Chapter Twenty-One
TWENTY-ONE
The grand reenvisioning of Magic Mud Pottery was even better than Faye had imagined. Once word had spread about the reveal of a new window and a party, her neighbors had responded. Despite it being the lunch hour, folks closed their own shops to join Faye and show support. There were cupcakes, red wine, and best part of all, she had nearly sold out of ring dishes.
“Quite a turnout,” Greg said, appearing beside her.
“Indeed,” Faye said.
She was feeling surprisingly good about things. Even though she knew what she was about to do might cause trouble, she felt freer than she had in weeks. Her eyes drifted to the top of Greg’s shirt, where three buttons were still left undone, revealing the most gloriously sexy sprigs of bright red chest hair. She could imagine running her fingers through all that manliness...
“How are you feeling about things?” Greg asked.
“Good,” she said, returning to herself. She twisted towards a table, grabbing a bottle of red wine and two plastic cups. “Would you like to make a toast with me?”
Greg took the wine from her and lifted his glass. Faye did the same.
“To life,” she said, simply.
“Baruch Hashem and Blessed Be,” Greg said.
They both took a drink.
A warmth flushed her cheeks, though it seemed too soon to be coming from the wine.
“Faiga!” a voice called out from behind her.
Faye turned around to find Miranda with Shulamit by her side.
“You made it,” Faye said, giving her bestie a hug. She wasn’t sure with Miranda’s teaching schedule if she would be able to get off.
“Of course we made it,” Miranda said.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Shulamit said fondly. “And look at this turnout!”
Faye had to agree. Even though the victory wasn’t hers alone. “Well,” Faye said, resting one hand on Greg’s arm, “I can’t take all the accolades. Greg here has been an absolute lifesaver. Not only did he support me through getting the window fixed and choosing a final design...but he was instrumental in helping get the word out, and setting up for the party. He actually made all the cupcakes.”
“Really?” Miranda asked, surprised. “I had no idea you were a baker, Greg.”
“I read a cookbook,” Greg said, before adding, “And I have lots of experience making baladur cakes. It was an easy transition from there.”
“No doubt.” Miranda smiled.
Just then, Nelly appeared on the stoop of her shop. Faye was clearly in a good mood, because upon seeing her, she lifted on her tiptoes and tried to wave her over. Sadly, Nelly didn’t see her.
“Can I get you ladies a glass of wine?” Greg asked before winking at Shulamit. “Or perhaps some water and a cupcake?”
“You know what?” Miranda said, raising both eyebrows. “I would love both...if it’s not too much trouble.”
“None at all,” Greg confirmed.
“Actually,” Shully said as she slinked past them, “if you don’t mind, I see a few congregants. I should probably go over and say hi.”
With that, both Greg and Shulamit departed. Faye and Miranda were finally alone. Faye couldn’t contain herself any longer. “Miranda, I have to tell you something. I really like him.”
“Noooo.”
“Like.” Faye grimaced. “I’m having feelings. Big ones.”
“Well, yeah, Faye!” Miranda said. “I think it’s fairly obvious.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“What do you mean what to do ?” Miranda asked, incredulous. “You need me to buy you a book on the matter?”
“Really?”
“Better yet—” Miranda began edging into hysterics “—I’ll buy Greg a book on the subject. In fact, I’ll bring him a whole library’s worth of books about pleasing a woman...turn him into the best lover you’ve ever had.”
Faye crossed her arms against her chest. “I’m being serious here, Miranda.”
“And so am I,” Miranda said, not missing a beat. “Listen, Faye... I know you have this tendency to believe that you’re not deserving of love and happiness, so hear me when I say this—you are a great woman...and Greg is a great guy.”
“I thought he was a golem?”
“Who cares if he is!” Miranda said. “I mean, he’s amazing, Faye. He’s amazing for you. Let’s consider the evidence here. He’s read all your books. He cleans up after Hillel. He enjoys hanging out with your friends, and better yet, your friends actually like this one. He brings you hard kosher salami whenever you ask for it. I mean, who wouldn’t like someone like Greg? The only thing that shocks me about this situation is that you two haven’t done it already.” She backtracked. “You haven’t had sex with him, right?”
“I thought it would complicate things.”
“Well, it can’t get more complicated than a brick through your window.”
She wasn’t wrong.
Her friends had never really liked Stuart. They tolerated him, obviously...invited him to events that she was invited to, but otherwise, respected her decision to marry him by keeping their mouths shut.
It wasn’t until after the breakup that their real feelings came out.
