TWELVE
JEWS
AT
THE
DOOR
“What the fuck?” Gilead Storey groaned when his bedroom door flew open.
Sharonda would never have just walked in his room, and then there was the fact that he usually locked his door. Mark, sleeping with his back to him and hogging the comforter, grunted, and Gilead slapped him on the shoulder.
“Whaa?”
“Good morning, cousin!” Nehru Alexander greeted Gilead, pulling a ladder back chair from under his desk and straddling it.
“And good morning Cousin’s Boyfriend, and are you two naked under there, and does Sharonda know about this?”
“Why the hell are you here?” Gilead demanded while Mark knuckled his eyes and pursed his lips.
“Cause I’m going to a party, going to a party, going to a party, and thought you might want to go too. Both of you.”
“I’m invited?” Mark said, yawning, and Gilead raised an eyebrow at him.
“Of course,” Nehru said although, of course, Mark hadn’t really been in his mind thirty seconds ago.
“What kind of a party?” Gilead wondered. His head was starting to hurt.
“A Purim party. All night long.”
“A what the fuck?”
“Purim, The Festival of Lots,” Mark said.
“It’s Jewish,” Nehru said.
“Is it with your mother’s family?”
“You know my mother’s family is my family too?” Nehru said.
“I always forget you’re Jewish.”
“I’m the New Jew,” Nehru said. “It’s the year 2000. Anyway, Chili Comet Sundae is playing. I’m singing, so it’s a job, not just a party. And it’s a lot of money cause like—”
“Jews have money.”
Nehru scowled at his cousin.
“Look, it’s like eight in the morning, and I honestly thought that’s where you were going.”
“No,” Nehru said, “it really wasn’t.”
Suddenly Nehru bursts out with:
“Shoshanat Yaakov, tzahala v’samecha birotam yachad tchelet Mordechai.
Shoshanat Yaakov, tzahala v’samecha birotam yachad tchelet Mordechai.
Shoshanat Yaakov, tzahala v’samecha birotam yachad tchelet Mordechai”
And then Mark sat up and sang:
“T’shuatam hayita lanetzach vetikvatam b’chol dor vador,
lehodia shekol kovecha lo yevoshu v’lo yikalmu lanetzach kol hachosim bach”
Nehru looked at Mark in appreciation and both of them sang:
“Arur Haman asher bikesh l’abdi, baruch Mordechai haYehudi.
Arura Zeresh, eshet mafchidi, beruchah Eshter ba’adi.
Arurim kol hareshaim, beruchim kol hatzadikim.
Vegam Charvonah zachur latov.”
“What the fuck just happened?” Gilead said.
“I’m the New Jew too,” Mark said.
“What are you….?” Gilead turned to Nehru. “You’re spreading your weirdness.”
“My dad is Jewish,” Mark said.
“You never told me that.”
“You never asked.”
“You don’t tell me a damn thing, Marcus.”
“I dunno,” Mark knuckled his ear and shrugged. “It’s probably cause I feel like you know everything about me.”
“So are you guys going to the Purim party?” Nehru demanded.
“We’ll be there,” Mark said before Gilead could open his mouth.
“Is Russell coming?” Gilead said.
“He could, but I thought about you first because you’re always huddled up with your boyfriend these days.”
“We’ll pick up Russell.”
Mark turned to Gilead. “He’s too mopey these days. He can be a third wheel.”
“Russell,” Gilead noted, “has no problem finding fourth wheels.”
“A Purim party?” Rob said.
“Yes, a Purim party,” Brad said.
“What’s a Purim?”
“Purim is the early springtime Festival of Lots, the festival of turnabout that revolves around the Book of Esther,” Anigel said.
Rob blinked at her.
“What? I know shit.”
“People dress in costumes,” Cody said. “And there’s candy and it’s sort of like a cross between Halloween and Easter. Easter…. Esther.”
“Ishtar,” Anigel said. “It’s a Goddess thing.”
“You should tell the rabbi that when you meet him.”
“I won’t.” Anigel said.
“Speaking of I won’t,” Anigel turned to Cameron, “I won’t wear a costume.”
“I don’t blame you,” said Jill. “I’ll be wearing this.”
She pointed to her floral print.
“Oh, baby,” Shane hooked an arm around her waist, “we could go as Dracula and his wife, or Frankenstein and the Bride. Something like that.”
“It’s like Halloween,” Nehru said. “It isn’t actually Halloween.”
“It’s actually,” Anigel said, “a religious festival, so you might want to be something else.”
“I’m going to go as me,” Cameron insisted.
“I don’t even know how to dress for a religious Halloween,” Brad murmured.
“I know,” Nehru said, “Why don’t you go as the lead guitarist in a band being paid a lot of money to come as they are?”
While Cody sat on the toilet lid, waiting for him to rise above the waterline of the tub, Russell blew bubbles under the water before lifting his head above it and, his red hair plastered to his head, he said, “I don’t want to go to a fucking party.”
