Sid
Leo, his parents and I are seated on the patio at Spencer’s Restaurant.
This time, I am fully dressed.
This is our rain check, our redo in the desert.
Spencer’s is a Palm Springs institution for brunch. Set at the historic Palm Springs Tennis Club, it has been an exclusive
gathering place since its inception in the 1930s, hosting celebrities like Katherine Hepburn and Bob Hope. Spencer’s sits
at the base of the mountain, and tables are perched under a canopy of live trees drenched in lights as if you are living in
a dream, the atmosphere matched only by the wonderful food.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I ask, babbling as usual like a nervous child, filling the silence since no one is talking. “Have
you been here before?”
Miriam and Joseph stare at me, smiles that look as if their family photo is being taken by a trained assassin. They shake
their heads no and return to studying their menus in silence.
This brunch was Leo’s idea of a do-over after our uncomfortable first encounter. But how many mimosas will it take to erase
the image of my nearly nude eighty-one-year-old body from the minds of my boyfriend’s parents who are younger than me?
Leo wanted us all to have a chance to really get to know one another. Talk. Laugh. Share.
But we have been politely silent so far.
As if on cue, my cell trills in the pocket of the slacks Esther helped me choose. We spent an entire day at Saks, and Esther
had me try on more outfits than a girl going to prom.
“When you die, you will be judged less harshly by God than you will the moment that woman returns to the dressing room,” the
gay clerk told me when Esther left to retrieve more options.
I surreptitiously pull my phone free and hold it below the edge of the table. But of course: It’s a text from Esther.
Do you want me to show up and scare his parents? I’m really good at it. I’ve had years of experience as an overbearing Jewish
great-grandmother.
I look up as I’m trying to decide between the eggs royale with smoked salmon or the banana-stuffed French toast.
I type:
No, but thank you, friend.
You’re welcome. PS: Don’t talk too much . . . remember suspicious mole? PPS: I hope you don’t get Louis as your waiter. He’s
senile. Way worse than me.
I slide my cell back into my pocket as a waiter appears with menus.
I glance up. It’s Louis.
Thank you, Esther. You have eggplant-blouse cursed me once again.
Louis is every bit my age, and has been a server here since—I’m venturing to guess—FDR was president. I pray he doesn’t recognize
me today. Louis rambles more than I do. He’s apt to say anything.
“Welcome to Spencer’s!” he says, as another server fills our water glasses. Louis studies my face. “Sid?”
I smile as my stomach drops. “Hi, Louis. How are you?”
“It’s good to see you again.” He smiles and surveys the table. “And who do we have with us today? Did your family come from
Chicago to escape all that snow and visit for winter break?” Louis walks over and places his hands on Leo’s shoulders. “What
a handsome son you have!”
I want to climb up the tree beside our table and hide in the branches.
“Thank you!” Miriam says, thinking Louis is speaking to her.
Leo shoots me a relieved look just as Louis opens his mouth to say something else. Before he can, I blurt, “Wine! Let’s have
a bottle of the Russian River Valley Sauvignon Blanc. To start! My treat!”
“Of course,” Louis says, catching on.
He hands us our menus. As Louis places a menu in my hands, he leans toward my ear and whispers, “Well done, Sid. Well done.”
The four of us chitchat about safe topics like the weather and the recent Super Bowl—You watch football? I mouth to Leo—until the wine comes.
The first glass goes down much too quickly.
“So, Sid,” Miriam begins in a polished voice, folding her napkin into a lovely diagonal and placing it in her lap. “We didn’t
have much of a chance to get to know each other the first time we met. Tell us a little bit about yourself. Leo mentioned
you were an attorney?”
“That’s right,” I say.
“Me, too!” Joseph says, sitting up in his chair. “We have that in common!”
Run with this, Sid.
“Actually, I still practice,” I say.
“You do?” Joseph asks. “I love that you’re still working.”
“It keeps me young,” I say. “Well, you know, relatively speaking.”
They chuckle politely.
I tell them about my work in Chicago and in the desert.
“And you have a family?” Miriam asks when I finish. “In Chicago?”