Stuart never made any type of real effort. He stared at his phone when they came over to her apartment in Manhattan. He had no hair. But mainly, what they disliked about Stuart was the way Faye changed with him. She took care of everything—the groceries, the bills, the cleaning—while Stuart couldn’t even get it together enough to buy her a birthday gift.
“You know, Faye,” Miranda said gently, “not every man is Stuart.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m just saying,” Miranda replied, “what if Greg’s memory never comes back? What if you just have this hot redheaded tabula rasa, with huge muscles and a giant heart, eager to help you out in every which way for the rest of your natural life?”
“I really doubt that’s going to happen.”
“Well,” Miranda said simply, “if it does happen, try to keep what I said in mind. Not every man is Stuart. Thank God. Besides, you always deserved better than him, anyway.”
Just then, a sight at the corner of the crowd drew Faye’s attention away. On a bench, across from her business, was that old man she had been seeing all around town. Once again, he appeared to be scowling, wearing that same puffer jacket that appeared far too warm for the weather.
Her nerves returned. Her mind wandered into worst-case scenarios. She scanned the crowd to see if Eric had arrived...and then, on second thought, she gave up on the idea entirely. She was tired of feeling this way. Always afraid. She was ready to confront her fear.
“Excuse me for a second,” Faye said. “There’s someone I need to talk to for a minute.”
“No worries,” Miranda said, lifting her glass of red wine. “I’ll be right here, all alone...getting sloshed before noon.”
Faye grabbed a tray full of cupcakes decorated with Jewitch symbols and made her way down the street, taking a seat beside him. A cool breeze passed over them before Faye twisted in her seat and offered him a cupcake.
“Would you like one?” she asked, smiling at the old man.
He peered at the offering.
“Cupcakes,” she explained. “The ones with purple icing are chocolate, and the ones with strawberry icing are vanilla.”
He grumbled and, rolling up the sleeve of his coat so as not to make a mess, reached for a chocolate.
“My name is Faye.” She offered her hand. “Faiga Kaplan.”
“Ruben.”
He shifted the cupcake he was eating from one palm to the other, extending his hand. Faye went to shake it. In the process, her eyes drifted down to his left wrist, where a number, faded and black, was etched into his skin.
The words she had been meaning to say caught in her throat.
“Good,” he said after his first bite. “You make them?”
“My friend made them, actually.”
“I like them,” he said. “My wife...she used to make cupcakes. Haven’t had one for years, since she died. Forgot how good they were.”
“I believe I’ve seen you around town,” Faye inquired, “though I don’t think we’ve ever had the chance to meet. You live in Woodstock?”
“Few towns over.”
“Ah.” Faye nodded to her store. “I own Magic Mud Pottery.”
“I know,” he said, before adding, “I’ve been keeping an eye on it for you.”
She was surprised. “You have?”
“I’ve been keeping an eye on the whole town,” he said proudly. “Ever since these flyers came...damn Nazis.”
Suddenly it all made sense to her. The old man appearing at various Jewish events throughout town. The way he lingered, eyes constantly scanning the crowd, like he was a sentry on patrol duty. He wasn’t there as a Paper Boy or to spread nefarious intent. He was there as a Jew, and a Holocaust survivor, to protect others from the horrors he had faced.
“Also,” he offered up, pointing the last of his cupcake towards Second Glance Treasures, “the little one is awfully cute.”
Faye squinted, confused. “The little one?”
“The little one with the short gray hair, one who owns Second Glance Treasures. The little one...who throws all those dog tea parties. Sometimes erotic parties, too, I heard.”
Faye could hardly believe her ears. It seemed her wily old friend had a secret admirer. “Nelly,” Faye informed him. “Her name is Nelly.”
“Nelly,” he repeated dreamily. “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”
“I’d be happy to introduce you to her,” Faye said. “I happen to know that she’s single...and very much on the market. I’m sure she would be thrilled to meet you.”
The man shifted in his seat nervously. The question had clearly caught him off guard. After a long pause considering the idea, he waved it away entirely. “Not yet,” he said firmly. “First, I gotta protect the town from these damn Nazis. After that, there will be plenty of time for romance.”
She patted the man on the wrist. “Well, I look forward to that day.”
He nodded stoically, then returned his attention to scanning the crowd. Leaving him, Faye went back to Miranda.
“What was that all about?” Miranda asked.
“Nothing,” Faye said innocently. “Just someone with a major crush on our Nelly.”
Miranda’s eyes went wide. “Noooooo.”
“Yep,” Faye said, nodding to the man on the bench. “He likes the little one. He’s heard about her dog tea parties, and erotic ones, too...and still, he likes the little one.”
