the luncheons. And on top of that, every one of them even had her hair and nails done, to be what Aunt Ruthie would call “all dolled up.”
The girls sat backstage peeking out to watch the assembled women who chattered and scurried from one table to another hugging one another, then sitting to eat and gossip over their chicken salad. Esther Greenspan came back and took the girls’ hands in hers, which were icy cold. She seemed edgy, as if she were the one who was about to go out there and sing for a few hundred people. “Break a leg, you two,” she said. Then she hurried onto the platform, and someone at one of the tables tapped a knife against a water glass to tell the women it was time to be quiet. Dahlia was tense. Sunny looked beautiful, her hair wavy all around her white skin, and she seemed to be enjoying watching the parade of clothes and jewelry.
“Am I on?” Esther said into the microphone, and then there was a loud squeal of feedback, and all the women held their ears. “ Now am I on?” Then she put on little half reading glasses and read from her notes, “Welcome, paid-up members of the Beth El Sister-hood. I won’t make a real speech until later. But right now you should welcome and enjoy these talented little girls, who are cousins. One writes the lyrics—Rose and Benny Gordon’s daughter, Dahlia—and the other the music—Ruthie and Max Gordon’s daughter, Sunny. So give them a big round of applause.”
The women seemed to appreciate the songs. Once they applauded in the middle of a number, and the girls were elated. Sunny leaned into the piano and added a few more musical flourishes that surprised even Dahlia. And the huge ovation at the end made it clear that the women were impressed with the little half-hour presentation the girls had practiced in Aunt Ruthie’s living room, on those days when Louie would sidle by and say things like, “With a little bit of effort, this could stink.”
“Let’s hear it for these talented young ladies,” Esther said, coming back to the platform. She looked very pleased with herself that the show had been so well received. Some of the women were even yelling “Bravo.” Esther gestured for Dahlia and Sunny to take a bow, and they held hands and blew kisses. That was when Dahlia glanced over at Sunny, sure she’d see happiness in her cousin’s face, but Sunny’s eyes were moving back and forth across the room nervously, and Dahlia felt a quickening in her stomach, knowing that the worst was about to happen. The wild look in Sunny’s eyes was unmistakable, and Dahlia inched closer to her to hear what she was saying.
“Birds’ nests,” Sunny muttered so only Dahlia could hear her.
“Sunny, it’s okay. Let’s just take our bows and get out of here.”
“No. No. It isn’t okay. I hate when ladies’ hairdos are so stiff and stuck in position that they look like birds’ nests. And they keep birds in there waiting to fly out and peck us.”
Oh, God. Dahlia was filled with a sense of impending doom. “Sunny, don’t,” she said, knowing how powerful the forces could be when Sunny started off on a tangent like this. She had to get her away from this place as fast as she could move her.
Esther was still at the podium. “Ladies,” she said as the women continued to applaud, “aren’t they great?” But Dahlia, still holding Sunny’s hand, felt the agitation flow through her cousin just as Sunny let go, hurried away from her, and bounded down the steps to where the twenty tables of ten were filled with jabbering women. Then, from a tray a waiter had left on a side table, Sunny lifted a pitcher of ice water in each hand, rushed to the table closest to the stage, raised the pitchers high, and spilled torrents of ice water on the bouffant, puffy, sprayed hairdos of the women. After that she moved back to the tray, grabbing another pair of pitchers and rushing to another group of women to do it again. The women were too stunned to stop her, and
The girls sat backstage peeking out to watch the assembled women who chattered and scurried from one table to another hugging one another, then sitting to eat and gossip over their chicken salad. Esther Greenspan came back and took the girls’ hands in hers, which were icy cold. She seemed edgy, as if she were the one who was about to go out there and sing for a few hundred people. “Break a leg, you two,” she said. Then she hurried onto the platform, and someone at one of the tables tapped a knife against a water glass to tell the women it was time to be quiet. Dahlia was tense. Sunny looked beautiful, her hair wavy all around her white skin, and she seemed to be enjoying watching the parade of clothes and jewelry.
“Am I on?” Esther said into the microphone, and then there was a loud squeal of feedback, and all the women held their ears. “ Now am I on?” Then she put on little half reading glasses and read from her notes, “Welcome, paid-up members of the Beth El Sister-hood. I won’t make a real speech until later. But right now you should welcome and enjoy these talented little girls, who are cousins. One writes the lyrics—Rose and Benny Gordon’s daughter, Dahlia—and the other the music—Ruthie and Max Gordon’s daughter, Sunny. So give them a big round of applause.”
The women seemed to appreciate the songs. Once they applauded in the middle of a number, and the girls were elated. Sunny leaned into the piano and added a few more musical flourishes that surprised even Dahlia. And the huge ovation at the end made it clear that the women were impressed with the little half-hour presentation the girls had practiced in Aunt Ruthie’s living room, on those days when Louie would sidle by and say things like, “With a little bit of effort, this could stink.”
“Let’s hear it for these talented young ladies,” Esther said, coming back to the platform. She looked very pleased with herself that the show had been so well received. Some of the women were even yelling “Bravo.” Esther gestured for Dahlia and Sunny to take a bow, and they held hands and blew kisses. That was when Dahlia glanced over at Sunny, sure she’d see happiness in her cousin’s face, but Sunny’s eyes were moving back and forth across the room nervously, and Dahlia felt a quickening in her stomach, knowing that the worst was about to happen. The wild look in Sunny’s eyes was unmistakable, and Dahlia inched closer to her to hear what she was saying.
“Birds’ nests,” Sunny muttered so only Dahlia could hear her.
“Sunny, it’s okay. Let’s just take our bows and get out of here.”
“No. No. It isn’t okay. I hate when ladies’ hairdos are so stiff and stuck in position that they look like birds’ nests. And they keep birds in there waiting to fly out and peck us.”
Oh, God. Dahlia was filled with a sense of impending doom. “Sunny, don’t,” she said, knowing how powerful the forces could be when Sunny started off on a tangent like this. She had to get her away from this place as fast as she could move her.
Esther was still at the podium. “Ladies,” she said as the women continued to applaud, “aren’t they great?” But Dahlia, still holding Sunny’s hand, felt the agitation flow through her cousin just as Sunny let go, hurried away from her, and bounded down the steps to where the twenty tables of ten were filled with jabbering women. Then, from a tray a waiter had left on a side table, Sunny lifted a pitcher of ice water in each hand, rushed to the table closest to the stage, raised the pitchers high, and spilled torrents of ice water on the bouffant, puffy, sprayed hairdos of the women. After that she moved back to the tray, grabbing another pair of pitchers and rushing to another group of women to do it again. The women were too stunned to stop her, and
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