A Noble Conspiracy E-Book

Bobby Cohen

• Herausgeber: Scarlet Leaf
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Cohen brings you the complete recipe: twists and turns, suspense, relationships and betrayal.

A Noble Conspiracy narrates life and death in a succession of events that will take your breath away.

“I feel better off for having read Bobby Cohen’s A Noble Conspiracy. It’s a novel about friendship and betrayal, love and heartbreak, life and death. In other words, it’s the kind of story that lingers in your mind long after you’ve read the final page.”
                   William J. Donahue, author of Crawl on Your Belly All the Days of Your Life and Burn, Beautiful Soul.

Leseprobe

A NOBLE CONSPIRACY

Bobby Cohen

Scarlet Leaf

2022

© 2021 by BOBBY COHEN

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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, with the exception of a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

All characters in this book are fictive, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, places or events is coincidental.

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Scarlet Leaf

Toronto, Canada

Acknowledgements

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NO NOVEL CAN BE PUBLISHED without the contributions of many people.

I am forever grateful to Roxana Nastase and Scarlet Leaf Publishing for seeing what others may have missed. I would also like to thank Don Swaim and The Bucks County Writing Workshop for their invaluable assistance, especially Bill Donahue and Chris Bauer, whose unwavering support kept me working. Special thanks also go to Candace Barrett for her expertise on the sociopathic personality, and to Jim Kempner for his valuable suggestions to improve my manuscript. Thanks also go to Dennis Cohen and Heather Metzger for their efforts.

Bobby Cohen

One

A Kick in the Ribs

September 1962

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THE FIRST TIME DANNY Schaefer saw Mitch Goodman, he asked him why he was wearing a beanie in high school. They’d both been assigned to Advanced Trigonometry, the ultimate math course at Philly’s top school, Central High. 

“You’re in the twelfth grade now,” Danny said. “You are aware of that, aren’t you?”

“It’s called a kippah,” Mitch said. “My father is an orthodox Jew.”

“What does that have to do with you?” Danny’s father, Al, an inept bookie, had split years before, in debt to the wrong kind of people, leaving his wife, Celia, shattered, and Danny permanently angry.

They stood in the hallway, eye to eye. Mitch, thin, pale, scholarly, was exasperated, wondering how the guy facing him could be so ignorant.  Danny, robust, with chiseled facial features and well-defined muscles, having no experience with true observance, was truly curious.

Mitch wondered how to explain that his father came to orthodoxy late in life and the gesture of wearing a kippah was a matter of respect but sensed that Danny wouldn’t understand.

“I may not agree with everything my father believes, but I honor his wishes. He feels that being a Jew is a privilege that must be earned by following God’s law,” Mitch said.

“My mother’s a Jew,” Danny said, an aside, a meaningless conversational gambit.

Mitch smiled and extended his hand.

“If your mother’s a Jew, so are you. I’m Mitch Goodman.”

#

THE UNEASY TRUCE DEVELOPED into a competitive friendship. Both were at the top of their math class, but Danny, knowing his mother couldn’t afford to send him to an Ivy League school, sloughed off his other classes, settling for Bs and Cs, while Mitch, driven by his parents’ veneration for learning and insistence on excellence, earned straight A’s. The day college acceptances were posted, Danny knew that he was going to Temple, a local, reasonably priced university that placed more weight on their entrance exam, which he aced, than on high school GPAs. Mitch, who’d been accepted to Penn and planned to major in physics, asked Danny why he hadn’t tried harder.

“You’re as smart as I am,” Mitch said. “We could both be going to Penn.”

“Not a chance,” Danny said. “My piece of shit father, who by the way, used to beat my ass with his leather belt on a regular basis, took all the money with him when he left.”

The next morning, they were on the subway. Going to school together became a routine when they discovered they lived within a few blocks of each other but had never met before that Trig class. Waiting for the doors to slide open at their stop, Danny saw the route map on his left.

“Mitch,” he said. “Let’s not get off the train.”

“Why not?”

