Faye Kellerman - Street Dreams

“Your stepmother didn’t.”

I hesitated for just a moment. “I don’t want this to be construed as a criticism of Rina, because I think she’s a great person. But to Rina, the world is divided into two categories: Jews and non-Jews. If you’re Jewish, you’re in; if not, you’re not. You’re Jewish, ergo you’re in. She may be color-blind, but she has her standards. Sammy could bring home the most beautiful, brilliant girl, and if she wasn’t Jewish, heads would roll.”

I exhaled and shook my head.

“We all do it… this us/them thing. With me, it divides between law-abiding citizens and felons. Even in your field, where there isn’t supposed to be any bias, I bet biased decisions are made all the time. If a kidney is available, can you honestly say to me that they consider a seventy-year-old in the same way that they consider a twenty-year old?”

“Maybe not.” He switched on the stereo, turning up the volume to drown me out. Ska with a booming bass line blasted through the speakers of Rina’s Volvo.

I turned off the receiver. “Definitely not,” I continued. “Young people get preference, you know that. And why? Why is one life worth more than another life? Now, suppose the seventy-year-old was a major cancer researcher and the twenty-year-old had Down’s syndrome. Then who’d get the kidney?”

“Yes, yes, you prove your point, Cindy. You should be a lawyer as well as a cop. That way, you can legally defend your self-righteousness. Can we now stop talking and listen to some music?” Again he turned on the receiver full volume.

I sat back in my seat and looked at the roof of the car. We rode with the music blaring for about a minute until he abruptly turned it off. The stillness was thick.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

I placed my hand on his knee and dropped my voice to a soothing lilt. “Yaakov, those two kids were punks. And you know how I feel about punks. And I didn’t particularly like being thought of as your bitch for sale. But there’s this side of me that says there’s something sad about them. Their self-esteem must be in the toilet, their images of themselves so low that they can’t possibly conceive of a healthy, good-looking white woman falling in love with a black man who isn’t a pro athlete, a badass rapper, a movie star, or her pimp. To them, it’s as absurd as a blue sun.”

He was silent. But then ever so slowly, a small smile played upon his lips. “You’re in love with me?”

I stared at him in amazement. “Um… let’s think about this. I spend every waking moment of my free time with you, and lots of my nonwaking moments, too.” I tapped his temple. “Duh!”

He didn’t respond. We tooled down the freeway for a minute without speaking.

At last he said, “Every morning I say Sha’charit -prayers to God.”

“I know. Those little black boxes with the straps.”

“Yes, tefillin. ” He licked his lips. “In the prayers, there is always Shemoneh Esrei -the silent devotion to God. You take three steps backward; then you take three steps forward and start. But before you step forward… this is the chance for personal prayer, for personal requests.”

A small smile.

“I used to ask God for things-for money, for a raise, for a better position, for a new car at a price I could afford, to help me win the lottery, to let me meet lots of loose women.”

I punched his shoulder lightly. “Did He help you out?”

“Not with the lottery, but very good with the women.”

I punched him again, but harder.

“Silly things.” He let out a laugh. “But now… now I don’t ask for things. I just say, ‘Thank you, God, for sending me Cynthia.’ That is it.” A pause. “I don’t tell God this at prayer time, but I do also say thank you to Him for giving me the privilege of having sex with you-”

I broke up into peals of laughter. “That’s terrible! ”

“No, it’s not!” He glanced at me with serious eyes. “I look at you and I say I can’t believe I am having sex with this incredible-looking woman! All my friends are jealous, even if you are a cop. They think you look like a supermodel.”

“Oh please-”

“Except you have this big, beautiful, black-girl ass. Tight and round and-”

“You talk about my ass with your friends?”

He smiled sheepishly. “It comes up in natural conversation.”

I whacked him. “You’re awful.”

“Not at all.” He grew serious. “My friends make fun of me. They say I am moonstruck. They say I am pussy whipped. They say, ‘What has happened to you, mon? What is wrong with you… that you let a woman bring you to your knees?’ But what do they know? They have never brushed their lips against yours. They have never felt your soft touch in the middle of the night. They have never held you… body and soul united… lost in rich ecstasy that lifts even the most ordinary man to a momentary king. They have never had a true union of Kiddusha -of holiness between two people who are destined, who are bashert. ”

His voice had become a whisper.

“God has made this shiddach … this match. Only God could make such a match. I am… hopelessly in love with you, Cynthia Rachel Decker.”

I absorbed his words, trying not to cry, but I couldn’t hold back. My eyes watered up, but I managed to wipe them before tears rolled down my cheeks. Waiting until I could find my voice, and when I finally did speak, I was choked with emotion. “I’m hopelessly in love with you, too, Yaakov Elias David Ben Aaron Hakohen Kutiel.” I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “That’s quite a mouthful.”

“Blame my father.” He cleared his throat. “I think we have a long, long future together.” He tapped the wheel nervously. “At least, that is what I want.”

This time, the tears escaped my eyes. We rode a few minutes in silence, both of us drinking in the moment. For twenty-eight years, it had been just me, myself, and I. But now, in all honesty, I couldn’t remember what my life had been without him. Being that dependent on someone was terrifying. Being that dependent on a man was utterly terrifying!

“If you have doubts, I will wait as long as you want,” he told me. “I only wish to make you happy.”

He had misinterpreted my silence. Still, I held back. “Be careful what you wish for.”

He didn’t answer. Disappointment crushed his face, darkening his expression. It was time to take the emotional plunge, a scarier dive than I would have ever imagined. But if I blew it now, I knew I’d regret it for the rest of my life. I took a deep breath and began to stroke his leg. “Yaakov, I have no doubts whatsoever. What you want is exactly what I want-a long future together… our entire future together actually. But I’ll tell you this. If you break my heart, I’ll kill you.”

He glanced at me. “Do you mean it?”

“Mean what? Spending the rest of my life with you or killing you if you hurt me? I mean both.”

At last his smile was large and genuine. “Now that sounds like the Cynthia I know and love.” He broke into musical laughter. “Now I feel so good.”

I continued to caress his thigh. “These stupid people… it wasn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last.”

He shrugged. Light had returned to his eyes. “So we learn to live with ignorance.”

“Exactly. And let’s be happy it’s now and not fifty years ago. What the heck? Every relationship has sticky points.”

“Even relationships with God. Like Avraham Avinu and his ten trials.”

“Sorry,” I told him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Abraham. His faith in God was tested by ten trials.”