You Have To Kiss a Lot of Frogs

“I’m really not that hungry,” I said, picking up the Sunday Daily News and fishing for the comics. The Parade section caught my eye and I started to read. “My husband and I are having a disagreement. I said that David Cassidy was the only son of Shirley Jones on The Partridge Family, but my husband insists that Shaun played the youngest Partridge. Life here hasn’t been the same since. Who is right? Conflicted in Connecticut.”

“I’m making eggs,” my mother yelled out from inside the house. I positioned myself near the screen door to be able to carry on a conversation with both of them. I watched my mother pour the yellow liquid into the frying pan. “This is the best part about being up here,” she said, stuffing the eggshells down the garbage disposal and flicking the switch. “I wish we had one of these in Queens.”

“The modern miracles of the Catskills,” I said, picking up the I Love My Grandparents mug Lenny’s wife Sharon had sent from Boston. It had pictures of their two-year-old twin girls on it. “Good coffee, Ma.”

“Henry made it.”

“I love it up here,” said Henry, setting up his bagel, cigar, paper, radio and fisherman’s cap on a plastic table, ready to embark on a day of sitting out on the deck and watching the resort community of Nottingham Forest walk by.

“Maybe when you retire you guys should live here all year,” I said.

“No, too cold,” said Henry.

“The winters are too cold,” yelled out my mother, who kept up her end of the conversation from the kitchen.

“Too much ice in the winter,” said Henry.

“You know how icy it gets up here in winter?” said Millie.

“We’ll stay in Queens, and when we retire we’ll go to Florida,” said Henry.

“We’re going to Florida. I want to be near my brother. We’ll live by Uncle Sy and Aunt Cookie,” said Millie.

“We want to be near family,” said Henry, from the deck. “In Florida it’s warm.”

“It’s warm,” said Millie, from the kitchen. “Why should I freeze?”

“We don’t need to be cold,” said Henry, getting up and sliding open the screen door in an attempt to hear.

“Shut it. The mosquitoes.” Millie turned to me. “Karrie, come in here and help me carry this platter.”

I nibbled at a piece of lox and stared down the whitefish with its bulging eyes before I went into the house.

“Have you called your machine since you’re here?” Millie asked, removing the eggs from the frying pan and putting them on a Lucite platter. She handed it to me, then lifted the arm of the faucet and drew some water into the pan to unfasten the pieces of egg that stuck to the nonstick Teflon.

“No. Not since Friday.” I brought the platter out to the deck and put it on the outside table.

“Maybe someone called. Maybe you have an audition,” she said, wiping her hand with a dish towel as she joined me at the table outside. “Henry. Eggs?”

Henry looked up from his beach chair and shook his head.

“You just want to know if that doctor guy from the park called.” I took a fork and started eating the eggs from the serving platter.

“Put it on a plate,” said Millie.

“I don’t want a lot.”

“I don’t care how much you want. But if you want some, put it on a plate. Don’t eat like that, Karen, it’s not nice.” My mom put some eggs on my plate. I knew she meant it because she called me Karen, and not Karrie. “It doesn’t matter if I care if the doctor called you or not. It matters if you care. It’s your life.” She took a bite of her eggs. “So, did he call?”

“Yes. He’s working this weekend. He called to say he’s on call. Don’t get so excited. We’ve only been out a few times.”

“Who’s excited? I’m not excited. It doesn’t matter to me.”

It mattered to her. And it mattered to me but I didn’t want to tell her. I had just turned thirty and I had met a Jewish doctor. I was a cliché. What’s more, I really liked him, but he seemed a little remote. I was trying to be cool, something I wasn’t very good at.

“I had a blind date last week,” I said, opening up a new can of worms, giving more information than necessary, illustrating just how cool I was not. I needed to take the attention off the doctor guy because I didn’t want to appear overly interested in case it didn’t work out. I had enough trouble dealing with my own feelings about these things without having to worry about my mother’s. “My voice coach set me up with his high school buddy.”

“How was that?”