“We’ve both already been accepted to college. There’s nothing else left for us to do there. Let’s stay on the subway. I want to ride the whole system. I want to keep on going and switch to the Market Street-Frankford line and ride it end to end.”

Cutting school was not the way Mitch did things, but now knowing Danny’s family history, and sensing his determination, made a fateful decision.

“Okay. Any particular reason?”

“Do we need to have a reason?” The look in Danny’s eyes confirmed what Mitch had thought: his friend somehow needed to give the world the finger that day.

They stayed on the Broad Street subway to City Hall and then switched lines and rode to the end of the line in Upper Darby. At the terminal, hunger led them outside to a street vendor on Market Street, where they bought two hot dogs each, and Cokes to wash them down. It was a perfect day—bright blue sky, warm and windless. It was a day they could have been at the ballpark or swimming or just hanging out on the street—at that moment, cutting school had been the perfect move.

They’d just finished their first hotdogs when they heard them.

“Hey, Jew boys.”

Danny turned first and nudged Mitch. Four guys were coming toward them.

“How do they know we’re Jews?” Mitch said.

“Oh, I don’t know. It might have something to do with that fucking beanie on your head.”

“Shit. Maybe we can talk our way out of this.”

“They don’t look like talkers, Mitch.”

Mitch thought about an exit route. He gauged the distance to the terminal against the distance from the gang and saw it as a right triangle. Danny and he had the short leg to the terminal—the gang had the hypotenuse. If they started immediately, they’d be able to beat them to the turnstiles.

“We’re going to run, Danny. Get your token ready.” Mitch threw his Coke and dog into a wire trash basket.

Danny’s thoughts were elsewhere. He’d considered taking on the gang and teaching them a lesson. But four to one were bad odds and he couldn’t count on Mitch to fight. If they got to the terminal first, he might be able to isolate one or two. He threw his Coke and dog at their pursuers. The frank fell harmlessly to the sidewalk, but the Coke bottle found its mark, hitting the blue eyed, blond haired, athletically built kid at the front of the pack, splashing his shirt and jeans. Then he took off, leaving Mitch in his wake, destined to be Danny’s bait.

“You fucking Jew pussies. I’m gonna kick your ass,” the kid yelled, his shout alerting them he was closing the distance quickly.

Danny ran through the terminal doors to the turnstiles, pulling his backpack off as soon as he hit the platform, then hiding behind a concrete pillar. Mitch was close behind. But the one with soda on his shirt ran like a sprinter and was way ahead of the others. He leapt and tackled Mitch just as he got through the turnstile, driving him to the cement floor. Danny couldn’t have planned it better.

“Gotcha now, kike,” the pursuer said, Mitch now the sole focus of his anger.

Mitch looked up and saw hate filled blue eyes and a menacing fist above his face.

“I’m going to pound the shit out of your Jew face,” the enraged voice growled.

The face above him disappeared in a blur followed immediately by the navy-blue fabric of Danny’s backpack. Danny had swung as hard as he could, hitting the kid square on the side of his head with three textbooks and a loose-leaf binder. He’d caught him with the buckle, too—blood spurted from the kid’s temple as he fell. After he hit the floor Danny gave him a solid kick in the ribs, was rewarded with an audible crack, and did it again, even harder.

“That’s enough, Danny,” Mitch said, scrambling to his feet. “He’s down, for God’s sake, let’s go.”

Danny added one last kick, and hearing another crack said, “Okay. Now we can go.”

They ran for the tracks. At the terminal there was always a train waiting with open doors. When they got into the car they turned around. The others had caught up and were behind the turnstiles. Two of them were bending over the one on the ground.

“You fucking yellow kikes,” the third one said. “Come out and fight!”

The sound of the air compressor signaled the doors were about to close.

“Come on in and fight us here, asshole,” Danny said. “What’s the matter? Can’t you afford the fare?”

The kid reached the train just as the doors closed. As they left the platform, Danny grinned and gave him the finger.

“That was pretty cool,” he said, hoping to draw Mitch’s attention from the erection growing inside his khakis. “Did you see the way I kicked that bastard in the ribs?”

Mitch stared at Danny but didn’t reply. Who was this person who’d been his friend for the last eight months?