“Everyone is expecting you and, frankly, everyone—including me—is tired of you being in a funk.”
“You know why I’m this way.”
“True, and we can’t change things so let’s be as happy as we can.”
“I’m not going,” Russell said.
“You’re going.”
“I’m not,” Russell shouted as Cody left the bathroom.
As Cody closed the door behind him, Patti, in the hallway, said, “Brotherly fight?”
“I guess,” Cody said. “I’ve never had a brother.”
“Russell’s just being a teenager,” Patti said.
“There’s a party. We’re all going.”
“That’s great,” Patti said as Cody opened the closet door for her and she began stacking the towels in the cupboard.
“But Russell isn’t.”
“Whaddo you mean?”
“I told him let’s go, and he’s like no.”
“Oh?” Patti raised an eyebrow. “Hold on.”
She stacked the last of the hand towels and went into the bathroom.
“What the—!” Russell shouted.
“Russell, get your ass up. You’re going with your friends to this party.”
As Patti shut the door behind her, Cody could hear Russell murmur, “I need to lock that damn door in the future.”
“You know, I suppose I’m not that surprised,” Marissa said, after a while.
She didn’t look upset. She looked philosophical.
“Does he make you happy?”
“Nehru?” Brad said. “Yes.”
“Good,” Marissa said. “You’re a good man, you know?”
“I don’t know about all that,” Brad said. “Sometimes I think I’m a stupid man. I’m kind of a fool.”
“You always try to do the right thing,” Marissa said, touching her stomach, which had begun to round not long ago. “It’s not a lot of men who do. Not a lot of people who do. Our baby could do worse for a father. And a father who’s going to have a boyfriend. How twenty-first century. Our baby won’t be some stupid rube. He’ll have some exposure.”
“And you with Hale.”
Marissa looked at Brad. Brad had not been sure if he should mention Hale or not.
“Yes,” Marissa said. “And he looks like he’s sticking around. No, this’ll be a cultured baby. Speaking of Hale?”
“Yes?”
“He asked me to come with you all to the Purim party.”
“Really?”
“If that isn’t a problem?”
“If you coming to a party with us is a problem, then how are we ever going to be a family?”
“Exactly what I was thinking.”
Then Marissa said, “The other day, when I was in Noble Red, Anigel was talking to this sad girl. Pretty, blond, a cheerleader type.”
“She is a cheerleader. She’s Cameron.”
“You used to tutor her.”
“Yeah. Her home life has sort of blown up.”
Brad said in a whisper, as if in Marissa;s house they could be heard, “Actually, it’s always been kind of bad. Her mother’s a real…. Well, she’s not a real mother. In my humble man’s opinion, she needs all the girlfriends and mothers she can get. She deserves it.”
“Well,” Marissa said, “I can’t be promise to be her mother, but I can try to be a human when I see her.”
“Well. Now we’re swingers!”
“Nehru,” Brad said, “if I’ve told you once, I’ve told like a million times. A swinger is—”
“Why do you indulge him?” Robin demanded as they climbed out of the van, “you know he does that just so you can say something.”
“This building,” Marissa declared as they stood in the parking lot, “is not what I wanted a synagogue to be.”
She had seen pictures of old synagogues in New York or Chicago, and hoped that this might be one like that, but every synagogue she’d seen in her real life looked a little bit like a rec center, and this did as well.
“Well, thankfully, this isn’t the synagogue,” Brad told Marissa as he climbed out of the van. “This, in fact, is the social hall. That right there,” he said, pointing to the back of an old, tall, wide brick building, “is the synagogue.”
“Are we going to get to go in it? No I got that.”
Marissa and Brad were struggling over who would carry the three cardboard boxes full of music and miscellaneous material and Brad said, “But you’re having a baby.”
“Not today, I’m not. I’m hardly showing. Give me that box, you big moron.”
Nehru, Hale Weathertop and Shane were already walking across the semi filled parking lot to the open back door of the social hall when Marissa looked to her left at what, from the angle she could see, just looked like the back of a theatre.
“Do we get to go inside?” she asked again.
“I wasn’t going to,” Brad said. He looked up at the early March sky that was streaked with red and orange.
As they entered the hall, a middle aged guy who looked like a repair man said, “Ah, thanks you guys for coming. I know you probably wanna practice, but if you want, in about an hour or so we’re gonna have arvit.”
Marissa looked around the hall where tables were set up and some food was laid out under covers. Streamers were hung and there were signs in Hebrew.
“Is arvit in the synagogue?” Marissa asked.
The man looked puzzled and Nehru, in his snug jeans and snug tee shit hopped off the stage.
“Arvit is the evening prayer service,” he said.
“Oh, thank you so much,” Brad began, “but—”
“We would absolutely love to be there,” said Marissa.
