are in Macbeth. Hamlet has the ghost.”
“Whatever,” Laura snapped.
“How about the three witches of LBI?” Matthew suggested.
“They’re not so bad,” Noah said. He was shuffling the cards on the game table. “Just don’t screw up the count when you play cards with them, or things will get ugly.”
FANTASTIC FOURSOME
LAURA
I have 64 boxes of Mom and Dad’s crap in my garage if anyone’s curious
SOPHIE
I wasn’t curious
LAURA
MATTHEW
I can rent a storage unit if you want. Or two. No big deal
LAURA
Maybe. Are they $
MATTHEW
Doesn’t matter. Just tell me
LAURA
K. I’ll think on it. I’ll start poking inside the boxes soon
SOPHIE
omg we could be on that show Storage Wars
MATTHEW
Except nobody wants our stuff
NOAH
That’s not true. Matty— I think i might have broken your fancy coffee maker
MATTHEW
U better fix before the weekend
NOAH
Also does anyone know a good carpet cleaner on LBI—asking for a friend
SOPHIE
Who did mom use when Emma spilled the Manischewitz in the dining room?
LAURA
I have #—Noah, i will send 2 u
NOAH
MATTHEW
Noah, do you think you could refrain from burning the place down? It’s a rental.
LAURA
Anyone talk to Dad?
NOAH
Yeah. He’s all set for the move
SOPHIE
omg some kid in my camp group just painted a penis and balls
NOAH
Send pic
MATTHEW
Please don’t. This is also my work phone. Unsubscribe
5
Sophie
Two days after returning from the Jersey Shore, Sophie was stretched out on the daybed in Ravi’s home studio listening with envy as he detailed his visit to Nantucket.
“You would have loved it, Soph.” He sat on the low stool behind his potter’s wheel, his brown palms and elegant, long fingers covered in gooey clay the color of slate. As the wheel turned, he moved his hands up and down to narrow the neck of the vase, stopping periodically to add water. It was a scene straight from Ghost. Sophie loved watching Ravi at work, from the first moment when he threw the slab on the wheel to when he used the tip of the scraper to etch the fine details. “Harriet’s the real deal. She has two galleries already—one in London and one in Chicago. She wants me to advise her on building out the Nantucket space. Her other galleries focus on paintings, so they’re all about wall space, but she’s really into my work and wants to think more about how to display objets d’art.”
Sophie sat up. “Is she old? Harriet’s kind of an old-person’s name.”
Ravi took his foot off the pedal and the spinning wheel came to an abrupt stop, the lip of his vase collapsing. He frowned briefly and said, “She’s young. I thought she’d be in her fifties but she’s closer to our age. Harriet is a family name.” Ravi went back to work, sturdy palms fixing the vase’s mouth and nimble thumbs shaping the rim into a wavy flare.
Harriet is a family name, Sophie mimicked in her head.
“She has a really great eye,” Ravi said.
I’ll bet she does, Sophie thought, imagining Ravi through another woman’s eyes. He wore snug T-shirts in dark colors, a knit beanie and a bad-boy wallet chain. Sophie ought to be more mindful of having Ravi out of her eyesight. She was on alert after spending three days with her devastated sister, who had filled in Sophie about Doug whenever they had a moment alone. Sophie was as shocked as Laura by Doug’s behavior.
Given Laura’s state of mind, Sophie was glad she had chosen to be with her family rather than go to Nantucket, even if Ravi was now infatuated with a young gallerist who, if he played his cards right, could mount his first solo show.
Sensing her insecurity, Ravi rinsed his hands and joined her on the daybed.
“Tell me about your weekend. How’s your father?”
“My father, it turns out, is an artist! We found a stack of his paintings in the attic. I had no idea. His stuff is actually good. I asked him about it, but he totally brushed the whole thing off like, Oh, that was a lifetime ago. Just a hobby. It’s so weird. Remember I told you how he insisted I get my teaching certificate at Bank Street? I know nobody wants their kid to be a starving artist, but you’d think he’d have mentioned—‘Hey, by the way, I paint too.’ ”
“I can’t imagine your dad painting,” Ravi said. She understood what he meant. Leo the artist was as unlikely as a butcher composing poetry in between carving up a cow. “Did you bring any of his work back with you?”
She smacked her forehead. She needed to be more proactive about preserving memories of her father while he was alive and had his marbles. She’d missed too many chances with her mother.
“No, but all the boxes are at Laura’s.” Sophie scooched closer to Ravi and threw a nearly bare leg over his lap. Harriett might be a hot gallerist, but Sophie knew exactly how to rev Ravi’s engine. He was very much a leg man. He started to play with the fringes of her jean shorts and she felt herself heat up. Had she shaved her underarms or the other area? Showers were limited to three minutes at the shore, given the hot water situation. And since being back, hygiene had taken a back seat to working on her painting for Wall Street guy.
“Sounds like nice family time,” Ravi said. His index finger was circling her navel, teasing her.
“It was like finding a time capsule of the Jersey Shore, digging through piles of beach badges, swim caps and sand toys. I found an award I got at camp for ‘Most Improved Tetherball Player’ and a participation certificate Noah got from a sandcastle competition. We are not a family of winners.”
“I’ll get you a ‘#1 Girlfriend’ ribbon if you want,” Ravi said.