When Mitch got home that afternoon his mother saw that he was pale and shaken.

“You don’t look well, Mitchell,” she said, pressing her lips to his forehead. Finding no fever, she said, “Are you hungry darling? I’ll make you a sandwich.”

He couldn’t ever admit to cutting school, so he said, “I’m fine, Momma. I tripped and fell on the way home, but I didn’t get hurt—nothing to worry about.”

#

THE NEXT MORNING, DANNY and Mitch saw a front-page story in the Daily News:

UNKNOWN ASSAILANTS ATTACK HIGH SCHOOL BOY

SKULL FRACTURE, PUNCTURED LUNG LEAVE HIM NEAR DEATH

Doctor John Cleary doubts recovery is likely...

Under the headline was a picture of the kid at the turnstile.

“Jesus, Danny, he’s going to die.”

“I can only hope so,” Danny said.

Mitch gaped at Danny, unable to muster a response.

“Listen, pal,” Danny said. “I saved your ass. That guy would have beat you to a pulp. You would’ve been the one dying in the hospital. You owe me. Don’t ever forget that.”

It could have been true. Mitch would never know for sure, but he did know that moment was the fulcrum of their relationship. Danny was from a place Mitch couldn’t fathom. He might have even owed Danny his life, a debt he could never forget. His father, who was always so certain about their responsibilities in life, had never warned him how confusing they could be.

He made a mental note to leave his kippah home in the future.

#

FOR THE NEXT FEW YEARS, Mitch bore his obligation like a chronic illness, suffering with each of Danny’s occasional phone calls. Sometimes they would meet, at first for coffee at Linton’s, later for beers at Sweeney’s on Broad Street, where Mitch would make a painful effort at newsy conversation. Other times, less frequently, he would beg off, citing lab work that couldn’t wait.

Two

The Glory of Love

August 1966

Mitch was waiting in line to register for Advanced Astrophysics when she tapped him on the shoulder.

“Pretty short line, huh?” she said.

He turned around expecting to see a feminine face and found himself staring at a dark-skinned Indian guy with horn-rimmed glasses.

“Down here,” the voice said.

Mitch dropped his line of vision to see inquisitive blue eyes sparkling between strawberry blond curls and a freckled nose. She wore no lipstick and didn’t need any. Like her sweater, her lips were full and pink.

“Yeah,” he said. “This is not your basic easy A.”

There were only five in the queue: The Indian, two guys who he’d known since sophomore year, the short blonde, and him.

“Are you registering for this course?” he said.

“I’m in line, aren’t I?”

“It’s just that I haven’t seen you around here before.”

She’d been admiring Mitch’s better qualities for two years, albeit from afar. She couldn’t help but notice his intelligence, attention to detail, logical thought, and academic honesty—all things that anyone who’d shared classes with him would have noticed had they cared. And he wasn’t bad looking either—really quite a package.

“Maybe not, but I’ve seen you. We’ve taken five classes together.”

“Sorry. I tend to get very focused.”

“Want to buy me a cup of coffee when we’re through here?”

#

SHE TOOK HER COFFEE with cream and three sugars.

“My name’s Mitch Goodman.”

“I’m Eliza Carlisle.”

“Eliza as in Doolittle?”

“The same.”

“Were your parents fans of George Bernard Shaw?”

“My mother was. She was a feminist before there was a word for it.”

“What does Pygmalion have to do with feminism? It’s about a guy who bets he can get a cockney girl to speak proper English at a garden party.”

“It was Shaw’s way of satirizing the class system in England. You should know that, unless you’re really talking about My Fair Lady.”

“Oops. I saw the movie last year. Never even read the play. You’re very perceptive.”

“And you’re very honest. I like that.”

“So, what do I call you?”

“You call me Eliza. There is no ‘short for’ name, so if you try anything like ‘Lizzie’ you’re back in the doghouse.”

Mitch raised his hands, palms out. “Never considered it for a second. What does your father think of the name?”

“Never knew about it. He died on Omaha Beach six months before I was born.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You can’t miss what you never had. What are you going to do when you graduate?” she said.

