Jackpot Summer, page 31
NOAH
What if we hate her
SOPHIE
Then WE don’t date her. I’m bringing someone too
BETH
I didn’t know that. I have to know these things!! The tables!
LAURA
Beth, chill. This group chat is a relaxed space
DOUG
Beth let’s start our own chat
BETH
Done. Check your WhatsApp.
LAURA
Ok ok we get it…S—who r u bringing to Austin’s
SOPHIE
Not ready to jinx it
NOAH
U guys r all welcome to stay with me
BETH
We reserved a block of rooms at the Sea Shell.
NOAH
I fixed the place up
DOUG
I can’t believe I was jealous of this text chain
BETH
Me either.
15
Noah
Leo, Noah and bartender Dan were bent over gigantic floor plans spread across Noah’s kitchen counter, jotting notes in the white margins and marking questions for the architect. They’d been in this position for over an hour and Noah’s knee was starting to act up.
“Let’s take a break. Dad, how are you still fine on your feet after so long?” he asked.
Leo looked at his son. “My feet are fine. It’s my back I’m worried about. I think I’m stuck.”
Dan and Noah eased Leo into an upright position. “Mine’s killing too,” Dan chimed in. “If we’re going to do this thing for real, we’re gonna have to find a more comfortable way to review blueprints.”
“This thing” had been Noah’s obsession for the past three months. He was opening a new establishment on Long Beach Island, with his father and Dan—the proprietor of For Old Times’ Sake in Boca—as partners. The concept was simple. It was a combination tech-support store and bar rolled into one. The name, which came to Noah while walking on the beach, was his favorite part: Techila Sunrise. It was a triple threat: his favorite cocktail, a tequila sunrise (though he now drank far more modestly these days), combined with his favorite activity (helping people with their tech support needs), combined with his favorite time of day, when the sun peeked over the horizon.
After his father returned to Florida, Noah paced the house for days trying to figure out what he wanted to do with his life. He was pessimistic about returning to freelance tech support. He had already seen that people felt awkward calling him to back up their photos, no matter how many times he assured them he enjoyed the work. The transfer of money, whether it was physical cash or a Venmo or Zelle payment, was always a source of embarrassment, unless the outlay was in the direction of him paying someone. He thought briefly about putting together a crew of tech support folks he could send out on house calls, keeping his own identity a secret, but management and scheduling weren’t his strong suit. The uncertainty ruined his ability to sleep. He scoured the Internet in the wee hours, reading stories about lottery winners (most pretty depressing—he was reminded of Sophie’s Breaking News artwork) and looking up pictures of his various ex-girlfriends. When he ran out of material, he remembered Dan’s bar in Boca. He had meant to check on it weeks ago after seeing the newspaper headline about independent restaurants and bars struggling.
Dan, one of the few people who’d shown him genuine kindness in the last year, who’d swapped his whiskey for coffee and guided him into a taxi and refused his cash, stuck out in Noah’s mind as a beacon of hope. He found the bar’s Instagram account. The most recently posted picture was of Dan, wet rag slung over one shoulder, standing outside the bar next to a metal “Closed” sign. Noah read the caption.
After more than twenty years serving the Boca Raton community, I deeply regret that For Old Times’ Sake is closing its doors. It’s been an honor to know all of you that have come inside, in good times and bad, and I wish you all the very best.
Though it was three in the morning, Noah sent Dan a direct message through the app. He said he wasn’t sure if Dan remembered him but that he was bummed to read the bar had closed. Dan wrote back at once, saying that of course he remembered Noah. He was already following him on Instagram. The two chatted through the app for an hour. Noah updated Dan on everything since his trip to Florida. Even online, there was a quality that Dan possessed—maybe all bartenders did—that made it easy to tell him things. Dan shared that his daughter was moving to Philadelphia for a job, and with the bar closing, he had no real reason to stay in Boca with the geezers. It was then Noah realized the bar’s name was a nod to Boca’s elder community. Old Times’ Sake.