“Delightful.” This was easy. A straight case of an idiot guy. I was off the hook. “We ate in Chinatown,” I told my mother, “we walked around. Then we got on the subway, he said he’d take me home. When we were approaching Times Square he asked if he’d be able to come in when we got uptown. I told him if he wanted we could watch the news and I’d make some tea. He said he didn’t want tea and he wasn’t interested in the news. He wanted to make out with me on my couch. And if I had no interest in making out with him I should let him know, because Times Square was where he made his connection and he didn’t want to wind up uptown and have to pay another token to go home if, ultimately, he wasn’t going to get what he wanted.”

My mother looked heartbroken. “I don’t know what’s wrong with these guys,” she said, finishing her eggs. “I think the whole world’s crazy.” Millie paused. “You didn’t go home and make out with him after that I hope.”

“You want me to even answer you?”

“What can I tell you,” Millie said, when there was really nothing to say.

“Let me clean up,” I said.

“It’s all right. I’ll do it.” Millie collected the dishes and brought them inside the house.

Henry waved to the neighbors across the way. Molly Berger, and her husband, Hal, were on their deck playing with their grandchildren. The kids saw Henry and waved back. Henry was a kid magnet. He started to play with them by throwing his cap in the air and pretending not to be able to catch it. The children watched from across the court. Whenever the cap seemed to almost touch bottom, they squealed with delight, only to get more excited when Henry actually caught it.

Molly motioned for Hal to keep both eyes on the kids when she saw me on the deck. She left hers and walked across to ours. Her gold sandals clacked against the wood as she made her way up the stairs.

“Karrie, hello,” she said, pulling me into her large frame and hugging me. “How are you? When did you get up?”

“Two days ago.”

“Really? I didn’t see you. What have you been doing?”

“You want a cold drink?” Henry asked her. “It’ll only take a minute. We’ve got iced tea, seltzer, sodas, whatever you want.”

“No. I just had something with the kids. I’m running back,” said Molly, pulling over a chair and sitting down.

“So tell me…” she said, as if I knew what it was I was supposed to tell.

“Tell you…?”

“Everything!”

“About?”

“You know…”

Molly and I were in cahoots. And the fact that I was clueless didn’t seem to make any difference. She looked at me and crossed her arms. “Karrie, you’re a smart girl. What do you think I’m talking about?”

“Molly, no offense. I have no idea.”

“You seeing anybody? I love to talk with single girls,” she confessed to Henry. “I know you just turned thirty so you must be interested in settling down.”

I looked up at Henry and smiled a closemouthed smile. Actually it was much more like a grimace.

“How are your grandchildren?” I asked Molly, changing the subject. “They look cute. How old are they now?”

“Jessica’s three and Zachary’s five next month. Wendy has her hands full. But my Scotty does very well, thank God, and she has help. You know, they have a very big house in Roslyn. You should visit. Maybe Scott has some friends for you.” She winked.

“Yeah,” I said, standing up and walking a few feet away. I put my leg up against the edge of the deck and knelt over it, stretching my calves as I contemplated a run.

“Grandma Molly, come here.” Molly turned her head to see Zachary on the deck calling her. “We’re hungry.”

“I should be getting back.” Molly stood and waved to Millie through the glass door. “See you later,” she said, walking to the edge of the deck and putting her hand on the handrail for support. “Don’t worry, Karrie. In this world all you need is a little mazel.”

“What was that?” I said. Henry went back to his paper. He didn’t want to get involved. “What was that, Henry? What’s the matter with her?”

“Keep your voice down,” he said, reaching to light his cigar. “She only meant well.”

My mother came back outside wearing a green-and-black-striped bathing suit with a white chiffon kerchief wrapped around her head.

“Who meant well?” Millie asked as she unfolded a reclining beach chair. She lay down on the chair, pulled the straps of her bathing suit down and basked in the sun.

“Do me a favor and don’t talk to anyone about me, Ma, okay?” I decided I would go for a run around the lake. I decided I might jump in.

“What did I say?”

“Nothing, no one said anything,” said Henry.

“She comes over here,” I said to my mother, pointing my head toward the Berger house, “and has a one-way dialogue with me, about my life. Asks the questions and even answers them herself.”

“Don’t pay attention,” my mother said. “I just wouldn’t answer her.”

“Just don’t pay attention,” said Henry.

I stopped stretching, stood up and leaned over my mother in her reclining position.