“I’m trying to make up my mind between cosmology and quantum mechanics.”

“Quantum mechanics? Yuck.” She scrunched up her face. “It’s cosmology for me all the way.”

“What’s wrong with particle physics?”

“Too tiny. I’m barely five feet tall. I live with small—I want to study big.”

“Then you’re making the right move. Nothing’s bigger than the universe.”

There was a long moment of silence. He could feel the wheels turning.

“I live down the street. Want to walk me home?” She said it as if the words had great significance.

#

THEY TALKED ABOUT HOW cool the weather was for August and what Advanced Astrophysics would be like. When they got to an old brownstone on Thirty-eighth Street, she unlocked a high wrought iron gate and they entered a narrow breezeway that separated the brick foundation of her house from the one to the right. She had an apartment with a private entrance at the back, which looked out onto a weed-strewn postage stamp of a lawn. Inside, it was just a bedroom, bathroom, and kitchenette.

“Would you like a cold drink?” she said. “I’ve got beer, Coke, and water.”

“A beer sounds good.”

She pulled the tabs on a couple of Millers and Mitch looked around for a seat.

“Sit there,” she said, directing him to a chair that looked like it’d been rescued from a dining room set. She plopped herself cross-legged on the bed, across from him.

Having never been with a girl on anything other than a conventional date, the kind that ended with, “Thanks for a nice evening,” and a kiss on the cheek, Mitch resented his virginity. It seemed this might be a nice time to end it.

“This is a nice little place,” he said, looking for an opening. “Have you lived here a long time?”

“You could say that. I was born here.”

“You were born in this apartment?”

“No, silly. This was my parents’ house.”

“And your mother?”

“She lives in the rest of the house. This part is all mine. I like it that way.”

“So, you live your separate lives together in the same house.”

She laughed. “I never heard it put that way before. How about you?”

“I live in Oak Lane with my parents, and thank God, without my sister.”

“I’m not touching that line with a clothes pole.”

A little buzzed from the beer, Mitch chuckled.

“You’re really cute,” she said.

“Not compared to you.” Something was finally going to happen, and his heart sped up.

“Come here,” she said, patting the spot next to her. He followed instructions dutifully. She straddled him and, once their faces were on an even plane, kissed him. It was the best kiss he’d ever had. Her tongue in his mouth sent a lightning bolt to his groin.

“I’ve never done this before,” he admitted.

“You mean have sex? You’re a virgin?”

He didn’t want to blow the opportunity but nodded anyway and held up three fingers.

“Scout’s honor.”

Her face lit up like a kid at the circus. “Ooh, this is great. I get to be the boss. Just do everything I tell you to and don’t argue. I promise you won’t regret it.”

He didn’t—not a millisecond.

#

ELIZA AND MITCH WERE sharing an Astrophysics textbook while having coffee in the cafeteria when a guy came over and sat at their table. He had shoulder-length brown hair, patched jeans, and a smile that would melt the heart of an executioner.

“Hey, Lizzie, what’s up?” he said, a gleam in his brown eyes.

She rolled her eyes and said, “Hey, Jeff. Mitch Goodman, meet Jeff Miller.”

“You guys look like a bar graph,” Jeff said.

Mitch looked at Eliza, the question on his face.

“I think he’s talking about the difference in our height,” she said.

“Very astute, Lizzie. You guys want to get high? I scored some decent weed.”

“I’ve got studying to do,” Mitch said. He’d never done drugs and wasn’t going to start with a stranger, Eliza’s friend or not.

“Me too,” she said.

“Your loss, guys. You ever think you might get some new insights into the cosmos if you got high before you studied?”

“That’s the difference between astrophysics and political science,” Eliza said. You actually have to know something in our subject. Bullshit doesn’t count.”

Jeff flashed his warm smile again. “You’re probably right. Maybe things will get tougher in law school.”

“You got into law school? Where?” Her face reminded Mitch of his mother when he brought home a perfect report card.

“Right here at Penn. I figured, why change my address? Okay, I’m splitting. Enjoy your studying.”