“I would like that.” Sophie laughed. “Remember those folding chairs with the vinyl strips that stuck to your skin when it was hot out? We found like a dozen of them, all with at least one strip missing. Did I tell you that Noah is crashing at this ridiculous house Matthew and Beth rented in the fancy part of LBI? All they do is work, so I’m not sure why they need a beach house, but who am I to judge?”
Ravi raised an eyebrow.
“I know how I sound,” she said. “But it’s normal for siblings to judge! It’s done with love, I swear. You’re an only child…you don’t get it. Judging one’s siblings is a responsibility, not a choice. Speaking of which, did I tell you about Laura and Doug?”
“Not yet.” Ravi was lightly blowing on the back of her neck. She turned to straddle him.
“You know what?” She was entranced by Ravi’s caresses. “I’ll tell you later.” Just then her cell phone dinged.
“Check it,” Ravi said, sliding out from under her. “I have to glaze anyway.”
She looked down at her phone and found a message from her SHART neighbor Yolanda: Read your email, bitch. We r @#$%&!
Buried in a slew of P.S. 282 messages about lost-and-found items and end-of-year evaluations, which fortunately mentioned nothing about budget cuts and her ass getting fired, Sophie found the message Yolanda was referencing. The sender, Ajax Group, meant nothing to her, but the subject, “Rent Increase—Important,” got her attention.
The men in suits, formally called the Ajax Group, had announced a forty percent rent increase for all tenants effective immediately upon each lease renewal. Undermarket for some time…increased costs of operation…yada yada…Sophie couldn’t give a fig about their bullshit reasons. She was out on her ass.
Ravi was reading over her shoulder. He took the phone from her hand and placed it on the chair. “Soph, you can live and work here.”
She was wondering if and when he was going to bring that up again. The holiday weekend in Beach Haven was too hectic for her to obsess over his initial offer, which, having been made casually over the phone, didn’t feel totally genuine.
“Look at all the extra space I have.” He swept a toned arm around the room. Chic decorative objects rested on sophisticated coffee table books. There were armchairs and side tables whose sole purpose was to look pretty. A potted ficus thrived thanks to ample natural light.
In comparable square footage, SHART crammed in ten artists who fought over the slop sink and elbowed each other if their brushstroke was too wide. She felt bad shitting on SHART. There was plenty to love about the place. The energy that tended to peak around ten p.m. thanks to somebody’s Red Bull run. The excitement when a resident sold a piece. The collective creativity mixed with the collective struggle made for an exciting atmosphere that felt like home.
She also didn’t want to feel beholden to Ravi. Sophie was proud to set aside a portion of her teaching salary to pay for her studio and apartment share. Budgeting made her feel like a real adult—the sort her parents would be proud of. The problem was that she might not have a choice anymore.
She knew exactly who to call to discuss her predicament. The person who would stay on the phone with her until all hours of the night weighing the pros and cons, playing out various scenarios no matter how unlikely to occur. That person was Sylvia Rose Jacobson, and she was dead. Each time Sophie faced a moment where she wanted her mother’s counsel, the reality that she was gone scalded her insides like hot soup. On the advice of a friend who had recently lost a parent, Sophie visited a medium. Maybe Madame Madeleine really did summon Sylvia from the other side, because when Sophie sat on a velvet tufted pouf in the medium’s musty room in the back of a deli in Astoria, surrounded by hanging beads, tarot cards and candles burned to the wick, she could hear her mother loud and clear: “Why aren’t you wearing lipstick?”
Laura would have been Sophie’s natural next phone call, but she was dealing with her own relationship crisis, one much bigger and more consequential than Sophie’s. She had her work friends, but their dating lives were a series of Tinder and Hinge disasters. Asking Nora-Ann to weigh in on “My sexy boyfriend wants me to move in rent-free and I don’t know what to do” was not tone-deaf.
“What’s your hesitation?” Ravi was back at her side, massaging her shoulders as if they were mounds of clay. Rent hikes were less stressful when the knot in her neck was being released by the pressure of Ravi’s thumb.
“Would we get any work done if we’re here together?” she asked, turning to face him. “I can be very tempting.”
“No arguments there. But I’m sure we would manage. Listen, the offer is on the table. You don’t have to decide today. My parents love you. They’d be thrilled.”
Sylvia, too, had been a fan of Ravi. He charmed Sophie’s mother by eating her food and asking for seconds and thirds. He promised her that he was on board with raising their future kids Jewish, which was awkward considering they’d only been together for a month when Sylvia brought it up. Leo’s opinion of Ravi was less certain, but that was because he was quieter about everything.
Ravi stood and nudged open the drapes even wider before returning to the wheel. The space glowed. There was nobody using urine as a paint thinner or stealing supplies like at SHART.
“And if you sell a painting for five figures or win the lottery, I won’t take it personally if you get your own studio,” Ravi said.
“Ha, that reminds me. I bought some Powerball tickets over the weekend when I was with the fam. Noah was going out to buy some for himself and I figured, what the hell? Laura went in too. It’s the first time I ever bought a lottery ticket. Not even a scratch-off.” Sophie chuckled, thinking back to the weekend, Austin asking his mom about the Powerball and Beth basically calling them all idiots for getting in on the fun. “Better luck next time, I guess.”
Ravi’s foot left the wheel.