“What do you mean? Just have someone sit and invade my privacy and not care? Not answer? Just sit and let people talk at me as if they were talking to a wall?”

“I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up about this,” Henry said, flicking his cigar ashes into an ashtray. “She means well.”

Millie folded her right hand across her chest, holding her bathing suit up, while she used her left to prop up her body.

“I don’t know why you take everything so personally,” she said.

“She’s talking about me. It’s personal.”

“She doesn’t mean anything by it. It’s just conversation, Karrie.”

“Mom. It’s condescending.”

“It’s not condescending, it’s talk. If you were happy it wouldn’t bother you.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just what I said. If you were happy it wouldn’t bother you.”

“What makes you think I’m not happy?”

“I don’t want to talk anymore,” Millie said, lying back down. “Talk to Henry.”

“People just want to see you happy,” he explained.

“People just want to gossip,” I said.

“So what?” said Millie. “What do you care?”

“Would you like people to come to you and feel they can comment on your life?”

“There’s nothing to comment on in my life,” said my mother. “My life is normal.”

“And what does that mean?”

“My life is a normal life,” my mother said defiantly. “I have a normal job, a husband, a daughter, a house. Normal.”

“By whose standards?” I was furious. “What makes you think anyone around here sets the standard for normalcy?” I made a grand gesture to the entire development of Nottingham Forest. It was just built and in its first year. I didn’t know anyone there so it was doubtful Molly and Hal did set the standard, but it proved my point. Or at least it tried to prove the only point I had.

“All right,” said Henry, putting out his cigar, “let’s drop it.”

“Let’s not,” I said.

“Let’s,” said my mother. “Let’s not ruin this day. You’re upset because you just turned thirty and you’re not married.”

“That’s absolutely not true! You’re upset that I just turned thirty and I’m not married. I’m not.” I wasn’t. But I was a little upset that I had just turned thirty. And I was a little more upset that I didn’t currently have a steady boyfriend. And I was really upset that I had just been released from being on hold for three national commercials. But that wasn’t the point. None of this was. Molly Berger was an annoying Yenta and nobody came to my defense. Nobody would let me say what I feel.

“I’m not upset about anything. I’m completely happy,” I said. “Completely.”

“Good,” said my mom. She resumed her reclining position on the beach chair. “Just keep in mind that it gets harder to meet someone as you get older. People meet when they’re in college. That’s the place to meet.”

“That’s where Lenny met Sharon,” said Henry.

“First of all, Henry, Lenny met Sharon after college. After graduate school. Years after. In a bar in Boston. You may have college mixed up with college town. Second of all, I didn’t want to get married to anybody in college. I don’t even want to get married to anybody now. I’m an actress.”

“So what does one thing have to do with the other?”

It was the first question my mother posed that made any sense and I started to think about it. I wanted to talk about it. What did one thing have to do with the other?

“Okay, I’ll tell you something, Mom.” I wasn’t sure if this was an answer, but it felt like the beginning to understanding the question. “This is the thing.” I looked across to see that the Bergers were safely ensconced in their house and out of earshot. “I have a much more interesting life than Wendy. I’m an actress. I live in the city. I go out all the time to concerts, theater. I take classes. I date all these guys. I’m single!”

“Keep your voice down,” said Henry. “We don’t need the neighbors to know our business.”

“Why not? They know it anyway. They may as well hear it from the horse’s mouth and get it straight.”

“Do you want to go home?” my mother asked. “If you’re going to be like this just go home and don’t ruin my weekend.”

“I’m trying to talk to you.”

“And I’m talking to you. Wendy is a lucky girl that she met Scott. And Wendy has a very interesting life. She has a husband, Karrie. Children. A house.”

“How interesting can that be? Come on, Ma. They live in the suburbs. They go to malls. She’s a dental hygienist.”

“Fine. Don’t get married. Don’t have children. Don’t do anything normal. Stay in the city. Stay single. Just leave me alone and don’t complain.”

I walked away from the conversation and into the house. I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand my mother. I didn’t understand Henry. I thought I understood Molly, but so what. I didn’t understand why anyone thought there would be any consequences to not marrying by thirty. I didn’t understand why anyone thought that was remotely important. I didn’t understand why it all bothered me so much, and I certainly didn’t understand how to understand it.