“How come he gets to call you Lizzie?”

“He does that every time he sees me, to be funny. It’s become kind of an inside joke. Since he’s the type of guy who will never refuse you if you need a favor, I tolerate it. Besides, what can I do? I like the guy, just not the same way I like you.”

“Does he come from Philly? He said, ‘Why change my address?’”

“He’s from Cherry Hill. He’s had an apartment off campus since junior year.”

“I didn’t want to say anything in front of Jeff, but I’ve never smoked pot before.”

“It’s no big deal—it’s a buzz, that’s all. No hangovers, no hassle.”

#

DANNY WAS IN MITTEN Hall at Temple to register for the fall semester. A low senior now, it was his seventh go-round, and he was more than familiar with the mass confusion that ruled the process: Everyone lines themselves up for the courses they’re taking and waits to sign a registration sheet at a table manned by the instructor—as many times as necessary. You’re taking five courses; you visit five tables. A math major, a talent no doubt inherited maternally, he was in the Differential Equations line when he saw a magnificent female standing two rows to his right, waiting to enroll in an English Lit course. She was tall and had long shiny, black hair, like his mom.

“Are you ready, Mr. Schaefer, or shall we move on to the next person?”

It was Dr. Coleman, the chairman of the department. He’d reached the table without realizing it, shuffling along while staring at the beauty to his right. He glared at the professor, signed the registration sheet and moved back to get a better look at her. She had deep-set dark brown eyes and a thin nose, a wide mouth and full lips. He moved around until he could see the rest of her—a slender, long-legged body and large breasts, which struggled to defy whatever means she was using to contain them. That was the clincher.

Despite Danny’s good looks and charm, his dating experience was limited to frat house gangbangs, but this girl seemed different. Maybe it had something to do with him being twenty-one. Could it be time for a mature relationship? He didn’t know, but felt it was time to find out.

“Hi, I’m Danny Schaefer,” he said to her as soon as she left the table. “Would you like to have some coffee?”

“I don’t drink coffee,” she said, and feeling he’d been brushed off, thought, “Fuck her” and turned to leave. But the students in the next line moved forward, nudging him back. She was still looking at him—her eyes moving down then back up.

“But I do like tea,” she smiled. “I’m Amy Gottlieb.”

He smiled back. There were those big boobs.

“Are you an English major?” Danny said once they were in the cafeteria. He was in strange territory and needed to feel his way.

“Not even close. I’m getting an Associate Degree in Business Management and I need an elective to finish the course requirements this year. I took English Lit because it’s the only language I know, unless you count Yiddish. Anyway, I’m hoping to start looking for a job next semester. What’s your major?”

“Math.”

“Sounds hard. Are you any good at it?”

“I’m a lot better than good at it.”

“You sound pretty confident.”

He shrugged his shoulders and gave her a look that said he should be.

She sipped her tea, waiting for whatever came next.

“Do you want to go out Friday night?” he said.

#

DANNY RANG THE BELL and waited, sweating while staring at the small basement window in the foundation wall, estimating the glass area. It was particularly hot for early September. 

Amy opened the door and said, “Come in and meet my parents.”

The foyer was the size of a broom closet but led to a living room dominated by the hum, grind, hum of a big window air-conditioner, a worthwhile distraction considering the twenty-degree difference in temperature.

Max Gottlieb, a half foot shorter than Danny, wore a wrinkled white dress shirt and brown pants with clip-on suspenders. He offered a weak handshake and forced a mirthless smile. His wife, Mollie, taller than he, was built like a tree stump on table legs, and didn’t appear to have a neck. She stood behind Max, mouth turned down and dark eyes cold. She wiped her hands on her apron as if she were getting ready to shake hands but didn’t move any closer.

“Hello, Mrs. Gottlieb,” Danny said. She just nodded her head and lifted her frown to a neutral position, as if she were surgically prevented from smiling.

#

THE MOVIE WAS CLEOPATRA, chosen because it was three hours long. Danny thought it would give him time to work out his next move, but having no experience with women who weren’t entertaining frat boys, realized it was useless. He finally accepted that he wasn’t going to get laid that night—she just wasn’t the type—but refused to give up on her body.