“Well.” Miranda laughed, shaking her head at the thought. “It’s nice to know that, no matter what, love finds a way to happen.”
Faye raised her glass to that sentiment. “Indeed.”
She had always been so certain that love was a weakness. A vulnerability that had to be tapped down. A thing that would eventually destroy her. But what anti-Semitism, and Greg, were teaching her...was that love could be a balm, too.
She didn’t know how her story would end. Perhaps the dreams she crafted for herself, etched onto the body of a golem doll, would never come true. But today, in the present, without concern for the past and without thinking about the future, she was ready to be fearless.
“I have news,” Nelly said, pulling Greg into Second Glance Treasures. She bolted the lock on the door behind them so they could talk privately. There was a glimmer of excitement in her voice. “The Paper Boys are meeting for sure tonight.”
His mouth went dry. “Where?”
“Not entirely sure,” she admitted. “But based on previous chatter, I believe it’s one of the three locations that serve buffalo wings without blue cheese dressing. Now, what I was thinking is we send you in undercover.”
Greg knew what to do. He had learned all these lessons from his books.
He knew about going undercover, searching for clues and evidence from Sam Beacher. He knew about pretending to be someone you weren’t through The Rogue Prince. And he understood anti-Semites, how they thought, how they operated, the lingo and terms they used in their beliefs, from the nonfiction books he had read.
“So,” Greg said, filling in the blanks, “I go to each of those locations. See what I can feel out. See if I can make contact with these people directly.”
“Now we’re talking.”
“How do we start?” Greg asked.
“Meet me outside Pinky’s ice-cream joint at seven o’clock tonight.”
“What about Faye?” Greg frowned, concerned.
Nelly squinted. “What about her?”
“How am I going to sneak out without raising her suspicion?”
He thought back on their time together. For as long as he could remember, they shared hard kosher salami together at night. Now, they paired it with playing Scrabble. It would be weird to suddenly claim that he just wanted to go to sleep. What if she got up in the middle of the night, and saw he wasn’t there?
“Well, figure out something, Baby Bird,” Nelly snapped back at him. “Because tonight’s the night!”
With that, she unlocked the door, pushing Greg back outside. He dragged one hand down his face, and considered his options. Because Nelly was right. Time could not be wasted. The Paper Boys had to be found and held accountable for their actions. The words— justice, justice, you shall pursue —played like a song on repeat inside his head.
He settled on dealing with specifics later. For now, he was eager to get back to Faye. He found her, along with Miranda, talking to Chief Eric Myers.
“Eric,” Greg said, offering his hand. “How you doing?”
“Good,” Eric said.
“It’s nice of you to come,” Greg said.
“Unfortunately, I can’t stay that long,” Eric said casually. “But even with as busy as I am down at the station, I wouldn’t miss the chance to support Faye.” He threw one arm around her, pulling her towards him, speaking to her directly. “I’m glad I can be here for you.”
Greg forced a smile.
Eric was saying all the right things, but still, the man rubbed Greg all types of wrong.
It drove him bonkers the way Eric was always touching her...but he did his best to acknowledge those feelings as jealousy, and then let them go. Besides, he had bigger anti-Semitic fish to fry, and having the chief of police in front of him was to his benefit.
“So,” Greg asked, “what’s happening with the investigation?”
“Well, unfortunately, Greg...” Eric inhaled deeply, as if the question itself was both bothersome, and unbelievably stupid. “Because it is still an active investigation, I’m not at liberty to discuss specifics.”
Greg refused to let it go.
“But what about the license plate?” he asked.
“What?” Miranda said, confused.
Faye stepped in to clarify. “Greg saw the license plate the night of the attack.”
At the news, Miranda’s eyes went wide. “You’re kidding me. That’s amazing!”
Greg agreed. He would have thought that the license plate would have provided a break in the case, but Eric seemed to have difficulty remembering. He squinted in Greg’s direction. “Oh, right,” Eric said, finally. “A green sedan with four—”
“A blue sedan with four doors,” Greg interrupted him.
“What?” Eric said, annoyed.
“It was a blue sedan with four doors,” Greg corrected him. “The first four letters of the license plate were HX34. Faye gave it to you when you stopped by. You said you were going to run it? Faye mentioned that it might be the break in the case that you need. So, any word on that?”
A pause teetered between all four of them, before Eric blew all the air out of his chest. “Unfortunately,” Eric said, “we ran what you gave us, trying to find a comparable vehicle in the area...but nothing came of it.”
“Nothing?” Greg almost couldn’t believe it.
“Well, what about the FBI?” Miranda brought up. “Surely they must have federal databases they can explore that local police don’t have access to.”