I love puns, Noah wrote.
Me too, Dan said.
We should go into business together. Just to have a clever name, Noah wrote.
Dan didn’t write back. Noah had probably freaked him out.
Noah dragged through the next few days, saddened by how eagerly he had latched on to Dan, a man he barely knew. Not wanting to set off another intervention, Noah forced cheer into his voice whenever his family reached out. And he took long walks on the beach, where the granules of sand tickling his toes and the rhythm of the waves crashing on shore made it impossible to let melancholy take over.
His phone rang on a beach walk and Noah picked up the unfamiliar number without thinking.
“Is this Noah Jacobson?”
“Yes, who’s this?”
“It’s Paul, from Hoboken. I got a new phone.”
“Oh. Hi.”
“I’m calling to thank you. The extra boxing lessons and vegan meals have made such a difference for Talullah. Her doctor just gave her the all-clear to return to work. Which means we can finally start to pay you back. Noah, I’m so unbelievably grateful to you. I’m sure you’re swamped but, if you have any time, Talullah and I would love to say thank you in person. Talullah wants to bring you homemade cupcakes in the shape of boxing gloves. She’s very excited.”
“Um, yes, that sounds great. I would love to see you both. But you are absolutely not paying me back.” They arranged to talk again in a week to confirm a convenient time for a visit.
Later that night, Noah, feeling heartened, opened the well-stocked fridge and set about making himself a real meal, using the cooking tools furnished by his father. After a decent cheese omelet with diced vegetables, he picked up his phone to start another session of mindless scrolling. He was surprised to find a message from Dan on Instagram.
What if we actually did? Start a business together. Sorry been MIA. My daughter is a single mother and she needed a lot of help with her move. But I’m back and ready to talk about this for real if you were being serious.
Two weeks later, Dan was in Jersey spitballing ideas. Dan loved the idea of moving to LBI to be closer to his daughter. Noah loved having a partner, both to balance out his deficits and fend off the loneliness. The off-season, while slightly less dead than in the past, was still too quiet. Noah needed distraction. The two men hashed out different business ideas for a full day. Noah said he preferred a more behind-the-scenes role in whatever they did, but that he’d happily manage all the tech needs. “That’s a relief, because anything having to do with the computer makes me need a drink,” Dan said.
“That’s it!” Noah said, jumping like Tom Cruise professing his love for Katie Holmes on Oprah’s couch. “So many people feel that way. Half my clients are already half a bottle of wine deep by the time I arrive. Let’s open a tech repair space that also serves drinks!”
Dan was immediately on board. Noah called Leo to tell him the news. “I want in,” Leo said.
“Dad, c’mon. This is a risky venture. I’d love to hire you as a consultant though. You can manage our finances.”
“Noah, do I seem like someone who would have left myself with so little? After all my years at the accounting firm, let’s just say I planned for more than a rainy day. It’s time I share the rest of the story with you kids about your grandpa and the black bag.”
“There’s more?”
Leo went on to explain that Noah’s Bubbe Esther threatened to tell the police about the money in the bag if Jack didn’t give her a portion to watch over. They settled on $2,000. She said she would use the money for family emergencies only. Bubbe Esther, unbeknownst to her husband, invested the money soundly—more than soundly.
“She was something of an investing genius. Coca-Cola, Xerox, IBM. Man, did my mother know how to pick them. But she kept that money far away from my father. And she didn’t tell me or your uncle Morris about it, not until we were much older. When the money came to me and your mother, we treated it the same way. A rainy-day fund. Though I did buy her a few really special pieces of jewelry over the years. Made me crazy she never put them away in a safe-deposit box or even a good home safe. She swore nobody would take her stuff—they would assume it was costume.” Leo laughed.
Oh shit, Noah thought, remembering his sisters combing through their mother’s loot-filled shoeboxes, assuming it was junk.