“I do,” I say. “An ex-wife, two children, four grandchildren and three greats.”
“How nice,” Miriam says. “Do you see them often?”
“As you know, it’s never enough.”
I wait for a smile, which doesn’t come. I forge on.
“But I fly back to see them as much as I can, and I FaceTime with them every few days.”
“But it’s not the same as seeing them in person, is it?” Miriam asks, reaching over to grab her son’s hand.
“Mom,” Leo says in a tender but warning tone.
“It’s not,” I say. I take a sip of wine and shift in my chair. I need to take the focus off me. “Tell me about you? What type
of law did you practice, Joseph?”
He spends the next ten minutes telling me about his career as a corporate tax attorney and the firm he started and grew to
over a hundred attorneys in Beverly Hills.
I like Joseph. He is sweet, unpretentious, and his stories are not braggadocious but filled with humility and pride.
“And what about you, Miriam?” I ask when Joseph finishes. “Tell me about your life.”
“My life was dedicated to my family,” she says, eyes lasered on mine. “And it still is.”
I do not have the same warm fuzzies for Miriam. She eyes me as suspiciously as she might a Honey Baked Ham at Seder, making
subtle digs hidden as compliments.
Our meals come, and Miriam orders a second bottle of wine.
“Leo drove,” she says to me. “We’re staying with him for a few days. Did you know?”
“That’s so nice,” I say, not taking the bait. “Isn’t it exciting about his new career? Early ratings have been stellar, haven’t they, Leo?”
I reach across and touch Leo’s arm, and I can see Miriam recoil.
“They have,” he says. “Thanks to you, Sid.”
“It’s such an incredible opportunity,” she says, reaching over to grasp his other arm.
“I feel like a wishbone,” Leo jokes.
“Make a wish,” Miriam says, tugging on his arm.
“I did,” Leo says, touching my hand with his. “And it already came true.”
“Aww,” Joseph says.
Miriam’s eyes narrow as Louis brings our meals.
As we eat, a few Palm Springs locals approach our table to say hello to me.
“You know a lot of people in the desert?” Miriam asks, the question coming out as more pointed than casual.
“I’ve lived in the desert nearly as long as I lived in Chicago,” I say.
“Two separate lives,” Miriam says. She takes a bite of her chopped salad and studies me. “Have you been in a long-term relationship
in Palm Springs?”
“I’ve actually never really dated anyone before Leo.”
Miriam places her knife and fork on her plate and clasps her hands together on the table in front of her.
“And why is that, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“You just asked, Mom,” Leo says. “You don’t have to answer that, Sid. My mother can be very, shall we say, inquisitive.”
“That’s a polite word for nosy,” she says with a wink. Miriam lifts her hands in the air. “You don’t have to answer, Sid,
of course. Just a curious mom.”
I focus on my plate for much too long, cutting my eggs royale into way too many tiny pieces.
“I don’t think I ever loved myself enough to love another person.” I force myself to look up from my plate at her. “It’s taken a long time. Your son made me see—and love—myself for the first time.”
Joseph claps his hands together.
“That is just the most beautiful answer, son,” he says to me, though I’m older than he is.
Miriam nods. “Yes, it is. Quite revealing.” She smiles at me, but it is more Cheshire cat than mother next door. “You two
haven’t dated that long, though, correct?”
“New subject!” Leo interjects with an awkward laugh. “I think this will be a great afternoon to lounge by the pool, don’t
you think?”
When we finish our meals, Louis returns with dessert menus. We order four coffees, the “24 Carrot” cake and a chocolate pot
de crème with homemade cookies to share.
“Excuse me,” I say. “I need to run to the restroom before dessert.”
I stand.
“I need the little girls’ room, too,” Miriam says. “Mind if I walk with you?”
I wait for her and then hold out my arm for her to take.
“Such a gentleman,” she adds, clasping her hands around my arm.
“Smile, you two!”
We turn, and Leo snaps our photo.
“That’s a keeper, isn’t it, Dad?” he asks, showing his father.
“It is!”
“I can’t wait to see it,” Miriam says. “Back in a sec!”