Eric raised both hands up in open surrender. “We’ve done all that,” he explained. “At this point...it’s out of my hands.”
“Oh,” Faye said sadly. “That’s so disappointing.”
“I know,” Eric said, his eyes falling to her gently. “Honestly, I was so hoping it would solve this thing once and for all. But when it just brought us back to a bunch of dead ends... I figured that Greg must have been mistaken.”
Greg dipped his chin back. “Mistaken?”
“Not for nothing, Greg,” Eric said. “I appreciate your help in this matter, and that you were there to protect Faye when Magic Mud Pottery was attacked. But you’re also not exactly the most reliable witness out there, considering you don’t have a memory. Truthfully, I doubt that anything you would say...would hold up in a court of law.”
He didn’t like it. The way Eric wasn’t taking him seriously, brushing him off, treating him like he was incompetent simply because he was living with a temporary disability. He attempted to keep his cool, but the words stung. The frustration he had experienced in the hospital—the way the doctors had treated him like furniture—returned.
“Actually,” Faye said, tipping her cup of wine in his direction, “Greg has an excellent memory. Basically eidetic. In fact, what we have learned about Greg since he’s come to live with me is that he is a man of many talents. One of which is to pick up a book, any book, and remember parts of what he read word for word.”
Eric squinted. “You’re kidding me?”
“Hm,” Faye said, her eyes drifting back towards Greg. “It’s really...quite remarkable. Also a talent that, having been a lawyer myself, could be easily proven in any court of law. Indeed, a jury would gasp aloud at seeing what he’s capable of...such a brilliant and smart man.”
His eyes lifted from the sidewalk, meeting hers.
“But that’s not my point in telling you this,” Faye quipped, twisting back to Eric. “My reasoning is much simpler. Because if Greg says he saw that license plate, on a blue four-door sedan, and that the first four letters were HX34... I’d stake all my money, along with all the magic in the world, on believing him.”
He couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation, because he was fully focused on Faye. Faye, and her kindness. Faye, and her words. Faye, the woman he wanted, but couldn’t have, because he might be a Paper Boy. And the words in his head returned, a song with one chord repeated, over and over again.
Justice, justice, you shall pursue.
Faye tapped on an empty wine bottle with a metal spoon.
“Excuse me,” she said, standing in front of Magic Mud Pottery, bringing the crowd to attention. “If I could have your attention.”
The crowd quieted, turning towards her. Faye scanned their faces. Eric had to leave early but all her friends were there. Miranda and Shulamit. Nelly. Greg, too. Their presence, lifting her up, making her feel stronger.
She was ready to reclaim her power.
“First,” Faye said. “I wanted to thank all of you for your support over the last six weeks. Some days, it’s easy to forget how much good there is still left in the world. But when I look around at this street, and this block—at all my neighbors, friends, and chosen family who have shown up for me—I know that hatred and white supremacy will never win.”
A round of applause exploded from the crowd. She waited for them to quiet before continuing. “I’ve been thinking a lot about combating anti-Semitism lately, and the truth is, I don’t know if I will ever be able to change the mind of a white supremacist. Anti-Semitism is not a Jewish problem. It’s a problem that affects the Jews. But I know what I can control. I can model Jewish pride. I can be strong and courageous in the knowledge of my identity. And maybe by doing these things, I can inspire others to feel strong and courageous in speaking up, too.”
Faye reached for the rope holding up the tarp across the window.
“I will not be afraid,” she said. “I will not be silenced. I will not shutter my business or leave Woodstock, either. And from this day forward, I want everyone in Woodstock to know that Magic Mud Pottery is owned and operated by a proud Jewitch woman.”
She pulled on the rope, and the tarp fell. A gasp went up from the crowd, before applause and cheering, both loud and raucous, rang out from the crowd.
Faye turned back to the glass, taking in the shape and make of her new storefront window. The old cauldron with a stirring spoon was gone. Now, in its place, was the image of a Jewitch woman standing upon the ground, tefillin wrapping around her arm, tallit blowing in the wind, a full moon above her, and the sky above filled with six-pointed Stars of David. Beside her, above a raging fire, were the words MAGIC MUD POTTERY written in an enchanted script.
But the pièce de résistance—her final screw-you to the anti-Semites or anyone still at risk of missing her message—was a note, in big block lettering, right at the bottom of the glass.
THIS STORE IS PROUDLY OWNED AND OPERATED BY A JEWITCH WOMAN
“LET ALL WHO CAST STONES, BE CURSED.
AND ALL WHO SHAPE CLAY, FIND WELCOME.”