“I probably should have mentioned that before you guys packed up.”
Noah sent an urgent text on the sibling chat.
Guys, Mom’s jewelry was real. Laura, pls say u didn’t toss it.
Oddly, it was Beth who responded first. She sent a picture of her hand covering her face, a gigantic, colorful ring on her finger.
Sorry! I didn’t know. I didn’t think it was worth anything and I just wanted to have a little something that belonged to Sylvia. I’ll have it appraised right away.
Laura wrote back.
Nonsense, keep it. It looks great on you. I know where everything else is. Also, WTF? She kept it in a shoebox!
Business papers were drawn up quickly. Leo, Dan and Noah went in as equal partners and Techila Sunrise was officially incorporated. It would take over the iconic Mustache Bill’s Diner in Barnegat Light. Noah was happy to breathe life once again into the LBI icon. He promised locals he wouldn’t change a thing about the facade except for the sign. Most of the islanders were relieved that a big-box retailer wasn’t coming in. The lone CVS on the island was enough.
Thanks to his constant spying on the house construction next door, he had a crackerjack team in place for the construction and interior design of Techila Sunrise. Noah’s whole family was arriving in a few days for Austin’s bar mitzvah. He couldn’t wait to walk them through the space.
* * *
—
Wrapped in his grandfather’s tallit, the same one worn by his own father and Noah at their bar mitzvahs, Austin looked like a man. He’d shot up four inches since the prior summer and had even started to shave—only once a month for a rogue chin hair, but it clearly made him feel more grown-up. His voice had dropped about three octaves overnight, but still cracked during the haftorah toward the end of the service. Noah loved that kid. He was still marveling over how mature Austin had been when he sat him down for the what-you-see-in-porn-is-not-real-life talk.
The family-only ceremony took place at the JCC synagogue. As was tradition, everyone chucked Sunkist jelly candies at Austin from the pews when the rabbi officially declared him a bar mitzvah. He dodged a few, caught a few and tossed a few back at them.
Afterward, the family headed to the Sea Shell hotel for a festive lunch with a DJ and games. Laura had helped Beth create the guest list, and they invited all the friends who used to attend Sylvia’s July Fourth barbecue as well as Austin’s school friends and a handful of their parents. Dan, thanks to years of barkeeping, had great connections in the food and wine world. The liquor at the party was top shelf, the catering superb.
But Noah didn’t have much of an appetite. He was busy dodging one guest in particular. His father’s “companion” was in attendance. Annette Feldman was a fellow retiree at Boca Breezes. She was widowed five years earlier after a forty-five-year marriage to a doctor named David. Annette had two grown children and three grandchildren. Noah learned all this from Laura and Sophie, who were hugging the woman within seconds. He realized it was Annette who had helped his father stock his kitchen and still it did nothing to endear her to Noah.
Giggling, his sisters came over to fill him in.
“She’s exactly like Mom,” Laura said. “Without even asking, she started fluffing my hair. Told me it had gone flat from the humidity.”
“She said I needed more lipstick,” Sophie said.
“I like the way she looks at Dad,” Laura said. “She’s really into him.”
“Great,” Noah said. His sisters were oblivious to his sarcasm. He turned to see Betty, Myrna and Arlene approaching, Matthew trotting uncomfortably beside them.
“Mazel tov,” Myrna said in a raspy voice. “Rabbi Kaplan said Austin did a wonderful job.”
“He did,” the siblings said in tandem.
“We have something to give you,” Arlene said. “Sorry it has to be now but we don’t see the four of you at once all that often.”
“Oh God,” Laura whispered into Noah’s ear. “Please don’t tell me they’re naming the kiddush room at the temple after us because we donated all that money for Mom’s card party.”
Noah hoped not. He couldn’t imagine anything more embarrassing than recognition for writing a check that had taken all of ten seconds to scribble and wasn’t even his idea.