I always had a date. I met a lot of guys. I just assumed that by the time I was, oh, I don’t know…thirty-seven or -eight, or my God, even forty, one of these guys would just work out. Meanwhile, all I wanted was to work and make money acting and have a boyfriend and have fun. I wanted to go with the flow. I admit it often felt like going against the tide, but I really wanted to enjoy my life and enjoy being me.

I bent down to put on my running shoes. I would run. I would run it out of my system. And I would feel. Better.

“Oh!!!” I turned around and saw Henry behind me. He had followed me into the house, but I didn’t see.

“Don’t say anything,” said Henry as he slid the door closed. “Let’s just drop it and keep the peace with you and your mother. But you’ll see,” he said, all-knowing. “One day you’ll meet someone and you’ll forget about the acting and the city. You’ll have a change of heart. Settle down. You’ll feel different.”

I looked at my stepdad. I knew he meant well, and I knew he believed his theory. Perhaps for some it was that easy, and perhaps for others it was that true. But in my gut I knew he was wrong.

4

David's Dad

Rosh Hashana

Central Park West, NYC 1988

Rosh Hashana. One of the holiest days of the year in Judaism. And I was in rehearsal for a show. To be a nun, no less.

I was invited to spend the holiday with David’s family and was pretty happy about this. I had met David a few months back in Central Park. We were both running the reservoir. We passed each other and smiled. When we passed each other on the second lap I gave him a flirtatious little wave, one finger at a time, then dashed out of the park. About five minutes later I heard, “Hey, wait up. Aren’t you the woman who was running?” I turned around to see David standing on the corner of Fifth and 90th Street catching his breath and waiting for my response. David said he was a little out of shape. He was a first-year surgical intern at Lenox Hill Hospital and spent most of his time off call asleep.

The adrenaline was pumping as I showered and changed at the rehearsal studio downtown. The show was rehearsing in New York, but would be running in Philadelphia. I’d be leaving town the following week for an open-ended run. I was superexcited about spending the holiday with David and his family. I hadn’t met anyone yet, and was told that everyone would be at his aunt and uncle’s, including Grandpa Max who was a little deaf.

We were to meet at five o’clock at his parents’ apartment off the park at West 92nd. Five o’clock sharp I arrived with a bottle of wine, a shopping bag filled with my tap shoes, and a big hand puppet that looked like a nun. A prop for one of my numbers.

His mother answered the door.

“Hi! I’m Kitty. Come in.” I was taken with this very attractive and svelte woman. The apartment was open and pretty too.

“You can put your things over there. David tells me you do something creative. What is it?”

“I’m an actress,” I said, hiding Sister Mary Annette. I stood for an awkward moment. “Uh—thanks for having me. It’s real nice to be with a family on the holidays. I’m working, and my folks are in Florida with my aunt and uncle.”

“A Jewish girl?” Kitty looked shocked. “With that light coloring and those blue eyes! Sid, come out here. Your son brought home a Jewish girl.”

Sid bounded from the bedroom adjusting his bow tie.

“Hi, there,” he beamed. “Welcome.”

Kitty went into the kitchen to prepare some hors d’oeuvres, and suggested Sid and I get acquainted. We sat on the big beige sofa.

“David tells me you’re a retired gynecologist,” I said. “My doctor’s on 79th and Park.”

“My practice was across the street. You know, Karrie, lots of my patients were artists. Writers, actresses, painters. Sometimes they couldn’t afford to pay me in money, so they paid me with their work.”

He pointed to several beautiful paintings that hung in the living room.

“I love these. We had more, but when we sold the house in New Jersey we couldn’t take everything. Actually, these mean more to me than the money.”

Kitty came in with drinks. We talked about my show.

“May I see what you’ve got in that shopping bag?” she asked. “I’m dying of curiosity.”

I pulled out “Sister” and let her sing a few bars.

“I love it when she projects her voice like that!” said Sid.

“You could give David some lessons,” said Kitty. “Speaking of—where is he?”

“I bet he’s asleep,” I said.

Kitty went into the kitchen to call.

“David works hard,” said Sid. “It was rough when I did it too. We’ve been getting lots of David’s mail. All sorts of literature on orthopedic surgery. I’ve been reading it all, so in my spare time I can become an expert on orthopedics.”