I escort her off the patio.
As soon as we round the corner and are out of sight, Miriam jerks her arm away. She grabs me, hard.
“What do you think you are doing?” she asks.
“Going to the bathroom?”
“Did you think I’d just be the compliant mother and simply go along with this?
” Miriam hisses, her grip tightening on my arm.
People stare. She releases my arm, smooths her hair and composes herself.
She leans toward me and whispers, “I do not approve of you being in a relationship with my son.” She studies my face. “It’s just sick.”
I feel as though the floor below me has been removed, and I am falling.
“I don’t understand,” I stammer.
“Don’t play me for a fool,” Miriam spits. “I will not allow you to take advantage of my son. Is this some sort of fetish?
You only like men who could be your son?”
She manages to smile at Louis as he passes with our desserts.
“Leo pursued me,” I say. “I thought his initial interest was purely professional.”
“You’re eighty-one, Sid. You know how this is going to end!”
“Excuse me?”
“What does your future together look like?” she asks, shaking her head. “Are you even alive in a decade? If so, what do you
envision? Romantic dinners in Paris, a cruise down the Rhine? I bet you don’t envision my son feeding you, bathing you, filling
prescriptions, wheeling you to doctor’s appointments and navigating rather nasty legal decisions with your children, do you?”
The trees whir before me as I think of Teddy’s reluctance to tell us of his medical issues.
“He cannot take care of you. He should not have to take care of you.” Miriam shakes my arm. “He will not take care of you, Sid. Leo has his own family to care for already.”
“But I think I’m in love with your son,” I say, talking slowly to keep my voice from trembling and making me sound like the
old man she sees. “And I think he’s in love with me.”
“How could he love you?” she asks. “What can you possibly offer him?”
Tears well in my eyes. I will them to stop, but I am too weak.
“Everything.”
A sad, hideous gasp makes its way free.
Miriam pretends to check her manicure as Louis passes again. She waits until he’s out of earshot before she speaks again.
“Leo has always been kind to a fault,” she says, a genuine smile finally making its way across her face as she talks about
her son. “He was always that way as a child. He’d befriend the lonely kid on the playground. He brought home stray dogs. I
think it’s why he went into journalism. It allowed him to connect with and tell the stories of those he wanted to help.” Miriam
pats my arm. “I think he sees you as one of those people, Sid. He shared your story about your run-in with that awful woman
at the library. I think his heart went out to you. I’m sure he’s fond of you, and I’m sure you provide him a sense of safety
and security in a new environment, but I believe he’s confusing those feelings for something deeper. And I think you’re interpreting
his kindness for something deeper.
“Joseph and I have been married for sixty years,” she continues. “Sixty years, Sid. We have been through everything together.
We still hold out hopes for grandchildren one day.”
“I have grandchildren,” I say.
“Those are your grandchildren, Sid, not ours. Not Leo’s. Those are people from a different life,” Miriam says. “You have led
a different life than Leo. And that life is nearing its finale.”
“I’ve played the cards this life has dealt me as best I can, Miriam. It has not been an easy one.”
“I’m sure it hasn’t,” she says coolly. “But my son has devoted his life to his career, and now he’s here in Palm Springs for
likely his last chapter in broadcasting but also for his first long-term relationship. This . . . you! . . . is not fair to him. It’s not normal. It’s selfish. He needs a man who is his equal and his age. I’m sure you can see that,
can’t you?”
I look into the eyes of a woman around my age who should understand the power of love. “But I love him.”
“That’s not enough,” she says. “It will never be enough.”
Leo’s laughter carries along the wind, through the branches of the trees, and his happiness lights on my shoulder.
I close my eyes and listen, capturing the sound in my brain, hoping that one day—when I am alone and dying and need to remember the happiest time of my life—I will hear his laughter again, and my pain will be quieted. I will fade from this earth hoping and believing—no, knowing—I was loved.
“Please tell Leo I wasn’t feeling well,” I say.
Miriam nods, and I head to the exit.
The tears don’t come again until the valet brings my car, I drive away and Leo’s laughter melts away in the warm desert breeze.