Fran Ross - Oreo

“I was told I might be able to find Sam Schwartz here,” Oreo said.

Slim pulled one of his pencil antennas out of his hair, printed something on a balloon, and held it up: TRY NEXT DOOR TONIGHT.

“What’s next door?”

He wrote and crossed out, wrote and crossed out. Then held up his cardboard voice: A A A HOUSE OF JOY.

“Oh, a whorehouse,” said Oreo.

Slim looked at her appraisingly. He shuffled through his standard balloons and pulled out a cartoon of a bibbed man with his tongue hanging out, knife and fork at the ready over a turkey drumstick.

“Likes women with big legs?” Oreo guessed.

Slim looked disappointed. He shook his head as he printed and held up: LIKES DARK MEAT.

So, dear old Dad is already two-timing his second wife. “Do you know where I could find him now? Do you have his address?”

Slim shook his head. I DON’T TRY TO KEEP TRACK OF WHITEY, he ballooned. She started to get up, but Slim held up his hand, SAY SOMETHING, another balloon demanded.

“Like what?”

He shrugged.

“Jack Sprat could eat no fat. His wife could eat no lean.”

Slim rotated his wrists, his hands indicating “keep going.”

Oreo switched to something more appropriate for a soundman. “Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels and have not charity, I am become as a sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal.”

Slim held up his hand, COULD YOU RECORD A FEW LINES FOR ME? he printed.

Oreo shrugged. “I guess so.”

He beckoned her as he went out of the office and back into Control Room B. He did his Shiva routine with the reels of tape on his machines, taking some off, putting some on, twirling his dials. He had her go through a door into the soundproof studio. He disappeared for a few minutes and came back carrying some sheets of paper and a stack of his balloons. He put the papers down on the table in front of her, adjusted her mike, then went back into the control room. She watched him through the glass partition. He held up a balloon that said: GIVE ME A LEVEL, PLEASE. He pointed to the script he had left with her.

In a loud voice, she read what was written at the top of the sheet. “Mr. Soundman, Incorporated. Account Number 3051478.”

Slim held one finger to his lips. Oreo read the same thing in a normal voice. Slim made the “okay” sign with thumb and index finger and gestured for her to continue reading.

Oreo cleared her throat and read. “In these busy days of rush, rush, rush, it’s nice to have friends you can depend on when you need them. We at Tante Ruchel’s Kosher Kitchens want you to know you can depend on us. I was saying to my tante just the other day — and my tante is your tante —I said to her, ‘What won’t you think of next?’ And she told me. I want to share with you the wisdom of this marvelous woman. You know her by her prizewinning tchulent , you’ve marveled over her kasha varnishkes , and thrilled to her kugel. Now she has outdone even herself. Now Tante Ruchel brings you a product that will revolutionize your holiday dinners. So sit down, pull up a chair, and be the first to hear over the miracle of the airwaves about a miracle of a product—”

Slim waved her to a stop. YOU’RE POPPING YOUR P’s.

Oreo quickly looked over what she had read. She saw a “prizewinning,” a couple of “products,” and a “pull.” She said these aloud tentatively. They all popped. She could not figure out how to get her mouth around a p without a little explosion of air. Behind the glass, Slim moved his lips in what Oreo assumed was a non- p -popping demonstration. Of course his p’s didn’t pop. Besides, it seemed to her he was mouthing m ’s, not p ’s. She’d sound pretty silly talking about “mroducts,” “mull,” and “mrizewinning.” She tried again, imitating Slim’s lip movements. After a little practice, she noticed that even to her ears there were fewer rags of breath catching at the grille as she pushed the pesky words past the microphone, which Slim had placed slightly to her left.

She did another take. This time the p ’s were popless, but Slim ballooned: A LITTLE MORE JEWISH, PLEASE.

Oreo tried to think of how her mother would do this. She pretended she was Tante Ruchel’s niece, as the copy said. She got to the punchline again. “… be the first to hear over the miracle of the airwaves about a miracle of a product: Tante Ruchel’s Frozen Passover TV Seder.” Oreo laughed to herself. If her grandfather had thought of this, he could have sold a million of them as fast as Louise could cook them.

She consulted Slim about two apparent typographical errors in the next paragraph and was assured that the client did indeed want the copy read as the soundman instructed.

YAHWEH, he explained.

Oreo shrugged and continued. “Passover is a celebration of freedom, gee-dash-dee’s gift to our people. So why spend precious holiday time shopping and preparing? The ell-dash-are-dee has seen fit to provide you with Tante Ruchel, a real bren. Let her do it for you. When it’s time for Seder, you’ll be able to sit back, calm and cool, and say, ‘It’s such a mechaieh to have Tante Ruchel for a friend.’ Have you ever been so farchadat on the holiday that when your youngest starts in with the Fier Kashehs , you say, ‘Don’t ask so many questions?’ Pesach is such an important holiday — a happy yontiff , as we say — you wouldn’t want to forget anything and slight the traditions of our people. Don’t worry, Tante Ruchel has thought of everything. No one will be able to point the accusing finger at you and say, ‘See, she forgot the parsley.’ Parsley-shmarsley — have we got a meal for you! First of all, Tante Ruchel’s Frozen Passover TV Seder comes in special foil trays — kosherized for the occasion. Use them once and throw them away. No worry come next Pesach about did your Uncle Louie forget and mix up the special china for Passover week with the everyday. Tante Ruchel would not make a move without our own mashgiach by her side to see that everything is strictly strictly. In fact, our mashgiach is so strict, he’s known in the FAM — the Federation of American Mashgiachs — as Murray the yenta. And it goes without saying that each and every lamb is led to the slaughter by our own shochet , who, if he didn’t work for us, would be a world-famous surgeon. For that reason, we call him Dr. Jacobs. It’s only his due.”

Oreo paused to say that she needed some water. Slim stopped his tape and went out of the control room. He came back to the studio a few seconds later with a paper cup of water. He winked, patted Oreo on the shoulder, and went back to start his machine again.

Oreo cleared her throat and went on. ‘‘By now, you’re all ears. ‘What is Tante Ruchel serving for Passover?’ you query. I’m glad you asked. This Seder meal was tested in our kosher kitchens for an entire year until we came up with just the right amount of everything — so you should feel nice and full but not so stuffed you could plotz. Each individual tray has eight sections — get the symbolism? — and in each section a gem of a dish. To start, Tante Ruchel has improved on her famous matzo-ball soup. She found an old family recipe in a trunk in the attic just the other day. It’s the same delicious soup Tante Ruchel has always made — but with one new secret ingredient that makes it divine, an ingredient that if we told you, you’d say, ‘Of course.’ But we can’t tell you, dear customers, because our competitors have ears also. Suffice it to say that such delicious broth, such secret-ingredient matzo balls you have never in your life tasted. You could strap a pair of Tante Ruchel’s matzos to your shoulders and fly — that’s how light they are. As Tante Ruchel was joking just the other day when she taste-tested her latest batch of matzos, ‘Let’s try and work out a deal with Pan Am.’