At the front door he asked if he could see her again, thinking it could take as many as three dates to get her into the sack.

“Sure. Call me and we can meet at school next week. Thanks for a great evening.” She gave him a quick kiss on the mouth, winked, and went inside.

#

BY THE THIRD DATE DANNY thought he’d waited more than long enough. After the movie he drove to his house and parked.

“What are we doing here?” Amy said.

“I’ve seen your house, but you’ve never seen mine. I thought you’d like to.”

Once they were on the living room sofa Danny thought he might be able to get some alcohol into her.

“Would you like something to drink?” he said. “I’ve got some beer in the fridge.”

“I don’t drink beer. Could you make me a cup of tea?”

She sat on the sofa taking occasional sips while Danny, close enough to smell her Jean Naté, took impatient gulps from a can of Bud. His mom was on a date with a new flame, apparently serious, considering the frequency with which she’d been seeing him, and he wasn’t sure how long he had before she got home. Once Amy had relinquished control of the teacup, he put his arm around her and moved in for a kiss. She giggled.

“What’s so funny?” Danny said.

“You are, sweetie. You’re so obvious.” Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed back. “But I like it.”

He kissed her again and made an exploratory tongue touch, which she responded to in kind. He was certain the payoff he’d waited for was imminent and his hand went under her skirt and found her inner thigh.

“Uh uh. Not so fast, Romeo.” She took his hand and replaced it over her shoulder.

Danny kissed her again and, with both hands around her, undid her bra through her sweater. Her heavy breasts fell from the bra, and he quickly moved to fondle them. She didn’t resist, but after a slight moan kissed him again, this time deeper than before. He reached under her skirt a second time, and again she balked.

“Danny, I’m a virgin. I know it sounds old fashioned but that’s how I’m staying until I’m married.”

“So, what am I going to do with this?” He unzipped his khakis and allowed his swollen penis to leap from his groin, challenging her to deal with it.

She looked, smiled an amalgam of amusement and pride, and grasped it. She kissed him again, her hand moving like a piston.

“Happy now?” she said less than a half minute later. “Stay here while I get something from the kitchen to clean us up.”

#

INTRODUCED BY A MUTUAL friend, Celia Blum Schaefer met Ted Gold at an all-Schubert chamber music concert performed at the Philadelphia Free Library. Celia had struggled for years to undo the mess her ex-husband, Al, had left her with, working full time and trying her best to raise Danny. She left herself little time for a social life, and, after her tragic marriage, was wary about new relationships. Because she was quite attractive despite her forty-eight years, with a trim athletic figure and a comely face beneath her long black hair, she’d never lacked for opportunities.

Ted Gold was a financially secure widowed businessman who found time to be a passable amateur violist. He was immediately attracted to the dark-haired beauty that shared his passion for chamber music. At the conclusion of the Trout Quintet, he asked her if they might have dinner one night soon. Celia accepted reluctantly, but after several dates Ted, who was gentle and erudite, seemed to be a dream come true despite the sixteen-year difference in their ages.

“Would you consider marrying me?” he asked Celia on the same night that Amy relieved Danny’s sexual tension.  Before she could speak, he said, “Wait. Don’t answer yet. You need to know more.”

“Then you should tell me right now.” Since the only husband she ever had made his living illegally, she wasn’t sure if he was about to admit to embezzlement, or maybe some high-level pyramid scheme.

“I’m sixty-four years old and I’m ready to retire. Two of my managers are buying me out and the proceeds will provide a comfortable income for me, for us I hope, for the rest of our lives. I own a large condo in Fort Lauderdale, and I’d like us to move there together.”

Celia went quiet few a few moments.

“Is there a problem?” Ted said.

“The problem is Danny. He won’t graduate until May. I can’t just leave him by himself.”

“How about we get engaged now and not move south until Danny has a job?”

“Where will he live? Who will take care of him? He’s just a boy.”

“He became a man some time ago, Celia. You just haven’t noticed.”

