Chapter 2

Portrait Of My Desire
by Rhonda Findling

(Page 4 of 11)

David was sitting at the dinette table in his parent's kitchen eating a half a grapefruit sprinkled with sugar, reddened by the Marachino cherry juice his mother had just poured from the bottle. He noticed an old purplish looking stain on the freshly washed worn out tablecloth, and wondered if it was from the time he spilled a glass of wine at Passover Seder when he was 14. David glanced at his father who was hunched over his accounting books.

"The store's just not making money like it used to," his father blurted out.

"Maybe it's the recession Pop."

"Nah! It's the neighborhood. It's getting very bad. Besides a lot of our old customers are moving away."

"Pop, forget the store. I'm telling you if you invest in Temporal Oil you'll make so much money you won't have to work anymore."

"How do you know so much about this Temporal Oil?"

"I've got a good tip, that's all."

"You know your mama and I don't like to gamble."

"It's not gambling. It's the stock market, besides, I'm sure of it."

"How are you so sure?"

"I just know. Trust me."

"Enough talk about money already," David's mother said. "Supper's ready." She served David and his father homemade chicken soup in bowls decorated with flowers he remembered from when he was a little boy.

"Gut Duvid?" she asked, finally sitting down.

"Yes mama." David said, breaking a matzo ball in half with his spoon. "No one in the whole world cooks as good as you do."

Her face broke out into a big smile, which made David feel better.

'When was the last time you had a home cooked meal?"

"The last time I was here," David laughed, putting his hand over his mother's.

David's father tore off a piece of challah bread. "When we were in the camps this piece of bread was like a feast."

"I know Pop. You've told me a million times." David couldn't understand why he was forever reminding him of his imprisonment in Auschwitz.

"I haven't talked about it a million times," his father argued.

"Mendel stop . . . shush . . . David please. Fress! Eat! Let's just enjoy the food.'

They all finished the soup silently. David's mother got up and served roast chicken, boiled carrots, green beans, kasha and varnishkas.

"Where are you going so dressed up?" David's father asked, his mouth full of kasha.

"A party."

"So who's giving the party?"

"A partner of Heskel who owns a modeling agency."

"Models. Feh! Why don't you go to Shule and meet a nice Jewish girl already." "Mendel what's with you tonight?" David's mother yelled.

"I want him to settle down already. He'll be 33 soon."

"Why are you getting on my case tonight Pop? Because I'm giving you advice on making money in the market?"

"I don't need your advice on money. Who do you think worked 18 hours a day to put you through college and law school?"

"How can I possibly forget when you're always reminding me. I'm trying to give you and mama naches, make you proud. I'm making more money than ever. What do you want from me?"

"A family, grandchildren. Money isn't everything. Feh, I don't want to argue anymore." David's father said, abruptly getting up from the table.

"You always start it Pop," David said loudly, watching his father storm out of the room. David went to the kitchen and poured some Manischevitz wine from the refrigerator into a glass, drinking it in one gulp.

"I don't know what's with him lately. He's so irritable. Maybe he's working too hard," David's mother said, starting to cry.

David went over to his mother and hugged her. "He wouldn't have to work so hard if he'd invest in the stocks I tell him to."

David's mother blew her nose into some tissues she was carrying around in her apron. "David, what's with you and these stocks?"

"I've just been studying the stock market more closely lately."

"Your father and I don't want any aggravation with the stock market."

"There wouldn't be any aggravation. I'd never do that to you and pop."

"Oy, I forgot all about the noodle pudding. I made it yesterday."

He watched as she put a large helping of pudding on his plate.

"Remember Duvid, when you use to help in the store after school?"

"Yes, I remember Mama," David ate the raisins he picked off the top crust of the pudding like he use to when he was a little boy. He remembered how he hated stocking and delivering for the store. He wanted to play baseball with his friends but his parents always told him how much they needed him to help out.

"My little Duvidal. You were such a good boy. Some lucky girl who gets you. What a catch you are."

David hated when his mother babied him like this. He didn't say anything though. He didn't want to hurt her feelings.

"Mama I've got to leave in a little while."

"So soon! All of this food. I want you should take some with you."

"No mama. I can't carry around food tonight. I'm going to a party."

Excusing himself, David went to the bathroom that he shared with his parents throughout his childhood until he graduated from law school and left home. As he brushed his teeth he looked at the reflection of his swarthy handsome face with his dark bedroom eyes, long lashes, and jet black hair . He was grateful for his movie star looks because he knew it helped things come easy for him. Especially women, who were almost always enamored with him. David went back to the kitchen and had cup of Sanka coffee and sponge cake with his mother before getting ready to leave.

"Promise you won't forget to call?" his mother asked, getting his coat from the closet.

"I won't." He hugged his mother.

"Guy Gizzint," she said, holding him tightly.

David kissed his mother on the cheek and left.

Lighting a cigarette he walked into the cold night feeling free, as if he'd escaped. On the way to his car he spotted a pay phone. It was the exact time for the call. Heskel picked up on the first ring. "It's me," David muttered into the phone. "Sell everything I've got and put it into Temporal Oil. Lafayette is making their offer the day after tomorrow."

"You've got it buddy," Heskel responded, sounding distracted. "Listen, I've got somebody with me. I'll buzz you tomorrow."

"Don't forget Heskel. Dump everything except Temporal!"

"Ciao," Heskel said, then hung up.

David thought about the takeover as he drove across the Triborough Bridge to Manhattan. He could actually feel an adrenaline rush when he thought about how he just invested every penny he ever earned in Temporal Oil. What if the information was wrong and Lafayette doesn't make the offer? So the stocks wouldn't shoot up and he wouldn't make any money. Not so bad. What was really frightening him was the possibility of getting caught. He and Heskel could go to jail for trading on the market with inside information. But just like Heskel kept reminding him, other people traded on the stock market with inside information all the time and never got caught. Besides if they did get busted they'd probably just get a slap on the wrist. It was definitely worth taking the chance he reassured himself. I've got to let it go and not worry so much. Heskel wasn't sweating it.

Trying to relax he switched his thoughts to his steamy night with Stella, the stewardess he met two nights ago when he flew to Toledo on business. By the time the plane landed they decided to meet for drinks. He met her at her hotel bar and within 20 minutes they were in her hotel room. Got excited just remembering the red lacy garter belt and low cut bra she was wearing underneath her sterile stewardess outfit. She wasn't very pretty but there was something very sexy about her.

Then she had to ruin it by closing in on him the next morning. Even though she lived in Florida she began planning flights she'd make to New York so they could keep seeing each other. He lied and told her he was married, but even that didn't stop her.

David loosened his tie just thinking about all that relationship talk. Even the women who gave the impression that they were just out for a good time always ended up wanting more than sex? It seemed as if women were into nesting no matter what their story was. He wondered why he never met a woman he really wanted to settle down with. He hated disappointing his father but maybe he just wasn't cut out for marriage.

Making a right turn on 1st Ave heading for 63rd street David's thoughts wandered to the party tonight. His buddy and stockbroker Heskel was a silent partner of the modeling agency throwing the party and invited him. David had already been to a few of the agency's events and even dated a couple of their models. He hoped to see some new faces tonight. Maybe a new woman he'd never met before.

About the Author

www.rhondafindling.com
Rhonda Findling, M.A.,C.R.C. is the author of "Don't Call That Man! A Survival Guide To Letting Go" (Hyperion), "The Commitment Cure" (Adams Media) and "The Dating Cure" (Adams Media) and her debut novel "Portrait of My Desire". She is a dating coach and psychotherapist. She has been in private practice in New York for the past 20 years and consults (by telephone) with clients all over the world.