Sid was warm and proud.

“I know what’s next for you, Karrie. A white picket fence, a couple of children…”

“Oh, God,” I said. “I guess in time, but what would I do all day? I’d go crazy. I have to work.”

“You’re right,” Sid agreed. “It’s different now. A woman needs to work too. Right now Kitty works and I stay home. People need their own interests. Their own validation. A couple can’t be together twenty-four hours a day all the time. But having kids is great. My three children were educated right from the start. And this is the result. My son Greg is a CPA, Stew is a dentist and David is following in my footsteps.”

It was obvious his youngest was special to him. And David felt the same. The day I met David he told me he was having dinner with his “Daddy” that evening. He wanted to spend as much time with him as possible since his dad suffered a severe heart and kidney problem. Diabetes. Looking at this man aglow, I’d never have known it.

“I’m going to give David a buzz too,” he said. “Knowing him, he fell back to sleep.” As he moved toward the phone he looked at me. “Just wait. After tonight we’ll have you married off!”

“Oh!” I wanted to sound surprised, as if the thought had not occurred to me. However, I’d been thinking about it a little more seriously all summer. Well—not that seriously, and not with much intensity. A boyfriend, a steady boyfriend, a relationship, that was important. That was imminent. But marriage? When college ended, I considered myself too young. I was always “just in my twenties.” But now I was thirty. That was an age, as everyone made certain to keep reminding me. But more important, I liked how this felt. I liked David, his mother, and I was really liking his dad. They liked me, and art and culture. It was everything all rolled into one. And best of all, they lived in the city!

About half an hour later David arrived. His dad pulled him around in a big bear hug.

“How’s my boy? Sit down next to me and tell me how you are. You look great.”

I watched the two of them, side by side, and noticed similar mannerisms. Particularly a certain way they would convey comprehension.

“Uh-huh,” nodded Sid.

“Uh-huh,” nodded David.

I could see David thirty-five years from now. I began wanting to see David thirty-five years from now.

As we got ready to leave, David asked to borrow one of his father’s ties. Sid and I watched him knot the tie in the mirror.

“He’s the apple of my eye,” his dad told me. “I love all my children very much and never played favorites, but my youngest, this one, he’s the apple of my eye. I adore him.”

We went across the street to David’s aunt and uncle’s apartment for dinner. The table in their dining room was surrounded by family. His cousin, Paul, was there with his wife, Judy, who was seven months pregnant with their first child. We ate and laughed and enjoyed ourselves. After dessert Sid sat next to me and looked to his dad, Max, a psychiatrist who was talking with David.

“That’s Dr. Friedman Number One,” he said, pointing to his father, “Dr. Friedman Number Two,” he said, pointing to himself, “and Dr. Friedman Number Three,” he finished, as he pointed to David. “Three Dr. Friedmans!”

“Isn’t it nice to spend the holiday with your family, David?” Kitty asked several times during the meal.

“I remember when all these kids were little and running around this table,” said Sid. “Now everyone’s grown up and most of them live away. This is what’s left of the New York contingent. It’s up to this generation to carry on. Start the cycle all over again.” It was a warm family. Smart, cultured and most of all, welcoming. For the first time I realized the implications of being, virtually, an only child. I didn’t have much of a relationship with my stepbrother, Lenny, or his wife or kids. Unlike David’s family, with siblings and the promise of nieces and nephews and generations to come, in mine it would be up to me to start the cycle all over again. I was feeling eager to oblige.

The evening came to an end. We rode down in the elevator and said our goodbyes on the street. Sid walked over to me and David. “Take care of her,” he said. “She’s bright, she’s articulate, she’s a nice kid. Take care of her.”

Then Sid turned to face me. “Take care of him, okay?”

We all hugged goodbye. Sid looked at us once more.

“Take care of each other.”

“So…” I said, as David and I walked west towards the park. The evening was a complete success. I had been uncertain as to how things were progressing between us, and I thought tonight had clarified them. It certainly had for me. I knew where I wanted to stand. I turned to David, expecting him to put his arm around me with possession and pride. I had been completely accepted by his family. His dad. I smiled at him.