Ted knew from the second date that he wanted a permanent relationship with Celia. She was all he could hope for—beautiful, intelligent, and sincere. He’d anticipated whatever objections she might have to his proposal.

“I’ll pay off your house and car and give them to him as a going away present,” he said. “He’ll have a degree, a job, a house and a car. He can always come down and visit us, and we can go back to visit him.”

“You’re a hard man to say no to, Ted. I’ll marry you, but we can’t tell anyone until Danny graduates and gets a job.”

He pulled Celia to him and kissed her deeply. “Now my lips are sealed,” he said.

Three

Advice from Poppa

May 1967

Consistent with his work ethic and IQ, Mitch graduated second in his class and was offered admission to a PhD program at Penn that included an assistantship. It was a dream come true with one hitch—he didn’t yet know what Eliza would be doing for graduate work.

She was the only girlfriend he ever had, but he couldn’t imagine a better relationship. When they weren’t studying or attending class they were in bed or listening to Beethoven or Shostakovich. He was in love with her, so as soon as he got the offer from Penn, he told her, planning to discuss their future together.

“No M.S.?” she said. “I didn’t even know you could do that.”

“More coursework, longer thesis, but it can be done.”

“I’ve been accepted to MIT—M.S. in Cosmology. I’m taking it.”

Stunned like a steer in a slaughterhouse, Mitch’s eyes glazed. She had accepted without consulting him.

“Just like that?” he managed to say.

“Why not?” she said, a foregone conclusion.

A weight gathered around his heart.  He paused to regain his composure. Her callousness hadn’t diminished his feelings for her.

“Do you believe in long distance relationships?” he said.

“No. It’s too hard to have sex that way.”

“When are you leaving?”

“Middle of August.”

“Then we have the summer?” It was a question from a drowning man grasping for a line just beyond his reach.

“Of course,” Eliza said, and kissed him softly.

#

MITCH WENT THROUGH the traditional stages of grief: denial, anger, and depression—having no one to bargain with, he skipped that one—before finally accepting the fact that his love affair would end. He resolved himself to spending the next four years doing coursework, research, writing, and masturbating. Since it meant continuing to live with his parents, he had to tell them about his plans (not including the masturbating).

#

THE LIVING ROOM FURNITURE was dark blue velvet, which Ruth Goodman insisted on protecting with antimacassars. Her husband, Jules, sat in the big armchair while Mitch and his mother, whom he’d called Momma since he could first speak, shared the sofa, the usual arrangement when family discussions were being held.

“I’ve been accepted into a doctoral program at Penn,” Mitch said. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll need to keep living here for a few more years.”

“Of course, you can, Mitchell,” Momma said. “This will always be your home.”

“What about your schiksa?” Poppa said.

“Eliza is not my schiksa. Nobody owns anyone anymore.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Oh, Jules, leave him alone,” Momma said.

“She’s going to grad school in Boston. Happy now?”

“It’s not about me being happy, it’s about you being successful in life. Also, marrying a Jewish girl wouldn’t hurt.”

“I understand that you’re my father and I’m living under your roof. I love you and respect you and I’m grateful for your generosity, but to me, success isn’t having a lot of money or being well educated. Success is being happy. It may not be with Eliza, but you should know that I’m not going to marry anyone just because of her religion. If it makes you feel any better, I’m not going to avoid marrying anyone because of her religion either, so a Jewish girl is not out of the question.”

“When you have a little more experience in life, you’ll realize that marrying out of your religion is a big mistake, especially for Jews. The children’s religion is usually decided by the mother and there are so few Jews in the world as it is...”

“Jules,” Ruth said, “he’s not talking about getting married. He’s just talking about going to graduate school. Relax a little. You’ll give yourself a stroke.”

#

MITCH WAS WATCHING the news later that night, after Momma had gone to bed. Poppa, who’d been working at the kitchen table, came in and sat in his armchair. He said nothing until the program went to commercial, then got up and turned the sound down.

“We need to talk, Mitchell,” he said, putting his elbow on the arm of the chair and shifting his body toward the sofa in that way he did during family discussions.