Arlene fished in her purse and produced four checks, which she handed out to each of them with exaggerated fanfare.
“Why are you returning these to us?” Sophie asked. They were the checks they’d written to match the proceeds generated by Sylvia’s fundraiser. “You sent a check too? When?” Sophie was looking at Matthew.
Matthew nodded. “After Mom’s friends first approached us. I figured there was no way I could be helpful other than to send money. So I wrote a small check and mailed it to Myrna.”
Myrna straightened her posture, bringing her to a total of maybe five feet. “Your mother gave her energy, creativity and time to the temple. She didn’t just write a check. This isn’t the way to honor her memory.”
“We will manage without you folks,” Arlene said. “My daughter is an event planner in Cleveland and she promised to help.”
“If you recall, we asked you to help before you won the lottery,” Betty said. “We weren’t looking for a handout. It’s not what your mother would have wanted. And neither do we.”
The three women turned on their heels and spread out in different directions.
“Well, that sucked,” Sophie said as Noah went to chase the women down to apologize. He spotted Betty first at the bar, ordering an espresso martini.
“Betty, I just want to say you’re completely right about the check. It didn’t feel right at the time and I wish I had said something.”
Betty put a hand to his cheek, the inside of her palm warm and tender. “You’re a very sweet boy, Noah. You always have been. We’d love you to come play cards with us again. I just want to know why you look so sad. It’s a happy day.”
Noah studied Betty’s friendly face, trying to remember what his mother had said about her. All he could think of was that she was supposedly even better at bridge than she was at canasta.
“It’s a little awkward with—” Noah gestured to where his father stood next to Annette. The two weren’t engaging in PDA, but they stood close together and were clearly sharing a joke.
“That?” Betty asked. “Let me tell you a story. Did you know I lost my first husband when I was only fifty? Tragic heart attack took my Eddy, may he rest in peace. I told myself that I was done with men. I would focus on my children and be grateful for the years I had with Eddy. But it was your mother who insisted I not give up on that part of my life. She introduced me to Bernie and we’ve been married for twenty-five years. His children and grandchildren have become my family, and vice versa. If it wasn’t for your mother’s pushiness, I’d be a very lonely lady.”
Noah, for the second time that day, was chastened. Betty kissed his cheek. “I’m going to make a plate for Bernie. He hates a long buffet line.”
Alone again, Noah’s eyes swept the dance floor. He saw Laura shimmying with her girls and Sophie attempting to extricate her date—a guy she introduced to the family as Divorced Dad Dave—from their insufferable cousin Edith. He tried to find Annette. Betty was right. He needed to be a man and warmly introduce himself to her.
“Boy, are you handsome.” Noah spun around, finding himself face-to-face with Annette. “Leo told me you were a looker but he didn’t do you justice. Are you single?”
Noah blushed. “Um, I’m not sure,” he said. He was casually seeing Rebecca Anarak, the designer he’d spotted next door and hired for Techila Sunrise, though she had little commercial experience. Noah had invited Rebecca to Austin’s bar mitzvah, but she was doing an installation in Cape Cod the same weekend. He wouldn’t hold it against her that she wasn’t fully committed to the Jersey Shore. If he wasn’t ready to be exclusive with her, she shouldn’t have to commit to working only in his preferred habitat. Now that it was summertime, Robin Miller was back on the island. She’d invited him over one evening and they had a long make-out session. After, he installed her router.
“Well, when you figure it out, let me know. I have a twenty-four-year-old granddaughter who would absolutely knock your socks off.” Annette put out her hand to shake Noah’s. “I’m Annette, your father’s partner. But I’m sure you figured that out by now.”
Partner. Noah didn’t mind that term actually.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Noah said.
“We should hug,” Annette said. “I’m not sure why I put out my hand. I’m much more of a hugger but I was a little nervous to meet you. I know how close you and your mother were.”
